Sad Note

Sad Note

A grand old Elm Tree seems to have just succumbed to the dreaded Dutch Elm disease. A tree which was probably living when our country was at war with itself during the Civil War. A tree that defied all the rules of long life but lived it anyway; that saw much of our Town's history but couldn't write or speak about it, this Elm experienced it all.

Growing on Hanover Street just north of Second Street this Elm grew in the front yard of what used to be the Swavely Home, where Orb Swavely last lived. I speculate it, along with a Red Oak tree, were planted, most likely, prior to the start of the 20th Century. They survived in spite of the smallness of the front yard they were planted in with buildings, and sidewalk, and Hanover Street so close.

Finally, when this Elm Tree is cut down, some smart students should get a cross section cut from the lower trunk and have a project of counting its rings so its age can be determined and certified.

There is an old saying,"when any person dies, a little is lost from from each of us". For me, someone who planted trees for a living during my active working years, I carry this sentiment over from humans to the plant world. My feelings are expansive.

When you drive on Hanover Street give a nod of your head to the now leafless grand old tree which has bowed finally to the scourge of disease, probably, the Dutch Elm Disease. This disease, in my mind, is similar to some form of cancer in humans, and, like cancer, must be eradicated from this Earth.

Ronald C. Downie

Dry Toast

Dry Toast

Unarmed and fearless, passive, not thinking,
We jump on every cockamamy scheme
Politicians have the gaul to project.
Who is unstable ? Are we or are they ?

An electorate that's illiterate,
Or worse, unconcerned is very troubling.
Societies have withstood ignorance
But crush under the weight of not caring.

(Gran'Pa Downie left this timeless message :

"Ronald, do you want marmalade on your toast ?"
I loved sweet spreads on my warm morning toast.

I replied, "I don't care !" He passed me dry toast,
Saying, "If you don't care, I don't care."
Following up, he said, "All the more left for me."

Over the years, this harsh message hit home.
Not caring is just not acceptable ! )

Caring is a quite active exercise
Requiring a minimum of raw
Intelligence plus desire to commit.
It stirs emotion, effects an action.

My young attitude of just not caring
Is amplified more then a million fold
When a whole society adopts it.
Its malaise easily permeates all.

Knowing this is a politicians job.
Their industry's to stroke the ignorant,
Romance the rest, don't stir the non caring.
Deception's their artful work endeavor.

Ronald C. Downie

It All Depends

It All Depends

It all depends upon, Henny Penny's sky falling,
And Jacques Cousteau's blue oceans swelling ;

Depends upon, The Rolling Stones' songs playing,
Guardian Angles' protection finds safety amazing ;

Upon, John Updike past his Endpoint, again rising,
Evan Brandt penning each story his Dad's not writing;

The Mercury attending to the poor's needs unending,
And leaders in Washington their ignorance extending;

It all depends upon, the morning sun clearly rising
In a dedicated arc across our sky its energy giving;

Depends upon, grandsons picking up batons dropping,
Left over from attempts to keep live music rocking;

Upon, the fingers at their instruments still plucking,
Viewing the World from a lens in need of adjusting;

Within you, trees feel at ease, grasslands swaying,
Gardens seek your pleasure, soil rich for playing.

Ronald C. Downie

Sonnet : Gain Mastery

Sonnet : Gain Mastery

When in a crush of many misled men
Our World shutters of horrible deeds,
A counter is born by all strong women
Who bear our children, birth new seeds :

Then, fresh generations gain the wheel,
Trims the sails, set the compass to steer
Vessel into clear waters. Then they feel
Gaining mastery is something not to fear :

And then, we of a lesser state, find comfort
In understanding life on Earth gains in merit
From vitality pent up with genes of this sort,
Wishing for a more perfect union, to inherit.

Be these, the dreams to set aside our own misery
Of discontent or discarded woes, gains its mastery.

Ronald C. Downie

The Art Of Listening

Sonnet : The Art Of Listening

When we lean on the cluttered din of the day
Few sounds can escape chatter's deafening wake.
Sharp piercing sounds squeal loudly, far away,
The rest, cloud like, low muffled sounds make :

Then in conversation which guides this very day,
From clouds back to Earth, beckons our own reply.
Uptempo, finding why's and wherefores, we may
State truths and falsehoods out loud to the sky :

And then, do we really wait for an answer returned ?
Or, have we retreated back into the heavens cloudy,
Not hearing the din nor if the responder's concerned,
Which has bearing living silently, if not, then loudly?

Lost is the "Art Of Listening" basic to Earth as sod,
But, grown so closely, are we just "Pees In A Pod"?

Ronald C. Downie

Sonnet : My Body Of Work

Sonnet : My Body Of Work

When my finger becomes a stump from pecking away
On my iPad, with just the right hand pointing one ;
I look at my body of work, shrug my shoulders, pray
That I'm not as lame in ability as thought by some :

Then gathering myself, I think, "What The Sam Hell"
Am I doing out in this arena of original thought ?
Me, a boy of the soil, with pulsating words to tell
Audiences about education's purpose, as it's taught :

And then, a Scottish Highland stubbornness invades
My innards and rescues an inbred arrogance for life.
If not me, who the hell will write of grand parades,
Of awakening flowers, children, theirs, and my wife ?

However menial the task, it's the full effort given
Which measures a person's metal, sung by the liven.

Ronald C. Downie

Dog Days

Dog Days

More in the news today are dogs, those four legged canine with super sensitive noses, who are doing things for Man unimaginable just twenty or thirty years ago. Bomb sniffing dog's abilities are heroic in many war stories made prominent on television news of the day. For at least the next decade or so, bomb sniffing dog stories will command many book shelves and movie screens seeking public support.

Domestically many local police departments adopt dogs to prove their worth working bomb scares and controlling crowds. Police dogs have proven themselves, time and time again, extremely valuable during crime searches and locating hidden drugs.

But today, today the ultimate pinnacle of high level sniffing has been announced. Trained dogs are able to sniff out ovarian cancer in women long before any visible signs of the cancer is evident to the afflicted women or to their doctor. Possibly, this high level sniffing will spread to other diseases difficult for our doctors to diagnose early.

But, there is something about dogs that one can only experience from a front porch. I spend a lot of time on my front porch watching my neighbors walk their dogs so the animals get exercise and also get enough waking to activate a movement in their dog's bowels. To my neighbors commitment for a clean town, I commend them all for carrying plastic bags that they use in picking up the poop the dogs needed to eliminate from their bodies.

I wonder what the canine world is thinking of their Master's Voice these days. From the beginning of dog time, which developed from Man's domestication of the wolf, dogs never experienced someone, not only observing their bowel movements closely, but quickly bagging their warm movements in plastic. Certainly, it is good that neighbors don't keep elephants as pets which would also need exercise by walking the streets. Dogs are broadening their horizons from their noses to just below their tails and the public needs to become more aware of "Man's Best Friend" and continue to treat dogs as a valuable ally.

Ronald C. Downie