The Poetry of Anne Maren-Hogan

“I can feel the grit of dust and crunch of downed cornstalks in these poems.  They are not nostalgic ditties, but instead are strong songs, often in a haunting minor key, that remove me to a time when many footsteps, from many families, from many homes, sounded on the Midwestern farm scape.”

Timothy Fay  (taken from  the back cover of Anne’s book of poetry)

Anne and Sam  with the Mrs and I  March 23 2013

I was introduced to Anne Maren-Hogan’s book of poetry this past November by her nephew Chris.

I would be the first to admit I am not a big reader of poetry….which makes what happened to me all the more powerful.

I can still remember sitting in Ms Burns 7th grade class reading “Jonathan Livingston Seagull. “

I got the impression something deep and profound was  going on in that story, but it was  beyond me.

(The same thing happened in Mr Newland’s slide rule class…..I felt  over my head and could not swim)

NEVER  wanting  to find  myself in that sort of discussion setting again.

Flash forward 40 year .

Chris  hands me a little book of poetry @ coffee break written by his aunt Anne. (Chris works with me)

In my mind, I’m thinking...oh/ no/  if I take it, he’s going to ask me later what I think…?

I will be exposed for the uncultured farm boy that I am.

I took the book.

I inhaled the book.

I discovered a writer that drew me in.

She wrote about growing up in a large farm family , not too many miles from me.

Here’ another quote from the back of the book:

“With narrative grace and keen insight, Anne Maren-Hogan celebrates the strength and perseverance of women.  Spanning two decades, the poems in The Farmers Wake offer a thoughtful meditation on family, place and culture.   The poems move beyond a chronicle of farm lief in the Midwest to remind us all of the very human connections we share with each other and this earth.  The landscape in these poems may be harsh and isolated, but the writing is rich and rewarding: stitching it all together with this certainty/ of leaving and returning as  Maren-Hogan writes in “Lifting My Eyes”  Pat Riviere-Seel

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Anne and her husband Sam were back in the area this past week visiting family.

I’d built a multipurpose addition to our shop this Fall and had been wanting to do a “German Building dedication”

Last Saturday night, was the dedication.

Anne and Sam, joined us for a night of poetry/ music and mirth.

I asked Anne,  if she cared if I included one of her poem on this post.  So I did get her blessing.

I intended to include my favorite poem titled The Farmer’s Wake”

(It is about her dad’s wake)

I’ve had a change of heart.

I’m going to hold off  because  I feel like she  has shared something with us very precious and sacred.

A  glimpse into her heart.

I will instead give you a link to her book of poetry, so you could have your own copy.

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In case you stumble across this post later Anne, I just want to say  thank you again for  sharing your heart, both in your poems and for actually coming and reading them aloud .

I am a wealthy man.  DM

German building dedication

Lead carpenter (me) nailing the evergreen branch to the gable. 

And then they were gone.

I woke up this morning  thinking about something I’d seen a year ago at work.

I was framing a garage on  the J. Johns farm that week.

Just to the east of the garage was a large pasture.  Probably 75 to 10o acres.  There was a small creek cutting diagonally through the pasture.  If you were a cow, that would have been paradise.  Steve Leytem (another farmer)  had a small herd of beef cattle grazing the field.  Once a day, he would stop by with a tractor and feed wagon, to supplement what they were getting off the field.  He had 4 or 5 long wooden bunks in the middle of the field, as soon as the cattle could hear the tractor coming down the road they would head to the feed bunks.   Cows are not stupid.

One morning when we arrived at the job, I noticed several gates  set up close to the feed bunks…not all the way around mind  you just on 2 sides.  Cows can be skittish like that…..introduce something new in their environment, and they get nervous.

Steve dumped the feed into the bunks like normal, and within just a few minutes, the herd, overcame their fear of the gates,  crowded up to the feed bunks and that was that.

Two days later I noticed more gates had been set up..this time they were on 3 sides of the feed bunks…

Same  thing happened…when the cows heard the tractor coming down the road they got excited, ran over to the feed bunk area, but weren’t quite sure what to think of this new section of fence…eventually their desire for feed overcame their fear of the unknown and life was back to normal.

When we got to work two days later, there was an eerie silence in the field.

all of the cattle were gone.

