Monday, February 17, 2025

“Silver Lining?”


 
            Our project to remove the pond from the back yard continued with me channeling my “ant” powers. I started by lugging the large flagstones, purchase many years ago and no longer available, over to extend the path from under our Live Oak to our side gate. This gate only opened in one direction, but with carefully placing various flat rocks under its swing, it now moves both ways. That process took four hours one morning as I carefully assembled the puzzle one piece at a time. Gravel, reclaimed from the pond’s interior, added a finished touch to the area.
            The next part of the removal, getting the pond from the ground itself, took my husband’s strength. We decided to break it down into pieces and put back into the hollow to help with filler. At the moment, we’ve dumped three trash cans of leaves from the front yard and another four cans of dead Purple Heart mush. I stomp on the area after each load. Eventually, we’ll top it all with soil and smooth it out. That won’t happen until we’ve done the final rodent proofing along the back wall.
            Yesterday, we moved the fairy statue to the front yard. Four wheelbarrows of rocks allowed us to ring it in an eight that includes the bird bath purchased last summer. Once we’re through our seasonal freezes, I’ll start selecting flowers for this new area.
            With these changes, I try to focus on the silver linings. My front yard, damaged by years of freezes and droughts, will now display one of my favorite statues. Its new location means I’ll cover the area with different types of flowers than the ones out back. The pond, tucked out back for my personal pleasure all of these years, now shifts some of its features into the front for everyone to enjoy.
            We haven’t decided exactly what to do with the area opened up with the pond gone. At the moment, it’s a “maybe this” or “possibly that” flow of creative ideas. Those possibilities, too, provide silver linings for me as we move into this unpredictable year.

 



















Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

Sunday, February 16, 2025

"Harper Lee and Me"


hour after hour, day after day, year after year    
the cadence of her words     
rose and fell in my classroom  

in Jean Louise’s coveralls  
walking in someone else’s skin   
I meandered through Maycomb’s streets  
treasuring two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of 
    good-luck pennies
I led my students  
into that courtroom  
and stood in respect  

and I wept     
every single time  

hour after hour, day after day, year after year  
the cadence of her words  
rose and fell in my classroom  

“What would Atticus do?”  
wove into my discussions  
became a refrain   
became ingrained into who I am as a daughter, as a wife, as a 
                mother  
defined my humanity—   
my Gestalt 
am a part of all I have met   

and so I wept   
every single time  

hour after hour, day after day, year after year  
the cadence of her words  
rose and fell in my life   

until I became the writer
with a draft of a novel in my desk 
and another tucked upon a closet shelf     
the lives I created guided by conscience      
renderings of myself in stark black and white  
so I understand a watchman  
and crossing time to set things right  

and I wept  
once again  


Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman