One Upon a Winters's Solstice...

 

... it rained all day.

 

 

However, Denise and I did not let the rain dampen our spirits. The car braved flooded roads and we braved a downpour as we drove to an old-fashioned dinner in the small village of Shiloh. 

 

Shiloh Dinner is a favorite place to visit because the food is homemade and the banter between the dinner's workers and the regular customers gives the place a local flavor. Ease-dropping has never been so much fun as it was on that day!

 

 

***New Daily Special****

Yap With a Side of Coffee

 

Geezer....it's getting a bit damp outside.

Other Geezer...yep

Woman...yep. Rainin'.

Waitress...you guys gonna order or just yap about the weather?

Geezer...yap, with a side of coffee

 

 

 

With stomachs full of good food and our brains full of good laughs we decided to head "up north" because the rain had settled down. Vermillion, Ohio, was our destination.

 

The 45 minute scenic drive was uneventful...passed a few Amish buggies along the way, and a few fields of damp corn shocks standing like sentinels on the rolling hills against the grey sky...maybe wishing Old Sol would put a stop to the rain and dry them out. As we got closer to the lake, we were amazed by the thousands of sea gulls in the fields, gleaning bits of grain. At one point, the gulls left a field on one side of the road to green pastures on the other. The thousands of beating wings overhead gave me an other-worldly feeling.

 

Vermillion's businesses go all-out when they decorate for the seasons. This year, the town was exceptional, as soon as we hit the town limits we felt welcome. The wreaths on the lamp posts were life-savers decked out in winter greenery and Christmas-red bows. This type of attention to detail and individuality is what sets towns like Vermillion apart from other small towns. I wish that all small towns would take as much pride in their historic districts as Vermillion does.

 

Vermillion's small beach on Lake Erie was the first place we stopped. Gulls, mallards, and Canada geese made their way around the frozen waves that had broken up into dirty chunks of ice. I could not resist taking pictures, and took my camera for a walk along the beach in a cold drizzle.

 

The drizzle did not last long; full out rain sent me running back to the car. I noticed that the rain on the windshield gave a painterly effect to the light house and lamp post, and once again the camera was at work.

 

 

 

Denise and I never did see the sun...not even a ray. Oh, well, it was a great day, a day of quietude amongst a much-too-busy month.

 

Marcheta *make mine a combo

 

 



 

Happy Winter Solstice!

 

 

In looking for a poem that fits this picture of a gull taken during the Winter Solstice in 2012, I turned to the Poetry Foundation's website. Right off, I came across this poem by a favorite poet of mine, Mary Oliver, who was born in Ohio. Mary lived in the east during her adult years, but many of her nature poems have their roots in Ohio.

 

I love the winter solstice. It is a day to remember ancient people who planned their celebrations of life around the natural calendar. I always take the day off, a welcome break in all the Christmas preparation frenzies. I usually do not have a clear-cut plan of how I will spend the day, I simply drive around to see what I'll see. Last year I came across gulls at my regular nature spot, which was a treat because gulls are not all that common at the reservoirs.

 

This year, I invited Denise to motor around with me. Our loose plan is to meander to Lake Erie, but with heavy rains predicted for the day, our plans may change to staying closer to home. Either way, and with or without Old Sol, we'll enjoy our respite from Holiday Madness.

 

I wish calmness and serenity on this Winter Solstice Day, the shortest day of the year. I'm feeling a little bit like Age of Aquarius right now!

 

Marcheta *let the sun shine, let the sun shine in!

 

White-Eyes

By Mary Oliver b. 1935 Mary Oliver

In winter

    all the singing is in

         the tops of the trees

             where the wind-bird

with its white eyes

    shoves and pushes

         among the branches.

             Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,

    but he's restless—

         he has an idea,

             and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

    as long as he stays awake.

         But his big, round music, after all,

             is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.

    In the pine-crown

         he makes his nest,

             he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

    I only imagine his glittering beak

         tucked in a white wing

             while the clouds—

which he has summoned

    from the north—

         which he has taught

             to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall

    into the world below

         like stars, or the feathers

               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,

    that is asleep now, and silent—

         that has turned itself

             into snow