Archive for September 2011
sacred spaces #2
One of the repurposed churches I have encountered is the church where my great-grandmother and great-grandfather were married on July 24 in 1886 in Laramie, Wyoming. The church was the First Methodist Episcopal Church on Second Street in Laramie.
The church building, constructed in 1860, still stands at 152 North Second Street, but when my great-grandparents were married there, it stood at a location across the street from its present location. When it was abandoned as a church, it was rolled across the street on logs, where today it is the oldest church building in Laramie.
When we visited Laramie in 2002, we did not find the church immediately because it did not look like a church. When it was rolled across the street, the back of the church faced the street…
A look at the rear of the building shows what the face of the church would have looked like in its previous location…
The church has been repurposed and today is used by a distance-training business. Inside the church, I could see the windows overlooking the spot where once my great-grandparents stood to say their vows…
Have you gone on a journey to discover the people in your family history? Have you stood where their feet once stood?
sacred spaces
Abandoned churches are a particularly poignant reminder of how ephemeral our human spaces can be. In most cases, churches are abandoned for reasons of practicality – the maintenance costs are too high and refurbishing costs exceed starting over.
I think about the people who originally planned and built the church. They needed a place to meet and worship. They probably had a hard time pulling together the resources. There would have been a first Sunday service in the new church, perhaps a celebration afterwards with a meal and speeches.
It was probably a heart-wrenching decision to abandon the church. So many baptisms, weddings and funerals. So many personal experiences of being near to God. So many forgotten moments of amusing bored children, nodding-off during sermons, singing off-key, and greeting friends and neighbours.
Some older churches are maintained because of their heritage value, and used occasionally for special services…
Some churches are sold and repurposed, into office space, or even homes…
Some churches are abandoned entirely, left as reminders of the landscape of the past…
Although it is vacant, this old church has someone to care for it, evidenced by the mowed lawn.
Crataegus
~
between ruby glass
and hard wood floor
a slide of light and three
~
extinguished candles
smoke lifts from smoulder
each mote a particle
~
of spectral light, mosaic
shard, image
reassembled in three
~
dimensions
shepherd, hawthorn
lamb
~
© Jane Tims 2011
in the apple tree
How many hours did I read in the apple tree in my grandfather’s orchard?
At least a couple of hours every day were spent lost in a book.
I was ten or so and my reading was relatively simple – Nancy Drew, Anne of Green Gables, Blue Castle, animal stories by Thorton W. Burgess , and books about a young adventurer named Madge Morton. Most of these were books my Mom had given me, and a few were borrowed from my aunt’s summer house. Have a look at ‘books about natural spaces’ to see some of my favorites. Are you old enough to remember some of them?
The search for a comfortable place to read has often eluded me. Today I read at my desk or in the car. Anything more soothing and I fall asleep, in spite of the quality of the read.
Where is your favorite place to read a book?
reading in the orchard
~
comfortable limb of
apple tree, how many
books read in the days of
summer, mysteries, tales of
plucky girls, animals personified, sunlight
and apple-shadows highlight words
sentences and paragraphs read at
a glance, breezes turning pages
faster than I read, solve
the crime, blood as red as apples
creaky doors and creepy windows
branches rub together somewhere in
the orchard, forget to go in
for supper, my mother’s voice written into
story, calling
~
© Jane Tims 2011
course of the creek
Our small cabin is near a lake, an offshoot of the Saint John River. We have what some would consider poor access to the lake, since there is a marsh between us and the lake shore edge. But that marsh is a very special place, ever changing and always interesting.
One way it changes, almost daily and certainly seasonally, is with respect to water level. You could say we are downstream of the entire Saint John River, meaning we are receiver of every fluctuation of the water level in the system. The situation is made complex by the influence of a major hydroelectric dam at Mactaquac.
