a sad day -- Benazir Bhutto

Today human history took a turn toward evil. Benazir Bhutto is no more. Her good works will live on. I wonder if she would have died had she not popped out of the vehicle's hatch to wave. In such a chaotic fraught environment as that rally must have been, they will likely not catch the assassin, if there is one alive. I am truly sad.

SWAP-BOT - Words of Encouragement

Happy Holidays to everyone. Mod-Podge rocks. Here are scans of two little crafty pieces I did as part of a swap. It is hard to see in this small scan, but the music behind the images is Mozart. On one disc I used cord from my mother's sewing box. The discs are recycled cardboard, about 9x6 (forgot to measure.) They are signed & dedicated on the back.

I really enjoyed sitting with this project for a few days. My swap partners are in my thoughts & prayers. I, too, am in need ot words of encouragement. This project bouyed me a bit.

Best regards,

Martha

a favorite hymn

This morning in church I was fidgety and distracted. I was sitting the pew next to my beloved, worrying, unable to clear my mind of chattering thoughts. Within minutes of the service starting I felt like it was mystically geared to help me today. That's a good feeling.

The responsive reading rang a bell in my agitated head; the reader was an elderly woman who spoke slowly and rhythmically. The congregation murmured aloud, "Let us quiet down and listen; listen to the words, listen to the music, listen to the silence." Then we sang this hymn, "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent." The words & music really struck home.

I don't feel particularly holier or calmer now at home, but I do feel blessed.

two pig mommas + 20 babies

two pig mommas + 20 babies, originally uploaded by adkpersephone.

A pleasant view in our barn, spring 07.

annual newsletter 2007

December 2007

Dear Family & Friends,

Happy holidays, warm wishes and friendly greetings from our cozy living room in the Adirondacks, where the woodstove is glowing rosy with wood we hove, and the holiday cards are stacked up like cedar shakes. As we write each card & address each envelope we think of you, and thinking of you brings back happy memories. Please enjoy this holiday newsletter from John & Martha, and stay in touch.

FARM – the literally biggest news is that John and friends built a 30 by 60 foot log barn by hand with local wood. The new barn is home to a 600-pound heritage breed boar, five sows, and assorted younger pigs, around 40 right now. In another outbuilding we have 40 egg-laying hens and one rooster named Teach after the David Mamet character. I have dusted off the gardening skills my parents taught me and learned how to can from my sister Liza. Yellow House Farm sells and barters pork, chicken & eggs. You can look us up on the internet. Our little cold-climate farm is growing. Next year we hope to – gasp – turn a profit of at least $1.

JOBS – we are both employed at the Lake Placid boarding schools that hired us from NYC. John is Assistant Head of School at National Sports Academy where he teaches English, does college counseling, and leads the faculty & administration. He is helping the organization go through a strategic planning process. I am director of development at North Country School & Camp Treetops where I am helping that institution get on a firm financial footing in its 80-somethingth year. We very much like our niche in independent schools.

HOUSE & HOME – We painted our big old farmhouse house yellow, to the disapproval of some old timers who said, “It’s been white for near on 200 years.” We have also been told our house has never flooded, which is believable as it is the oldest structure in our town and sits just 50 feet from the Ausable River, which does flood in a most terrifying way in the spring thaws. We love our house and enjoy it being a local landmark. In this part of the Adirondacks there are always athletes on the road bicycling, roller-skiing, running, and we have heard them say, “Here we are at the yellow house.” We have also heard passersby say, “Holy crap, that’s a real pig pen!”

On another note, much to our mutual surprise, John and I have tumbled into a protestant church community, and we like it a lot. John has been appointed to the board and I have started playing with the hand bell choir. We are still dyed-in-the-wool liberals, and, providentially, so is this faith community that decries homophobia, racism, sexism, classism and other forms of oppression. That said, we love to go to church on Sundays. Afterwards John likes to socialize and network, while I prefer to go right home and have a Sunday snooze…we are different that way.

