Spring is Calling

O Spring,

you call to me ~

with your cheeky ways

and lengthening days,

your budding flowers

and pop-up showers.

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Scentimental Floribunda rose from Glover Gardens

O Spring,

you call the trees ~

with your gentle breeze

tickling soft new leaves,

basking in sun-bright,

peaceful in moonlight.

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Cherry tree at the Jardin des Champs Élysées in Paris

O Spring,

you call the birds ~

tiny nests built strong,

their answering song

guiding fledglings’ flight

in the morning light.

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O Spring,

keep calling out ~

as long as we breathe, 

we’ll keep answering ~

the birds, the trees and me.

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Bright green spring aspen near Little House in the Rockies (Colorado)

© 2018, Glover Gardens

 

 

 

 

Water, Wind and Land: Metaphors for a Geophysicist (remembrance for Grandpa on his 98th birthday)

My grandfather was an amazing man.  A geophysicist, he was quiet, brilliant, circumspect, pragmatic, a lifelong learner in the fields of math and science and leader in oil exploration – and yet he was so faithfully loving and supportive of a creative like me, his oldest grandchild and just about his polar opposite in terms of interests and passions.

51t9ijqmntl-_sx314_bo1204203200_Grandpa was strong and silent like so many men of his age who served in WWII and saw things they could never describe and didn’t care to remember.  Tom Brokaw called them The Greatest Generation in his influential book of the same name; I just call myself lucky that this first lieutenant in the Air Force fell in love with my grandmother, a divorcé with a tiny daughter, and married her in 1942.

Ruth and Nancy 1941That tiny daughter was my Mom, and this gentle, studious man adopted her as his own, treating her the same as the other children he and Grandma went on to have. I didn’t know Grandpa wasn’t my Mom’s biological father / my biological grandfather for years, and when I found out, it didn’t matter in the least. We were his, and he was ours.

(photos with captions are excerpts from a slide show created by my Dad for my grandmother’s 90th birthday)

Tom Ruth Nancy Steven
Grandpa Grandma Nancy Lucy

A true explorer, Grandpa’s career in oil exploration took him all over the world; he was eventually VP of Geophysics for Superior Oil (now ExxonMobil).  His remarkable career was followed by adventures on the sea, as his retirement began with a 42-foot sailboat and trips that sometimes included lucky grandchildren like my brother and me.

The Sea Urchin

Steve on Sea Urchin
My brother on my grandparents’ sailboat, in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, in the mid-70s; this was an epic 7-day trip I will always remember

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The rigors of sailing gave way to land-based adventures as my grandparents mounted an RV in their 70s and traveled throughout the country, visiting national parks and family, arriving just in time for birthdays and births (including my son’s). Their retirement together was rich in experiences fueled by water, wind and land – and love of family.

Tom Ruth RV

Today would have been Grandpa’s 98th birthday. To honor and remember him, I’m sharing the poem I wrote for his funeral in 2002.

Water, Wind and Land: Metaphors for a Geophysicist (for Grandpa)

 

we are all archeologists now

sifting through our memories of you

sorting the bits and pieces we find

to put them back together

in what will become our lasting “mind pictures” of you

sometimes sifting and sorting alone

sometimes together with your other loves ones

turning our memory fragments this way and that

to see where they fit

and make a clearer picture

all of my finds in this archeological dig of grief

are geo-metaphors for a geophysicist:

~ water, wind and land ~

 

for you were not a man of words

you were a man of deeds

of facts

of maps

and plans

 

my dig finds full sails and stormy skies

radars and Lorans

dolphin fish and egrets’ cries

a wood-hulled boat, a lake cabin, a becalming

your thoughtful brown eyes

your “I love you’s” were spoken in geo-metaphor:

~ water, wind and land ~

“help me steer the boat, Kimmie”

“Stevie, let me show you how to tie a slip knot”

“Of course girls can shoot skeet!”

 

for you were not a man of words

you were a man of deeds

of facts

of maps

and plans

 

I dig deeper, contemplative, archeologist-turned sociologist

looking for meaning

and I find you are an underground river

strong, constant, clear and sure

your life’s waters carried bloodlines and love-lines

equally strong

lifelines guiding through shifting sands

~ water, wind and land ~

 

my finds are home-baked bread

and spectacular jams

a well-stocked RV

crossing ferries and dams

Grandma’s letters with your P.S:

“Math and science, math and science!”

recognized clearly – then and now –

as geo-metaphor love, all your best

~ water, wind and land ~

 

you were a man of deeds

of facts

of maps

and plans

~ water, wind and land ~

 

we dig and sort

together and apart

reconstructing geo-you

in the museums of our hearts

~ water, wind and land ~

 

 

love, kimmie

july 2002


Grandpa and me at my first wedding, way back in the 80s. Those pearls were borrowed from my grandmother, one of the many, many gifts he brought her from his world travels.  His finds, which included on the one end spears and art from Nigeria and on the other end, jewelry like these pearls and a gorgeous raw emerald, have been given to all of my cousins. I got the pearls.

