http://www.chfi.com

Edward Thomas, month of March from the 1996 Old Farmer’s Almanac, wrote, “Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed / The speculating rooks at their nest cawed, / And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass, / What we below could not see. / Winter pass.”

Winter is passing us by…It’s a subtle passing, though. No moment that we can point to that declares winter has finally moved on. That may be some distance yet down the road. I read in the paper just the other day that our spring may be rather cold and wet. Our rains tonight give a certain credence to that forecast.

I saw some of the smaller fish in the pond up in the warm March sun just the other day. Even an imperceptible change in the temperature of the water in our backyard pond was enough to stir them from their winter sleep.

The snowbanks on the boulevard in front of my house seem to have dwindled. Not by a lot, mind you, but just enough to suggest there is melt underway. The brooks and creeks will soon be fast-flowing. Little estuaries that were completely frozen over have lost their ice. You will have to be careful near streams this spring with the snowpack adding to the flow.

“The snowdrops nodded their delicate heads as if calling to her, ‘…winter is over, spring is here.’” an excerpt from Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott and featured in the February 2002 issue of Victoria magazine.

My children are impatient for the change, but you can’t rush this passage. It lingers for a while, probably to help us appreciate what’s to come. The roots beneath the soil know the right moment when it will be time to send new shoots up into the warn sun.

Walt Whitman wrote, “Unseen buds, infinite, hidden well, / Under the snow and ice, under the darkness, in every square or cubic inch, / Germinal, exquisite, in delicate lace, microscopic, unborn…”

The rose is so patient, enduring the harshest winds of winter, waiting for spring and its chance to bloom again…As Dantesaid. “For I have seen, stiff and sharp, / The thornbush stand all winter long, / Then finally bear a rose upon its top…”

Robert Graves wrote, “She tells her love while half asleep, /In the dark hours, / With half-words whispered low: / As earth stirs in her winter sleep / And puts out grass and flowers / Despite the snow, / Despite the falling snow.”

And when the cold finally retreats in the spring, we rise from the cold ashes of a long winter and life seems to begin again. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why the leaves on the trees in autumn seem to be on fire.

Francis Gay  in the 1990 edition of the Friendship Book of Francis Gay quotes an unknown author: “In the heart of every winter is a quivering spring, and behind the veil of each night there is a smiling dawn.”

***

Don Jackson

I watched a great movie over the weekend. It is called Fracture that starred Anthony Hopkins and Ryan Gosling. It was directed by Gregory Hoblit and released in 2007. It is a crime/thriller, and if you like a good courtroom drama with a twist, then you will want to see this film. I mention this at the outset because in some rather interesting way Anthony Hopkins has something to do with one aspect of this blog on this day, which I will detail toward the end of this writing.

It was on this date, March 17th, 1763, that the first St. Patrick’s Day Parade was held in New York City. Yesterday, here in Toronto, the 21st annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade was held. It was a fine day for the Irish in Toronto who gathered along the parade route to watch the participants file by. Included in the parade were Toronto firefighters, Toronto Police Pipes and Drums, Toronto EMS, Irish dancers, the Irish County Association, York Regional Pipes and Drums and the York Lions Steel Band, among others. Apparently, close to 2,000 people lined the parade route. I’m certain they were not disappointed.

Every year at this time, the parade reminds me of the many times I rode on floats in the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Montreal. One year, I was honored to be asked to be a judge. That year, I didn’t have to wait on a float or in an open convertible in the blustery March winds, shivering until the parade got underway. This time, I got to stand on the podium with all the other judges to watch the procession file by. I wore the traditional top hat and enjoyed mingling with the dignitaries who shared the stage with me. There was one person there who intrigued me greatly.

