Abbey Autumnal: Two Poems

Here we are, the last week of October, which down here in the Carolina's should be beautiful.  For me, it will be a week of 2 Halloween events at work, which makes me so very happy.  There will be a neighborhood gathering at a local brewery.  

Of course, there will be much more mundane events.  On Wednesday, we find out if the fixer-upper house needs a new hot water heater or if it's a simple fix of lighting the pilot light.  Later in the week, there will be a Zoom call for the Quilt Camp leadership team.

It's also the last week of an election year, midterm elections, which may be monumental in terms of individual wins, but probably won't lead to the kinds of changes I would like to see.  Truth be told, I never have that kind of hope in elections anymore.

I've been trying to come up with something slightly different for my Creative Writing class tomorrow.  We've been doing autumnal themed activities, with teaching ideas that I've used in English 101 and 102.  Usually that would require no modification, but this year, half the class had me for 101 and/or 102.

So, I've added to past lesson plans, which has made them better.  But I also want to do something entirely different.  So tomorrow, we'll discuss works that are anti-autumn in some way, like this classic about decorative gourd season (which also lets us discuss profanity) and this one about the end of daylight savings time.  We'll also talk about using autumnal elements in surprising ways.

I'm going to use this poem as a model.  I wrote it long ago, after one of my annual autumn retreats to Mepkin Abbey.  

Autumn at the Abbey

I drove seven hundred miles from the tip
of Spanish speaking Florida to the Gullah drenched
lowcountry marsh.

I arose in the wee small hours of the morning
to drive up the spine of the state
with truckers and other insomniacs.

I saw the flaming
orange fields, the flickers
of light across the river.

I have eaten eggs from the chickens
raised by monks and been sprinkled
with holy water before bed.

I saw the baby Jesus
created from a
cornucopia of materials.

I harmonized with monks
and chanted my way through a quarter
of the Psalms.

I watched the monks at sunset
walking under Spanish moss draped
trees, ghosts from a different century.

---

I'm also going to include this poem, which I wrote when I wanted the poem to be more explicitly Halloween influenced.

All Hallows at the Abbey

I awoke very early to sing
lauds with the monks,
and then I set out for the river.

In the pre-sunrise mists that rose off the currents,
I would not have been surprised
to see a runaway slave.

In the afternoon, the fields flamed
orange and light winked
across the water.

I returned to the chapel to harmonize
with monks and chant
the Psalms that still speak to us.

As the sun sank, across the river, candles flickered
in carved pumpkins and costumed children participated
in a different ancient ritual.

As we walked to compline service, monks in white robes
walked under trees dripping with Spanish moss,
ghosts from a different century.

---

Will these ideas generate something new?  Stay tuned!

Hay Rides and Full Moons and Pumpkins

We have been to several autumn festivals at Faith Lutheran church, but yesterday was the first time I've taken part in the hayride.  Last night, as the full moon rose, and just before the sun sank at the horizon, a tractor pulled a low flatbed with hay bales around the back field of the church.  It was gorgeous, and I have no pictures, and I am fine with that.

It was so delightful that I went a second time, later.  We stopped to pick up some pumpkins out of the side field on the way back.  We had bought a lot because we advertised "Free pumpkins."  I was surprised by how many people didn't want one.

We had 8 varieties of chili for people to try, along with 2 kinds of cornbread and at least 10 dessert options.  Everyone was in a festive mood, and the weather was perfect.

The leaves are less glorious this year, but here and there, a tree is doing its full autumnal celebration.  Many trees have already lost all their leaves, and a good number of them are still green.  I'm happy to look up and see the leaf beauty in whatever form it offers. 

And now, off to celebrate the Reformation!   Worship begins at 10, and all are welcome.

Waning Days of October

Later today, we'll get in the car and head the other direction on I 26, up to Bristol.  You might say, "Wait, it's not Sunday."  No, it's not, but because today is Faith Lutheran's Chili Fest, we're going up today and spending the night in a hotel.  It's been a month of a lot of travel for me, and today is the last overnight trip.

