HIKING NJ THE HEAT-WEEKS: An Essay on Shade

Marilyn as Lookout Sourlands 08 08

My sister, Marilyn Weitzel, Janet Black and Betty Lies Bird the Sourland Mountain Preserve Trail off Greenwood Avenue in Hopewell

While every newspaper and television and Internet Weather Source has been warning absolutely everyone to stay inside, “Stay Safe”, [which smarmy phrase makes my flesh crawl], I’ve discovered something experientially that I’ve probably always known:  It’s a whole lot hotter in any parking lot, getting into or out of a vehicle, than it is in any of our nearby New Jersey forests!  I’ve decided, it’s dangerous to stay at home.  For, there, life can turn into a spectator sport.

Abide With Me   Pole Farm

Pole Farm: “Abide With Me”: Shade in the Height of Summer

A Sunday ago, I hiked the Pole Farm at 8 a.m., actually about an hour too late to start, during these so-called Heat Emergencies.  Much beauty, great tranquillity, shade 9/10 of the way.  For a couple of hours, I was given gifts beyond measure.  There’s nothing on a screen, or in a newspaper or magazine to equal the elusive scent of fox, still apparent from morning trail-marking.  The cascade of field sparrows, the mew of catbird.  The pleasure of picking two wildflowers for Elaine Katz’s stone and bench – the woman who almost single-handedly insisted that this Lawrenceville (now-) Preserve was not to be a golf course or a series of intrusively spotlighted playing fields.

Sourlands Rocks 08 08

Sourland Rocks Exhale Lenape Presence

A day or two later, and again a week later, starting at 5:15, I entered the Sourland Mountain Preserve off Greenwood Avenue in Hopewell.  Not a man-made sound, not even a plane, did I hear in those couple of deeply shaded hours.  Not a man-made anything did I see, except some essential drainage pipes and the entry road, then densely wooded trails I explored.  One distant frog’s thrumming was heartening.  Dragonflies popped about whatever flowers could bloom in sunlit groves.  For a long time, I sat on basalt boulders leftover from creation, surrounded by mixed forest and essence of Lenapes of long ago.  There’d been rain by the second excursion, so various streamlets were caroling as I crossed them.

Bowman's Spring 2014 014

Intensities of Shade at Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve

The next night, when her work and mine were over for the day, Intrepid Jeanette Hooban picked me up in Lawrenceville, to glide over hill and down dale to the Delaware River, –silver in late light, purling below the Lambertville / New Hope Bridge.  Moments later, we were deep in Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve.  We decided to take four favorite trails:  Violet Trail off the access road; the old pond trail onto Fern Trail, alongside a flower-erupting former pond; and the ever-enticing Medicinal Trail, crossing the tough new bridges constructed or reconstructed after Hurricane Sandy.  Each of us has many demands made upon us in the so-called real world.  Each was a little jagged as we started out.  But, again, silence, flowers, dragonflies, hidden birds, and the murmur of Pidcock Creek gave us timeless gifts of memory.  Jeanette discovered a flaming spurt of cardinal flower, favorite of ruby-throated hummingbirds.  I could show her where to elusive snow trillium can emerge, yes, in snow, in March; where, in May, opulent yellow ladyslippers peek through heavy leaf cover to the left of the Fern Trail.  We examined the rocky edge of that Creek, for I’d found the Louisiana Waterthrush, first by song, then by habitat and behavior, a month ago with another friend.  There in the cucumber magnolia, I’d seen my first ever phoebe sing out his name over and over, while waters burbled busily below early one spring.  In heat-strafed July, shade was our gift at Bowman’s, enhanced by occasional water-cooled air.