He arrived in a limousine just prior to the start of the parade and was escorted to the stage by his security detail. After the introduction of this man was made, he stood almost directly beside me and the signal to start the parade was given. This man was a very powerful and influential figure in Canadian politics. No matter what political party you share an affiliation with, I’m sure you would have enjoyed being in my shoes that day, just to have had the opportunity to converse with this Canadian statesman. He was a man who literally changed the face of this country of ours. We did speak on occasion, but it was one of the strangest situations I have ever found myself in. He would lean over to share a word or two concerning the marching bands and floats as they passed by, but when I, or any other person leaned back to engage this man in conversation, what was said was paid very close attention. His security detail would always lean in to hear every single word that was being said to this man. Understandably so, since the man standing to my right was the Prime Minister of Canada at the time. He was soft-spoken but he also had a magnetic personality. He had a wonderful sense of humor, and I found him quite affable. This was a person you would like to sit next to during a dinner party. I will always remember the day that I shared a few pleasantries with Pierre Elliott Trudeau. (1919-2000)

The following week, I happened to mention to my Program Director who was on the stage with me. You could see the wheels turning in his mind as I spoke of the parade and my brief conversation with this major figure in Canadian politics. My boss came up with a crazy idea that intrigued me to no end. He suggested that he would call the Prime Minister’s office to see if we could arrange to have him join me on my radio show for an hour or so. The idea was to have him as a guest and to let him program the music selections to be interspersed between our conversation. It would not enter the realm of politics in any way; it would be about his views on life. If it could be arranged, it would be a one-on-one conversation with someone who had a most fascinating life.

It was a great idea. Unfortunately, it never came to fruition. I have to give my superior credit for even coming up with the idea in the first place. Had it panned out, it would have been one of the major highlights of my broadcasting career. Others in the media have had the opportunity to interview and converse with the influential figures of the day, but those are usually news and current affairs programs. This would have been a unique approach, and I still wonder what his taste in music would have been like and the selections he would have played.

In this very old edition of the Britannica was this about another influential figure, the man who is honored on today’s date. This is what was said about Saint Patrick. “The patron saint of Ireland began his mission as a slave and ended as a conqueror of souls. Very little is known of his early life. It is said, however, that Saint Patrick was the son of a Christian deacon who lived possibly near the Severn River in England, although Scotland also claims to be his birthplace.

“When he was 16, a band of marauders carried him off to Ireland, where he lived as a shepherd. His Christian training helped him to bear the hardships of his life. After six years of captivity, he escaped to France. He spent at least a dozen years in the monastery of St. Martin at Auxerre. While there, the ‘voice of the Irish’ came to him, as he tells us, beseeching him to return to Ireland to spread the gospel. It was not until he was consecrated bishop to Ireland in 432 that he was able to obey this call. His ardor and intense faith made Saint Patrick a persuasive preacher. His courage impressed even the Irish high king Loigaire who took Saint Patrick under his protection. Many miracles were said to have been performed by the saint during his years in Ireland. Many times he was forced into contests with the priests of the druids who did not want to lose their power.

“The legend of Saint Patrick’s driving the snakes out of Ireland is probably the best-known story about him. He is said to have used the three-leaved shamrock as a symbol with which to explain the miracle of the Trinity. Although the Roman Catholic religion had been introduced into Ireland before Saint Patrick’s time, he was the first to spread it widely. He found a savage race of sun and tree worshipers and left a well-organized church. His introduction of Latin into Ireland as the church language helped to arouse an interest in classic learning. Saint Patrick’s ‘Confession‘ gives an account of his life in Latin. The anniversary of his death is celebrated March 17 and is the greatest of Irish feast days throughout the world.” From a very old edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

By the way, I really did well in Latin in high school. One of my teachers once told me that I would either make a great priest or doctor one day. She used to always have me stand to read in Latin before the class. Well, I never had any desire for either of the vocations she mentioned, but she gave me the opportunity to practice my voice and reading skills in front of a live audience, in a language I have mostly forgotten today.

This brief passage is one of my favorite writings. I thought it appropriate tonight.

“Snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.” James Joyce from The Dead.

Ireland has produced some great writers.

The Irish Literary Revival began in the last years of the 19th century. As it said in this old edition of the Britannica, “William Butler Yeats is one of the leading figures in this revival. He tells again with delight the ancient tales of Cuculain, Deirdre, and Ossian. He believes that the modern Irishman, like his ancestors, still has a vivid imagination, still loves poetry and beauty, still likes to hear of fairies and leprechauns. Therefore, in his poems and plays, such as The Wind Among the Reeds and The Land of Heart’s Desire, he emphasizes these Irish traits.” Yeats wasn’t the only writer from Ireland. Others include, Jonathan Swift, Edmund Burke, Oliver Goldsmith, Oscar Wilde, and George Bernard Shaw. But William Butler Yeats intrigues me tonight for one specific reason: Anthony Hopkins is related to him on his mother’s side…

…And, yes, I am wearing green tonight while I do this radio show.