Tomorrow is Reformation Sunday; a week from today is Halloween.  The World Series is underway, and my spouse who has been a baseball fan from childhood is more excited about this World Series than he's been in years, if not decades.  While I am enjoying these October days, I'm also keenly aware that my favorite season is zooming by.

Yesterday we went out into the bright October sunshine.  Were we going to an apple orchard?  No, we went to buy some desk chairs for the fixer-upper house.  I can't quite figure out when to do the bigger move, but in the coming weeks, we'll have a place to sit while we figure it out.

The natural gas company will come out on Wed. to relight the pilot light on the hot water heater.  If we need to replace it, a bigger move will be postponed.

In later years, when I wonder why I didn't do much writing, or why I didn't do more of my favorite autumnal activities in the fall of 2026, let me remember how much of my spare time and mental space has been consumed with this fixer-upper house.  Let me also remember the unanticipated joys of this semester; my classes have been going spectacularly well.

Internet Service, Voting, and Traffic Woes

It has been a busy few days, especially yesterday, but happily, we've gotten some important tasks done.  We should have a tech arriving at our fixer-upper house in Spartanburg to get our internet set up--which meant we spent an hour yesterday finding the Spectrum sales store, waiting for 10 minutes, and then going over our options and making a choice.

After doing that, we got in the car to head back to our home in Arden.  We sat in stopped traffic because of a lane closure due to bridge work.  It could have been much, much worse--on a different part of I 26 yesterday afternoon there was an hours-long closure after a wrong way crash that led to death and injury.  It all makes me glad that at some point soon, I won't be commuting quite as much.

We had planned to vote yesterday afternoon, and we decided to head over to our local library; all our early voting in my county is done at library branches.  If it was too crowded at the polls, I could still get some library books returned. Happily, I was able to get my library books picked up, check out my the latest Anne Patchett book that I put on hold back when it first came out, and we voted.

The voting was easy:  no lines, no ugly protests outside, no wait of any kind, equipment that seems state of the art, at least to me.  I had downloaded a sample ballot, which I filled out and brought with me, so I didn't need to spend time pondering my choices.

Once again, my writing time is short--off we go, for me to teach, and for my spouse to wait for the tech person to show up.  During my office hours, I'll try to get someone to come look at the hot water heater, which was working weeks ago, and is no longer--ah, the joys of a fixer-upper!

Winged Chariots and Writing Projects

It's that time again, when I feel various projects piling up; Andrew Marvell said it so much more eloquently, "But at my back I always hear / Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near."  Of course, the speaker is trying to woo a woman--or maybe just get sex.  I am trying to grade papers and write poems and send work out for possible publication and along the way, write a weekly sermon and finish work for my TEEM requirements.

So this morning, when my brain snapped awake just after 3, I gave myself stern instructions, "In the next three hours, you must make progress on either your sermon or your Jeremiah paper."

I decided that the Jeremiah paper needed to be done first, so I started a pot of coffee and settled in.  By now, I know that one of the secrets to a good writing morning is to do the writing before opening any internet portals, and I followed that formula this morning to great success:  1989 words, for an assignment that asks for 1000-1500 words.  I need to craft a conclusion, and I'm done.

I had some ideas when I started, and the writing flowed easily--the kind of joy I rarely experience with academic writing.  Of course, I didn't need to use many scholarly sources, so it was bound to be much easier, but that's not always a given.  It was also a joy to find my writing going in unanticipated and exciting directions--also, not always a given.  I was surprised, in good ways, and delighted.

Hopefully my sermon will also proceed similarly.  That writing, however, will have to wait until later--that chariot that will deliver me to Spartanburg will need to leave in two-ish hours, which means I need to get ready soon.

Teaching Confirmations and Affirmations

Yesterday afternoon, I went to downtown Spartanburg, to the business office of Hub City publishers, a group which also runs the charming, downtown bookstore.  We had the last meeting with a student who is doing a Capstone project.  We agreed that it's been a success.

It was neat to be in the office space of a small business, with stacks of books and packages waiting to be mailed.  It was good to remember that small businesses are still doing what they do, and even better that it's a business that supports readers and writers--and in Spartanburg.

