Die gesichte von meine Mutter.

My mother is the shortest one in the bunch. Also the one with the highest heel shoes. I call this photo "Fleeing The Nazi's in High Heel Shoes".
In 1936 the persecution of Jews was reaching a crescendo and many were attempting to flee to a place where their lives would simply not be in danger. Some had made the proper arrangements in other countries that would allow them imigrate. Others were not so lucky and felt locked in spiraling despair. My Mother were one of the ones who had no relatives in America or contacts to help her make the preparations for a journey to survival and freedom.
One day while accompanying a friend to a boat in Hamburg that was going to take this girl to NYC. They both felt that they may never see eachother again. It was a moment that many could only imagine. A friend took the above photo for a memory. I am sharing it with all of you.
As her friend was boarding and my Mother was tearfully waving goodbye she was approached by a middle aged man who spoke German like a foreigner. He asked if my Mother had any made any plans to leave Germany. She said no and he explained that he is an American Lawyer and he would help her. He took all the necessary contact information and said that he would see what he could. He would be soon be in touch. He was the last person to walk up the platform before the boat launched the harbor. She watched the big ship leave the Hamburg docks and with plumes of exhaust become a dot on the horizon. Her best friend is sailing away and with her a stranger who sparked some hope.
In this case time passes slowly. The political situation in Germany grows more severe everyday. It was frighening to walk on the streets. He Uncles shoe store had its windows broken. All the shoes were removed and he no longer felt safe to open the store to make a living. My Mother was a religious woman and I can still feel her daily prayers as she asked for help from above.
The Stranger was serious and when he arrived back in his NYC Park Ave office he was busy contacting embassies and writing documents until he obtained a Visa for my Mother to come to NYC. As required he arranged for her to have a job providing a means of support. When my Mother arrived on these shores she immediatley started to work as a live in Nanny for a family on West End Ave. I remember my Mother telling me the story. The little girl she took care of was aptly named Faith.
Later on in years My Mom took me to meet the man responsible for bringing my Mother to America. She proudly introduced me to Murray Sprung her benefactor who never asked for anything in return.
I think that this was one of the proudest and happiest moments of my Mothers life.

Roastin in Orange

There was a whole lot of stinking fun this past weekend at Forsters Farm. The garlic growers of the North Quabbin served up their finest fare. Many varieties and colors of the delicious bulb were on display and purchased. Even served Garlic Ice Cream. They also had maple sugar cotton candy, roasted chili peppers and cider donuts. Many local artists dislplayed their well made crafts.
Great entertainment. Including performers (gaia roots) who said that "drumming and dancing are their passion." They traveled all over the continents to exotic places to learn dances from world masters. Dar Willliams a prolific and beautiful song writer sang and accompanied herself on the main stage. A powerful stage presence she held the crowd of over a thousand in the palm of her hand. Thanks Dar for making it back to Western MA for this cool event.
Parking was crowded and many had to park down the road from the event. As I was walking up the rather steep hill I was reminded of my time at Woodstock. This time it did not rain and the September sunshine comfortably warmed the green field. The entire experience put on by the fine folk of Seeds of Change was so cool I think that I had the best fun I had at a festival since the seventies.

Five years ago....

This is a real photo taken on September 11 2001 of a group of young people in New Jersey enjoying a late summer day while the tragedy unfolded on the other side of river in NYC. To me it symbolizes how far have we come since Muhammad Atta and company deliberately crashed those passenger planes into the towers. With the exception of those who were directly touched by falling concrete, burned in flames or smothered by the dust for the most part we have moved on. The economy did not collapse, nor did the nation implode. Surviving even prospering despite the anthrax & color coded warnings of homeland security. The world stage reacting to this tragic act was at first sympathetic now has turned hostile toward our country and its leaders. Our current struggle is with the wrong turn we took in Iraq and how to find a better path.

Our world was rocked that day. September 11 has become a touchstone for all Americans. On Monday ask those around you where you were on that day and no doubt you will hear a long story of how this historic event impacted their lives. People feel very personally affected by this act of terrorism.
I believe that we should adapt September 11 as a National day of remembrance to pause and reflect on what happened and how we can continue to nationally heal in a positive, progressive way without damaging the democratic ideals that we all hold so dear.