If you’re celebrating tonight, please ensure you arrange to take a cab or designate a driver.

***

Don Jackson

There is a Native Canadian legend that tells us that the maple was ‘Hiawatha’s greatest gift to his people’.

“The maple sugar industry began with the early Canadian and New England pioneers.” This according to a very old edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica.         

Today, my family attended what has been called a sugaring-off event or maple syrup festival at the Purple Woods Conservation Area just north of Oshawa. “The Central Lake Ontario Conservation Authority was established in 1958 by the Government of Ontario at the request of the municipalities located within the watersheds of the following creek systems: Bennett, Black, Bowmanville, Corbett, Darlington, Farewell, Goodman, Harmony, Lynde, Oshawa, Pringle, Robinson, Soper, Tooley and Westside. Central Lake Ontario Conservation owns over 1,200 hectares of floodplain, waterfront, valleyland and environmentally significant land.” That was featured in the brochure we obtained when purchasing our tickets for the festival.

The brochure also gave us a pretty good overview of the beautiful surrounding countryside which was absolutely magnificent on this mild, sunny Saturday in March. Looking out across the forested hills and snow-covered valleys, I discovered that we were standing “..at an elevation of 320 metres on the crest of the Oak Ridges Moraine. This ridge stretches 160 km from the Niagara Escarpment to the Trent Valley and was formed about 10,000 years ago at the end of the last ice age. At that time, the glaciers covering this area were split into two lobes: one in the basin of modern day Lake Simcoe and another in the basin of Lake Ontario. The lobes of ice were carrying vast amounts of rock and soil scraped up by the glaciers as they moved. As the ice melted, streams of meltwater washed the debris into the gap between the two lobes. This debris, known as till, was heaped higher and higher to form the ridge you see today. This is a watershed: all precipitation falling to the north will find its way to Lake Scugog while that which falls to the south will find its way to Lake Ontario about 21 km (13 mi) away.” There has been enough precipitation this winter to create more than enough of a flow to both these large bodies of water. I really don’t think you will hear of any water shortages this summer, unless it’s drier than normal. The levels in the lakes should be higher than they were last year.

I also learned something else. “The importance of keeping our headwater areas in natural forest cover concerns the Conservation Authority greatly. Forested headwaters slow the snowmelt and allow for a gradual spring runoff and recharge of groundwater. In this case, this prevents damaging flooding and stream bank erosion. Our forests also inhibit soil erosion and provide wildlife habitat.”

After our sampling of the sweet syrup produced in this local area, we climbed the path on a nearby hill to an outdoor display that presented us with photographs and specimens of the flora and fauna of the area. This land is home to beavers, painted turtles, garter snakes (I think I recognized the one that sometimes visits my backyard ornamental pond in the high heat of summer, the one that sometimes likes to curl up on the rocks above the waterfall), red foxes, coyotes, salamanders and other creatures. It’s amazing to think there is so much wildlife just beyond the borders of our communities.

I have to tell you something that happened just the other night. I was up late and happened to hear a commotion of sorts outside our front door. I opened the door to find a red fox standing on our walkway. It jumped up onto one of the tall snowbanks I had shoveled beside the driveway. It seemed oblivious to my presence or really could not care less that it was being watched. I got the sense that, for the moment it stood there so stately, it was surveying all that it considered to be its territory. I got a good look at it as it stood high on the top of the snowbank, and then, in a flash, it hopped down and scurried off into the relative darkness of this quiet residential street. The information provided in this display at the conservation area suggested that right about now their offspring are being born. I thought that maybe the fox was away from its den in search of food. I was watching again the following night hoping to see this regal animal. I didn’t expect to see another creature of the night. This one didn’t leave me with the same sense of awe. It was a skunk standing between my two vehicles in the driveway. We may be winter-weary from all the snow of late, but these were two sure signs that the seasons are changing.

