children of the poor

Yesterday I watched a news story.  Women and children are coming to our boarders, believing that they will find freedom.  Believing in  the American Dream;  met at the border by rich US citizens, turned away, screamed at, disregarded as people.  We furiously protect what we have, forgetting where we got it!

Trail of Tears

We forget that our ancestors came from other countries; pushing out the native people who lived here.  In many cases with genocide.

We forget that our ancestors came, and lived in hovels, worked, scraped, struggled.  So that they could have the American Dream. We forget that they were scorned and terrorized, yet kept coming.  thp-ny-tenementWe forget where we came from.

This is not a treatise on immigration policy, I am not smart enough for that.  This is a call for understanding and love, for a return to our basic values of liberty and justice for all.  What are the words?

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This is how most of us arrived here.  My great grandparents from Prussia and England with little, working their way here to the Midwest, coming to dream.

Today, everyday, remember and honor.liberty







I love a rainy day (Martin Machado “Drifters of Bristol Bay”)













I was looking for images of rain, because we are in that wonderfully glorious season of rain and mud mixed with unexpected rays of sunshine.  I found this.  It makes a good deal of happy sense.

Rainy Monday

Woke today to thunder, lightning, rain.  Sitting now, nested on the front porch, watching trees , plants, absorbing the water, drinking, quenching the thirst of a long, cold, dry winter.  Can feel roots trembling underground, stretching out, reaching wisps of moisture tunneling past questing, eager tendrils.  All my household plants are sitting out on the decks, shining green, smiling into the air.

Sensing Crows sitting warm in branches, black feathers fluffed and gleaming. eyes watching every step below.  Deer wander past just now, oblivious to the wet, reveling in the season.  Yearlings, pregnant doe, waiting for the hostas to grow a bit more, so tender shoots can make their breakfast.

Bliss, blessings of warm Spring rains here.

Ahhh Sunshine

Snows melting, too warm for my getting slightly grungy snow boots, still too wet for summer shoes.  A problem….or…..hmmm….maybe a blessing of wonderful weather!

Picture this

It is a late summer afternoon, we are laying on our backs on a warm grassy lawn.  For a while we have our eyes closed, listening to the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, a bit of grass heads clicking against one another.  A bird song sings across the breeze, answered;  from the distance, by another soft trill.  Sun shines against our cheeks, opening our eyes.  We shade our faces with the back of our hands, and look up into the blue sky, at clouds, floating in the shape of castles, and horses, and love.

Coming to Dassel

learning about Dassel and it's glorious history

Writing about...Writing

Some coffee, a keyboard and my soul! My first true friends!

Tilly Evan Jones

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing as though I had wings.” ~Mary Oliver

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Lost Creek

Old West Lore, Old West Leather, Chuckwagons, and More