VOLUNTEERING – John is a firefighter and treasurer of our hamlet’s fire department. I am trustee and secretary to the town library and volunteer for two local arts groups. This year I started a writers’ collective (a la Takoma Park, Northampton, Williamsburg Bklyn & other groups) in our town. I will have mailed your holiday card by the time our group has its culminating performance on December 15th at the Upper Jay Recovery Lounge.

FUN – We have a big elderly yellow lab named Cruiser and three adopted stray cats who keep the house mouse-free. John has developed a passion for crossword puzzles. I am still a voracious reader. We both devour the weekly New Yorker magazine. We have made many good friends up here in the wilderness and are never lonely. The scenery is always gorgeous and ever-changing and keeps us enthralled.

And yes, the pigs consume our attention.

Best wishes for you & yours in 2008 and beyond.

Warm regards from Martha, John & many animals!

a favorite restaurant

Diner under the Williamsburg
Bridge in Brooklyn.

When my beloved & I first moved in together we had a loft apartment 1/2 block from this restaurant. The view to the southwest from our windows included the majestic World Trade Center. I hand-wrote many a blog entry while eating & drinking at Diner, often outside and gazing at the WTC.

my new favorite thing

Swap-Bot

What a special early Christmas weekend. John's family came to visit us from the Boston area and we had Christmas and my birthday, complete with turkey dinner that they provided and John cooked, tree-trimming, a cake with candles and some anemic caroling for the benefit of Nana on the phone. It was all memorable and wonderful, although we were disappointed that Nana couldn't come.

This morning someone came by and offered to buy Rhonda the plow truck. John asked them to come back later, which they did, and negotiated a fair price. I am sad to see her go, especially with another nor'easter dropping a ton of snow. Uncle Frank has given us his old snow blower, which John will drive to Massachusetts to pick up, and will see Nana at the same time. And I have another cold. This one's in my chest as well as head.

It will all work out.

from a note to my oldest friend

Dear Friend,

Here in the Adirondacks we got a little snowstorm overnight, and the spring birds that have migrated this far are making all their normal noises even though the ground is white. Our chickens are pecking around outside looking for bugs and other tasty bits. Last week one of the chickens pecked a baby mouse to death and ate it. The pigs are all comfortable in their sweet hay beds, and they don’t mind the cold — to them 32 degrees Fahrenheit is sixty degrees warmer than winter, and they’re content. The piglets are romping around in their yard digging up old horseshoes and bits of metal, glass and ceramic mysteries. It is so interesting to live on an ancient farmstead. John’s tromping in from chores now, so I will sign off.

Love, M

observation - the tits test

On days like today when I wear something that [does not conceal / shows off] my bosom, I am very conscious of men’s glances. It is amazing how many men who usually are fine can’t help themselves. A tit glance before their eyes meet mine, and then no shame at all in their faces.

NCPR News Archive

NCPR News Archive
What a day. It started earlier than usual for me, as I have to do chores myself now that John’s back is injured. Poor man, he is in so much pain he finally decided to go to the hospital where our doctor has an office. More on that later. So I did chores, and he went and got wood shavings to put down over the areas where the animals to the bathroom. I scraped and shoveled and mucked, hardest work of my life, and I am getting stronger every day. My stamina is growing, too. It’s not so bad after the work is done but it sure sucks while doing it. I know I ought to be grateful to John for doing all the barn chores for weeks at a time. Now that 100% of the job is mine, for however short a time, I am amazed and overwhelmed and secretly very proud.

