{ 1 comment }
Here’s another shot of my grandfather, with whom we lived, and who helped raise us.
He emigrated from Poland circa 1906, after (as the story goes) his commanding officer in the Austrian army suggested it was a good time to do so, as all hell was about to break loose on the land. He learned the English language early on, and became an American citizen in 1920. He loved telling stories; my older sister remembers hours upon hours of tales that were uniquely his, usually weaving in themes from the Old Testament, the politics of old Poland, and the natural world.
He was a community/union organizer, and an accomplished gardener and mushroom forager. I remember many long walks in the forest behind our home foraging for a certain type of Russula mushroom (called “Pravdzive” in Polish), which would be dried, and given to friends and family to use as a base for holiday soups at Christmas and Easter.
He had a strong faith but also a big love for his family and friends, and he seemed to be as comfortable in social situations as in the out of doors. I never did get a chance to thank him for all that he gave me, particularly the knowledge and presence that he so freely offered, every day of his life.
And on a side note, it might be time to once again read “Report To Greco”, the wonderful memoir of Nikos Kazanzakis (Greco being his grandfather).
{ 0 comments }
Probably from 1970 or so, a couple of years before this wonderful man, Andrew Wasik, passed away. Photo probably taken by either my younger brother Jim, or oldest brother Stan.
{ 0 comments }
A meadow? Moor, savanna, pasture, heath, grassland, shielding, veldt? A public golf course?
{ 0 comments }
Went back a couple of months in the archives for this one. I wouldn’t be surprised if the pond is frozen by now, on this last day of the year.
May you shine ever brightly, and find what you seek in the New Year! And thanks for visiting!
{ 0 comments }
“Supreme Father Kirpal gave only this message, and even the wind also teaches us this: if you keep walking while doing the Simran, the destination comes to you by itself.” Sant Ajaib Singh
{ 0 comments }
This one is hard to look at, but it reflects the strange, harsh and transient beauty that high noon brought to this narrow alleyway (thirty minutes later, the sun had passed over, and the scene was flat). I finally found a way into this photo without bringing on a headache (LOL), via the area where the horizontal rows of cement blocks are interrupted. That provides some psychological meaning as well as resting place for the attention to come back to, making it easier to drift off to other parts of the image. This one is not my usual cup of tea, though it does bring up the question of what (and how) we seek, and perhaps find, in any art.
{ 0 comments }
Lest we forget all the manual labor that goes into farming: a pile of sawdust (bedding for the cows), four shovels and three wheelbarrows, two of them double tired. And then there’s the color of this barn – gotta love it!!!
{ 0 comments }