Otherwhere

At eventide, when the pink light fades,
come the faerie-folk from the deeper shades
to dance upon a flower face,
and ride the fireflies shimmering fair
in the silvery realm of Otherwhere

The red-tailed fox might stop and stare
whilst he is running errands there
then on his way he goes again
whilst the faerie-folk rise into the air
in the silvery realm of Otherwhere

As night glides on tóward the day
the frolicsome faeries work and play
harvesting in a merry dance
nectar for their golden mead, a kingly fare
in the silvery realm of Otherwhere

When misty streaks of dawn's first song
whisper through the glimmering throng
the faerie-folk scamper on their way
longing to tread again the air,
in the silvery realm of Otherwhere.

___________

Photo Credit: http://www.ceraunavoltaunapiada.it/sites/default/files/fireflies_in_the_forest.jpg

Old-Fashioned Virtue amidst Newfangled Technology

Cricket songs in full thrum and twinkling hosts of fireflies—that was the world I lived in as a child, until either the mosquitoes or my mother corralled me into the house. Then there would be stories with Dad, during which I would draw horses or a poor replica of the Dawn Treader—or whatever else happened to be the subject of the story. We had a Saturday night show or two that we would watch as a family; there were stints of Captain Kangaroo, Reading Rainbow, or Disney afternoons, and the occasional film. Yet, by and large, my childhood was spent out-of-doors, riding my bike, playing ‘pioneers’ or ‘office’ with my neighbour girls, drawing, or reading.

Screens entered my daily life in high school, when we obtained our first family desktop computer. I started typing out my stories and editing a magazine for some school fellows. When dial-up internet made it to our home, I stayed up until the wee sma’s instant messaging friends or keeping up long e-mail correspondences with comrades scattered across the country.

Some parts of my imagination were laid to rest about the time I began having a screen in front of me often. Playing ‘pioneers’ with the neighbours was abandoned and I sorely neglected my model horses. I began writing stories instead of acting out the plots I had read or thought up with my friends. This may have been a natural shifting point for my imagination, but natural or not, technology facilitated the change. I had taken a step away from tangible reality, putting up a screen between myself and a first-hand experience of  life.

I was—and admittedly, still am—drawn to that flickering blue light like a moth to a flame. Yet something in me rebels, too. I have tried, in recent years, to take a child-like step backward. Now I often take the screen from betwixt myself and the colourful, sparkling,real world around me. I have a cell phone—a flip phone—that I turn off when I don’t want to be bothered. I read real books and write letters by hand. My upbringing without much ‘screen-time’ resonates all these years later in what feels life-giving. Though work and leisure often involve some form of glowing technology, when I write by hand or take an evening walk, or when I make dinner or fix my car, I feel more alive.

Screens seem to eat away at imagination and ingenuity. Sometimes it frightens me how prevalent screens are—I can’t hide myself or my yet-to-come children from them. But I have learned that there are ways to encounter the tactile world without the screen-barrier. Though we live in a different age than the technologically limited one in which I was raised, when I have children, I still want them to know the smell of a rose before they see one on a tablet. I want them to learn to roller skate and ride their bikes; to love going to the library for good books to read together; to want to colour or draw rather than watch a cartoon; and to know that if they say “But I’m bored!” they can do chores, not watch television.

This does not mean shunning technology; it has its place as a useful tool. The fact that I can call home whenever I want to without long distance charges is wonderful. My computer aids me in all kinds of endeavours—from looking up recipes and getting driving directions, to listening to music or audio books. Still, I want my children to learn how to use a map before they learn to use MapQuest; how to play music as well as listen to it; how to cook by ‘eyeballing it’, as well as by measuring every last thing; and how to read out loud proficiently, by listening to others and by practising the art themselves. I would like to have a big enough piece of the out-of-doors to let my children run around. A place to try to catch a squirrel through their own inventiveness (as I amusingly watched my neighbour children attempt recently).

You see, my desire is that ages and ages hence, my children will send handwritten thank you notes for gifts, and that they will text to let me know they made it somewhere safely. I want to be part of raising inter-dependent adults—persons who can use common sense in taking care of themselves and their possessions, but who know they are part of the Body of Christ, the Communion of Saints. I want them to have ‘old-fashioned’ virtues and to know history as they walk among ‘newfangled’ technology and speak truth into the present.

*This essay originally appeared at HumanePursuits.com

The Good Ol' Summertime

Have you ever taken the time to listen to a chorus of tree frogs while watching the moon rise? Perhaps you don't live in a place that affords this luxury. In that case, you are probably missing another key element of the quintessential Summer evening: lightening bugs. Next you'll be clamoring that you don't have local outdoor ice cream stands, drive-in movies, cornfields, and you've never smelled the sweet scent of freshly mowed hay. You will tell me that the indispensable sights, sounds, and scents of summer are sunscreen, salt water, and grilling. I'll agree with the grilling one at least.

It's funny how our growing up experiences solidify in our minds what a season is or is not like. Thunder, lightening, and the fresh smell of rain are fundamental to late Spring and early Summer in the Midwest. But what if you grew up in the desert or by the sea? You would miss the wind blowing through the wheat fields illuminated by scores of fireflies. Yet what do I not know as familiar? The waves upon the shore, the moon trailing over the water, the sharp cry of gulls winging their way home at night. These are foreign to my understanding of "normal".

Isn't it wonderful that God created various landscapes? Isn't it marvelous that we have different perspectives based on how and where we were raised? Isn't it splendid that we are not all cast from the same mold? God is creative; ingenious, really. That, of course, is an understatement. God's ingenuity and imagination surpass the most vivid colours of the ocean and its inhabitants, or the wildflowers in a meadow, or persons on the streets of New York. Can you picture the grand adventure of Heaven? Perhaps there will be new sounds, tastes, colours, dimensions, and other things I cannot yet conceive.

Where are these thoughts going? Good question... I really just wanted to write about tree frogs and fireflies. I wanted to capture at least a snapshot of the Beauty I experienced on my walk this evening. Words can paint neat pictures in our minds at times, but they cannot beat being there. To be in that place in that lighting with that smell...

No, words cannot come close to touching reality. But Oh! Words can make our imaginations soar, cause our hearts to swell, and lead us to Beauty. They have a different power, another role and purpose. We need both the experience and the words to describe it. We need to communicate (even if only to ourselves) all of the things our senses perceive. One cannot replace the other, it is a necessary union.



~ Johanna