Thanksgiving Symphony

geese

The goose orchestra is playing today on the lake,

A cacophony of sound

Tossed into the air by a brisk north wind,

Softened by the muffled wing flapping of late concert goers.

 

The gray sky and brown grass welcome the joyous music,

On an otherwise silent winter day,

As a thousand geese perform a symphony of gratitude,

For their safe arrival to our little lake of the south,

And we, with God, are listening.

                                                                                                                                                                                                Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                                                                                   November 2005
                                                                                                                                               Revised November 2014

Air Conditioned Pants

Air Conditioned Jeans

A beautiful girl with
Faded blue,
Air conditioned jeans,
Sat next to me on the flight.

She talked on her phone,
Wrote text messages,
Read from an autobiography of Gandhi,
And drank a coke without ice.

That is all I know about her
Because,
We didn’t talk.  

                                                      Cerita M. Hewett
                                                      June 5,2015
                                                      Revised July 6, 2015

Summer 1945

Group of World War II heavy bombers on a mission

Thunder filled our white frame house.
Our family ran outside and looked up,
Airplanes in formation roared overhead,
Uncountable flying machines rumbled above,
I grabbed my five year old sister’s hand,
She squeezed it tightly,
Staring upward toward the silver slivers in the sky,
I shaded my eyes with my other hand.

Mother called, “Maybe, maybe Uncle Bryant is the
Pilot in one of them.”
That made them seem friendlier,
We all waved wildly,
But we still clung to
Each other.      

                                                      Cerita M. Hewett
                                                      October 16,2002

LaVon Lyons Moore

Pioneer Mother

(1904-1989)

LaVon Lyons Moore

She lived, she really lived!
At six she ran to school from her Alberta home,
Bundled up against the freezing wind,
Arriving at the school chilled to the bone.
Standing by the warm wood stove,
She thawed too quickly and fainted,
But she lived.Lyons trek map

When ten she walked from the Canadian plains
Beside a covered wagon,
Eight hundred miles to the Boise Valley,
Feared the distant mountains they must pass,
Comforted by her father’s counsel of unseen roads,
She continued walking, and walking,
Laid on her back in the Mts. under berry bushes,
Picked her first fresh fruit,
Ate until her stomach was full.
Then walked on.Lyons wagon crew

 

Another day she rode her bother Ivan’s
Horse all day long,
Became violently ill in the night,
Terrific pain in the abdomen,
Yet she lived, persisted, and walked on.

 

In the icy winter weather,
At Nampa her family boarded a train,
Rode two-hundred miles to Burley, Idaho
Having left on June 10, 1914 and arrived Thanksgiving Day
To live in a tent until something better could be made.
LaVon grew and matured.

 

Contracted Typhoid FeverLavon Lyons Moore portait
Lost much of her hair,
Lived isolated in a bedroom with her father
For a month or more,
With his tender care she
Endured and recovered.

 

During the Depression LaVon,
Dropped out of high school to help the family,
Worked in town as a secretary because she could type,
Served as a fountain waitress because they needed her,
Came to like cherry coke a lot,
Read books and kept learning,
Walked to her work each day.

 

engaged

Eloped in December at nineteen years of age
With handsome Billy Moore,
Nine years older than she,
Held her hands over his ears to keep them warm,
As they drove the two hundred miles in an unheated
Ford to the Boise valley and his parents’ home,
Began being a homemaker.

 

Their first child died at birth,
She was close to death herself,
Never saw the baby,
Was not present at his funeral,family
Rallied back to life,
Always remembering him,
She walked on.

 

Farmed with her husband on rented land,
Made it in the hard years.
Made clothes,
Made bread,
Made soap,
Made do,
And bore children.

 

                                                     

 In one twelve month periodwayne  Their nine year old son Wayne died of leukemia,
Her Mother died of cancer,
And she gave birth to a baby girl.
Trusting in the Lord,
Not giving in she walked on.

 

 

kids

 

Started farming their own place the winter of forty-one,
In June of forty-two Bill died,
Leaving her with six children,
Crops to irrigate, cows to milk,
Chickens to feed,
And a baby on the way,
Her neighbors helped her through
That season and all survived.

 

That November she bore her ninth child,with baby
A beautiful baby boy,
When friends suggested that it was sad
To have a baby in such circumstances,
She replied, “Who knows but what he will
Bring me great happiness.”
She found in him great joy.

 

house

 

Sold the farm she could not keep,
Because a woman could not carry the mortgage,
So she moved her children to an acreage,
Grew gardens, milked cows, sold eggs,
Kept the books and worked at the welfare storehouse,
Cooked in the school lunch program,
Believing things would work out,
Sustained her family.

mature lavon

 

Now she took her children to church,
Understood the spirit of the gospel,
Taught them as she read the Book of Mormon,
Made suppertime an occasion
By her excellent cooking,
And lively conversation,
Maintained a loving, happy home.

 

Her children grew up and one by onegrown family
Left her home for college,
For Missions,
For the military,
For jobs,
For their own homes,
For their own lives,
Alone she wrote letters and walked on.

 

Fell down the basement stairs,
Broke her leg but crawled up
To phone for help,
Persevered and healed,
In the safety of the mall walked on.

with grandkids

Grandchildren came to visit,
She loved them, listened to them,
Encouraged them, laughed with them,
Read to them favorite stories,
Learned to knit and made them sweaters.
Believed always in their goodness.

 

Grew weaker in a frail body,
Couldn’t live alone anymore,
Lived with her children,
Then lived in a nursing home,
                                                   Still smiled with visitors,
                                                   Encouraged her care givers,
                                                   Made the best of every situation,
                                                   With a walker she walked on.