They’d been loaded up.

I looked over @ the feed bunk area and it was completely surrounded by cattle fence…one last panel had swung open…to accommodate the cattle truck that had backed up to the enclosure.

The cows never saw it coming.

One minute they were free, the next, they were gone.

I’m tempted to tell you about the fences I see being set up right now in our country.

Not physical fences, mind you but just as real.

I can see them and  want to stay as far away from them as I possibly can.

Problem is, most of the herd doesn’t seem to care.

A trip to the Vet

Little Moe is the latest addition to our family

A pet chicken…

and not just any chicken mind you…a handicapped chicken

Here’s a recent photo:

He’s got a gimpy leg.  His right one just wants to flop

Last night I posted a 40 second video clip of Little Moe hobbling around on our face book home page.

A good friend and fellow blogger Kristina got after me and said I needed to take him to the vet.

Now in my mind that is a $35 to $40 office call/ not to mention any treatment that might have been suggested, so I let the need be known on face book.  I was willing to take him to the vet but we were not in a position financially @ this point to cover the cost.

Would you believe I had 2 people step forward, willing to underwrite Little Moe’s visit…

There are still  lots of kind tender heart-ed people out there, I meet them all the time.

I asked my wife to call the clinic first thing this morning to see if they’d see a pet chicken

Yep

The Vet clinic called at 2:30 this afternoon  and said we could bring him in for a check up….

Here are some action photos from our time @ the vets:

Little Moe in the pet carrier waiting to see the vet

the Vet and I before he examines Little Moe

Little  Moe getting a check up

As I was driving into town I thought about the situation

What if there was nothing that could be done and this little bird is in constant pain?

What would be the loving thing to do?

What would you do?

At first the Veterinary  thought there was a broken bone

The more he manipulated the leg and felt around, he decided it wasn’t broken

Rather, Little Moe seems to be missing some tendons in that area of his leg

I asked if he were in pain.

Nope, didn’t appear to be

There was really nothing that could be done, in terms of a splint etc.  it just is what it is.

We talked briefly about some guy on the TV last night who shoots a bow and arrow with only his feet….

I guess that came up because Little Moe seems to be making allowances for his handicap in other ways.

I’ve had 3 different people suggest to me I ought to write a children’s book with Little Moe as the main character….

Any takers in the audience who would be willing to team up with me on this?  I’m thinking the story line doesn’t have to be really very long..

I think I need an illustrator as well.  If you’re at all interested let me know.

Well, I better go outside and shut the door to the chicken house.  I let Little Moe and his friends free range during the day, but have to lock them up at night or they may wind up as someone’s dinner in the middle of the night.

DM

Spring In The Country

I could not believe my eyes…

There they were, popping out of the grass in our orchard this past Wednesday evening.

Grey Morels….

A month early, no less…

close up of a morel I  found this week.

You’d be proud of me.

I resisted the temptation to pick them all,  and went to find my wife.

It felt like we were on an Easter egg hunt, only we were looking for mushrooms.

By the time we were done, we’d found over a 100:

They may look gross to the untrained eye, but boy are they tasty

They sell on craigslist around here for  $40 a pound.

In case you’re interested, here’s how I prepare them:

Cut them in 1/2  (sometimes little bugs like to hide in the hollow middle)

Then I soaked  them in salt water over night.

Rinsed them in clean water when I got ready to fry them.

Dip them in an egg wash

Then I put them in a baggy with crushed Ritz crackers and Johnny’s Seasoning Salt (shake)

Fry in real butter…

Yummy!

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Apple Trees

There are   60  semi dwarf  apple trees on the East side of our house and another 20 on the West side…

They are in full bloom this week…

Wild bee pollinating in our orchard

Just like the rest of the plants this year, the apple trees are a month ahead of schedule.

I am gradually coming to the place where I think I may build a bee hive.

So far, the wild bees have been doing a pretty good job of pollinating the trees….

We’ll see…maybe next year.

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Wild Asparagus

This morning I came across some more “edible landscape”

Wild asparagus…

Wild asparagus

I can’t stand the stuff myself, but Mrs DM loves it….

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Grant Wood

My favorite Grant Wood  painting  is “Spring in the Country”

Remember American Gothic?