Everything is illuminated in the light of the past.

In Messel there his house covered in Ivy.
In Messel there was a magnificent canyon that he rescued from being filled with trash and debris.
In Messel we swam in deep cold water on hot day.
In Messel the Schlosser held a key to the past and showed us the photos.
In Messel we drank our first German bier that quenched our thirst with a yeasty head and we grazed on ripe rye growing tall in its fields.
In Messel we met the folks that knew us before we were born and we listened to stories abour our grandparents.
In Messel we saw the house we lived in for 230 years.
In Messel the legend was exposed transforming the shadows into stone.

Regards from Holzhausegasse 37. "Gutte."

Pioneer Valley tobacco

One does not often think of New England as tobacco country. But up and down the Connecticut River valley we have nutrient rich soil conducive to growing a variety of crops. Many children were raised exclusively on the fine local produce. Our Hadley asparagus is nationally famous. Sweet corn is an anxiously awaited summer staple as is the fall Silver Queen known for its white, small kernels. Maple Syrup in the Spring and McIntosh apples in the fall are seasonal favorites. Living here we are all so privileged to be in touch with the changing seasons heralded by the harvests of local products.
As I drive down the roads this late summer I have watched the broadleaf tobacco being harvested by the men in their tractors. The leaves are carefully picked, loaded on special carts and hung upside down in huge barns to dry. On warm dry days those barns are opened so air can circulate turning those green moist leaves into dry brown sheets to be used in the production of cigars. One barn in Whately MA is next to a cemetary and I could not help but notice the irony of seeing the tobacco now so strongly linked to respiratory disease juxtaposed to a final resting ground. Demand for this crop is so strong market prices are so high many farmers devote much of their fields to tobacco. It is apparent that monetary priorities drive the market in crop production here as in everywhere else, whether it be Colombia, Mexico or Afghanistan.

Life creates life

;
We were away on vacation in Europe for exactly seventeen days. While away our barn was filled with all sorts of activity. Hidden in a dark corner of an empty stall on top of a small mountain of pinewood shavings a red hen was busy setting on two of her eggs. It takes three weeks of patience for her to hatch out those eggs to little chicks. As luck would have it Mr Rooster did his best and fertilizied these brown orbs. When we returned the process was in motion and a few days later the Mother Hen proudly displayed the product of all her effort: two healthy, hungry little chicks following her around whereever she roamed. She is a wise bird and stays safely within the confines of the stall she now calls home. All are doing fine drinking fresh clean artesian well water and eating the corn mash we regularly toss in the dirt. It is a pleasure to witness the young ones scratch and peck searching for their sustenence. They are a true testimony to perpetual hope and survival of our world.
Thank you so much Gwen for being so kind and taking care of our house and home. This one is for you.

Aufweidersehen

Last night you looked at me and I felt you ask"Why are you leaving"? Well Ranger we live in a beautiful place with its dark woods, green fields and comfortable house. I love it here and I know that I would be more than content to live here forever. However we have this need to learn our history, experience different cultures and see new, exotic places.
Your family will be traveling far from home living in European cities like Frankfurt, Messel, Berlin, Prague, Heidelberg, Cologne and Amsterdam. We will be traveling on jets cruising over vast oceans, on trains swiftly rolling on smooth rails and in cars driving on foreign roads.
It is through these adventures we learn who we are and where we've been.
The life of a dog is so much less complex with none of such desires for new horizons. So Range keep chasing those rabbits and sleeping in the shade with your pal Dj. May your days be filled with cool nights, long walks in the woods and fun with your temporary caretaker Gwen.
We soon return and with a new appreciation for our home and that special bond that we share.
Till then, be a good boy my friend.