Grandpa and Kim 1984

In his later years, Grandpa channeled his natural curiosity and scientific attention to detail into cooking, mostly bread-baking and jam-making.  He made the same recipes again and again, meticulously documenting small differences until he had them perfected.  Christmas stocking gifts in those years were highly coveted jars of his homemade jellies.  I treasure the memory of our long talks about cooking from those days. I also inherited some of his knives and big pots, which I consider to be heirlooms on par with the pearls.

Rest in peace, dear man, and bless you for teaching us about water, wind and land – and love.

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Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook

My Brother’s Suicide: Out of the Darkness and Into the Light

steven-harvell-1423142466I have never said this in a public forum: my brother Steve’s untimely death four years ago was a suicide.

At first, we didn’t know. And then, we did.

But it wasn’t time to talk about it before. Our family and very close friends needed time to process, to grieve, to try to make sense out of something that we will never understand. Ever.

And quite frankly, there was no way to express the ragged, jagged, piercing and seemingly permanent heartbreak that we share. I’ve tried in this blog, believe me, although you didn’t know what you were reading. Some of my hurt-heart poems and writing are linked at the end of the post.

The adage says, “time heals all wounds,” but I wonder why the part about the scars was left out?

There is something true about the healing (accepting?) impact of time, though – it all looks different through the 4-years later lens. I can see past the horror, shock, pain and hopelessness, all the way back to the wonderment and love we once shared, the richness that my relationship with my brother brought to my life, and the Crayola-bright uniqueness that was Steve’s essence. His extremely wise choice in marriage brought me my “sister” and my nieces, a gift that is immeasurable and one of the reasons I believe in God.

My nieces have shared their stories through their participation in Out of the Darkness walks, and their courage is the reason I’m now ready to publicly share this painful story.

The other reason is that, like my nieces, I hope my voice can help impact even one life for the better. Please forgive the raggedness, the jaggedness of this poem, and share it with anyone you think might be suffering alone in the dark.

A Suicide Prevention Poem: Out of the Darkness and Into the Light

please hear my plea

if you are out there somewhere

in the dark

considering taking control of your life

by taking your life

please tell someone

just one person

let one person know

that you are at risk

in the dark

and sad

and feeling alone and desperate and unloved

please hear my plea

know that the people who have always loved you

still do

always will

know that your current situation

in the dark

doesn’t have to be

your permanent situation

there’s no death sentence for mistakes or regret

unless you pass it on yourself

please hear my plea

reach out to the light

please tell someone

just one person

let one person know

that you are at risk

in the dark

and sad

and feeling alone and desperate and unloved

you’ll never know

unless you reach out

that you can live in the light again

we’ll never know we can help

unless you tell someone

just one person

let one person know

we’ll never know

that we could have been

the light in your darkness

please hear my plea:

you matter to someone

he mattered to me


Other hurt-heart writings to wrestle with this kind of grief and embrace the remaining joy of brother-memories :

Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook

you, amazing you / footprints on our heart-sands (another poem for Dad from a grateful daughter)

IMG_0151you

were an amazing father

you taught me to

believe

in myself

in God in love

in family in miracles

in old movies on a rainy afternoon

in grilled cheese sandwiches

you

got up with us kids

every day before school

making our breakfast

telling tall tales

“killing the biscuits” with the butter knife

you

taught us to love simple things

the sea sky and seagulls

the wind in our sails

July 4 fireworks and hot dogs at the beach

you

were an amazing husband

steadfast when

Mom was sick for decades

you

never complained

or made it about

you

or “took time off”

or felt sorry for yourself

even when she died

you

gave your next wife

the same care and thoughtfulness

and respect

and honor

you

were an amazing grandfather

mindful and present

you

listened more than you talked

making those kids feel like special starfish

you

were an amazing friend

collecting people like seashells

keeping them always

appreciating their beauty

their uniqueness

their worn-smooth spots

you

were an amazing role model

“what would Frank do”

a testimonial from friends

about your wisdom

you

never judged never condemned

but always remained authentic

about your beliefs

accepting without endorsing if

you

couldn’t agree or understand

you

were the most consistent

person I ever knew

like waves crashing to the shore

you

gave your heart completely

the whole package

with no strings

just acceptance and love

you

will be loved and missed

forever

your footprints on our heart-sands

you

amazing

you

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your footprints on our heart-sands
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My Dad and me, Thanksgiving 2015; I still feel his arm around me

Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook

photos courtesy of Joie, one of the amazing granddaughters of the amazing and wonderful man, Frank

Travel Day Thoughts

My cousin posted this beautiful photo on Facebook.