Yep, same guy…

Local boy too.
Turns out he was a prolific artist.

Sometime when you have a minute, Google his name and check out some of his other work.

We probably have a dozen of his prints scattered throughout our country farm house.

I feel like I’m living in the middle of that picture this week….

Several of you live in urban settings..

I know  it can be kind of stressful….

so tonight is my humble attempt @ bringing a little country to your door.

g-nite. 

DM

Starting a farm co-op

A co-op:  An autonomous association of persons who voluntarily  cooperate for their mutual social, economic, and cultural benefit.

I attended an organizational meeting of a new local food coop  getting set up in our area.

It got my wheels turning  (again)

Why not start my own mini farm-coop?

First project : raise free range chickens

I floated the  idea on face-book a couple of weeks ago.

I have been thinking I would like to raise (20) to (25) free range chickens this Summer  and wondered out loud if anyone else in our area would be interested in going into partnership with us.

I had (4)  families jump @ the opportunity…..

All were young families with children living inside city limits so it was not something they could do on their own, even if they wanted to.

We live on 4 and 1/2 acres so there is lots of room to experiment.

It is just about as easy to take care of 100 as it is 25.

The chickens will arrive April 12

We will let them mature into sometime late August..and when they are ready, we’ll have an old fashioned “chicken butchering party” …just like your grandpa used to do.

We will share the costs equally and all pitch in on butchering day.

One of the young mothers had obviously been thinking about this for a while….

I’m guessing she’ s been looking forward to the day when they had a place of their own in the country.

She asked if I would consider getting some Heritage breeds, and using Organic feed to supplement their free range foraging.

(Chickens only get 3% of their caloric intake from foraging so you have to supplement their diet with something)

“Why not?” I said.

We ended up picking (3) different breeds…

I can’t wait to take pictures  as they mature!!!!

(the pictures below are some I found on the Internet so I would know what they will look like)

Black Australorp’s

Silver laced Wynadotte

Rhode Island Red

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It’s too late this time around to be a part of this adventure, but let me know if you’d like to be a part of something like this next year.

Even if you’re coming from a distance, (I live in Iowa)  there’s nothing to say you couldn’t schedule a trip here the weekend we butcher.

Please don’t leave any nasty comments on how cruel I am, etc. etc. etc….

I’ll just delete them.

I do believe I will answer for how I treat the animals in my  care….

and I  also believe there is a reason my teeth are designed to eat meat as well as vegetables.

Well, it’s been a long day.

I filled (7) raised garden beds full of dirt,  planted  (5) apple trees, (450) hills of russet  potatoes

….and a 400 sq foot patch of grain.

I’m beat.  g-nite. DM

Row of seed potatoes before they were covered up

Wheel barrow full of seed potatoes

To my great, great, great, grand daughter…

You came to mind this morning

a hundred years from me,

My daughter’s

daughter’s

daughter….

a hundred years from me.

There’s some things I  want to tell you

Bout  things  that shouldn’t be.

about the world

you woke up in this morning.

100 years from me…..

I think about my grandpa,

and his grandpa too

I wonder if they ever

gave much thought

bout the things

they’d say and do

the choices that  generation made

are landing at  my feet

We used to have 4 foot of top soil

Now it’s measured in inches

And now our leaders  spend like drunken fools

  you’ll be picking up the tab

I want you to know I wasn’t for it

I spoke out  for what it’s worth

“We’re  sorry” just don’t cut it,

hollow words

to my ears they sound.

We’ve got to live with a long term view

if we hope you’ll be around….

You came to mind this morning

a hundred years from me,

My daughter’s

daughter’s

daughter….

a hundred years from me….

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I  wrote this poem  Fathers day of 2009 so you may have seen this one before. I was reading some poetry my mom wrote this afternoon about her family and it  got me to thinking. DM

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You may have seen this video before, especially if you’re a long time reader of my blog.

It’s worth watching again if you haven’t seen it in a while.

it’s called “Generations” by Sarah Groves…

This line makes me think every time

“Generations will reap what I sow,

I can pass on, a curse or a blessing, to those I will never know…”

Celebrating my Immigrant Roots

Grandma came to America in 1929.

