what is not expected...
yesterday at Searchmont Resort
'Permafrost Revival'
still chillin after 25 yrs.
old timey greets post moderne
live music gets goin'
banjo & mando
g'tars & voice
behind the stage
outside & on the other side of the glass
two boarders jam with harp & slaps
rick & britta turn to include...
the earth itself
gets to spin
a tune or two
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Two oh 11 in its prime
its true, 2011 is a prime number
the only year between 2003 & 2017
divisible naturally only by itself & one.
that's the rub
it stands alone--
making our resolve
more solitary
& natural
among a divisive past
or future
'eleven' harkens back to a levity
among elves
their elasticity
elated & elliptical--
venturing elevenfold &
at the eleventh hour
towards an elegy,
elevated & evanescent
demanding the
undivided attention
of our primal nature
the only year between 2003 & 2017
divisible naturally only by itself & one.
that's the rub
it stands alone--
making our resolve
more solitary
& natural
among a divisive past
or future
'eleven' harkens back to a levity
among elves
their elasticity
elated & elliptical--
venturing elevenfold &
at the eleventh hour
towards an elegy,
elevated & evanescent
demanding the
undivided attention
of our primal nature
Thursday, December 23, 2010
totality in solstice
even if you couldn't see it--
consider the drama...
on the longest darkest night
the moon is full
then its light too gives out
creating a dull red opaque face
looking back at you and all the ancestors
since this last happened in 1638
imagine Jan Ver Meer, age seven, in Delft.
painting his first picture.
eye on the detail,
pupil in the moon
camera obscura in the sky
those who came before
were not so much frightened
of the spectacle
as they were respectful--
that is what we've lost
in how far we've gone
consider the drama...
on the longest darkest night
the moon is full
then its light too gives out
creating a dull red opaque face
looking back at you and all the ancestors
since this last happened in 1638
imagine Jan Ver Meer, age seven, in Delft.
painting his first picture.
eye on the detail,
pupil in the moon
camera obscura in the sky
those who came before
were not so much frightened
of the spectacle
as they were respectful--
that is what we've lost
in how far we've gone
Thursday, December 16, 2010
ridin' the rails
so i asked forrest
what was the best part about taking
the Via rail from Sudbury to the Cdn. Rockies?
he sd.--the jam session in the dome car!--
with brushes on a tissue box, harps & guitars.
syncopated with the rhythm
& the engineer's whistle wailing in F
there is hope for Canada, for youth & the rest
it didn't end with the festival express
music still happens on a train goin' west.
what was the best part about taking
the Via rail from Sudbury to the Cdn. Rockies?
he sd.--the jam session in the dome car!--
with brushes on a tissue box, harps & guitars.
syncopated with the rhythm
& the engineer's whistle wailing in F
there is hope for Canada, for youth & the rest
it didn't end with the festival express
music still happens on a train goin' west.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
blogging the bog cranberries
harvesting the wild today
as november 9th weather co-operates,
two stones throw from lake superior.
red berries in standing water,
probably enough vitamin C in this bog
to nourish the entire hemisphere
as november 9th weather co-operates,
two stones throw from lake superior.
red berries in standing water,
probably enough vitamin C in this bog
to nourish the entire hemisphere
Saturday, November 6, 2010
grey jay by any other name
Grey colour predominates
as tamarack needles
paint the earth gold and fade.
November turns the sun away from this hemisphere.
The further north, the greater that denial is.
If I ever entertain doubts about having relocated
to the north country, thoughts vanish with the return of
Wisakedejak, the whisky jack
Canada Jay, the camp robber,
Perisoreus canadensis, the grey jay
As the sun dips, jays leave their green forest boreal home.
Wisakedejak and her lifelong mate cache food each day
in the clips of spruce bark. Skillful and smart, ghostly and gifted,
they sweep out from the treetops,
to engage humans like no other species.
Landing on your hand,
taking the bread from a hatbrim,
or pausing to look you deep in the eye,
there can be little doubt of why you chose this place,
or why it chooses you.
jeffrey riordan hinich, copyright 2010
as tamarack needles
paint the earth gold and fade.