This writing in this very old edition of the Britannica goes on to tell us that getting the sap from the trees may have been taught to the early European settlers by the original peoples of this land. They may have “…regularly observed a sugar-making moon. The early methods of obtaining the sap were cruder, though more picturesque, than the present efficient ones.” The original method for obtaining the sap was clearly demonstrated by volunteers in period costume along the trail to the sugar-shack and picnic shelter, where a hearty breakfast of pancakes and rich maple syrup was being prepared for the hundreds of people in attendance today. A little of what we saw along the way will be included in this blog, thanks to our cellphone cameras.

The brochure included a time line.

“1540 First written observation of North American maple tree by French Explorer Jacques Cartier

“1606 Marc Lescabot describes collection & distillation

“1788 Quakers promote manufacture & use of maple syrup

“1875 Introduction of metal sap buckets

“1946 First commercial power tapping machine marketed

“1970 Reverse-osmosis technology introduced to concentrate sugar content of sap before boiling

“2007 Purple Woods Conservation Area celebrates its 32nd year in maple syrup production.”

“In the early days maple sugar making was a family industry. When sugar-making time came in the spring, the whole household–men, women and children–camped out among the trees. The trunks were gashed, and hollowed-out sections of poplar logs were set in the gashes to catch the flowing sap. These troughs were emptied into barrels, and from them the  sap was ladled into kettles for boiling. These huge, crude kettles hung from chains over a log fire. As the sap boiled in them and evaporated, they were refilled from smaller ones. When the sap was boiled down sufficiently, it was passed through a flannel strainer, skimmed, and boiled until the sugar formed. The sugar maker had to watch his kettles carefully to avoid scorching.

“The old method has been replaced by modern efficiency and machinery. The trees are no longer hacked for their sap, but small holes, which do not harm them, are bored in the trunk. Into these holes is driven a spout, or spile, which takes the sap to a covered bucket. The sap is collected regularly and taken to the boiling place. One to four per cent of sugar is found in the sap, and a good tree produces about three pounds of sugar a year.” An excerpt from a 1954 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

The methods today are so modern when comparing to how this was done in the past. The collection process includes plastic tubes, or lines, running from the trees directly to a collection point.

While we were waiting in line to buy our pancakes and syrup, my wife noticed a really tall maple tree with what looked like a bore-hole three-quarters of the way up. She told me to watch what has happening up there. I stood for a moment, and then I saw wasps coming out of their winter nest and flying back in. The warm March sunshine must have stirred them from their sleep. I thought the trunk of a maple tree an appropriate place for a nest, considering how close they would be to a sweet source of nectar. There would be no flights to the wildflowers this early in the year, but I’m sure they were quite content with the sap running in the veins of the tree. I wondered if it was the warm sun or the sticky sap that roused them from their insect dreams.

Do a Google search for maple syrup festivals in your area. I’m sure you will have as much fun attending one as my family did today during our outing in the woods. The parking lot was overflowing with vehicles and there was a lineup at all the displays along the path, as well as the huge outdoor tent where the pancakes and freshly-made syrup were being dished up. The portions were generous at the festival we attended. It reminded me of festivals I attended in Quebec in years gone by. In fact, it was just that memory of one my wife attended, north of Montreal, that piqued her interest in finding one here in Ontario for our children to experience. There were also a few other lines in this brochure that I noticed many families taking to heart today. “Take nothing but pictures / Leave nothing but footprints.” 

Besides the signs of spring in the animal kingdom I’ve been witnessing recently, the one signal that spring is on our doorstep is the sap in the maple trees, and the syrup on the pancakes. No wonder the maple leaf is the national emblem of Canada…

“All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair– / The bees are stirring–birds are on the wing– / And Winter slumbering in the open air, / Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!” An excerpt from Without Hope [February 21, 1825] by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