The Perils of Bird Feeding

Here in New England we have a variety of wild birds that migrate and live in the Valley. It is a pleasure to hang a feeder near a window and watch the various flocks feast. Often seen are Black Capped Chickadees, nuthatch & finches of all varieties. There is a pair of Cardinals who are regulars at the old seed shop. It is a rare occasion when something more exotic drops by but today I saw an Oriole.
Blue Jays are loud, aggressive birds-scaring away the smaller ones. They also eat a great deal and therefore are a nuisance. Squirrels also can hog the feeder and take most of the seeds back to their nests high in the pine tree. Not cool; since after all I am trying to feed birds,not the squirrels.
For last Fathers day I thoughtfully recieved a specially designed pole that made it impossible for the squirrels to take the seed from the bird feeder. It worked fine the birds were happy and had a regular supply of Black oil sunflower seed. The kind most birds preferred. The seeds were also a favorite of other wild animals. On a cold dark night in early spring bears came, bending the pole while greedingly, gorging themselves on my bird food. They even ripped apart the feeder requiring some minor repair.
Despite the nuisances and pitfalls I continue to feed the little winged creatures and marvel at the nature they bring into to my yard. I am a loyal friend to the birds.

Good bye Rabbitt it's been good to know you.

Rabbitt one of the nicest & best known guys in our town succumbed from a long illness on Friday with his beloved wife Kathy by his side. He was a real people person involved in serving the community, delivering the mail and making people smile. He served his country as a combat Marine back then in Viet Nam. Rabbitt was a great listener and remembered everyone's story and situation. He loved animals and children.
He was the kind of guy who would go the extra mile in helping you out. When involved in the town politics as a Selectman he was always especially concerned for the Senior citizens and those on a fixed income. Rabbitt will be missed. He was a true example of think globally act locally.

The Al Jolson impersonator

In the early part of the twentieth century their was an odd form of musical entertainment in which white men painted their face black and put on a minstrel show. They then sang & danced like "Negroes". As American society progressed minstrel was thought to be offensive and rapidly diminished in popularity and faded from view.
The most famous of the minstrels was Al Jolson. His biography was one of the first black and white movie musicals produced. In my youth this movie was frequently played in NY on Channel 9 around the Jewish Holdays. This film was somewhat of a mainstay for my family in the fifties. Jolson was superstar of my families immigrant generation being one of the few highly identified American Jewish entertainers of the time .
His saga "The Jolson Story" depicts Jolsons psychic clash between modern and traditional music. Culminating on the High Holiday of Yom Kippur where he must solve the dilemma of whether to sing the Kol Nidre for his people or perform his vaudeville for an audience . An unforgettable scene where one hears his fantastic cantorial tenor chant the prayer near his Mothers death bed.
As a youth my cousin impersonated Jolson at family functions where he lip synched a heart stopping, tear jerking rendition of "MAMMY". A song that made Jolson famous.
To this day almost fifty years later my cousin Steve has been known to still belt out this tune. People fondly remember Jolson and have asked him to perform this number. Believe it or not Steve has now traveled around the country making Jolson come alive again. I think he symbolizes the coming of age of a new era in both entertainment and civil rights. A blurring if you will of two important cultures in American society. For better or for worse some folks have nostalgic feelings for this American/Jewish icon.

NYC is heading in the right direction

While visiting NYC this past weekend I saw this very progressive concept in transportation modes. If you look at the words on the top directly above the cab you will see the description Clean Air Electric Bus. It appears that the Metropolitan Transit Authority has made a wise investment in our future by purchasing these buses that no longer spew out plumes of black smoke as they lumber around the city. Many NYers continue to walk great distances to get where they need to go. It is apparent to me that because they use their heels rather than their wheels many are in excellent shape. Kudos to NY for thinking green when it comes to getting around.

Enginuity

It is not often that I sing the praises of someone on this blog. However there are some people who just know their way around tools and have the creative thinking to solve mechanical problems. I am certainly not that kind of person but when I recognize the quality I just stand back in awe. They are just some people who have a vast toolkit and the knack for making the difficult task look easy.
We are so fortunate to know such a guy. He has been helping my family out for almost five years and we rely on him to come to our rescue for any all problems in and around our home. He has rebuilt our bathroom, put in two water heaters, created a sump pump that has kept our basement dry and C. sane. Repaired leaky faucets & fixed some faulty circuit breakers. Reinsulated some drafty windows and installed ceiling fans.
He even maintains our old cub cadet tractor and keeps it humming for the season. Sometimes against all obstacles. In the above picture the front tire went flat and he had to remove it. Observe how he hoisted it up with a jack, secured it on two beams leaving it in place so he can replace the tire with a new one tomorrow. Solution for every trouble. What a guy.
Hats off to you Joe!

