Saturday, June 29, 2013

Memories made, memories recalled

photo of common daylilies blooming
© harrington
Hi! I hope you're enjoying the weekend. Thursday, on the trip to pick up the CSA share at Amador Hill Farm, I noticed for the first time this year common daylilies blooming. Their location was much sunnier than our roadsides. I expect ours will start some time over the next few weeks. I was surprised to learn that common daylily flowers are edible and that the plant is considered an invasive species. When I read that another name for the common daylily is tiger daylily, I was reminded of Tiger Lily from Peter Pan. Memory is a fascinating process. I doubt that I've seen or thought about Perter Pan for more than twenty years. Recollection of Tiger Lily was close to instantaneous. Ask me what I had for lunch yesterday and it's likely to take some time and effort on my part to recall. (Of course, many of my lunches aren't terribly memorable.) Memory can be and is selective, misleading, limiting (old injuries) or expansive. I still remember the clarity of the water in Dumbell Lake, the bright day, the roundish rocks on the bottom and the walleyes with their heads wedged between the rocks. The lake, as many in Minnesota, has a fish consumption advisory based on the mercury content of walleyes. I hope you have some great memories, accurate or not, of your own Neverlands in Minnesota. I'm grateful to live on the edge of the St Croix River watershed. Although Minnesota's lakes appeal to many (including me when I'm after largemouth bass), I've always been drawn more to moving water than to still. This seems to be a trait I'm fortunate to share with Raymond Carver. Here's one of his poems. It captures many an evening I've spent in Minnesota (and other) waters.

The River

I waded, deepening, into the dark water.
Evening, and the push
and swirl of the river as it closed
around my legs and held on.
Young grilse broke water.
Parr darted one way, smolt another.
Gravel turned under my boots as I edged out.
Watched by the furious eyes of king salmon.
Their immense heads turned slowly,
eyes burning with fury, as they hung
in the deep current.
They were there. I felt them there,
and my skin prickled. But
there was something else.
I braced with the wind on my neck.
Felt the hair rise
as something touched my boot.
Grew afraid at what I couldn't see.
Then of everything that filled my eyes—
that other shore heavy with branches,
the dark lip of the mountain range behind.
And this river that had suddenly
grown black and swift.
I drew breath and cast anyway.
Prayed nothing would strike. 
Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. Rants, raves and reflections served daily.