***

Don Jackson

“When the hearts of a Roman man and woman beat as one, and they were ready to make public the announcement of this interesting fact, the woman placed herself in the arms of the man in the presence of ten witnesses, then the twain ate together an unleavened farina cake previously blessed by the priest. This was the betrothal. On the day when the separate legal existence of the two ended, and the union of their lives began, the woman was conducted to the house of her betrothed, with a veil over her face and a distaff in her hand. Upon stepping over the threshold of her new home, between two youths, and lighted with the torch of a third, she placed herself upon a sheepskin rug spread just within the door, and called to her beloved, who incontinently answered the soft coo of his mate, and delivered to her the key of the love cote. When together they touched fire and water, token of purity and fidelity, whereupon they were declared man and wife by the sanction of the gods and legal authorities. This was an exceedingly beautiful as well as romantic marriage custom, and could be introduced with excellent effects into our modern ceremonies.” John Clark Ridpath writing about an ancient Roman marriage ceremony.

Tonight’s program is devoted to the Ides of March. HBO’s series Rome gives us a pretty good idea of what it might have been like living in the time of Caesar. It depicts the brutality of the times and the Ides of March were certainly a good time to stay away from the Roman Senate. I wanted to feature a more tender aspect of that ancient society rather than giving you the idea that it was only a warring, conquering nation. That is dealt with in detail in tonight’s radio program.  The writing was included in the book mentioned in last night’s blog, The Wonderful, The Curious, And The Beautiful In The World’s History by John Clark Ridpath and published in January of 1891.

A few paragraphs later, Ridpath discusses an ancient Japanese ceremony that I thought you might like to read. “Toward high noon of the happy day the wedding company, splendid in variegated costume, proceeds to the fete. Then the bride in spotless white, with a veil over her face, goes out between two friends, and is followed by a procession of relatives no less splendid than the one approaching to meet them. The two friends are called the male and female butterflies. In their dress they imitate the brilliant coloring on the wings of this insect, which in Japan is the symbol of conjugal felicity.

“The most solemn form of the ceremony is the scene of the two-mouth vase, ornamented with bands of dainty colored paper. At a given signal one of the butterflies fills the vase, the other offers it to the lips of the kneeling couple, the husband drinking first, the wife afterward. It is their first draught of mortal bliss, the pledge and promise that henceforth they are to partake equally of the bitter-sweet of coming years.”

In the concluding paragraph of this section devoted to A History Of Marriage, Ridpath writes: “The union of the sexes must ever continue to be associated with sentiments of tenderness and romance, and the eternal fitness of things requires that it should be so. The little ‘god of love,’ that beautiful creation of the ancient poets, will never cease to be an object of tender interest, if not worship, on the part of those who possess young hearts and warm affections. In the blooming months of spring, the maiden’s mind runs unconsciously upon thoughts of love, and in every budding flower and blushing rose she expects to find Cupid, with roguish lips and bent bow, ready to pierce her heart with the divine passion.”

Better the bow and arrow of Cupid, than the dagger of Brutus.

***

Don Jackson

“‘And why’, I asked myself, ‘Why should I have learned that this precious book exists, if I  I am never to possess it -  never even to see it? I would go to seek it in the burning heart of Africa, or in the icy regions off the Pole if I knew where it were here. But I do not know where it is….” Anatole France in The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard written and published in 1881.

Some people have a passion for old books; others have an obsession…The latter seems to be the case in that quote.

The oldest book I have in my library is beginning to fall apart. A few of the introductory pages have been lost even before I acquired it. It is called The Wonderful, The Curious, and The Beautiful in the World’s History by John Clark Ridpath, published in January of 1891. It is a quaint volume of curious facts from the historical past of the world. Some of these facts I’ve never seen in any other book. The book is a curiosity and yet I jealously guard it. Not just because of the fact that its pages are yellowing, its binding coming apart, or for any reason cited in my radio program tonight. I guard it because I found this book among my father’s possessions after he died. Where he got it, how long it was in the family’s possession I have no idea. It is a book that he read, and for that reason I treasure it and look after it carefully.

***

Don Jackson

“What if a demon were to creep after you one night and say, ‘This life that you must live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned - and you with it!’ Would you throw yourself down, gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, ‘Never have I learned anything more divine?’” - Nietzsche

I wonder how the remaining members of The Beatles would react to this? To live through Beatlemania again and again, when the world was their oyster, and all the events that followed?

The closest I ever got to The Beatles was my grandmother on my mother’s side of the family.

