Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and I am remembering my mother, gone for many years now. I never appreciated her enough when I was growing up. It was only after I grew up and became a mother myself that I actually realized what a saint she was. I don't think I ever thanked her enough for all that she did for me. How I wish I could have her back to thank her now and to have her rock me to sleep one more time.

Rock Me to Sleep

by Elizabeth Akers Allen

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears,—      

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—   

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,—   

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;

Weary of sowing for others to reap;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother – rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed and faded, our faces between:

Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I tonight for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures,—      

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,

Fall on your shoulders again as of old;

Let it drop over my forehead tonight,

Shading my faint eyes away from the light;

For with its sunny-edged shadows once more

Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;

Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long

Since I last listened your lullaby song:

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem

Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,

With your light lashes just sweeping my face,

Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep! 

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This week in birds - #677

 A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:

The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is the wonderful Yellow-breasted Chat. It's a special favorite of mine because it is one of the first birds that I learned to identify as a child. I identified it mostly by its song which is remarkable and memorable. It is often more heard than seen because it is a skulker that tends to stay deep within thickets and scrublands. Its range extends over most of this country, into Canada, and down through Mexico into Central America. Happily, its population is stable and its status is presently not a concern.

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One of my heroes, David Attenborough, celebrated his 100th birthday this week, as you've probably heard. Here are ten things in Nature that have been named for him.  

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The Neanderthals have always been of special interest to me. We know quite a lot about them but what did they actually sound like?   

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Birdathon is Canada's longest-running bird conservation fundraiser. This year marks its fiftieth anniversary.

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Chonkers, an aptly named massive Stellar sea lion has been causing a stir on San Francisco's Pier 39.

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Did prehistoric people work with copper? A remote cave in Spain contains some indications that that might have been the case.

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"Feed a cold, starve a fever," may actually be good advice, it turns out. Although what do you do if you have a fever with your cold?

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Here are seven interesting facts about the Age of Dinosaurs.

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And here are some tips about how to garden for birds.

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Have we understood the fall of Rome all wrong? A new genetic study says maybe we have.

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Urban birds, like this European Green Woodpecker, seem to be more fearful of women than of men. Why? Well, scientists haven't figured that out yet. 

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Cockatoos are some of the smartest birds around and they have learned to fare quite well in urban environments.

Poetry Sunday: It Is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of the best known and best loved American poets of the 19th century, and though he wrote more than a hundred years ago, many of his poems seem just as current and fresh today. That would include this one, "It Is Not Always May." I have featured it before here on Poetry Sunday, but it struck me as particularly pertinent last week as I searched for a poem to highlight. "Carpe diem," the poet urges us in so many words because, as we all learn to our regret, youth is fleeting and cannot be recalled:

 "Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
 For oh, it is not always May!

It Is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. (Spanish proverb)

The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
  The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
  The bluebird prophesying Spring. 
So blue yon winding river flows,
  It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
  The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves,
  That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;--
   There are no birds in last year's nest! 
All things rejoice in youth and love,
   The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
   The melting tenderness of night. 
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
   Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
   For oh, it is not always May! 
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
   To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
  There are no birds in last year's nest! 

Note to readers: If you are not currently a "follower" of the blog, I invite you to become one. I would like to see an increase in that number under "Thanks for Following" on the right. Thank you! 

This week in birds - #676

 A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:

The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is the Palm Warbler. This warbler is unusual in a couple of ways. First, the sexes are nearly identical unlike most warblers that are sexually dimorphic. Secondly, most warblers spend the majority of their time in trees and shrubs but the Palm Warbler is quite happy on the ground as well. And when on the ground, they can be seen walking or running rather than hopping in the manner of other warblers. Like other birds, they are vulnerable to habitat loss and hazards during migration. They are insect eaters, although in fall and winter they may take seeds and berries to supplement their diet. During nesting season, they can be found in the southern part of eastern Canada and along the adjoining parts of the United States. Their population is currently increasing and their status is of least concern.

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Would damming the Bering Strait help to save the climate? 

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Scorpions are unusual in several ways, including the fact that they have metal in their tails.

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Sumatran orangutans are learning to use human-made wildlife bridges across the trees.

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We have long known that the Maya kept dogs, but what part did they play in Mayan culture? 

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Here are ten warblers that the American Bird Conservancy is working to conserve.

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A biologist snapped the first-ever photo of newly hatched giant salamanders in the wild.

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It seems that spiders don't like noisy neighbors any more than we do.

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I used to watch several gardening shows on television, but most of them are gone now. Here are some that might draw me back in.

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Note to readers: If you are not currently a "follower" of the blog, I invite you to become one. I would like to see an increase in that number under "Thanks for Following" on the right. Thank you! 

Memories

 

Twenty-two years ago, when my mother died, my staff gifted me with this hydrangea. 

Every year when it blooms it reminds me of her and of them and especially of their kindness.

It has never failed to bloom and its beauty is undimmed by the years. As are my memories of my mother...

Poetry Sunday: April by Alicia Ostriker

Before we say goodbye to the month, let's take one last look at April as experienced through different eyes. At least as poet Alicia Ostriker imagines it. 

April

by Alicia Ostriker

The optimists among us
taking heart because it is spring

skip along

attending their meetings

signing their e-mail petitions

marching with their satiric signs

singing their we shall overcome songs

posting their pungent twitters and blogs

believing in a better world

for no good reason

I envy them

said the old woman

The seasons go round they

go round and around

said the tulip

dancing among her friends

in their brown bed in the sun

in the April breeze

under a maple canopy

that was also dancing

only with greater motions

casting greater shadows

and the grass

hardly stirring

What a concerto

of good stinks said the dog

trotting along Riverside Drive

in the early spring afternoon

sniffing this way and that

how gratifying the cellos of the river

the tubas of the traffic

the trombones

of the leafing elms with the legato

of my rivals’ piss at their feet

and the leftover meat and grease

singing along in all the wastebaskets