a moment of beautiful – November leaves
the space: the November sky
the beautiful: oak leaves, not yet fallen
The oak is one of the last trees to give up its leaves in autumn.
I love the look of oak leaves against the sky. Individually, their deeply lobed pattern is striking. As a group, the leaves make a kind of randomly tatted lace.
These leaves are a frail, ineffective barrier to rain and snow, but to me, they are a statement of defiance against the coming winter.
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password
~
my palm
and its splayed fingers
against the glass
defy the cold
demand the secret word
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the way the oaks construct
tattered shelters against
November chill, cling to
their leaves, whisper
misinformation
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Copyright Jane Tims 2012
tough to follow
In high school, in Nova Scotia, I belonged to a history club. We did an interesting project in about 1971, tracing the route of an old stagecoach trail through the woods between Lower Sackville and Fall River. We were able to follow the road since it had been raised above wet ground. We also found old culverts still intact. One of the things we made was a relief map of the area, with the hills built up in plaster and the old road marked in red. The project created, for me, a lifelong interest in old roads.
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tough to follow
~
the old road at the edge
of the hill is tough to follow
no clues, no footprints, no bent twigs
~
eventually all familiar ways
grow over
~
a layer of bracken
covers the track
like a cloth over biscuits
at the dinner table
~
primo-canes of bramble
claw you back
your mother reminding you
to wear your sweater
~
better to look up
follow the ribbon of sky
marked by the absence of branches
~
~
Published as ‘tough to follow’, Canadian Stories 15 (85), June 2012
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
‘cold’ place names in New Brunswick
Yesterday morning we woke to a dusting of snow on the roof of the garage and deck table. I am not too crazy about the perils of driving in bad weather, but I love the look of new snow.
Thinking about new snow reminded me about the several communities in New Brunswick named for adverse or chilly conditions:
Snowdon, York County – perhaps after the family name.
Coldbrook, Saint John County (now part of Saint John) – originally thought to have been called Moosepath, then Three Mile House … renamed Coldbrook in 1889, reason unknown.
Coldstream, Carleton County – first called Rockland, was renamed Coldstream in 1852.
Blowdown, Carleton County – originally called South Richmond, the community was renamed in 1869, after a significant leveling of forest as a result of the Saxby Gale (October 4-5, 1869).
Frosty Hollow, Westmorland County (now part of Sackville)– originally called Mapleburg, the community was renamed in 1927 because the first frost in the Sackville area is said to settle there.
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For information on other community names in New Brunswick, you can use the search feature at the Provincial Archives of New Brunswick http://archives.gnb.ca/exhibits/communities/.
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newfall: words escape me
~
the white ephemeral
perhaps frost
the fir boughs divided
the sculptured steel
of a flake of snow
~
try again
~
paper stencil
on chocolate cake
powdered sugar
sifted on the rills
of the new plowed field
~
again
~
sweet in my mouth
the bitter melted in morning sun
white hot on my cheek
the writing lamp
~
a lamp to the left
casts no shadow
(the shadow of a pen
or a hand)
~
(unless you are wrong-handed)
~
chimney shadow
on a fresh-snowed roof
or trees on the eastern edge of the road
where the sun cannot warm
~
the morning
dusting of ice
~
try again
~
~
Published as: ‘newfall: words escape me’, The Fiddlehead 196: 147, Summer 1998.
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
gathering eggs
When we visited my grandfather’s farm in the 1960s, boredom was never a problem. Every day brought a new discovery or learning. One of the best activities was to help in the gathering of eggs.
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gathering eggs
~
first breath after rooster presses
crowbar under sun catches
dew in the three-angled strawberry leaves
and light pings sapphire,
red, amber, emerald to opening eyes
I see Dandy waiting
black and white counterpoint to rainbow
~
he greets me, ignores
the chickens scratching
along random lines, we trek
to the barn together
push the man-door, open the pen
~
Diane has promised a gather
of eggs, shows me how
to shoo the hen, part the straw,
roll the egg into my hand,
build the stack in the basket
set each in a three-angled
cradle of eggs
~
Dandy watches the rooster
red comb and wattles,
amber neck, iridescent tail
ignores white eggs and chickens
~
~
Previously published as ‘gathering eggs’, Canadian Stories 15 (84), April 2012
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
abandoned bridge – South Nation River
In south-east Ontario, the South Nation River winds through farmland…
Driving along the river in October of 2012, we found an old metal bridge, closed to traffic. Although left to rust, this bridge was beautiful in its simple construction. The deck of the bridge was rotted, but wildflowers had taken hold in the debris.
According to the South Nation River link at http://www.nation.on.ca/en/geocaching/ (South Nation Conservation), the bridge has now been removed.
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abandoned bridge, South Nation River
~
years since I crossed the metal bridge –
we take the long way now,
over that engineered, concrete
contrivance, upstream
~
the old bridge CLOSED, of course
trusses red with rust, corroded
pitted as the river bank
and its swallow-burrows
~
once we walked those girders
leaned from the railings
amused ourselves by pitching rocks down
into the duckweed
~
wouldn’t be safe today, the deck
rotted where hawkweeds bloom
all summer, cheerful
you’d think they’d been planted
~
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Published as ‘abandoned bridge, South Nation River’, Canadian Stories 15 (85), June 2012.