My grandfather, her husband, worked for the railroad all his short life. He had chronic asthma and died fairly young. They lived in a huge house in Port Hope, Ontario, during their married life. This was the house my mother called home until she married my father. In those days, one of the perks of being married to a railroad man was that my grandmother could travel across the country on a special pass. She took advantage of the ability to travel long after my grandfather passed away. I remember a story she once told me when The Beatles were at their peak and on tour here in Canada.

My grandmother was on the west coast staying in the same hotel they were in. In fact, her room was on the floor just above their suites. She told me of the crowds of fans who gathered outside the hotel, hoping for a glimpse of their idols. My grandmother wasn’t particularly interested in their music, but she admitted she was caught up in the excitement of the moment. After their concert, the Fab Four were off on the next leg of their concert tour. My grandmother was still booked into the hotel for a little while longer. After all the commotion associated with having the world’s most popular band in the hotel died down, she remembers people outside the lobby entrance selling pieces of bed linen that had been cut up into strips. Supposedly, this was the bedding The Beatles slept on. Now, I can’t confirm the story other than to say this is what a grandmother told her wide-eyed grandson who was also caught up in Beatlemania. But it’s a story I’ve never forgotten. That was one trip I wished I had accompanied her on.

We’ve all heard the troubles Paul McCartney has had recently concerning his very public break-up from Heather Mills. In recent photos, he seems to have aged. It’s never an easy thing when people realize that a relationship no longer has any more reason to survive. But when you’re a celebrity, worth millions and millions of dollars, it can be even more difficult trying to keep the public’s very prying eyes out of your personal affairs. Fortunately, most of the proceedings have taken place behind closed doors. We wish them both well, and hope they can get on with their lives when all is said and done.

It was on March 12th, 1969 that Paul McCartney married Linda Eastman, which prompted John Lennon to wed Yoko Ono just eight days later….

***

Don Jackson

During the height of the snowstorm that buried us over the weekend, I had to drive my son to an important hockey game. We were playing an away game at an arena in a community about twenty-five minutes away when the weather is clear and the roads are dry. The trip Saturday took almost an hour. The arena is on the outskirts of this particular city with open fields around it. There are few structures to slow the raging winds as they race across the parking lot. When the game was over, we headed out to the vehicle in the parking lot. We had difficulty seeing. It was a blizzard with almost whiteout conditions. It would not be difficult to lose your way in a storm like this. The road surface was horrendous with blowing and drifting snow. I would not want to have been out on any of the major highways traveling any great distance that day. We saw no pedestrians, either. It was a day that was not fit for man, woman nor beast…

Driving home through the blizzard, I was reminded of a poem that I posted in my blog on January 20th, the Eve of St. Agnes’ Day. It was a long poem by John Keats about two people who fell in love “against the strength of the fates,” as Sara Teasdalesaid in one of her poems. Their families were involved in a long, bitter feud. Both groups were mortal enemies, and yet a member from each clan somehow transcended the barriers erected by the long-running battle. Somehow they met and found something even more powerful than hate–love.

The poem details the magic that could be performed on that night in order that a young woman could see her intended in her dreams. The poem in my blog details the magic that could be performed on that one night. It is a ritual similar to one that could be done on the eve of St. Valentine’s Day. While the young woman is preparing to retire for the night, she could also do a little magic to see the face of her one true love in a dream. The young man in the Keats poem somehow finds his way into the castle and stealthily makes his way past the guards on duty. He solicits the help of a handmaiden to gain access into the chamber of his beloved. His intended wakes and sees her dream vision before her. Plans are hastily drawn up to elope. They carefully make their way back out of the fortress and into a blizzard. … They were never seen again. The end of the poem leaves their fate up to the imagination of the reader.

Today is the wedding anniversary of William Shakespeare’s most famous lovers detailed in his classic play, Romeo and Juliet. He tells us that it was on March 11th, 1302, that these two tragic figures were married. Their story was similar to that of the lovers in Keats‘ drama, in the sense that they were from warring families. Again, we are led to believe that love is far stronger than the hatred between these two rival families. Romeo took whatever means at his disposal to see the object of his desire.