Came indoors to have a cup of coffee and cool off before showering & heading to work, and saw the river had turned into a bucking bronco of racing rapids, ice cakes & logs. Quite dramatic. I did shower and while I was in the water I heard the fire department pager go off and the word “jam”. Ice jam! I hadn’t seen one of those yet. The river was absolutely rolling and heaving, the ice cakes as big as a car or truck. It was terribly exciting. Very little traffic except for emergency vehicles and cops moving slowly by with their lights on, everyone watching the water and the ice. It was raining lightly. (Now at 4:30 in the afternoon the sun is out.) John couldn’t help the fire department because he was on his way to the hospital to deal with his excruciating back pain, so I (perhaps) over-dramatically decided to stay home from work in case the flood rose to the house or the barn. I was imagining shooting the pigs and then there would be no more barn chores. Our back field did flood, right up to the bonfire mound, which is at the edge of the pigs’ paddock. The river did rise to nearly road-level, but only stayed that high for half an hour or so before some ice jam broke somewhere, and it left ice cakes behind. Today I learned that ice jams grow and crack up, they form on the river here and there, and in between are long stretches of normal-looking water.

beloved neighbors & heroic problem-solver

What a Tuesday. John hurt his back and was out of commission for a third day, in worse pain than the other two days combined. The temperature remained above freezing and the “deep pack” in the barn was very thawed, stenchy and dangerous. This condition has been bothering me and when it was clear John would be doing no shoveling today, much less go to work, I panicked. I called beloved neighbors and received reassurances that they would be over soon with big machine + big muscles. I convinced John to let himself stay home from work, got him a chiropractor and massage appointment, set him up with his favorite beverage (Diet cola), food (chips & salsa,) music (Monsterbuck) + NYT Sunday paper bits, and went out to do the hardest physical labor I think I have ever done in my life. With hours of heroic help from neighbors and two men from my school, we got the barn clean. The animals seem so much happier. It’s hard to know if they are or not. John called me his heroic problem-solver.

It is daylight savings time, so still bright dusk at almost 6:30. I hear John moving about upstairs. He’s got to do the fire department treasurer’s report, and then go to a meeting. I will continue to sit here in my quiet exhausted state. Aching back, sense of major accomplishment. I went out to the barn just a while ago to check on them, and all remains well. The animals truly seem happier. I can only imagine what it was like for them living on top of their own suddenly melted mess, eating from a trough while their feet were in their mess.

John shuffles by and reminds me that I still need to water the pigs. Now that he’s accepted his limitations he’s a model patient + happy delegator. We’ll see how long I remain a model wife.

I did not go tot work today; took a sick day sort of, to deal with this all. Feeling somewhat guilty about that: should I have been traditionally responsible and gone to the office, or should I have done what I did: stayed home and gotten help to solve what I perceived as a terrible crisis? Woulda coulda shoulda. What’s done is done.

Pig water. Dinner for self & hubbin. Bring in firewood. Wash dishes. Move laundry through cycle. Straighten up from the day. Triage tomorrow’s tasks. This reminds me of what I imagine child-rearing will be like. Always some demand.

Water done. nearly seven and still light, hallelujah. When did I turn into this rough and strong farm person? (Grin.) When did I turn into a person who is happy to go to church? I am so far from perfect—am a deeply flawed person—but I have moments of joy just from living my life. My ridiculous, unexpected life.

pig cannibalism

It is minus eleven degrees at dusk, nearly six o'clock. I just came in from chores. When I entered the barn all seemed calm. I had already fed the big pigs and the hens and was pouring the sows' grain when I noticed a bloody mess in the deep straw in the back of their stall. It was a half-eaten piglet, the black-and-white banded one. I couldn't believe it. I shouted in horror, then climbed over the fence and gently nudged Gal, the mama, so I could go into the stall and get the carcass. The piglet's front half was entirely gone, and when I picked it up (little legs not much thicker than my gloved fingers, little feet between my fingers) I saw bits of bone & offal in the straw. The others had emptied out the body. There was no skull or front legs or feet. The dead pig's black and white mid-section was deflated, like a scooped-out piece of fruit. The animals did not bother me as I took the carcass out, and when I left the piglets scampered in and started rooting in the straw for any remaining bits of their sibling's corpse. Ugh. Ick. I laid the body and bits on top of a pile of manure in a blue bucket. The sows kept on munching their grain.

Just the other day I read in a pamphlet about slaughtering pigs that they don't care if you kill their pig-friend right next to them--they just go for the warm tasty blood.

That's at least $60 down the drain, or more precisely, into the compost. Gal had eleven or twelve babies and three remain. It is so very cold, and we are so very new to pig-farming. We've probably made 100 mistakes. I blame myself for not helping enough in the barn. Although of course the pig was probably crushed and then eaten; Ham and Gal are by choice sharing that space meant for one sow and her litter.

cold

Note to beloved siblings...

It’s booger-freezin’ cold here today! The river is frozen solid and is utterly quiet, not even creaking. There are miniature glaciers forming along the roadside cliffs where in the warm weather there are damp mossy springs. In the winter that dampness grows & grows, like frozen billowing smoke, and gets to be all sorts of colors from the minerals in the rock. More notably, the growing pillows of ice flow into the road and have to be scraped away by big machines. I would love to catch this on slow motion film. I wish you could see it. Anyway, big storm coming our way. Enjoy your weather-channel view of it. Love, M

humorous video about PMS

spoof of post-War instructional/propaganda videos

A Place In Our Hearts

I have an essay printed in this book:

A place in our hearts: Roland Park Country School

Five years ago this was my daily view: the Williamsburg Bridge in Brooklyn, New York. We lived on the Brooklyn side. That's my fire escape in the upper left hand corner, and a great pale dilapidated opera house on the right.

Here is a poem I sketched out during those years.



Urban Soundscapes

1.
That first day in the city
Me fresh from forest living
A tired and lonely night
July, no air conditioning
The tuneful humming bridge and parties,
Traffic, commerce
Did marry into jazz.
And later to learn Ornette Coleman hung
His hat here, composed and played.
In my panic, culture shock I did hear that jazz
If only for a hyper monkey typewriter moment

2.
Flat on my back on the silver roof
Six stories up, level of bridge roadway
Higher still, beyond bridge elbows, Chrysler and Empire State
Clouds ride against the plastic bubble surface
Covering our spiky city sky
They make no sound, but like a calliope
They are ornate decoration, the carousel horses

3.
I notice that jackhammers
on the bridge do sound
like wailing cicadas
locusts in reflective orange and gold
hard hat highway persons
six stories up in traffic.

4.
A camp wedding memory: Loons on our lake before dawn
concert of humanlike voices, echoes
notes of dog and splashing bonfire.
In Brooklyn, Williamsburg, this is sirens
Back and forth across the bridge
European bing-bong siren
Up and down Broadway.

5.
The museum of dead police cars and taxicabs
Has no known translation into music.
The lumberyard forklift back up beep
Insane, monotonous, ignorable.
The garage specializes in fancy car alarms,
Puerto Rican and Dominican flags.
They test alarms and horns in permutation,
Flexing their muscles, roaring their engines
Day and night, territorial,
Like the lake joke, what is the plume
behind a fast-moving speedboat—
Testosterone.

my grandma when she was happy

Williams, Janet McCormack various undated, originally uploaded by adkpersephone.

Here are some scanned photos of my grandmother, Janet McCormack Williams, from the late 1920s and/or early 1930s. The pictures may have been taken in Great Britain, where she lived as a young adult until my American grandfather, Kenneth Richard Williams sept her off her feet and away from the Blitz to Alexandria, Virginia.

Boing Boing

Boing Boing: I am in thy library, executing a grammatical procedure of great destructive force against thy lexicon.

This cat-themed joke series makes me snort with laughter. It also affirms my deep belief that cats are representatives of an alien life force outside our galaxy.

MollyGood re Bush & Rumsfeld

MollyGood Viewer - 110806%20bush%20rumsfeld / MollyGood