The Williamsburg Flood disaster revisited

This weekend I learned that on May 16 1874 at approximately 8 am a reservoir that was held back by a very poorly constructed dam flooded over. The collapsing dam resulted in a catastrophe that swept away many homes and killed many people in Williamsburg/Haydenville Massachussetts.
The Meekins library did a splendid job in planning events that commerated this historical disaster. The highligt of the day was a hike through the woods to the site and great talk by our guide that gave us some interesting background about this horrible event.
The above photo clearly shows the destructive power of water as it collapsed & pushed away the dam wall, cascading water and debris down the Valley. In its wake it left nothing but drowning & destruction. At its peak we were told the wall of water was 40 feet high traveling at a speed of 15 miles per hour. With no cellphones to warn of its coming people and homes were literally swept away.
Great thanks to the Meekins Library for planning and putting on this Community event. The weather cooperated by contributing cold rain and drizzle reminding us of how unforgiving nature can be.

New England blossoms & California Fruit make a nice photo

The weather on May 1 was as nice as could be and these avocados reflected the bright light with a mirror like shine. Not only did the sun's rays provide the brilliant illumination they also produced a gentle steady heat which the fruit absorbed promoting a sweet ripening to ultimately create some delicious guacamole.
I think that it would be most difficult to match the colors of this Spring day with any paint or dye and I am grateful that my camera was able to capture the moment using the digital images.

We certainly love our chickens

Since leaving the Big Apple we have always kept chickens. A major contrast from urban dweller to country bumpkin. Being raised in NYC the thought of being a chicken farmer was something that I could not foresee in the crystal ball of my future. After I began this venture I later learned that my Father was the keeper of the birds when he lived on the farm in Germany. I never knew this about him, he never talked about the old days. Standing in front of the apartment building on 181st Street felt so far removed from the days when he put the birds out in the morning and brought them home to roost when the sun went down. Smoking his cigarette leaning against the grey concrete wall of the stoop I wonder if while watching the day turn dark in Upper Manhattan he thought of his beloved birds from another life, so long ago. His abrupt migration from the farm life was cruely forced by persecution, political conditions and World War Two. He never mentioned his boyhood chickens to me. My Aunt Sophie told me about this shortly after he had passed away.
My migration to the country was by choice and perhaps some intrinsic desire to return to my ancestral origins. The land links me to a culture that has far reaching deep roots. The chickens do ground me to the land and make me acutely aware of all the natural conditions of nature. I have learned that Nature can be both beautiful and cruel. Chickens teach you much about life. We work hard to keep them healthy & productive. Proud that we always have colorful eggs to sell locally.
At times I do yearn for the city life again but wonder if I could really ever return to a time when I did not split wood or keep chickens.

The Yellow Shrub of Spring

One of the wonderful seasonal changes that occur in New England is the blossoming of the flora at different intervals. One of the first beauties that greet us is the Forsythia. The little yellow flowers reflect the golden sun's steadily increasing daylight and heat
Other signs of the season is the gentle rain and its accompanying fragance. Even the most expensive perfume cannot turn peoples heads like that moist,heady aroma.

Welcome MASSLIVE readers

I like to think of wholeinthedonut as an online magazine of sorts. Most of the photos and articles are my own work. I also will publish work from other creative folk around the valley and around the world. The internet sure has made the planet much smaller. I try to enclose blog entries that represent who I am. Reflected in that I like to comment on what is happening locally and around the world in nature, art & politics. I typically begin an entry with a photo and create some thoughts around it. However for this entry I am enclosing no picture.
Thank you for reading my weblog I hope to write and publish my first novel soon.
Feel free to look through the archives in which I discuss the origin of the blog title, Winter Solstice at my new job, reviews of just realeased CD"S as well some cool poetry from guest writers. I even have an ungoing saga of a runaway man and his dog. The list goes on and on
This is an interactive entertainment source so please feel free to make a comment on any entry. Trust me I read them all.
I want to thank MASSLIVE for giving us the opportunity to promote this new art form.

