What Good is It?

The last word in ignorance is the man who says of an animal or plant: “What good is it?”

– Aldo Leopold

1887 – 1948 born in Burlington, Iowa

Aldo Leopold is considered to be the the father of wilderness management.  In Baraboo, Wisconsin where he made his home on “a worn out farm”,  March 2-4, 2012 is Aldo Leopold weekend.

On this sand farm in Wisconsin, first worn out and then abandoned by our bigger and better society, we try to rebuild, with shovel and axe, what we are losing elsewhere. It is here that we seek—and still find—our meat from God.

Foreword to A Sand County Almanac (1949), ASCA viii

Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold

All over the USA including in Ames, Cedar Rapids, and Perry Iowa, there will be people getting together to learn more about his Leopold’s legacy.

Check out the calendar to see whether there is a hike, a Green Fire film screening, a service project or a reading of his works in your area in early March.

Green Fire is a 2011 full length documentary about Aldo Leopold’s life.

Giving Credit Where Credit is Due

A preacher comes up to a farmer in his field and remarks,

“Mighty fine farm you and the Lord have made.”

“Yep,” replies the farmer, “but you should have seen it when He had it all to Himself.”

from PS I Love You compiled by H. Jackson Browne Jr.

Don’t Go to Sleep This Night

August Full Moon over Iowa Corn Fields, 2011

Don’t Go to Sleep This Night

don’t go to sleep
this night
one night is worth
a hundred thousand souls

the night is generous
it can give you
a gift of the full moon
it can bless your soul
with endless treasure

every night when you feel
the world is unjust
never ending grace
descends from the sky
to soothe your souls

the night is not crowded like the day
the night is filled with eternal love
take this night
tight in your arms
as you hold a sweetheart

remember the water of life
is in the dark caverns
don’t be like a big fish
stopping the life’s flow
by standing in the mouth of a creek

during a night
the blessed prophet
broke all the idols and
God remained alone
to give equally to all
an endless love.

                              Translated by Nader Khalili
                              Rumi, Fountain of Fire

A Bahraini friend sent this poem to me today.


On Poets, Chinook Salmon and Dahlias

Returning by sea to Seattle. Mount Ranier 87km from Seattle is seen in the background.

Christopher Merrill read from his poem Pike Place Market Variations the night he visited Bahrain.

His contemporary poem captured our visit to the Pike Place Market in Seattle.   With his permission I used his words to describe my memories.

"O savor of salt and salmon--the holy and nomadic Chinook neatly filleted in ice; The King and Coho caught by a troller..."

"The fishmonger, fattened on fried clams and beer batter, brandishes his knife at the cat on the counter."

"A woman in culottes buys ferns and freesias at the flower shop,..."

"..Then roams around the crowded block, reading menus, a mark for the moneyed and the saved."

"Aboard the listing Walla Walla, the ferry stalled in the Straits of Juan de Fuca, nervous passengers scan the deep for whales, and the crew applauds the antics of the gulls and grebes."

"A drunken couple waltzes up the block, believing their good luck will never change. The sign above them--MEET THE PRODUCER--reels in the first stars."

Mr. Merrill said “how I love, and miss, Seattle.”

Quotes from Pike Place Market Variations published in Christopher Merrill’s book Watch Fire.

A Day in the Life of Unexpected Coincidences

Sketch of Old Manama in 1977 taken from the alley we turned left down. La Fontaine is white building on the left in the distance. It has a round balcony. All the other buildings have been torn down now.

Bahrain is filled with the unexpected.  I never know what might happen or who I might meet.

Yesterday after yoga, I picked up Susan and drove across the island to the smaller, Amwaj Island for the market.  When I asked the guard for directions, he told me,

“Two roundabouts drive straight.  Left at three roundabout.”

After two roundabouts I came to a real intersection and saw umbrellas to my left.  The guard must have meant for me to turn at the third intersection.

We parked at The Lagoon where umbrellas were set up along the water’s edge.  As the DJ played Chammak Challo, Susan and I danced around the mostly Bahraini vendors selling mini-cupcakes, personalized towels embroidered with Fatima and Ahmed, Manchester United shirts, bedazzled abayas, plants, Lebanese costume jewelry and paraphernalia featuring the Bahraini flag and the Prime Minister.  We never found the photographer Mairi Thomas’ table and I wondered if something happened to her.

Susan and I only had 30 minutes to shop because we were supposed to meet Sensai Amr and Debbie for a Bahrain Karate Association photo shoot with local magazine, Woman This Month.  I understood the magazine was going to take photos of our karate class.