November turns the sun away from this hemisphere.
The further north, the greater that denial is.
If I ever entertain doubts about having relocated
to the north country, thoughts vanish with the return of
Wisakedejak, the whisky jack
Canada Jay, the camp robber,
Perisoreus canadensis, the grey jay
As the sun dips, jays leave their green forest boreal home.
Wisakedejak and her lifelong mate cache food each day
in the clips of spruce bark. Skillful and smart, ghostly and gifted,
they sweep out from the treetops,
to engage humans like no other species.
Landing on your hand,
taking the bread from a hatbrim,
or pausing to look you deep in the eye,
there can be little doubt of why you chose this place,
or why it chooses you.
jeffrey riordan hinich, copyright 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Agawa Falls
or as it was called in 1903 by Stewart Edward White, “Big Falls”.
I could borrow his para-phrasing when he wrote, 'I'm not going to tell you how far...or exactly where it is'. Suffice to say that the round trip hike exceeds five hours with only a quarter-hour allowed in full view of the mighty eighty-five foot drop. Still, no words can fully scribe it, no film will show its deep mystery. Only an artist's sketch and a reel or two might reveal what lies beneath the veil.
In SEW's “The Forest”, speculation centred on what lay above the cataract, whether the pools were placid, or the trout prodigious. Nearly in sight of the falls, White and Towab's fishing party of a hundred plus years ago veered off towards Howling Wolf & Black Beaver Lakes. Breaching the upper canyon, they descended to “Big Falls” from its northern reaches, thus completing a great ellipse of the territory.
Today, I solo into that steep valley after a night of intense rain. The Towab trail is soaked through, each rock and root has the capacity to hurl the hiker. On one occasion, it did just that as I crossed above a smaller falls, recovering after a few lost steps. If I can't find my way, it will be days before I'm discovered. Perish the thought. The thunder blood pounds before the view as I clamber from the Towab, out onto a precipice where doubtless others have stood before.
The lore of the Agawa says that in 1916 members of the Prairie Club made this trek all the way from the mouth of the river. I see the ladies in their parasols and long dresses, the men with bowlers and their smokes.
Today's result is the same.
Upon arrival it takes your breath away,
then doubles back,
flooding in with emotional drama.
Spray lifts up in chorus.
Healing ions permeate.
There is this now only...
and Agawa spills away~
Jeffrey Riordan Hinich
copyright 2010
I could borrow his para-phrasing when he wrote, 'I'm not going to tell you how far...or exactly where it is'. Suffice to say that the round trip hike exceeds five hours with only a quarter-hour allowed in full view of the mighty eighty-five foot drop. Still, no words can fully scribe it, no film will show its deep mystery. Only an artist's sketch and a reel or two might reveal what lies beneath the veil.
In SEW's “The Forest”, speculation centred on what lay above the cataract, whether the pools were placid, or the trout prodigious. Nearly in sight of the falls, White and Towab's fishing party of a hundred plus years ago veered off towards Howling Wolf & Black Beaver Lakes. Breaching the upper canyon, they descended to “Big Falls” from its northern reaches, thus completing a great ellipse of the territory.
Today, I solo into that steep valley after a night of intense rain. The Towab trail is soaked through, each rock and root has the capacity to hurl the hiker. On one occasion, it did just that as I crossed above a smaller falls, recovering after a few lost steps. If I can't find my way, it will be days before I'm discovered. Perish the thought. The thunder blood pounds before the view as I clamber from the Towab, out onto a precipice where doubtless others have stood before.
The lore of the Agawa says that in 1916 members of the Prairie Club made this trek all the way from the mouth of the river. I see the ladies in their parasols and long dresses, the men with bowlers and their smokes.
Today's result is the same.
Upon arrival it takes your breath away,
then doubles back,
flooding in with emotional drama.
Spray lifts up in chorus.
Healing ions permeate.
There is this now only...
and Agawa spills away~
Jeffrey Riordan Hinich
copyright 2010
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