Airplane wing 787 from Matt Kiely
His comment: “Clichė subject, but that 787 wing is a beautiful piece of engineering.”

Another cousin confessed his lack of  aeronautical engineering knowledge but said he was “grateful they stay attached to the plane during flight”.  Me, too! The photo speaks to me of anticipation of a wonderful journey, and, as I’m setting out on a brief trip today, it inspired a haiku.

bring me there safely
wings that show me new worlds
and then take me home

Hershey, Pennsylvania, here I come!

Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook

Haiku Mind: Book Review in Haiku

My review of Haiku Mind:

what i thought i knew
how to view and feel and say
i knew not at all

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If you are into haiku, this book is for you. It is a book of haiku while at the same time being a book about haiku.  It is quiet and peaceful and illuminating.  And thoughtful.  And challenging. It is making me a better haiku-er, slowly.

Find it here on Amazon.

For more Glover Gardens haiku, click here.

Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook

 

The Chili Bee and Round Top, Texas – A Little Tale of Community, Chili and Small-Town Magic

Facebook reminded me today of an event from four years ago that still brings me joy.  It’s a tale of a chili cook-off fundraiser in a tiny Texas town, two friends, five gallons of spilled chili in an SUV, dozens of very kind people and a chance meeting with the state’s governor.  Just another January Saturday in Texas…

In January of 2013, my friend Theresa and I decided to enter the Round Top Chili Cookoff.  It’s a great event that benefits the public library in this most picturesque of small Texas Hill Country towns.  They have braggin’ rights, too:  Round Top is the smallest town in Texas with a full service public library, and they aim to keep it that way (small and book-lovin’).

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The January sky over Round Top, a most picturesque little town

We started planning our cook-off participation by email, first by picking a name.  It had to be something special, something that reflected our long friendship rooted in family and food and stories and support…so we chose “The Chili Bee,” a riff on the old quilting bees where ladies got together to talk and solve the mysteries of life while making beautiful quilts.  We played around and created a logo and I had a sign made.Chili Bee Final.jpg

Over the next week, we negotiated over the recipe (no beans, she won), did the shopping, and then met up at my house on Friday after work to roll up our sleeves and produce the world’s best chili.  We stayed up until the wee hours – chopping, sautéing, simmering, tasting and telling stories, and set out for Round Top on Saturday morning with our 5 gallons of chili in her car and the propane cooker, table, chairs and tent in mine.

igloo

Our preparations that lovely January Saturday morning included reheating the massive pot of chili and transferring it into a 5-gallon Igloo, where it would stay plenty hot during the 90-minute trip and be ready for the high noon judging.  While only a quart was necessary for the judges, contestants had to bring at least 4 gallons to enter.

Well, there was a “problem-ation” on our journey.  I was leading our 2-car caravan on US Highway 290 and lost Theresa at the cloverleaf intersection with Texas Highway 36.  You have to take a very sudden, sharp and tight turn to stay on 290 on the outskirts of Brenham –  drivers in this part of Texas will know what I’m talking about – and that little cloverleaf was our Chili Waterloo.  I looked in the rearview mirror, and Theresa just wasn’t there any more.  I pulled over, and called her, and called again – no answer.  Finally, I could see her in the distance, and then she drove slowly by me, motioned for me to follow, and pulled into a convenience store about a mile up the road.

The Igloo wasn’t secured in the car and toppled over when Theresa careened around the cloverleaf turn…and apparently, we didn’t have the lid on tight.  It was bad.  Oh boy, was it bad.  There was a chili explosion.  It was all over her, all over the car, all over everything.  Chili drops were on the rearview mirror, the headliner, in Theresa’s purse.  It was a chili-apocalypse.