Spring rites

This usually happens every Spring. Just like the ancient tribes who burn food that are not acceptable to eat during the Passover holiday, we burn brush in the garden. This has the benefit of cleaning up the yard of fallen debris that accumulated during the winter months as well as burning the remains in the vegetable garden including some of the seeds that have the potential to grow into unwanted vegetation competing with the vegies for soil nutrients. It is always my hope that it will cause me to do less weeding. But as a friend has told me many years ago is that gardening is not how well you can grow things but how diligent you are in pulling out the weeds.
The beauty of keeping a garden is that it inspires hope that the earth will cooperate in providing sunlight, rain & conditions conducive to growing a bountiful crop of food to sustain us for yet another year.

Blues from the Keys

improbable ocean
rolling profuse blues and aquamarine green sheens
at me
riffed and rollicking
frothy sleeved wave after wave
word/pictures jammin’ bending palm tree logic
saxophone sexy sensuous loyal and stubborn

BLUES baby

wave after wave of bikini beach bodies
already tan brown as Café con leche
tourist jurists consumer products for sale
just like America

you’re in Key West NOW baby
your intellectual property has been transferred
to an off-shore island account
you can’t access with some kinky plastic card

you’re in Key West NOW baby
you gotta party
to find out who you really are

you gotta party hard and DEEP
like that snorkeling Wall Street lawyer
butterfly kicking and dolphin diving
firing bullets into the headboard of the bed
havin’ the best sex of his life
with some lithe Thai transexual ladyboy
who looks like the girl next door he married
dressed up for the high school prom
low cut dress cuddling cumquat twat breasts
and some intervibrational empathetic
MYSTERY
lurking hungrily below a lavender silk teddy
to teach that frugivorous lawyer
his satin ladyboy
is neither one nor the other
just the ultimate metaphor for the 21st century

So glad to have another literary contribution to the blog. Always great to a have a collaborator with a gift. All thanks and praises for the poem above go to Steve Rozwenc of Haydenville.

My Life as a Cattledog

Heading west on route 89 in central Vermont one eventually reaches the Route 91 interstate. . Route 91 heads south to Massachusetts or north back to Canada. The driver unfamiiar with travel then has at least a 50/50 chance of heading in the right direction home. Last night at 10pm I received a distress call from my daughter who returning from her Spring Break trip to Montreal inadvertently headed North on 91 back to Canada instead of traveling South home to Massachusetts. She did not realize this until Derby Vermont a few short miles from the Canadian border. She wanted to be home in the worst way and refused my offers to stay in a hotel and drive south in the light of day. Spring Break is over Monday. She and her group needed to be in Connecticut by Sunday. I think that she wanted to come home sleep in her own bed for one more night, pack all her stuff and take a leisurely drive back to College. So she insisted on driving south another 150 miles or so back home.
She also indicated that she wanted my wife and I to meet her midway in White River Junction to help guide her and make her feel less insecure . At first that sounded like a really glum proposition for us but the idea of an adventure and rescue sounded like it was necessary, so off we went heading North on Route 91 to Shepard my daughter and her traveling companions back home. We rendezvoused perfectly using cell phones like an ancient navigator uses the stars.
We met in a convenience store parking lot and looking inside discovered Vermont tee shirts selling five for $20. I bought each one of us a shirt forever bonding us to this moment.
Many miles later we safely arrived in our driveway. Although it was early in the AM those warmed over Italian takeouts from the Red Rose tasted like the best meal we ever ate. The kids were so grateful it brought tears to my eyes. I was immensely glad that our family remains this tight and that we continue to be supportive of one another. This is truly a gift that keeps on giving.
I have always been drawn to herding dogs. Currently I am the owner of a Cattle dog and prior to that I was also involved with other herding breeds. Last night I understood the instinct of these magnificent animals whose drive it is to keep the herd together and moving in the right direction. I so felt like a herding dog bringing my flock home.
Although this tale is mostly true some of the information is embellished to illustrate the feelings of the moment.