She was 23 years old.

Picture of grandma when she was still single.

She came to America with a girl friend.

They, like thousands of others, came by ship…

Grandma second from the right

She told me later, she never saw her father again and didn’t see her mother until after the war. She moved to  Chicago, but came west to  visit her Aunt and Uncle on the farm near Scotch Grove Iowa.  Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors.

Grandma sitting with her Aunt and Uncle Fred and Hannah Otten  shortly after coming to America.

While visiting them  she met my grandpa.  A big strapping farm boy who spoke low German and English.

Side note…Grandma spoke both High and Low German.  She was a city girl from

Wilhelmshaven, Germany  a port city on the North Sea

His parents were good friends with the Ottens….and the rest as they say is history.

Grandpa told me his friends made fun of him for marrying a “city girl”

He said, “What’s it to them???   They could just  to go to….@%#&” .

Grandma  learned how to milk cows (by hand) .  Grandpa told me he got grandma  a couple of hundred chickens “so she could have her own egg money.”

Dad was born at home, (I’m pretty sure on the kitchen table)

Those had to be tough years..

Here’s a picture of grandma and my dad:

Here’s a song  that reminds me of grandma….

and finally, here’s a picture of me….all decked out in my German leterhosen.

The Walk- in Cooler story

We  were sitting around  kitchen table today for Father’s day   reminiscing with John and Kathy

The walk in cooler story came up.

It happened last September….

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Last Fall  my wife and I  took the time  to go on another mighty adventure.

We traveled East to  visit friends, drink lots of coffee  and go white water rafting.

I’m not a swimmer so the whole idea of going white water rafting gave me  a rush every time I thought about it.

The day of the rafting trip  I was outfitted with a  super  tight life-preserver.

Supposedly it was designed to keep an adult male  from drowning, but if your boat capsizes in the middle of a #5 rapid, and you get your foot wedged under a rock, then your still gonna die.

That’s me on the left in a #4 rapid

Well, unbeknownst to me  son John was having his own adventure back at home….

We were in the middle of selling apples when we took off on our trip and John was in charge of the apple stand.

Before work that morning   he ran out to the walk in cooler to grab a couple of bags of apples.

We keep the cooler set  at a constant 38 degrees.

John was in a hurry so he ran into the cooler in just a pair of shorts…no shoes, no shirt.The door on the cooler does not have a latch.

I keep it locked with a board on the outside

Well, when  John went into the cooler,  the door swung shut behind him and somehow  locked.

That was a problem for several reasons..

A.  there was no handle on the inside.

B. his cell phone did not have reception in the cooler.

C.  There was nobody else at home, and no one would miss John for at least  a day.

John told us he had visions of us coming home to find his frozen carcass amidst the apple crates.

We asked him if he panicked?

No…he said.  He knew it wouldn’t do any good to yell, cause there was nobody around to hear him.

He said he must have stood there 5 minutes trying to figure out what to do. He finally realized ff he had to, he could  shove the air conditioner back out of the wall, but that was his last resort and would have did several hundred dollars of damage.

Finally, he said, he noticed a little hole  the face of the door., he stuck his finger in the opening, twirled a little shaft  and out swung the door!

 

picture of John boxing up the Cortlands

How about you?

What’s the biggest pickle you’ve ever found yourself in and how did it work out?

Hank

Hank and his son Don farmed near when I was grew up. 

Hank was a typical old German…orny, and tight.

(I can say that about old Germans because I is one )

 I heard  the following story last weekend  from my friend  Steve (see picture below) who heard it  first hand from one of the grandsons.

  One Saturday morning Hank and Don   were pulling the  water pump on the windmill. 

“Vee, need to hurrrry up!   Hank said to his son Don,  in his broken English. “It feels like it’s start’n to rrrrain.!”

(I can  just hear the  “r’s rolling off his tongue)

“It’s not supposed to rain! ” Don replied, exasperated.

At this point, Hank looked up.  There at the top of the windmill were his two grandsons, Brian and Aarron…\standing on the edge of the wooden platform  peeing .

“You Son of a ***’s he said, shaking his fist.   Come down from there  NOW !!!! “ 

The boys don’t come down, they know if they do, the’ll get a whoop’n.