Early in the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Romeo climbs over the orchard wall and speaks with Juliet who is on her balcony. She says: “The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; / And the place death, considering who thou art, / If any of my kinsmen find thee here.” To which Romeo replies: “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls; / For stony limits cannot hold love out: / And what love can do, that dares love attempt; / Therefore, thy kinsmen are no stop to me.” Love which is forbidden by others usually finds a way to fulfill its longing.

Which brings me to one other story. Its setting was again a howling winter storm. The tale was called The Lost Lovers of Pisgah Mountain. It was included in the collection, Great Mysteries: Ghosts by Robert Jackson–no relation. It is a Quintet Book published in 1992 by Smithmark Publishers Inc. Its ISBN is 0-8317-9055-5. I don’t know if this book is still available to be ordered.

The setting for the story is December in North Carolina at the turn of the past century. Robert Jackson writes the story “…would not be out of place in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.”

The two lovers were Mary Stratton and Jim Robinson. Her father did everything he could to prevent the two from seeing each other, but love is a powerful force, as we’ve already seen. As a last resort, the father did something that he would regret for the rest of his life. He told the revenue men that Jim was operating a still making liquor or moonshine. The revenue men found the still and began to take it apart when Jim happened to come on the scene. A fight ensued and one of the revenue men was shot by Robinson. Jim became a hunted man from that moment forward.

In the Keats poem, the young man solicits the help of a handmaiden. In this mountain tale, Robinson sought help from a widow who had been his mother’s friend. He begged her to bring the preacher so that he and Mary could be married before fleeing the mountain for good. He knew he would be on the run from the authorities for the rest of his life, but wanted Mary to be his wife in order that they might escape together. The widow reluctantly agreed to his plan, and the two were married by a preacher who asked few if any questions. As Jackson tells us, Mary was frightened because word was getting around about what Jim had done. Dogs could be heard coming up the path to the cabin as the ceremony was finished. The young couple made their escape through a back door and ran into the woods while the storm raged about them. I get the sense that their tracks were covered up by the falling snow. The man-hunt for the two of them continued for a few more days, “until the depth of snow made it impossible to carry on the search,” as writer Robert Jackson said.

They were never seen again…

It is unknown if they made it safely down the mountain in the blinding snow. Folks were led to believe that maybe they didn’t. Her father tried everything he could to find word of their whereabouts, but he eventually died, heartbroken. Robert Jackson writes: “But every year, so the mountain folk say, at the time of the first snowfall, the shades of a man and woman appear on the mountainside where Jim and Mary vanished in the blizzard; she is standing, he kneeling at her feet, holding her hand as though proclaiming his love-or, perhaps, begging her forgiveness for having taken her to her death in the frozen wilderness.”

Love may be a powerful force, but it can bring unimaginable consequences to those who fall under its spell. Romeo and Juliet knew this only too well. We’re not sure if Keats‘ lovers were successful in their bid for freedom and a fresh start. One can only imagine they were…

***

Don Jackson

“As never before it is the duty of parents to train their children to behold the creatures of nature, which can never lose their identities because they can only be what they already are: the flowers ‘fresh and laughing as on the days of great battles’, the beasts who ‘walk the earth, ignorant, while their splendor lasts, of any weakness’, and, most of all, perhaps, the stars of the night sky, in all their unchanging majesty and stateliness of movement.” - Lessons of Nature by W.H. Auden

Back at the early part of this new century, Italian and American researchers said that because of light pollution, two-thirds of the world’s population, including 99% of the people who live in the United States, never really see a dark, starry sky…

It was an incredible storm that we experienced over the weekend. I would imagine some are still trying to dig themselves out. My wife was in Montreal over the weekend and said they received even more than we did.

“There will be storms, child / There will be storms / And with each tempest / You will seem to stand alone / Against cruel winds

“But with time, the rage and fury / Shall subside / And when the sky clears / You will find yourself / Clinging to someone / You would have never known / But for storms.” - Storms by Margie DeMerell

Who could forget the blackout we had some years back. For a few nights, we were blessed with a sky that was truly dark enough to be able to see stars, satellites passing by overhead, and even the occasional meteorite. I remember being outside on the front lawn with a telescope as we tried to see things city lights normally prevented us from seeing.