Marsh First Willows 2013

Abbott Marshlands: Spring Lake: First Willow Buds

A few days later, key birding buddy, Anne Zeman, picked me up at 7:30 a.m., so we could go to the Abbott Marshlands (in Trenton!), in quest of images for her entries for an upcoming fine-art juried exhibition: Voices for the Marsh.  New to us was the fact that Hurricane Sandy had taken down a quantity of the Marsh’s most majestic trees.  Youngsters that survived have burgeoned in the meantime, creating dense shade everywhere — 90-some percent of our walk was tree-cool, and much alongside water.  New patterns of light and shade have amplified the richesse of its fern groves, until we ran out of species names.  Not only tiny blue dragonflies, –half the size of needles–, but equally minuscule lipstick-red ones, zinged about on all sides.  Pickerel weed’s remarkable purple (hyacinth-like, but slimmer) stems rose here and there in Spring Lake and other wet areas.

fox face close-up Brenda Jones

Fox Face, Close-Up, by Fine Art Photographer Brenda Jones

Again, we remembered where  Clyde Quin and Warren Liebensperger had shown us the five-entried fox den.  On both sides of the trail, majestic yews revealed a former dwelling in that wilderness.  Not far from there, Clyde and Warren knew to look for owls in daytime.  There’s not so much silence in the Marsh, because horrific highways are all too near, spinning out a ceaseless drone of ‘the real world’.  But after awhile, one absorbed that sound, until lapping water or locusts warming up or the sacred luffing of swans wings topped every other impression.

Marsh Sandy Damage 2013

Marsh: Hurricane Sandy Damage to Iconic Beech, Spring Scene

Each walk, alone and with others, proved that Heat Emergency consciousness can be overdone.  People can turn into couch potatoes out of fear.

beaver close-up Brenda Jones

Beaver Close-Up by Fine Art Photographer, Brenda Jones

Beauteous preserves, rich in wildlife, await on all sides of Princeton.  There’s the thickly treed Community Park North off 206.  There’s Herrontown Woods, off Snowden Lane, and the nearby Autumn Hill.  Plainsboro Preserve beckons on the other side of Route 1, with its monoculture forest of beeches — guaranteed 12 to 15 degrees cooler in summer, warmer in winter.

Beckoning Path Pl Prsrv

Beckoning Path, Plainsboro Preserve

Turn off the screens.  Grab a hat and water and natural insect repellant (a wonderful rosemary-based one is available at the Hopewell Pharmacy) and get out there.  Don’t be someone Richard Louv will have to describe as The Last (Child) in the Woods.

Beechwood Forest Stream Pl Prsrv

Microclimate Beechwood Forest, Plainsboro Preserve

 

 

 

 

 

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Georgia O’Keeffe’s Abiquiu Home and Studio

Come with us, far from politics and disasters and overweening technology — back to timeless New Mexico, and Georgia O’Keeffe’s Abiquiu refuge.  She carried this ‘rack’ of antlers home from a desert walk.  Devoted helpers mounted it.  No more appropriate welcome to her home and studio exists than the abstract simplicity of this doorway, and its iconic crest.

Georgia Door

Georgia’s Door, Home and Studio, Abiquiu, New Mexico

Georgia's Favorite Tree

Georgia’s Favorite Tree

Georgia's Ladder to the Sky  Abiquiu

Essential Ladders to Tend Adobe Rooftops

Barbara, Guide to O'Keeffe Home and Garden

Magnificent Guide, Barbara, and Georgia’s Garden, being restored by local students

Georgia's original trees, restored garden

Georgia’s Original Trees and Restored Garden, flood-irrigated once each week

Georgia Stones

Georgia’s River-Washed Stone Collection – Rio Grande Not Far

Georgia Sculpture

Early Georgia O’Keeffe Sculpture

Georgia's Abiquiu View of her mountain  Pedernal

Georgia’s View of “Her” Mountain – Pedernal – Where Her Ashes Rest

Georgia's Abiquiu Road

Georgia’s Winding Abiquiu Road

Barbara Guide and O'Keeffe's Road and Abstraction

Barbara Showing Us Georgia’s Extreme Abstraction of Her Abiquiu Road

Sheep below O'Keeffe Home

Sheep Below Georgia’s Bedroom and Studio

Adobe Perfection  Georgia's Window Abiquiu

Georgia’s Iconic Doorway – Catalyst for Countless Southwest Abstractions

Georgia's Outdoor Stones Abiquiu

Georgia’s Outdoor Stones as SHE Arranged Them

Georgia's Restored Garden with Marigolds

Georgia’s Irrigated Restored Garden, flowers and foods, with marigolds for pest control