And imagine…5 gallons of steaming hot chili, 2 inches deep in the backseat floorboard of Theresa’s Nissan Pathfinder, and then think what would happen if you opened the door…chili pouring out all over the convenience store parking lot!  It was actually an amazing sight – a volcanic flow of chili! – and I really, really wanted to take a picture, but I couldn’t because of the look on Theresa’s face.  She was completely deflated, more sad about not being able to participate in the cook-off than upset about her car or her clothes.  We knew the rules:  you had to have four gallons to enter, and we figured there was only about 1 gallon left in our  toppled Igloo.  Her disappointment broke my heart, because she’d been struggling with the after-effects of chemotherapy and was finally feeling frisky again, so she really needed and deserved this open-air Texas good time we were planning.

It wasn’t about winning the cook-off.  It was about living.

We called the event organizer, a marvelous woman named Betsy who is the piledriving personality behind tiny Round Top keeping its public library and the rockin’ good time that is the annual chili cook-off.  Betsy wouldn’t hear of us turning back, even though we didn’t have enough chili to enter.  Betsy went into Save the Day Mode, in the way that some ladies are so incredibly good at:

  • She said that each of the other participants would be happy to give us some of their chili, that it would be a true Chili Bee, with our entry a melting pot of all the chilis.
  • She said she’d have a sheriff there to meet us and ensure we got a parking spot at the front, since we were now running late.
  • She told us to take a back road, ’cause we’d get there quicker.
  • She further said that there was no need for us to stop at the local Wal-Mart for clothes for Theresa, because someone would help out with that, too, even if she had to go home and get something out of her own closet.

In other words, Betsy would not accept us turning tail and running back to Houston, licking our chili wounds.

OK! After three rolls of paper towels and five minutes wrangling the convenience store’s water hose, we were on the road again, still in two cars.  Hers, all bedraggled and chili-smelling, mine still toting the rest of the gear.  The back road that Betsy told us to take was Texas Farm Road 389, and it was gorgeous.  I started to feel pretty good about Betsy’s Save the Day plan, Theresa’s well-deserved good time being salvaged, and the story that was evolving from our day.  So I spent the rest of the drive trying to write a limerick about it in my head.

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Theresa in her borrowed apron

When we arrived in the tiny center of Round Top, it was clear that Betsy had sprung into action and publicized our plight:  the sheriff was indeed waiting to direct us to our primo parking spot, the mayor was also there to greet us, there was a borrowed apron for Theresa to wear, and the judges were waiting to get our remnant quart of chili before starting the judging.  The local radio station was broadcasting from the event and Betsy was so tickled by my limerick that she had me go on stage read it on the air.

Our chili took a tumble
But we’ve no cause to grumble
The town rallied ’round
– it’s a heck of a town –
Round Top, we’re ready to rumble!

We went around with a big plastic pitcher like Oliver Twist asking for more gruel (but with a much better reception) and collected a bit of chili from most of the other contestants, fired up our propane heater and served that Chili Bee / chili quilt concoction to lots of happy attendees.  They loved it and we ran out.  Everyone there knew our story because the radio station MC had made a big deal of it before we arrived.  It was a wonderful, life-affirming experience and I will never forget the sense of support and community that Betsy and Round Top gave us.

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What a wonderful day we had in Round Top

royers1But that wasn’t all!  We had been joined by Theresa’s son Nick, who was going to college in not-too-far-away San Marcos, and after we ran out of chili, we closed up shop and walked across the street to Royer’s Round Top Café, a local restaurant that really is The Bomb.  Especially their pies…heavenly.  We laughed, we talked, we practiced and honed the story we’d be telling everyone about our day…and we realized what an incredible blessing it was to have had this remarkable experience.

And then we met the governor.  It was that kind of day.

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Texas Governor Rick Perry was also enjoying the fine food at Royer’s that beautiful January Saturday in 2013; he was extremely gracious and didn’t even ask if we had voted for him (which I will not comment on since this is not and will never be a political blog)

In the evening, we met up with Betsy and other Round Top locals at the Stone Cellar Winery. (The Stone Cellar bartender had been the donor of the apron that covered the huge chili stain in Theresa’s lap.) We relived the day, giggled over our new name, The Chili Spillers, reveled in the fact that the cook-off had raised a ton of money for the library (even though we didn’t win!) and figured that life would be simpler if there were more chili cook-offs and backroads and less freeways.


January 21, 2013 (email)

Hello Betsy,

Thank you so much for your encouragement and support in the face of our “chili-mergency”. We had such a marvelous day in spite of our chili spill and will definitely be back next year with a crowd. You are running a delightful and fun event and it is great to know that we are doing our small part to support reading and the library. We promised to send our pictures, and the best few are attached, including the one with our famous / infamous governor. I have also included the limerick I wrote in my head as we were driving along that beautiful back road you told us to take. It has several variations (because there are so many rhymes for “umble”).