It was only after we exited the elevator at the Intercontinental Hotel’s rooftop health club that I realized our class was doing an exhibition for a women’s health expo.  Dressed in my Gi, I passed my friend Shandra who was there for socializing.  She kissed me and for some reason wished me luck.  I slid in the door just in time to bow to Sensai Amr.

Sensai Amr split us into two groups – the white robed BKA members and the Others, a rag-tag army of leotard wearing initiates.  As the TV camera focused on the anticipated action, my opponent, who was much bigger than my regular classmates, attacked me like she was on Survivor.  Despite defending myself against her flailing arms, I got voted off BKA’s debut production.

When our hour was over, Susan and I zoomed home so I could get ready for an event where I knew I would shine – the Bahrain Writer’s Circle dinner.

A holiday party should be easy, but I worried about the journey to my favorite Bahraini venue – La Fontaine Centre for Contemporary Art.   Located in the heart of old Manama, it is one of the most difficult places to get to even in normal circumstances.

My friend said “trust me, I know an easier way,” and navigated me between the new concrete barriers behind the British Embassy.  I wove through a series of dark, narrow alleys where there was only room for one car to shimmy between the parked cars on both sides.  In front of a cold store, a man waiting for his wife halted our progress.   Bumper to bumper, I tapped – beep, beep – and like a typical Bahraini, he kindly backed up.  After an unexpected left turn, we ended up right at the front door where a parking spot was waiting for us.  Amazing!

Our good fortune continued.

Visiting Poet Christopher Merrill

Visiting American Christopher Merrill stepped off his plane and arrived on time to read from two books of his poetry and his 2011 non-fiction work The Tree of the Doves: Ceremony, Expedition, War.  Mr. Merrill is the Director of the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa.  A very generous man, he spoke with nearly every writer at the meeting.

Gulf Daily News - Visiting poet Christoper Merrill and Oud player Hasan Hujairi

Like Mr. Merrill, my family was from Iowa.

Hasan Hujairi at La Fontaine Centre for Contemporary Art

Next, experimental musician Hasan Hujairi played the oud for us.  He described Cherry Blossoms as a fusion between a traditional Japanese song and a well-loved Iraqi tune.  He got the idea while studying in Japan and playing with Japanese guitarists.

That was interesting.  My sister lives in Japan.  And her Japanese husband played guitar with a girls’ band who sang traditional Japanese songs.

Afterwards I chatted with this talented – and charming – Bahraini musician.  Not only did he speak perfect English and Arabic, but he also spoke Japanese.  And he studied in Iowa!

December Moon over La Fontaine Centre, Manama Bahrain

I don’t know whether the eclipse last night played a part in this mysterious night of coincidences but under the December moon in Bahrain,  we proved there were less than six degrees of separation between people.  Thanks to my friend, the writer/bouncer Robin Barrett, it was a night of unexpected pleasures.

Later I read an email from Mairi Thomas.  She wrote two markets were held in Amwaj on the same day demonstrating once again I never know what to expect in Bahrain.

Seeds Like These

Lutheran Church near Stratford Iowa

In Cell and Cloister, in monastery and synagogue:

Some fear hell and others dream of Paradise.

But no man who really knows the secrets of his God

Has planted seeds like this within his heart.

Omar Khayyam, The Way of the Sufi pg 59.

Repent, Repent The END is Near – or is it?

My Great Grandmother Helga Swanson. About age 15. I called her Morta-Mor, Swedish for grandmother.

My great-grandmother Helga Anderson was an OX born in Ostergotland, Sweden in 1901.  As the world was poised at the threshold of WWI, in the spring of 1914, she and her family immigrated to Stratford, Iowa.

Without knowing a word of English and hoping to finish her education, she began school.  Within a few months she saw her family needed support.  She quit school, left her house and became a domestic for a neighboring farmer.

The blue-eyed, blond haired girl caught the attention of a local bachelor.  He wrote a postcard to my great-grandfather Axel who was working in Philadelphia.  The card said “New arrivals from Sweden.  Come home quick before they are taken.”

As the war ended, 17-year old Helga became Axel Swanson’s wife legalizing her residency in the USA.  A year later my grandmother was born.

And life continued on.

Her one regret was had she stayed in Sweden until she was fourteen she would have completed her confirmation studies in the Lutheran church.  In the end she was confirmed in the Stratford Lutheran Church.  She became a lifelong member.

Stratford Lutheran Church.  Established 1859

Stratford Lutheran Church. Established 1859

A hundred years later, emails about 11/11/11 and 2012 missives warning me we are dangling on the brink of THE END flood my inbox.  I think of my grandmother, the farmer’s wife whose life experiences reflected her time and place, but whose words reveal her profound knowing.

“Regardless of what you may want, the world will change and you will have to adapt to those changes.”  Helga Swanson

Thank you for the wisdom Morta-Mor.

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