Farewell View of Pedernal from Abiquiu O'Keeffe Home

Farewell View, Around the Corner from Georgia’s Studio and Austere Bedroom

Abiquiu Gateway to the High Desert

Garden Gateway, Abiquiu Inn — Where You Lunch and Catch Bus for Scheduled Visit to Georgia O’Keeffe’s Home & Studio

Abiquiu Inn Cottonwood Trees

Abiquiu Inn Cottonwoods, and the Cotton Bits Were Floating Like Snow

Abiquiu Inn Gateway

Abiquiu Inn Farewell

Abiquiu Inn Acequia

Abiquiu Inn Acequia — Carrying Scarce and Precious Water from the Rio Grande

EXILE – a poem in honor of France

 

EXILE

 

despite the impact of Cézanne

upon the poet

Rilke considered himself

“exiled to the Seine”

 

I am exiled here

under a Caligula governor

to whom ‘my’ nature is enemy

while the new Hitler secures

nomination by the former

Grand Old Party

 

as every World War II book

recounts the rise of fascism

all too recognizable

on every side

in what used to be

our country

 

exile ME to the Seine!

I’ll start at that point of rockiness

where old fishermen gather new fish

beneath the venerable willows

— silence of shadiness

broken only by riverine ripples

 

nearby dark barges

— sleek and gleaming —

–quaint names glowing

at their prows–

evoke other lifetimes

hint of vagabondage

brigandry, while

geraniums and laundry

ripple brightly at their sterns

 

let me become habitué

of the Seine’s Left Bank

savoring anew the courtly lunch

at that dark and storied restaurant

upon the Quai Voltaire

 

followed by long studious strolls

among des bouquinistes

whether or not I buy

I’ll stroke venerable bindings

 

thinking in almost-French

Allons-y, à la Ste. Chapelle”…

“et, après ca, le pèlerinage”

to the grim fortress where

Marie Antoinette

whiled last hours

playing chess

 

awash in sombreness

I’ll seek “une glace

at ice cream’s mecca

upon Isle St. Louis

— seeming a venerable boat

at anchor

upon the dimpling Seine

 

wrinkling and whispering,

the river will announce

“Caroline, bienvenue.”

 

CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN

in mourning with France

for the tragedy of Nice

in the summer of 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

WALKING SANTA FE STREETS WITH THE INTREPIDS

Land of Enchantment

LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

Your traveling blogger greatly appreciates the intense comments on our recent Taos scenes.  We began our trip to the High Desert in Santa Fe, coming in on a golden evening, heading from Albuquerque’s airport to Santa Fe’s ordinary but acceptable Best Western.  Next door was a shop whose sign read “Unlimited Firearms — Big Discounts for Cash”.  One of their major windstorms soon played havoc with the sign before I could photograph it for NJWILDBEAUTY.  This is not the form of ‘wild’ I had in mind when I named this communication op…  I considered going INto that shop to see what I could see…  Was not so ‘intrepid’, after all…

La Fonda Lunch Bell Tower

END OF THE TRAIL

The heart of Santa Fe is no longer the holy faith after which it was named.  Nor even the cathedral of Archbishop Lamy.  It is La Fonda Hotel.  Hundreds of years old, its name signifies the end of the, YES!, Santa Fe Trail.  We ate in every one of its restaurants, each more interesting and gratifying than the previous, even a French one for afternoon respite from the inescapable dazzle of sun.

High Noon Welcome La Fonda Bell Tower

BELL TOWER RESTAURANT — HIGH NOON — Note container of lemon/lime/ ice/water for arriving guests

We went West for Georgia O’Keeffe.  Know that Georgia’s spirit prevails in her museum in Santa Fe and home/studio in Abiquiu.  This museum held her earliest, most abstract, even most daring (nude self portraits in watercolor) works.  We had always known there was  more to Georgia than flowers and skulls and storms over Lake George.  Her museum and her home/studio proved this indelibly.  We might dare to call Georgia an original Intrepid, along, of course, with Eleanor (Roosevelt).

