A Day for Writers 2019 - Presenters and Registration form

Sylva, NC, August 24, 2019,

C. Hope Clark, Joseph Bathanti, David Joy, Karen Holmes, Carol Crawford, Pat Vestal, Katie Winkler, Meagan Lucas

9:00 - 4:30, fee includes lunch, coffee, drinks and pastries
Copy registration form and mail with check or money order to:
NCWN-West, % Glenda Beall,
PO Box 843, Hayesville, NC 28904

Register online at www.ncwriters.org before August 19.

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A Day for Writers 2019

A Day for Writers 2019 Registration Form

Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts

Thursday, December 28, 2017

The Ashes Are Falling by William Everett

I am re-posting this blog post by William Everett. He is a member of NCWN-West and writes an interesting blog each week. He is author of fiction and nonfiction and is also, a poet. I think you will like it.

Living in one of the world’s great temperate hardwood forests, I become familiar with the trees around me. Not all, by any means, because we have such an expanse of species, but I do know those that can be transformed into the bowls, turnings, cabinetry, and sculpted artifacts that release their beauty and strength into our realm of use or beauty. Trees talk to each other, support each other in the wind, share their resources, and dance their seasons of green, gold, red, grey, and brown. Some became old friends whose signs of age raise our concern, whose loss of limb or crown distress us, or whose seedlings volunteer to fill the spaces left by those long gone.

Over the centuries, they have adapted to their environment and the slow epochal changes of ice ages and hot or humid times. They live at an evolutionary pace. But we humans have dragged them into the faster tempo of our history. As we have spread across the globe, we have brought sicknesses and parasites that have overcome their natural resistance. The chestnut blight from China reduced the mighty chestnut to struggling sprouts among the stumps that testify to their former glory. The Dutch elm disease took down those stately witnesses to our streets and parks. The wooly adelgid decimated our balsams. The hemlock adelgid is still making its way through the moist coves and stream beds of these mountains. And now the emerald ash borer has made its way to us from Michigan, where it arrived from Asia in some wooden pallets. Sometimes, given time, the trees can stimulate their own resistance, but other times we lose them entirely, except for specimens in labs and arboretums.

We identify with these trees. They inspire us with their strength. patience, and endurance. Tended well, they supply us with things of use and beauty. This winter we will have to cut down one of our friends, whom the borer is reducing to a skeleton. I share with you my lament as we watch its demise, among many others, and hope that some of it can find its way into a new life.

My ash trees are dying,
            their leaves are faces of grief,
            they are weeping bark,
            my saw is chewing them into firewood,
            they are rendered into ashes in our stove,
            I am turning their limbs into plates and bowls,
            their trunks into table legs and planks..
The emerald beetle eating out their life
            rings their trunks with burrows for its larva,
            girdling them with living death.
The borers will move on,
            the ash their only home.
They do not know
            of baseball bats and tables,
            rakes and chairs and hoes.
They eat,
            lay eggs,
            and leave destruction in their wake.
Why do I stand among the ashes in amazement?
Did we not bring these predators?
Is our destruction not the same?
Will there be survivors
            who will weep for me?

Thank you, Bill, for allowing us to re-post this on the NCWN-West blog. 

Learn more about Bill Everett on his site: http://williameverett.com/about-me/

In my teaching career I authored eight books and numerous articles in social ethics and religion. After over thirty years of academic work — in Germany, India, and South Africa as well as in the United States — I wanted to turn my hand to writing that was more poetic and expressive. I also wanted a more viable balance between my work with words and my work with wood, especially furniture for worship settings. For more about my woodworking, go to www.WisdomsTable.net, where you will also find galleries of artwork by my wife Sylvia, whose ancestors were the original inspiration for Red Clay, Blood River.    ----William Everett

Saturday, November 16, 2013

A November Poem

November is here again, cold and cloudy. I want to share a poem that was published on Your Daily Poem by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer    - November Trees
When you visit this site, you will see the variety, quality and quantity of poetry Jayne has published on Your Daily Poem. If you want her thousands of readers to see your poetry, submit it to Jayne. You can subscribe and receive her poetry in your Inbox. 

Below is another November poem, a little more somber this time.

  November Evening

Sky cradles a sliver of  moon.
Saturn in the West, the only star.
Humpbacked mountains crouch.
Trees point leafless limbs above me.
Cold stings my cheeks, chills fingers
searching for warmth inside my coat. 
The white dog trots ahead
and pokes his nose into bushes
left bare by last week's freeze. Snow will fall
before dawn, dress firs, pines and oaks,
hills and houses in winter's wrapping.
I stop, savor the closing moments of dusk,
loath to go within and face the truth.

Will my brother see another autumn's gold?
Or does Eternity wait like the glistening
days of December, beckoning light
so bright he is drawn forever away?
               --- Glenda Council Beall