In spring, the river floods, and the marsh is covered by water…
In normal years, the water levels become quite low, and our marsh is high and dry. We can walk on it, to reach the outer shore of the lake…
the green in the foreground is the marsh
In wet years, like this has been, the water stays high and there is a pond between us and the main lake…
On Saturday, I went rowing on the pond in my small red rowboat. I rowed out to the edge of the lake and then followed the deeper waters of the small winding creek back into the marsh as far as I could go without grounding the boat. Last year I could see pumpkinseed sunfish in the creek water, but not this time.
Most of the grasses in the marsh are Spartina pectinata Link., broad-leaf cord-grass, ordinarily associated with salt marshes. Actually, salt water is characteristic of the lower parts of the Saint John River – the salt water wedge extends as high as Washademoak Lake, and the tidal influence is measurable to above Fredericton!
At the outer shore of the pond, where the creek enters the lake, I was surprised and delighted to find a few stems of wild rice (Zizania aquatica L.). This is not native to New Brunswick, but is often planted along shores to attract waterfowl and is now found all along the Saint John River and in many lakes. The grass is distinctive because the pistillate (female) flowers are in a group near the top of the plant while the staminate (male) flowers are on horizontal banches below.
I am an awkward rower. Usually, to improve my control and reduce my speed, I row the boat backward, stern first! In spite of my lack of speed, it is an adventure to be on the water, to become a bit of an explorer. My need to know the ways of the pond reminds me of my attempts to understand the path my life has taken.
characteristics of creek
~
clumsy row in the marsh pond
to seek the course of the creek
the strand of water’s flow
to nourish pond define
its shape conduit
to the lake
~
a slender S through grass emergent
pondweed and cord-grass vague
deviation from clarity hyaline the interface
of freshwater and salt and pumpkinseed
turn their flat bodies to intercept
the flow find the break in the mat of sedge
narrow simplicity of weed-free bottom
~
search
and find
the inevitable
thread in flow of
story the theme to bind
the words and water into one
~
© Jane Tims 2011
more horizons
horizon: line at which earth and sky appear to meet (Oxford dictionary)
After thinking more about horizons, I looked through our photos for some horizons we have captured in New Brunswick. Once you start to look for them, they are everywhere!
overlooking the hilly area of Sussex... Poley Mountain (a local ski hill) is in the background
a blueberry field and the distant hills of Queens County
- Horizons are made more interesting by the passing seasons…
- in autumn…
maple trees in autumn costume along the Trans-Canada Highway in Victoria County
…and in winter.
bare trees in the Grand Lake Meadows area in winter... a hawk in the tree and a treed horizon if you look carefully
Of course, I can’t forget the horizon of the Bay of Fundy…
Bay of Fundy at Saint Martins
…the horizon viewed from the ocean…
Charlotte County viewed from the waters of the Bay of Fundy
…and the horizon created by islands.
'The Wolves', special islands in the Bay of Fundy
Look to the hoizon, and see where land and sky, and sometimes water, meet.
horizontal haiku
~
horizon distant intersection land water sky
~
© Jane Tims 2011
crossing the river
In New Brunswick, the Saint John River watershed accounts for more than one-third of the province. It is a majestic river, almost 700 kilometers long, beginning in Maine and Quebec as small tributaries and gradually gaining in width and volume as it flows towards the Bay of Fundy.
One of the best things about living near the Saint John River is its cable ferries.
There are several bridges, of course, but no means of transport across the Saint John River can compare with the mini-voyage experience of crossing the river on a summer day with the wind in your hair and the dazzle of water in your eyes. It is always interesting watching the ferryman packing the cars in like sardines on the busy days. There is usually some interesting local event posted on the bulletin board. And New Brunswick’s river ferries are free to ride!
In 1978, I made several trips on a ferry that was only in operation for a short time. This was the car ferry at Cambridge-Narrows on Washademoak Lake, part of Washademoak River, one of the large tributaries to the Saint John River. It operated for a few months after the covered bridge there was flattened in the Groundhog Gale of February 2, 1976. The new bridge was built shortly afterward in 1978 and only local people remember the ferry.
