June fifth

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with blooms along the bow

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my three score years and ten

Twenty will not come again.

And take from seventy springs a score

It leaves me only fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs leaves little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

A.E. Houseman

When I was in fourth or fifth grade I had the wonderful assignment to create my own collection of poems on a single subject, illustrate it, and memorize three of the poems to recite in class.  I chose trees for my subject and recited “Loveliest of Trees” (above), “Stopping by Woods” and “Birches” both by Frost. I can still recite Loveliest of Trees and Stopping by Woods, but all but the first few lines of Birches are gone from memory.  I came across my little collection many years ago in Amenia, and the sight of my illustrations brought me right back to that classroom in P.S. 96.  I loved memorizing poetry, and Mom and I would practice poems together while we did the dishes.

We don’t have cherry trees on Sunnyhill (yet), but the Houseman has been on my mind as I approach my own three score years and ten.  Joe died just short of his allotment, not quite a month older than I am now.  Shayne died thirteen years ago today, more than a decade short of her 70 years.  I miss them so.  One of the results for me of their early deaths is a visceral awareness of my own mortality and the feeling that every day I get is a gift.

I love Houseman’s bucket list – just the one task, to go about the woodlands and admire the beauty. I believe we’re meant to do more than just that with our seventy years, or however many we get. But lately I’ve been feeling that I don’t have much that’s higher on my list now than paying attention to the beauty around me.  I hope that in some way this contributes to making a better world, that my own peace is transferred to others in a helpful way. I hope that I am not merely selfish.

Jay and I are wiggling in to two spiritual communities here, Beth El in Oneonta and a tiny Al-anon meeting in Cooperstown.  We are putting down roots. This seems to be all I need now, Jay’s company, the incredible beauty of the world around us, contact with family and friends near and far, and a home for spiritual growth.  I think of Jimmy Carter, and other great role models who devoted years and years, their whole lives, to working daily to improve the world.  I admire them enormously, but it does not seem to be who I am.

When I think of the years Shayne and Joe didn’t get I don’t think of the work they could have done – though it’s likely that both of them thought in those terms.  I think of the pleasures they missed.  Especially, I think of Shayne missing the weddings of her children, the births of her grandchildren, and just a few days ago, the sixth birthday of the oldest. Watching the little ones grow up is not as passive as admiring the cherry trees.  We read to them, sing to them, go on walks with them, write to them, teach them what we can.  Like Robert Frost I have “promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” But mostly, I’m with Houseman, breathing in the beauty of the children and grandchildren and breathing out peace.