Object of our Quest Santa Fe

OBJECT OF OUR JOURNEY – GEORGIA O’KEEFFE MUSEUM OF SANTA FE

The most exciting aspect of Santa Fe for me was the museum of Indian Arts and Culture.  I’ll let the images speak for themselves.  Just know, –if you’re a fan of Maria’s black-on-black San Ildefonso pottery–, you can feast your eyes on it in Santa Fe and Taos.  You will find whole rooms dedicated to this master artist.  You will even see her clothing and her own personal Navajo jewelry, in your wanderings.  You may depart even more impressed/committed, even obsessed, than ever.

Brooding  Santa Fe Museum of Indian Arts and Culture

Afternoon at Santa Fe Museum of Indian Arts and Culture

A few Museum of Indian Arts and Culture scenes for you – full blog later.  We spent our entire afternoon up there!  We particularly could not resist returning to this icon:

Ready for Battle

READY FOR BATTLE – Outdoor sculpture at Santa Fe Museum of Indian Arts and Culture

End of Trail at Santa Fe Museum Indian Arts etc.

REPLETE! — THE END OF THE TRAIL; Santa Fe Museum of Indian Arts and Culture

The West thrilled and filled.  Our hearts, our spirits often return there.  We greatly miss BEING there.  But a certain level of roughness is required.  And, as Janet gently observed, “I have to keep reminding myself that lawlessness is the norm.”  I require that level of light, those levels of change in the clouds.  I could return to find ‘my’ Navajo woman and her luminous art and liquid language on the hem of Santa Fe’s Governor’s Palace.  But I will always be a visitor.

Santa Fe Silhouette at Museum of Indian Arts & Culture

MY HEART REMAINS

New Jersey and Pennsylvania wildnesses are filling me anew.  And Lenapes are replacing Navajo and Apache and Hopi and Tewa.  Most of the time…

 

 

LET US ALL PRAISE FRANCE!

The Normal Peace of the South of France

Abbey in lavender fields South of France from Internet

Abbey, Senanque?, in Lavender Bounty, South of France, from Internet

My heart is in fragments, scattered along the beaches of Nice, across from the Negresco – where we stayed in 1964, before I knew that Provence is different from France.

Down the road from the Hotel Suisse, where my daughters and I and Charlie and Rose Mary Clancy stayed, –our balconies overlooking the Boulevard des Anglais, in 1984.  We woke to the sussurus of Mediterranean waves, and the aroma of French coffee and fresh brioches on little trays at our doors.  We slept to the slow weaving of delicately illuminated pleasure craft stitching one ‘Cap’ (as in Cap Ferrat, Cap d’Antibes) to another across an ink black sea.  The lit craft shattered the stars’ wakes, and we could barely leave to go to sleep.  But another day in wondrous France awaited us, and attention must be paid.

It cannot BE that enraged bitter people believe their lives, this world will be better if they strew the beaches of Nice with bodies and blood.

I have this horrid vision of my beloved tricoleur, shredded, trampled.

Once, blood-soaked French beaches saved the free world.  But that was Normandy.  Yes, there was a battle of the Riviera, (August 15, 1944).  Cannes (where I lived in ’88 and ’89) was right in the heart of it.  Her Bay held firing warships, aiming at Nazi strongholds around the corner from our villa L’Aquila.  I could feel the bad vibes of the German centers, as I took circuitous walk after circuitous walk on the heights of Cannes.

But that was a real war, with declared enemies, and somehow generals and politicians knew who won and who lost and we won and liberty was assured.

Or so we thought.

Now there are phantom enemies everywhere.  France is bleeding again.  Only it’s not for a good cause.  She’s the victim again, as in the 1940s.  Then, she was betrayed from within.  Now we have no idea how to contend with this evil.

My heart breaks with France.  Mourn with me, please.

 

 

GHOST RANCH ~ GEORGIA O’KEEFFE AT HOME NEAR TAOS

Janet Black, Jeanette Hooban and I, –as July was born-, traveled to New Mexico on a Georgia O’Keeffe Quest.  Firstly, in Santa Fe.  Then to her home and studio in Abiquiu, near Taos; then to Ghost Ranch, where she first leased, then owned a house in the Southwest.

I remain speechless before the magnitude of beauty we encountered at every turn, every moment bringing cataclysmic changes in clouds, shadows and drama.

