APLACECALLEDMERRYMOUNT

Joyce Farwell (September 27, 1934-January 21, 2026) 7/19/26 Today in Santa Fe, New Mexico several vocal artists will gather to pay homage to their mentor, Joyce Farwell. Loretta and I honor her remotely with these words. Those of us who had the good fortune to fall under her tutelage remember her as a calming force while displaying a voice of authority. I first encountered her maternal presence and calming energy at the Culllowhee Music Festival in the beautiful mountains of

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." Our friendship with Lee Thompson and Robert Bode began when we were all in graduate school at University of Cincinnati, College Conservatory of Music in the early 1980s. During our forty plus years together, making music was central to our friendship, and while the roots of our friendship grew deeper every year, much of it took place at a distance from one another. But in December of 2019, Lee and Robert purchased a home 200 yards from us, an

Today we celebrate the 250th Anniversary of America’s Declaration of Independence, and fifty years ago, Rett and I stood in front of the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia and celebrated with pride what, as a symbol, it stood for. Now in 2026, I observe the crack in the bell and see it as a metaphor for how ruptured the “United” States government has become under the current leadership. But before we celebrate our "independence", let's acknowledge our sins. In her best selling

Being a resident of the Hubbard Lake community, I have the opportunity of observe an abundance of life forms which include black bears, bobcats, black squirrels, birds, fish, and in mid-June into early July-mayflies. Mayflies are aquatic insects known for their short adult lifespan, which is dedicated to mating, and their role as indicators of clean water. They have a unique life cycle, spending most of their lives as aquatic nymphs before emerging as winged adults that molt

Today as we celebrate Father’s Day, most of us will stop and reflect on personal experiences that we have had with our “Fathers”. The Online Etymology Dictionary on “father” states: Old English fæder: "he who begets a child, nearest male ancestor;" also "any lineal male ancestor; the Supreme Being," and by late Old English, "one who exercises parental care over another," from Proto-Germanic fader (source also of Old Saxon fadar, Old Frisian feder, Dutch vader, Old Norse faðir

Idyll In the grey summer garden I shall find you With day-break and the morning hills behind you. There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings; And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings. Not from the past you'll come, but from that deep Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep: And I shall know the sense of life re-born From dreams into the mystery of morn Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing there Till that calm song is done, at last we'l

Inchworm, inchworm Measuring the marigolds You and your arithmetic You’ll probably go far. Inchworm, inchworm Measuring the marigolds Seems to me, you’d stop and see How beautiful they are. -Frank Loesser "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!" What instrument should we use to measure our life achievements? Listen to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jx1Fs0hUyFo CPW

Keep an eye on AI In George Orwell’s book, 1984, the character, O’Brien, uses a whiteboard to graphically show how the Party’s power to control the mind means they can declare 2+2=5. During the torture of Winston, O’Brien forces him to write this equation, representing the final, complete shattering of his will and intellect. The equation symbolizes the Party’s absolute control over truth, and reality. It’s a motif for the psychological manipulation that allows the regime

Sunrise over Lake Huron at Alpena, MI Listen to "Dawn" from Four Sea Interludes from "Peter Grimes" by Benjamin Britten (3:29) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=692noeACXrs On Sunday morning, May 24, 2026, I joined my friends Tim and Steve Missall and their friend Kevin on a charter fishing expedition on Lake Huron. We launched from 1 E.Harbor Lane, Harrisville, MI, thirty minutes southwest of Hubbard Lake. Listen to "Sunday Morning" from Four Sea Interludes by Benjamin Britte