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Another time, Brian and Aaron decide to stick the billy-goat in their grandpa’s car.

 They opened  the door and stick him  in the back seat.  They leave  the window down  just a little.

  Hank eventually discovers the goat in the car…

“Kum here Donald!”

The D** goat jumped through de vindow of de car.  Hep me git him out!.” 

 Hank, grabs  the goat by the horns and starts to pull.

At this point, the goat  locks his front  legs and digs  his hoofs into the seat. 

Old Hank is yanking, and cussing , trying to wrestle the billy-goat out of the car.

 Hank looses his footing  and his feet slide  under the car.

 The goat sees his chance and  leaps  out  of the door,  past Hank who is still  lying on the gravel.

  The boys   watch the drama unfold from a distance….

 

Photo of Steve and I telling stories and pondering history  over a pot of coffee.

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What is history  but a series of stories?  

 Who decides which ones we’ll  remember and which ones we forget?

Personally, the ones that stick with me are either funny or tragic.

So tell me a story.

Danka    DM

ps  Steve, or anyone else who happens upon this post who knew Hank personally,   feel free to clarify any of the details here, and  better yet, tell us another story about Hank.

More chickens.

I’m thinking about getting some more chickens.   

Right now we have 5….4 hens and a rooster.

The following story comes to mind every time I think about our little flock….

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Not Even Chickens by Robert Fulghum

      With all the recent seaside development, it is easy to forget that Crete and Cretans are fundamentally about the mountains – the steep places, the high and isolated villages that breed independent, self-sufficient people who have always been a rule unto themselves.  They still are.  The Mountain Cretans say they fear nothing and nobody, and would look at God, Himself, with hat on and eyes open.  Thus they look upon strangers with interest, not suspicion.

     One afternoon I parked my car and walked a narrow road that connects several small villages along a high mountain ridge.  A voice called out from the porch of a whitewashed house:

     “Ehla, ehlah, kahtheeseh!” (Come come, sit!)  An old man beckoned to me, pointing to the chair beside him.

      I went.  I sat.  On a small table were almonds, raisins, olives, and a bottle of tsikoudia (tsee-koo-di-ah)  the Cretan equivalent of white-lightening or grappa- the proffered sign of hospitality and welcome to a Cretan home.  He was expecting company -and anybody would do.

     “tho-kee-maseh” (Drink this, eat this!)  he said, handing me a glass of tsikoudia and filling a small plate with almonds, raisins, and olives.

      “Lee-pon.  Germanos?” (Well, then, are you German?)

       I was touched to know that the hospitality came first, even though I might be German- from a country that had brutalized Crete in WW II.

     “Oshee, Americanos.”  (No, American.)

       “Americanos!  Americanos!  He shouted into the house, and a younger man appeared.  They spoke high-gear Greek with a Cretan accent.  The look on my face tells them I cannot follow, so the younger man says in fine English, “My father is excited to meet you.  He has never met an American.  He hears that in America they have everything.  He would like to ask you some questions.”

     Fine.  With his son translating, the examination began.  How old was I?  How many children?  How much money do I make?  Very Cretan inquiries.  Then a harder question that led to even tougher scrutiny: “How often do you dance and sing and recite poetry?

      “Not very often.”

       The old man looked at me with narrowed eyes.

      “How many sheep and goats do you have?”

     “None.”

      The old man looked puzzled.

       “How many olive trees do you have and how much oil put away?”

      “None.”
    

      The old man frowned.

      ” How many vines do you have and how much wine put away?”

     “None.”

      The old man was nonplussed.  He raised his eyebrows.

      “Do you have any chickens?”

     “No.”

     The old man looked mildly outraged and fell into high-gear Greek again with his son.  The son was apologetic.  “Pardon me, but my father says that it is a lie that Americans have everything.  You have no sheep, no goats, no trees, no oil, no vines, no wine, not even chickens.  He asks,” What kind of life is that?  He says, “No wonder you don’t sing or dance or recite poetry very often.”  He is dismayed.”

     The old man peered at me with pity bordering on contempt.

      Shaking his head in disgust, he mumbles in English, as he rose and limped out into his garden, dismissing me from his mind:

“Nothing.  Not even chickens….”