Version 1

Our chili took a tumble
But we’ve no cause to grumble
The town rallied ’round
– it’s a heck of a town –
Round Top, we’re ready to rumble!

Version 2

Our chili took a tumble
But it didn’t cause a fumble
The town rallied ’round
– it’s a hell of a town –
Round Top, we’re ready for your rumble!

Version 3

Our chili took a tumble
But we’ve no cause to grumble
Round Top rallied ’round
– it’s a hell of a town –
Their kindness leaves us humbled

And finally, for your personal archives, here’s the 1-minute version of the day that we posted on Facebook. I think every friend we have from the Houston area will be there next year.

“The Chili Cookoff story must be told in person to get the full impact, but here’s a brief synopsis: 4 of our 5 gallons of chili spilled in the car, the Round Top folks rallied and told us to come anyway and they would share their chili so we could still enter with our one gallon that was left (the rules state that you have to bring at least 4 gallons), our story of chili disaster and perseverance was told on the radio and the mayor greeted us when we got there (late), a constable on duty at the cookoff came by and told us he had seen the results of our chili spill as we were parked on the side of the highway (he said, “I thought that was a bad place to park, but when you opened the door and the chili came out, I knew where you were headed”), everyone at the cookoff knew who we were and treated us like we were special, we met and took a picture with the governor, and made tons of new friends. Round Top is a marvelous, welcoming town, and a great place to have a good time. Are we going back next year? Heck yeah!”

Looking forward to next year – but how could it possibly top this year?

Kim and Theresa, The Chili Bee


Betsy sent an enthusiastic response (“you’re famous!”), shared our photos with the local newspaper, and they published our Posing with the Governor photo. She checked in with us at the beginning of 2014 to urge us to enter the cook-off again, but by then, Theresa was too ill.

In 2015, Betsy contacted all of the previous cook-off contestants with this beautiful note, and that’s when I found out that something else very special had happened in Round Top that day, after we’d run out of chili and started hanging out with the governor.


Feb. 7, 2015 (email)

Everyone–I wanted to share this poem that Barbara Smith sent me. We all remember how the 2013 Chili Cook Off came to a standstill when a funeral procession passed. The family was very touched, as is evidenced by a poem one of the family members wrote and shared. Yes, we are a caring community and that’s why I love living here. Please pass this on to any and all you think would have been there.

Betsy

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Feb. 7, 2015 (email)

Dear Betsy –

Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful poem. My friend Theresa and I participated in the cook off in 2013 as The Chili Bee, although perhaps we are best remembered as the “chili spillers”. You and the rest of Round Top’s finest were very good to us after our chili catastrophe which left a flood of 4 gallons of it in Theresa’s car. She was between chemotherapy treatments that beautiful January day, and with our remaining chili and a positive attitude, we soaked up the sunlight, the local color and a beer or two. We even met the governor in the late afternoon at Royer’s. What a great day.

That 2013 Roundtop Chili Cookoff was the last good time for Theresa and me. She battled her cancer over the next year, even while still doing some caterings with her husband and business partner. She wanted to sign us up for the 2014 Cookoff, but just felt a little too feeble. She left us for good on a beautiful day in May last year, and the memory of our adventure in Roundtop is one that I will always treasure. The poem that you sent makes it even more special. God bless small town folks, and God bless you.

Kim


The Round Top Chili Cook-off is this Saturday, January 21.  If you happen to be in Texas, you might just want to stop by for a little small-town magic.

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  • For another story about my inimitable friend Theresa, click here.
  • For my chili recipe (with beans!), click here.

Copyright 2017 Glover Gardens Cookbook

(except the David Markwardt poem and Royer’s photo)

Haiku: Beckoning Winter Sky

I am in love with our little cabin in central Colorado.  “Little House in the Rockies” inspires me to create recipes, snap photos, write essays, poems and haiku, birdwatch…in general, to revel in nature and absorb its beauty and regenerative spirit.

Here’s one from a winter night when I was pleased to wake up very early and witness the night sky just beginning to transform into the welcoming dawn.

Beckoning Winter Sky

Eerie bluish glow
Brightness pierces the darkness
Moon shadows on snow

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The most wonderful thing happened when I posted this haiku on Facebook at dawn on that lovely, moonlit morning. A haiku response popped up on my post within a few minutes:

Hush the still dark night
Darkness receding to light
Snow sparkling so bright

My friend’s contribution – all the way from Texas – perfectly described my Colorado experience that morning.

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Copyright 2016, Glover Gardens Cookbook