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
eerie evening
~
~
Fears
~
I saw a light in the woods tonight
low, through the tangled branches of spruce
and the crowded stems of fir
~
white in the dark –
a gleam where only night should stir
like the lamp of a stranger, lost
~
but the glow was steady and still
and in less than the catch of a breath I knew
all I saw was the rising moon
beyond the hill
~
I heard a cry in the woods tonight
soft and low through the tangle of spruce
and the thicket of fir
~
a moan in the dark
a sob where only the wind should stir
like the frightened tears of a child
alone
~
but the cries held no human word
and in less than the catch of a breath I knew
the wail of a wildcat on the prowl
was all I heard
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 1990
log cabins and humble beginnings
In a recent post (October 17, 2012), I wrote about my shoemaker great-great-grandfather, Josiah Hawk, and his daughter, my great-grandmother, Ella Hawk.
When I was in Upper Canada Village in Ontario in September, I saw many houses and a way of life that reminded me of Ella’s family history.
Ella’s story begins before she was born, with the Hawk and Kresge families of Monroe County, Pennsylvania. I know a lot about these families, since both families have relatively complete genealogies.
Both the Kresges and Hawks were part of a large community of German immigrants who lived in the vicinity of Gilbert, Monroe County, from the late 1700s onward. In 2004, my husband, son and I visited the area and I went to church in the community. The congregation welcomed me warmly and I was told many of the people in the church shared my ancestry!
The Census of 1790 lists both of Ella’s great-grandfathers, Coonrod Crase (Conrad Kresge) and Conrad Hawke. Conrad Kresge had a son Johannes whose daughter Sarah Ann, was Ella’s mother. Conrad Hawke had a son Michael Hawk, whose son Josiah (the shoemaker) was Ella’s father.
The Kresges and Hawks were true pioneers and life for them was difficult. In about 1777, while clearing land, Conrad Kresge lost one of his sons at the hands of a band of Native Americans, who carried out raids on the community. This story is depicted in a memorial to Conrad Kresge in the Gilbert cemetary.

Memorial in Gilbert cemetary, depicting story of Conrad Kresge clearing land, and his son who was killed by an arrow
Although no other stories have survived the years, I have been able to learn quite a bit about these people from the genealogies. For example, I can piece together something of my great-great-great grandfather Michael Hawk’s life in Middle Creek, Pennsylvania. For example, for the year 1807, when he was 13 years old, he was the youngest of nine children. Of his five brothers and three sisters, only his older brothers John (19 years old) and Peter (16) remained at home. Siblings Nicholas (25) and Suzanna (23) had been married the year before, and on October 29, 1807, Suzanna gave birth to a set of twins, no doubt an exciting family event. His much older brother John George (37), living in the community of Effort, and his sister Anne Margaret (33), in Chestnut Hill, must have seemed a generation away, since John George’s daughter Elizabeth, Michael’s niece, was only four years his junior.
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Michael, alone
(Middle Creek, 1807)
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November has worked its way
into the wood pile, I use Papa’s axe
to split kindling, I blow rings into
the cold air, everyone is away, gone to
Chestnut Hill to see
Suzanna’s twins
~
everyone leaves –
they become like strangers
Catherine, run off to Seneca Lakes,
Nicholas married last year,
John and Peter, itching to go
~
Mama calls me her baby
well, I’m the same age as the Kresge boy,
killed by an arrow thirty years ago –
but that’s an old story
~
I look across the cornfield
to the oak woods where leaves still cling,
they glow like copper
noone lurks there now
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
windy October drive
On Monday, I went on a drive to Cambridge Narrows, to visit an antique store and a roadside market. My goal: to buy some Nancy Drew mystery books for my collection and some pumpkins for Halloween.
It was a blustery day, windy enough to put some whitecaps on the St. John River…
The wind was especially evident along the former Trans-Canada Highway, where dry leaves have gathered in all the ditches. Since only a few vehicles use this older highway, the leaves blow into the roadway…
The day had a luminous quality, in spite of the wind. Most of the reds are gone from the trees, leaving the yellows of the poplars, the rusty-orange of the oaks and the gold of the tamaracks…
I had a successful day. I bought some small pumpkins at a roadside stand…

three little pumpkins from the roadside vegetable stand (the faint eyes in the background are the amber eyes of our owl-andirons)
I also added five books to my collection of Nancy Drew mysteries…
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andiron
~
wrought owl with amber eyes
perches on the hearth
hears a call in the forest
six syllables and silence
~
Great-horned Owl, light gathered
at the back of his eyes,
and the oscillating branch
after wings expand and beat
~
iron owl longs for a glimpse
of the sickle moon
the shadow of a mouse
sorting through dry leaves
~
in this cramped space
night woods are brought to their essence
fibre and bark, sparks and fire
luminous eyes
~
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Copyright Jane Tims 2012
covering the pumpkins
This year our garden was an unqualified failure. Between the slugs and the shade, none of my poor pumpkin vines made it to the orange pumpkin stage. But in the past, we have had worthy pumpkin patches. One year our pumpkins were so prolific, one of the vines even strayed upward, into a maple tree. In October, we had an orange pumpkin in the tree, about four feet above the ground.
This year, my pumpkin sightings have been in other people’s gardens and in the bins at the grocery store. At least I am spared the desperate efforts of the past, to squeeze one more day of growing from the season, by covering the pumpkins before the frost.
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covering the pumpkins
~
on the mattress, these sheets
are ample, enough for warmth
and twist and tumble
~
spread here, on low-lying ground
they barely cover one of twenty
pumpkins, one loop of vine
~
weather channel warns of frost
will wilt these leaves, cold-kiss
this perfect orange with brown
~
vines stretch, toes creep
from under, beg more time
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Copyright Jane Tims 2012
































