O Spring,
you call to me ~
with your cheeky ways
and lengthening days,
your budding flowers
and pop-up showers.
O Spring,
you call the trees ~
with your gentle breeze
tickling soft new leaves,
basking in sun-bright,
peaceful in moonlight.
O Spring,
you call the birds ~
tiny nests built strong,
their answering song
guiding fledglings’ flight
in the morning light.
O Spring,
keep calling out ~
as long as we breathe,
we’ll keep answering ~
the birds, the trees and me.
© 2018, Glover Gardens
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.
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.
That 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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook
I 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.
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
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
Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook
photos courtesy of Joie, one of the amazing granddaughters of the amazing and wonderful man, Frank
Image poetry:
girl on the beach in repose
knows, she simply knows
Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook
My cousin posted this beautiful photo on Facebook.
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
My review of Haiku Mind:
what i thought i knew
how to view and feel and say
i knew not at all
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
This little tree is
an inspiration to me:
“Grow where you’re planted.”
This haiku is a sequel to another: Calling Colorado.
For more Glover Gardens haiku, click here.
Copyright 2017, Glover Gardens Cookbook
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’).
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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
But 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.
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”).
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!
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!
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
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.
Copyright 2017 Glover Gardens Cookbook
(except the David Markwardt poem and Royer’s photo)
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.
Eerie bluish glow
Brightness pierces the darkness
Moon shadows on snow
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.
Copyright 2016, Glover Gardens Cookbook