However, I remember the ferry at Cambridge-Narrows very well. I wrote the poem ‘Lights on the Lake’ one evening as I took the ferry across the Narrows and felt the peacefulness of the small community winding down from the summer season.
For a short history of Cambridge-Narrows and a photograph of the covered bridge after it was destroyed by the Groundhog Gale, see
http://www.imagine-action.ca/IAAppContent/274/BookletVII_Legacy%20of%20HistoryFinal.pdf
Lights on the Lake
~
1.
~
twilight
fairy bulbs on masts
sunset on sail
amber to trace
the ferry’s quiet crossing
~
dusk
leaded porch lights
propane glow
twin headlights
joust along the cottage road
~
darkness
strings of lantern
patio voices, clinking and laughter
fires on the beach
sparks stirred toward the sky
~
moonlight
waves flirt with stars
Aurora Borealis leaps
fireflies blink
brief messages of love
~
2.
~
comes an evening at summer’s end crowd and fireflies are gone night storms shuttered windows
darkened doors the charred remains of fires
on the shore
~
and through the trees a ruby gleam
a choir practices its song
~
© Jane Tims 1978
between the tides – sea glass
Walking on the beach at low tide creates a two-way competition for the eyes.
First there is the pull of the sea – the vistas of distant shores, islands, boats and buoys to contemplate, and the crash and retreat of the ocean waves…
Second is the compulsion to watch the beach as you walk, searching for shells and patterned rocks…
or the gem of beachcombers, sea glass…
When the tide comes in, we collectors come home from the sea, our pockets full of treasures we have found.
sea glass
~
tide turns
sea withdraws
we walk on the ocean floor
heads down
eyes conditioned to color
of sea glass translucence
of fog softened edges muffled
greens and bottle blues
rare ambers and reds
tide turns
ocean swells
glass and stone together
etched by sea
~
© Jane Tims 2011
cascade across the rock
Earlier this summer, in July, we visited Little Sheephouse Falls, northwest of Miramichi. The Falls are part of the watershed of the South Branch of the Big Sevogle River.
To see Little Sheephouse Falls requires a short hike through mixed woods. The trail to the Falls is very well maintained by the forest company who manages the area and was an easy walk in spite of my arthritic knees.
The woods were green with ferns and other woodland plants. My favourite of these was a little vine of Mitchella repens L. cascading across a lichened rock. Commonly known as Partidge-berry, Mitchella is a small vine with roundish opposite leaves, often found growing in shady, mossy woods. It has pinkish flowers and small red berries. The Flora I consulted says it is found where it can be free from the competition of more vigorous plants.
Mitchella repens growing across a rock in the woods
We did not go to the base of the falls, but kept to the trails navigating the escarpment. The falls are about 20 meters high, with a large pool and a cave at the base. They were a white torrent on the day we visited, making a rumbling thunder in striking contrast to the quiet woods.
Little Sheephouse Falls
Directions to Little Sheephouse Falls, and other waterfalls in New Brunswick, are contained at Nicholas Guitard’s website http://www.waterfallsnewbrunswick.ca and in his 2009 book Waterfalls of New Brunswick (see ‘books about natural spaces’).
Waterfalls are spaces to soothe the soul and inspire love for natural areas. They engage the senses… the sounds of the gurgling stream and the roar of the waterfall, the feel of cool, clean water, and the sight of water bubbling and boiling, following the contours of the landscape.
the three fates, spinning
~
1.
wound on the rock
mended by waterfall thread
~
2.
at last I touch
the water
real, wet water
(not a report or diagram
but the flavor feel and smell
of water)
~
it pours through my fingers
delivers to me
the mosses
the lichens
(the moth on the pin where she has always
wanted to be)
~
3.
the doe must feel this
as she crosses
the road-to-nowhere
when the birch and aspen enfold her
~
or the ant
as she maps the labyrinth
on the rotting morel
when she touches the ground
(blessed ground)
~
or the needles of white pine
when they find the note
split the wind into song
~
4.
the three fates
spinning
~
the waterfall
diverted by the rock
~
Published as: “the three fates, spinning”, The Antigonish Review 165, Spring 2011.
