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Posts Tagged ‘landscape’

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A park near a neighboring school, adjacent to the Mystic River. I hope the middle schoolers take time to look up from their phones and enjoy the beauty around them.

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Behind the garage is goldenrod, blue cornflowers and red clover. They grew up on their own, seeds dispersed by the wind or planted by some former resident. I planted pink dianthus, orange-red marigolds and some carnations from seed. No rhyme or reason. No theme. There is even a pot of white snapdragons just because they were on sale in the store.

Behind the garage is an unsettled area. Every hard rain reveals bits of old thick glass … recently I’ve been finding marbles … what stories do they have to tell? … and cement chunks from some demolition that took place not too long ago. One has to be careful where one walks.

Behind the garage there is the remnant of an old apple tree, its bark overgrown around what must have been a chain link fence at some point. Pieces of metal still stick out. Animals parade through. It is an avenue. I’ve seen possum, raccoons, cats, squirrels and lots of rabbits. I can only imagine what else might meander through in the dead of the night when I am not looking.

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my super eclectic 2×5 raised garden bed

I have to admit it has been mostly people of color who have been most vocal in their curiosity. “Do you live here?” “Nice neighborhood. What’s your rent like?” And if they see Steve standing about with his silvery beard and walking stick, some venture to inquire, “Are you a home health aid?” These are Uber drivers. The White drivers tend to pull up, look at the house and then at me, curious clearly, but leaving the questions unasked.

It is a 1920s wood frame two family house with good bones that need some work. Stuff like fixing holes in walls, replacing plumbing, updating the 1970s washer and dryer in the rental unit and so on and so forth and ,ah, the learnings! One small brick porch was recently repaired while the larger brick porch had to be replaced completely because, as Steve thought based on his tapping his walking stick on the bricks, the interior bricks had crumbled and there was a disaster in the making. That had to be fixed and it looks good. The exterior painting that’s clearly needed? So long as we don’t look too shabby that’s getting pushed out into the far future. I did not realize owning a home was so expensive. But as Steve likes to remind me, we really don’t own the home. The bank owns it until we pay off the mortgage. 🙂

There was an incident on the street recently and the police arrived. I went outside by myself to inquire what was happening. In short during the course of the conversation I informed the officer I was not a tenant, I was the landlord. There followed that moment of silence and that too-familiar look on his face. I was treated with respect but the curiosity remained clear in his face, the Black officer, and later on the face of a White officer.

There are times of late on the Uber ride home, especially after a long day in Boston, and I see the question(s) forming, I am tempted to make up a story. “Yes, I’m a home health care aid. That’s why my bags are filled with groceries and flowers, so that I can take care of the people inside.” “Yes, I’ve been renting for years and luckily the landlord hasn’t raised the rent. Indeed it is a nice neighborhood and I am lucky to be able to afford it.”

I do not think of the queries and reactions as necessarily racist. I think of them as unintentionally or unknowingly biased. There is a perception of me by people of different races and backgrounds that kicks in when they see me, a small brown woman who may look a bit younger than I actually am, standing in front of a multifamily home. Is it so rare that a Black person owns a home in the Greater Boston area?

Yes, it is.

There has been much research on the subject and there is continuing work by people at many levels to fix the inequity in home ownership that has evolved over many many many decades.

I am by trade a storyteller but I will ignore urges to make up a story about our home and my presence in it. It serves no purpose to lie except to perpetuate a misconception. I am simply reminded of my research, and the research of so many scholars, with regard to systemic racism and the seeds that are implanted in the minds of people of all backgrounds as to who Black people are and what they are capable of.

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When I saw Donna’s photos from Lovell, Maine I knew I wanted to share them and so I asked her for some words to accompany them. She shared a poem written by her partner’s daughter, Kristin Roberts, and suggested Kristin’s words might work instead. A perfect pairing. The poem, written by Kristin in the 7th grade, attests to her sensitivity and great observational skills about nature, about the people who engage with the Lovell landscape, and about the passage of time. Please enjoy this lovely pairing of words and images that capture the season.

Photo by Donna Stenwall

Autumn

Crimson, buttercup, marigold leaves swirl rustling around in rhythm of Autumn. The icy winds swipe.

Bee charmers with nets on their crowns, collect the pure golden honey from dripping cones. Farmers collect apples just before the tart crispy fruit turns to ripe.

The bitter winds nip at my face, redden my cheeks, numb my fingers, while icy blue Jack frost freezes Queen Anne’s lace.

Warm golden summer’s gone.

Photo by Donna Stenwall

Oaks and birches are stripped bare. Rifle shots ring out in echo as sharp eyed hunters bring down swift graceful deer.

Sweet singing birds long ago flew south, replaced with huge black crows with their loud mocking mouths.

Soft fluffy snow will soon replace corpsed grass. And the awful sight soon will pass.

Photo by Donna Stenwall

My lawn is littered with bright leaves, each unique in its own way. Dark misty evening is extended. Gray dawns are gloomy, bright mornings have ended.

Brilliant gay summers will be here at last, when the silver season after golden Autumn soon comes to pass.

by Kristin Roberts (1981-2011)

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It was simply and strangely beautiful. Walking through a world-class museum. There should have been chaotic hustle and bustle, the sounds of school children, teens taking selfies, seniors dressed to the nines meeting up for tea. Instead my friends and I were part of a very small cohort of people with tickets to see the Monet exhibit at the Boston Museum of Fine Art until we we were ready to leave and create space for others to enter. It was a special treat. Even as social distancing has become a new norm of the moment in the age of COVID, there have also been created these weirdly intimate opportunities to experience the world.

I expect that this exhibit of 35 Monet and other paintings would have been curated quite differently pre-pandemic. The current curation is expansive. There’s lots of space between paintings, and you’re moved through several large rooms that provide just enough information about his life, his influences, the growth of his garden, and the creation of that magnificent pond.

We are reminded of Monet’s triumphs. He was an acknowledged success during his life time. But we are also reminded of his humanity as we learn of his struggles to achieve his artistic vision … struggles that in the end produced great beauty.

An excellent exhibit and one I hope others have an opportunity to view in person. But if you can’t visit there is a lovely preview video on the MFA’s website, a slide show, behind the scenes with the curator and much more. See link below.

https://www.mfa.org/exhibition/monet-and-boston-lasting-impression

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Icebergs

Editorial note: Do you miss traveling? I do too! I thought my friend Andrea’s images of Iceland, taken before the pandemic, were beautiful but now … they are truly majestic, capturing a dynamic landscape rich in color and full of light. Thanks for sharing, Andrea!

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 Ice Cave

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Diamond Beach

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Glacier

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Black Sand

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Blue Lagoon

Photos courtesy of Andrea Ranger

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