One of the writings I featured in the radio show tonight is called Skylights by Oliver Wendell Holmes.

“There are one-storey intellects, two-storey intellects, and three-storey intellects with skylights.

All fact collectors, who have no aim beyond their facts, are one-storey men.

Two-storey men compare, reason, generalize, using the labors of the fact collectors as well as their own.

Three-storey men idealize, imagine, predict; their best illumination comes from above, through the skylight.”

- excerpt from The Treasure Chest, edited by Charles L. Wallis, and published in 1965 by Harper and Row, publishers

***

Don Jackson

“There will come a time when you will age like others, though far more slowly, and into a condition infinitely nobler; at eighty you may still climb to the pass with a young man’s gait …” An excerpt from Lost Horizon by James Hilton. The hardcover edition was published in 1933 by William Morrow and Company. The first softcover Perennial Book Edition was published in 2004 by HarperCollins.

My mother-in-law, Tina Alessi, is celebrating her 80th birthday tomorrow. Unfortunately, I will not be there to celebrate it with her, but I wanted to pass along my special wishes in my blog tonight.

She was born in Italy. Her father was a shoemaker. I have mentioned, in the past, that he made and repaired footwear for those who lived in their small town, and all the surrounding villages in the southern part of the country. More often than not, he was paid in vegetables and, at times, even with a chicken or two. It’s hard to imagine that kind of life today, in our land of plenty.

She moved to Canada in the early 1950s, met and married my father-in-law, Nick. My in-laws have celebrated 54 years of marriage. That in itself is quite an accomplishment. I remember the huge celebration we held in honor of their 50th wedding anniversary. Through the years, they raised a family, and now have three grandchildren to dote over.

My mother-in-law has always been fond of her gardens. She has a green thumb like no other I know, except, perhaps, her daughter, who I was lucky enough to marry. Her gardens encompass almost their entire property, and every year they are filled with all kinds of vegetables. She is also an incredible chef in the kitchen. There is a sign in her kitchen that says that this is her domain, and it is there that family celebrations began with the savory aromas of meals she lovingly prepared. Tomorrow’s celebration is one I will miss, but we will be thinking of her on her very special day. My son has an important hockey game tomorrow, and he has already told me that he will be playing it for his “Nonna.”

“The greatest legacy we can leave our children is happy memories. Those precious moments so much like pebbles on the beach that are plucked from the sand and placed in tiny boxes that lie undisturbed on tall shelves, until one day they spill out and time repeats itself, with joy and sweet sadness, in the child now an adult. Memories. Love’s best preservative.” Og Mandino from The Choice, published by Bantam.

 My mother-in-law has filled the lives of all who know her with many happy memories. Happy Birthday Mom!!

***

Don Jackson

“Servant and master am I; servant of those dead, and master of those living…Through me spirits immortal speak the message that makes the world weep, and laugh, and wonder, and worship. I tell the story of love, the story of hate, the story that saves, and the story that damns. I am the incense upon which prayers float to heaven. I am the smoke which palls over the field of battle where men lie dying with me on their lips. I am close to the marriage altar, and when the graves open I stand near by. I call the wanderer home, I rescue the soul from the depths, I open the lips f lovers, and through me the dead whisper to the living. One I serve as I serve all; and the King I make my slave as easily as I subject his slave. I speak through the birds of the air, the insects of the field, the crash of waters on rock-ribbed shores, the sighing of wind in the trees, and I am even heard by the soul that knows me in the clatter of wheels on city streets. I know no brother, yet all men are my brothers; I am the father of the best that is in them, and they are fathers of the best that is in me; I am of them, and they are of me. For I am the instrument of God.”

That writing is called I Am Music. It’s author is unknown and featured in the 1960s collection The Treasure Chest published by Harper and Row.

In one of the early tales of J.R.R Tolkien, author of Lord of the Rings, he envisions the creation of the Universe beginning with the sweetest musical note ever heard, and then a harmony in the chorus of angel voices that join in…One simply cannot imagine the beauty in that music.

MacDonald wrote, “Better to have the poet’s heart than brain, / -feeling than song; but better far than both, / to be a song, a music of God’s making.”

***

Don Jackson