Rett at Birdsong Cottage, Hubbard Lake, MI Aubade O, this morning, not a cloud in the sky, and coffee, black, the way I like it. I have been watching a phoebe, dark hood and wagtail bobbing, as he flits back and forth from the beauty bush to the eave of the shed, just yards from this red Adirondack chair where I’m sitting, breathing the day through my skin. It rained last night, and the chair’s damp slats are cool on my back; there’s a scree of frogs in the swamp, a creek

photo by Kyle Goetsch How large is the universe? How $weet the confection? “There are in fact 100 billion galaxies, each of which contain something like a billion stars”. -Carl Sagan The words "Milky Way" bring two images immediately to mind. Like a stretch of caramel between two pieces of chocolate malt-flavored nugget, our celestial barred spiral galaxy appears as a luminous band of stars, gas, and dust stretching across our night sky. According to Professor Matthew Stan

Surrounded by my Mother [L] and her Mother [R] circa 1953 On this Mother’s Day, many of us while honoring our mothers, will experience a sentimental moment when we recall special memories we have about our mothers during our childhood and beyond. O wüßt ich doch den Weg zurück, Den lieben Weg zum Kinderland! O warum sucht ich nach dem Glück Und ließ der Mutter Hand? Ah! if I but knew the way back, The sweet way back to childhood’s land! Ah! why did I seek my fortune And let g

May 3, 2026 As we begin this "Merry Month of May" at Merry Mount, I invite you to sing "Ha, ha, hi!" as you read Blake's poem and revel in the photos from our place of mirth. Laughing Song When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; When the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene, When [Asa, and Joy

I am disgusted by the pomp and circumstance surrounding the visit of the “Royals” to Washington, D.C.. Perhaps it is the Libertarian streak in me. The idea of social hierarchy is repulsive. There are very few people that I would bow to, and I would certainly not “kiss the ring” of either of these mortals. In 2026, roughly 36% of Brits consider themselves anti-monarchist. Kudos to them, as an American, I’m with them. Who's at the table? From the NYT: The list of people wh

Kudos to Cyndi Apsey, a photographer who resides on Hubbard Lake Michigan, who I follow on a daily basis, and whose eyes on the world never fail to satisfy my own search for beauty. Apertures Old and blind and in love with light, he’d reach for the hands of writers to guide him back to the landscape, once the subject of his photo- graphs. Often he’d see just how hard it was to render it right, and would feel free of such burdens. A last cloud on a lake he’d let carry him into

Mother Earth A Prayer to Mother Earth O breathing life of all existence, you who dwell in the dimension of light and vibration from which all things emerge. May the sacred vibration through which you organize reality be recognized and honored in everything we do. May the sacred queendom — the divine feminine creative principle — fully express itself in earthly reality as it does in the dimension of light. May your loving desire for the full expression of divine consciousne

DANDELION INSOMNIA The big-ass bees are back, tipsy, sun drunk and heavy with thick knitted leg warmers of pollen. I was up all night again so today’s yellow hours seem strange and hallucinogenic. The neighborhood is lousy with mowers, crazy dogs, and people mending what winter ruined. What I can’t get over is something simple, easy: How could a dandelion seed head seemingly grow overnight? A neighbor mows the lawn and bam, the next morning, there’s a hundred dandelion seed h

Let’s begin with a verse by Robert Frost from his “Two Tramps in Mud Time”. The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March. April from Aperire, Latin for “to open”. And yet April... April is the crueles

I offer you a short story for Easter. Enjoy. As I sit in the sunshine with a warm shawl draped over my shoulders on this Easter Sunday, I think back seventy years ago to one of my first memories as a little girl that took place at Eastertide. I remember traveling with my parents on a trip to visit my maternal grandmother, who we called Oma. We lived in the city and Oma lived in the country about 100 miles away from us in rural Pennsylvania. Oma lived on a farm with horses, a

3/28/26 On this designated "NO KINGS DAY", I offer an opinion about Tramp's chosen war. "The first casualty when war comes is truth."-Hiram Johnson [Operation] Epic Fury captures the Trump presidency in its essence. Everything Mr. Trump does, at least as he sees it, is epic — the biggest, the most, the first, “like we’ve never seen before,” as he likes to say. And much of what he does seems to be driven by fury, a deep and abiding enmity toward the forces arrayed against him