We are more inspired than ever by the  lofty talents of this artist – so abstract and unique so young (in 1915, 16, etc.!), like no one else anywhere ever.  Thiw woman cannot be described nor encompassed.  Georgia belonging to no ‘school’, painted from within.

As you see, this phenomenal artist was inspired by what she claimed as her everyday surroundings.  Her sites and sights would overwhelm ordinary mortals. But Georgia immortalized mountain majesty, without descending, even momentarily, into the trite or the trivial.

We learned nothing of her literary influences.  But Georgia lived her life on EVERY level, according to the key lines of Hamlet:  “… and this, above all… to thine own self be true…”

Janet, Jeanette and I walked very slowly away from the Georgia-sites.  We now have a new yardstick for life:  “What would Georgia do?”

 

Ghost Ranch Gate

GHOST RANCH GATE – Georgia O’Keefe’s First Southwest Homeland

Ghost Ranch Gate with Bullet Dents

GHOST RANCH SKULL — GATE — NOTE BULLET HOLES — This is the West!

Ghost Ranch Gate Ranch Side

GHOST RANCH GATE, RANCH SIDE

Ghost Ranch Wagon

GHOST RANCH WAGON AND SOUTHWEST’S CLOUDS

Ghost Ranch Wagon and OKeeffe Mountains

GHOST RANCH WAGON, COTTONWOOD AND GEORGIA O’KEEFFE MOUNTAINS

Ghost Ranch Cabin

GHOST RANCH CABIN

Classic Acequia Ghost Ranch

GHOST RANCH ACEQUIA — TO BRING WATER FROM RIO GRANDE

Ghost Ranch Flags and Clouds

GHOST RANCH FLAGS AND CLOUDS

Georgia's Pink Rocks near Ghost Ranch

GEORGIA ROCKS NEAR GHOST RANCH

Ghost Ranch Ride from Abiauiu

GEORGIA’S RIDE FROM GHOST RANCH HOME TO ABIQUIU AND BACK

The Cloud-Builder Ghost Ranch Drive

THE CLOUD-BUILDER

We felt as though we could walk across the Rio Grande (Grand-ee) – which Janet re-named ‘The Rio Petito’.

Rio Grande near Ghost Ranch

RIO GRANDE NEAR GHOST RANCH

Rio Grand Islands near Ghost Ranch

RIO GRANDE ISLANDS EN ROUTE TO AND FROM GHOST RANCH

Georgia OKeeffes Mountain  Pedernal Ghost Ranch ride

GEORGIA’S MOUNTAIN – THE PEDERNAL

Ghost Ranch Georgia Hues

WHY SHE PAINTED WHAT SHE PAINTED!

Ghost Ranch Surroundings Pedernal OKeeffes ashes here

PEDERNAL — WHERE HER ASHES WERE SCATTERED

INTREPIDS ~ AT HOME IN TAOS

Our miracle trip has come and gone.  But the keeper of NJWILDBEAUTY discovers, “My heart’s in the high desert.”

Mountain from Patio

Mountains from Back Patio, Taos

Day is Done...

Last Light on Our Adobe Home, Red Truck, and Mountains

Contemplation

Contemplation: Jeanette Hooban, Janet Black on Back Patio at Sundown

Porch Pillar

Quality Craftsmanship of our Taos Home

Gold Sought by Spain

Gold Fruitlessly Sought by Spain

Front Hall with Umbrella Taos

Art Pottery and 21st-Century Umbrella

Kitchen Window View

Kitchen Window View – a Sea of Sagebrush

Part of Pot Collection

One Part of Ancient Pottery Collection

Sea of Sage and Statue

Sea of Sage and Mysterious Statue

Mountain Reflections from Patio-Porch

Reflection in Jeanette’s Window, from Back Patio

Last Light

Last Light — Lowering Sun This Intense

Afterglow

Afterglow

The Old and The New

The Old and the New — in Indian Country

Classic Car Taos Driveway

The Old, as in Classic Cadillac — Note Rio-Grande-Washed Gravel — yes, EVEN the GRAVEL was beautiful!

Taos Morn

Neighbor Walking His Dog past Corn Maiden Statue in our Driveway

The Neighborhood at Nightfall

Our Neighborhood at Sundown

Taos Farewell

Taos Farewell Drive