Once again in the mountains –no, in the valleys, she said

Mailbox at 505, the Usonian house that's now part of the campus

                Last week was my bi-annual trip/ trek to Eureka Springs for two reasons: one, a poetry sub-group meeting and a chance to continue work on my latest book, a memoir, “When I Had Another Name” or “Edging Past Eighty.”

                The Wednesday night dinner--a gourmet meal--included lentil soup, curly endive salad, mashed potatoes, ham slices, baked Brussel sprouts and a sweet potato-squash-mushroom galette. Dessert was pear torte.

                Five writers and one Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow board member partook of the food and—uncharacteristically for me, at least—sat around the table until 8:00 discussing subjects de jour.

                Elise was the board member. She owns both Basin Park and Crescent hotels. She sponsored one of the scholarships that Alia, from Richmond, Virginia, received and who was in residence. Elise’s the one who told us the geographical history of Eureka Springs. It used to be an ocean, she said. When the water receded, it took the soluble rocks with it leaving terrain characterized by barren, rocky ground, caves, sinkholes, underground rivers, and the absence of surface streams.

            The other writers’ homes spanned the width of the country: from San Francisco through Cincinnati, and to New York. I was the lone Arkansan. But I added my two-cents worth to the conversations, believe me (to quote a man-too-much-in-the-news). Being the eldest of the group didn’t stop me. The next-eldest told us she was the same age as Hillary.

                Thursday was spent in my suite revising the latest submission from the writers group at home––the third section of the memoir that takes me through junior high school. I also read some from the book I brought with me, Hemingway vs. Fitzgerald. And I napped.

                Thursday night was the monthly meeting of Poetluck—a potluck meal followed by readings from the Colony residents first, then from the local and area attendees. One unusual “pot” was purple sweet potatoes brought by a couple who live on Bohannon Mountain in Marshall and who grew them on their acreage. I read “Ash Wednesday” from Hiding Myself Into Safety. Later, someone asked me if I were a preacher.

                Friday noon, friend Vicki picked me up. In her VW, we crawled through the busyness of downtown out to Hwy 62 to La Familia. We had a great, needed catch-up meeting over lunch.

By Friday night, Anne Marie from near St. Louis, had joined the group. Baked chicken with roasted cut fennel bulbs, green salad, rice, and a medley of veggies comprised the meal. Dessert was tea cookies. We sat around the table afterwards, discussing various topics until 8:30!

Saturday morning, a Facebook friend, Dan, from a town nearby, dropped by for a first-ever, face-to-face visit. And eventually coffee in 505, since I didn’t have sense enough to figure out how to program the high-falutin’ coffee machine in the Main House. Dan writes a column in the Eureka Springs Independent, so I asked him to autograph my copy. We had a great time. First time I’d ever hugged a man whom I’d never seen before!

At 80, how many more ops to hug handsome men will I have? Huh? Huh?

               

               

               

Of October and poets

Northeast flowerbed, Couchwood (Saline County) '15

                The first few days of October have been perfect for a pajama-and-robe sit-out. In fact, one day, cool, breezy temps necessitated both a long-sleeved shirt and a wind breaker––and socks.  Even then, I was cold, so I moved inside to the dining table.

            One October activity has come and gone. The annual National Poetry Day Celebration of the Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas happened last Saturday at the Cox Building in Little Rock. I bummed a ride in return for a book and a bucket of pears. My chauffeur, Dennis Patton, the new president, won not only the Merit Award, but also the $1,000 first-place Sybil Nash Abrams Award. His wife Frieda, a board member, made sure he didn’t dawdle over the board meeting. He and I, Cathy Parker and Don Crowson of the Saline County branch brought home 23 awards—close to 15% of the prizes/ places given.

           Hot Springs poets were well represented, both in sponsoring three contests, judging and winning. Delores Hinde sponsored a contest. Dr. John Crawford, Hinde and Linda Woodbury each judged a contest, while Crawford, Woodbury and Bethel Kymes brought home awards. The family of the late Opal Jane and Harry O’Neal, long-time, dedicated members of the Rountables (both the state and local), sponsored two contests.

           Speaking of Hot Springs poets, here is a poem by the late Nina Tillery that mentions both October and poets. It won a coveted honorable mention in the National Federation of State Poetry Societies contests in 1999, and was published in the Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas’s anthology in 2002.

THE PARADE by Nina Tillery
I watched a parade of poets pass my window
in October. I tried to catch their singing
as they marched briskly by.

Longfellow trailed his garments past
and Whitman sang of blades of grass. 
Frost predicted fire and ice; 
Sandburg traced the prints of mice.

Eliot swayed to and fro
mumbling of Michelangelo. 
Hopkins touted simple sight;
Williams burned fir trees to ash.

Cummings moved through dooms of clowns; 
Roethke and Papa waltzed around. 
Bishop carried a wallpaper fish; 
Sexton chased a twelve-fingered witch.

Giovanni declared the Congo taboo; 
Plath chased about a big black shoe. 
I waved to Angelou, Oates and Moore, 
Bly, Neruda, and all gone before.

Then I fell in step behind them, 
proud and sober,
and I marched past open windows
with the poets in October.
                  
Here’s wishing you pleasant mornings in October. Perhaps with your favorite cuppa and a book of poems.