(revised)
© Jane Tims
needles of white pine...split the wind into song
horizons
Landscape is a fundamental driver in our lives. The spaces around us shape our experiences, our thoughts and our perspectives.
I was born and raised on the Alberta prairie. Although I love the woods and hills where I now live, I think my eyes are never satisfied when they seek the horizon.
When we drove across Canada in 2002, my husband, who was born in New Brunswick, was appreciative of the prairie landscape, but when we finally turned toward home, he was glad, so glad, to see the trees.
In southern Alberta, on the Trans-Canada Highway, we tried to measure the distance to the horizon. We took note of the oncoming lights and timed how long it took them to reach us on the road. One car, we estimated, was 17 kilometers away when we first saw it on the prairie horizon! On the Trans-Canada in New Brunswick, we rarely see cars more than 2 or 3 kilometers distant.
the prairie horizon of southern Alberta (2002)
What was the landscape of your childhood? Do you live in a different landscape now? How are these landscapes different and how are you different in each?
a longing for prairie
~
1.
what subtle psychoses
plague women
who grow on the prairie
and leave
to die in the forest
2.
memories a few words long
the chinook coulees at sunset the odd red of prairie mallow grasshoppers without aim
spears of foxgrass gophers beside their burrows willows by the slough
the rattle of the Texan Gate the tarnished dry of August
I want to run on the prairie
3.
I narrow my eyes at the ditches
imagine the weeds tumbling
to cover the forest with shortgrass
and sedges
the clearcut
and the barrens of blueberry
have the lie
but not the essence of prairie
4.
piled by the roadside
nine bales of hay
burst from the baler twine
left to the rain
piled three high into landscape
mountains, foothills, flatland
this last has sprouted me prairie
5.
trees form a tunnel
shut out the spaces around me
some days I can’t summon the words
the hay and the corn fields are all I have
and the hayfield shows the tines of the tiller
deep into summer
~
Published as: ‘a longing for prairie’, Whetstone Spring 1997
(revised)
© Jane Tims
a glimpse of prairie landscape in New Brunswick ... just a glimpse
defining our spaces
Fences have always been my favourite type of human architecture. I like them because they are a place to sit and observe the landscape.
The reasons for building fences are varied. They mark the boundaries between properties, keep domestic and other animals in or out, create a visual edge to property, prevent uncontrolled movement of vehicles, provide privacy, and so on. Did I mention they are also fine places to sit?
Types of fences are as varied as the reasons for building them.
On our vacation to Maine, we encountered some unfamiliar types, although I have seen examples of these in New Brunswick. The fences I liked the best were made of stone, sometimes so much a part of the local landscape they could have been natural, not human-made…
poles and sturdy metal cable…
wood with mortise and tenon…
In New Brunswick, a familiar traditional fence is made with cedar, the rails fitted together in a zigzag…
Stone fences, put together with mortar, are common around churchyards…
Farm fences are usually of the post and wire type…
My favourite fence is the type my husband builds, a modern version of the traditional cedar rail fence, held together by gravity and no nails…
lethargy
~
on the breathing side
of the window
beyond the curtain
limply lifted
is a pleasant day
a dandelioned field
a sloe-eyed cow
sumac leaning on the fence
a weary hitch-hiker beside
a carless road
~
reminds me
of a basket of patches
a quilt to assemble
hems to stitch
perennials to weed
letters to crumple
and stars to count
in a cinnamon
and saccharine
apple-crumble
sky
~
more to do
than prop one arm
on the window sill
and lift the muslin
barely higher
than the hitch-hiker’s
wilted shoulders
unslung pack
or knee-supported head
~
© Jane Tims 2010
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