Day: November 8, 2019

 The sun was shining this morning
 Fresh snow was just about covering the lawn
 Beautiful red leaves were dropping and
 Appeared to be ornaments on an evergreen
  
 I thought I saw some elves duck under bushes
 They don’t like being seen
 I felt like chasing after them, but
 They are too clever for that game
  
 I headed out and got caught up in traffic
 It took the peace I was feeling away
 People overuse their horns and
 Weave in and out of lanes
  
 Traffic lights are the great equalizer
 You might have the jump but
 The light changes and one stops
 Everyone catches up just as the light goes green
  
 A lot of cars had snow on them
 But the roads were clear
 Just slow down, take it easy
 Then there is nothing to fear
  
 Picked up supplies at a Big Store
 Then back home for repairs
 Got all of this under control
 Can’t think of any fears
  
 Time does not matter
 I set my morning goal
 When I do stuff incrementally
 I never feel like a burdened soul
  
 Stanski
 November 8, 2019 ^ 

 Furrows in the field
 Far as the eye can see
  
 Memory floods;
    How it used to be
 One man, one horse and plow
 Worked all day to do one-tenth of
 The vista before me
  
 I imagine red covered ground
    Sign of the blood they gave
 Making this thing work
 This thing called farming
    In acrid soil
 Sun up, sun down
 Worn out, staggering home
    With an equally beaten horse
 Who will be cared for and fed
  
 The misses out to meet him
    With hopes of good disposition
 Knowing that food and sleep
 Along with her love would help him
    At least she hopes as
 He must meet the new day
  
 Now racing by on interstate 94
    I see two-story tractors
 Computer programmed, air-conditioned 
 Plowing, tilling, fertilizing and planting
    All in one pass - - - water to follow in
       A synchronized, orchestrated way 
          As though this were the grand finale
  
 I stop at a cemetery; 
 Look at the names of those here before
 Study the dates and lifespans - - -
    Sick at heart because thanks cannot be given
 My tears, though sincere, can never sanctify 
    Their sweat, which flowed with dignity
 They did that on their own
 I leave in awe of what is and what was
 Knowing who my heroes are and will always be
  
 Steve Haarman
 August 13, 2014 ^ 

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 One look at the field and
 you have to know
 a farmer worked today, now
 reviews the method of his show
  
 Sweat pours from his brow
 Pain deep in his heart
 The big season ahead and
 this is just the start
  
 Rocks, stumps, and obstacles
 there can be no glee
 He continues knowing that
 this is what will be
  
 Heroes before their time, but
 who will recognize?
 Efforts beyond human endeavor
 No way to sensitize
  
 This is the year they make it
 with everything going their way
 There is a much better feeling
 What dangers lurk, no one can say
  
 He starts, he works, and finishes
 With back bended; he heads for home
 Appreciates the stress of his bride
 She also works to the bone
  
 They believe in prayer and thanksgiving
 but know they must do their part
 Each year will be different they discern
 And each year they will start
  
 Stanski
 November 8, 2019 ^ 

 I looked at my old heroes 
 Wanted them to be my friends
 See things as I do, in
 my own unique way
  
 That ends when
 I make my discovery and
 sorry too, that I’m alone, but
 I think they’ll stop by to see me
 throw in their two cents
 How could I be so wrong?
  
 Now I know I must move on
 Act out my dreams alone
 The ones I admired so
 have lives of their own
  
 I can no longer ask them for
 their measured words of wisdom
 Years pass by too quickly
 They, of course, slow down and
 cannot come to see all of
 the things I have done
  
 I want to cry out:
 “I did this for you,
 wanted to make you proud.
 Your inspiration,
 I still hold true”, but
 crying will never do
  
 No, they never came
 The way of time at work
 I decide it didn’t matter
 My hours are precious, too
  
 How much did I neglect?
 I’ll think of this as years go by
 when I sit alone
 My dreams, my deeds
 and my honors
 all gone
  
 Steve Haarman
 August 11, 2014 ^
   

 Four weeks left of fall
 Then the dread of winter
 Something here is missing
 I think it is Indian summer
  
 Nearly every year
 About this time
 Temperatures soar, surprising us
 For a few days we’re doing fine
  
 Finish all the late fall chores
 Wash windows, polish floors
 Rake the leaves, burn them
 Winter decorations put up
  
 Suddenly it is over
 We have had our days
 Weather returns to normal
 We get ready for the freeze
  
 Thankful for late summer weather
 But wishing it was still warmer
 Just about caught up on things
 Yes, we love Indian summer
  
 Stanski
 November 23, 2017 ^ 

 The city of Morton lies in 
 a valley in Washington State.  
 The Cowlitz Indians lived there first 
 along the Cowlitz River.  
 No one is saying if anyone 
 lived there before them, but 
 the Cowlitz could look back later and 
 wonder what happened to them.  
 They hunted the area where 
 the pioneers came to live.  
 They were there when
 the Northern Pacific Railroad 
 obtained part of their land.  
 The Iron Horse – what is this all about?  
 The swamps are drained.  
 Now what do we do for our willow and 
 Service-berry shrubs.  
 How will we make our baskets?
 How will we hunt?  
 Baskets were also made with bear grass, 
 cedar root, horsetail root and cedar bark.  
 They saw the settlers farm their land and 
 later must have wondered what was happening 
 when the trappers came and trapped for 
 the beaver, mink and muskrats to sell to 
 the Hudson Bay Company, which bought furs.  
 They must have known that it was all over for them 
 when the government through the Homestead Act 
 brought many people to the area for “government land”.  
 The Indians moved around the area and 
 eventually were given recognition and a reservation.  
 The missionaries were there, too, 
 assuring them that things would be alright.  
 They may have been gentle people, but 
 still in all how could they not wonder 
 when will this all end.
  
 Stanski
 February 10, 2015 ^