As I walked in the perfect October afternoon weather, I thought about how Spartanburg reminds me of early 80's Asheville, and I mean that in the best possible way:  small businesses, people walking in safety from traffic, easy to navigate, plentiful parking which is free.  And did I mention the small businesses are varied and charming?

So far, it's been a good teaching week, both in terms of classes and students.  Some of them are students in my classes:  yesterday, one of my students was ablaze with happiness at having made progress on the novel-in-progress.  Some of the students are ones who came to me because of their own creative writing interests, and I was happy to be part of projects, like the Capstone project, or just a wise elder, reminding a student that one can still do creative writing, even if it's not a job, that we can't be sure of what will make us money and what won't and having a creative interest not influenced by monetizing potential might be a net positive.  It's also been past students:  a colleague told me of a student in her class who gave me credit for becoming a competent writer (and happily, my colleague says she's continuing to produce stellar writing).

I am usually happy to perk along, confident that what I am doing matters--but it's nice to have confirmation along the way.

Autumn Odes and Puzzles

We have been in a stretch of perfect autumnal weather:  chilly nights, clear days, before the time change so we still have plenty of time to enjoy this perfect October time.  As I drove down the Cumberland Highway on Saturday, I was struck by how many small towns had piled pumpkins around the "Welcome to ______ " signs.  Pumpkins and hay bales and perhaps a scarecrow that wouldn't scare a soul.

It's not the perfect leaf viewing season, however.  Yesterday I stood on the back deck and stared up at the trees, and I was startled to realize how thin the leaf canopy is.  Many trees dropped their leaves before attaining full autumnal glory--and many trees are still fairly green in leaf.

When we first moved to South Florida, I didn't realize how different the seasons would be.  I didn't miss winter much, and summers seemed similar to South Carolina, but every year I had a fierce yearning for fall.  One year we bought two puzzles, and I still remember the one with the autumnal picture.  It was a nineteenth century town with horses and wagons and a big dance happening in the center of the village.  The trees had the perfect assortment of autumnal leaves and pumpkins dotted the puzzle landscape.

We put that puzzle together in the fall of 2001, when the world felt so topsy-turvy.  It was soothing to put the puzzle together.  

 I was teaching the British literature survey class, and I had Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" on my brain--those figures on the urn, forever frozen in whatever emotional moment they experienced right then.  I thought the puzzle offered a similar dynamic.

It's an interesting spiritual question that Keats poses:  is it better to be forever poised to kiss the beloved?  Is it better to live in the moment of anticipation, rather than having to deal with all the messy humanness that comes after the kiss, once we truly know our beloved?

And there are larger questions posed by both the urn and the poem:  how do we stay in the here and now?  How do we not get distracted by our sorrows?  How do we maintain our faith, in the face of enormous woes?  For me, during that autumn of 2001 that broke our hearts in so many ways, the answer came in the jigsaw puzzle.

I've never thought of jigsaw puzzles as spiritual practice or meditation aid.  Perhaps I should. 

As these thoughts swirled in my brain, a poem began to emerge.  It's now 25 years old, so the imagery of disaster might feel dated, not something I considered when I composed it.  Despite the dated reference to September 11, I think it holds up relatively well.

Ode on an American Puzzle


These people do not puzzle over how the pieces
of their lives fit together. They know their purpose,
always at the center of the picture.
They will never return home to unfinished
craft projects and unwashed dishes. They will celebrate
continuously at this harvest dance, the deepest
darks of night and winter always at arm’s
length, the leaves always brightly colored,
mounds of pumpkins waiting for transformation,
every woman and man matched, the children tended.

Perhaps that is why I like puzzles.
As buildings melt and planes explode, and even smaller tragedies
rip apart the pieces of a life, I find
a measured calm that even poetry cannot provide.
I sit at this table, free from existential mystery.
I know what picture will emerge as I piece
this project into one. I know that all the parts
have been provided. I know that they will connect.
What other aspect of my life can hope
to offer the same consolation?