 

LaVon Lyons Moore truly experienced mortal life.lavon 85
She could smile and her eyes would twinkle,
Found joy in the small things of life,
Ripe peaches, canning grape juice,
Planted crops, clean faces and combed hair,
Scriptures, Sunday, good books, poetry,
Children’s play and accomplishments.
She walked in faith to the last moment.

 

lavon 1975Walking on before us she smoothed the way,
She loved deeply, sacrificed, and pioneered,
Beyond this mortal life,
She lives and watches for her posterity,
Expecting us to walk on!

After a Year of Blogging

pineywoodspoet

           “I like to leave out the parts the readers skip over.”

           Elmore Leonard, from after THE END by Barry Lane, pp. 207

 

It is amazing to me that a whole year has passed by since I began this blog with the encouragement and help of Alisha and Edward. Though I was slow to act upon their suggestions, I have enjoyed the experience. Thanks to all you who have found something of interest and have taken time to comment on my words. Those comments make it worthwhile to continue to share the simple thoughts and ideas that I have written.

As before, the writing I am posting was produced in the past, and after some thought and often revision, I am publishing it here on the web. It is not usually written the week it is published, as it is difficult for me to think, write, and polish something new each week. Most of my writing needs some ‘ageing’ before it is ready to be shared. Also, I will be posting some things written by family members and others, with their permission. This will add a bit of variety and some new voices to the blog which I think will be interesting. If you would like to contribute something, let me know and we will try to include it.

May you enjoy these samples of shortened text and find in them something to encourage your day, something that rings true to you.

Let us celebrate together the joys, challenges, and vitality of daily life here on this beautiful earth.

The first offering in November is a tribute to my Mother who was an unselfish woman and a great inspiration. Autumn was her favorite time of the year when the crops were in, the bottled fruit on the shelf, and the children starting a new year in school. She read poetry to me when I was really too young to understand “Evangeline” or “The Courtship of Miles Standish” but her voice, the rhythm, the feelings still ring in my ears. I found the writing of this piece so much fun and my personal understanding of her life was greatly enriched.

                                                  Cerita M. Hewett
                                                  November 2016

Her Favorite Hour

Daylight Savings nap

                                       (for Alisha)

 

Her favorite hour of the YEAR?
Daylight Savings’ Fall Back Morning.

 

Nothing is planned,
No one can demand it,
Because this mythical hour,
Actually doesn’t exist,
Truly a FREE hour,
She can really sleep in.

 

Thank you Woodrow Wilson.
You probably didn’t think of
This unintended consequence
Of your World War I policy!

                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                               October 30, 2015

Painting With Leaves

painting

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday evening the grand children and I
Went for a walk in our woods,
The forest was quiet,
The pine needles deep and soft beneath our feet,
Some of the deciduous leaves had begun to
Turn colors and fall to the forest floor,
The girls kept giggling and dancing about
Like children having been let out of church,
I kept feeling Elena and then Isabel
Touch the back of my sweater,
I couldn’t see what was happening but
I knew they were putting something,
On my fuzzy sweater vest,

Finally at the house after a photo,
I was able to see their work,
My back was a beautiful leaf painting!

                                                                                 Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                    Nov. 7, 2011

Harvesters

                                 Crows On The Sky

                                          Arrived today
                                          Somehow they know
                                          When the husks
                                          Split open on the pecans.

                                         My man plants his booted foot
                                         On one end of a springy slat
                                         Lifts up the other end and
                                         Three times he lets it go.
                                         Wham! Wham! Wham! 

                                        The shinny black demons fly
                                        Cawing their irritation at a feast
                                        Interrupted.

                                        Circling, calling raucously they
                                        Descend again
                                        Signaling their defiance
                                        At the warning whams.

                                        We go out
                                        Sacrificing gorgeous autumn days to
                                        Shake the trees and
                                        Gather up the nuts,
                                        Not conceding  
                                        All the delicious pecans to
                                        The harvesters.

                                                                                                Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                                November 2001
                                                                                                (revised 2014)

 

No More

Tawny Owl Hidden Between Leafs

Behind the Alojamiento.
In the daytime, mostly hidden,
An owl sat in a leafy tree,
Only eyes, a foot, and half a body visible,
We looked for him in the light,
As we walked by there each day,
And listened for him at night,
As we lay suspended between awake and asleep.
Once in a while we would hear
A soft ooo- ooo- ooo-
Or a muted rustle of
Wings in flight.

Then one day we saw him no more,
Heard him no more,
Yet our heads turn as we pass his perch,
Hoping for one more sighting.
Still we listen for his call in the twilight hours,
Just a mirage remains,
Just an echo in our brains,
Only a gentle, pleasant, lingering memory!

Cerita M. Hewett
September 4, 2010

Captured by a Campfire

                                     Burning Log in Hot Fire and Flames

(for Sharon & Gordon)

                                          Everyone else went inside
                                          To shower, snack, and visit.
                                          I wanted to go too,
                                          But the dying coals of the fire
                                          Held me captive, motionless,
                                          Quietly staring into its depths,
                                          Watching embers glow,                                                 

                                          Flash, and die into white ash.
                                          Remembering, savoring, storing it up.
                                          Gordon called from the balcony,
                                        “Are you ok?”
                                        “Yes,” I replied and sat longer
                                        Drinking in the quiet,
                                        Inhaling the aroma of smoke and pines,
                                        Until there was no more warmth
                                        For my hands and face,
                                        No glow,
                                        Then at last I was released.

                                                                                         Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                          February 2015