A Haiku Homestead Almanac

[Originally published in the Juneau Empire, L'Attitude, March 2011]

Poets fill me with wonder. How does a person, a simple human, take pieces of mundane life and experience, or everyday views from a window, and re-order them into the sublime, the witty, or the soul-wrenching truth? Poetry is not for the lazy, I tell you.

I’m reminded of this by every edition of L’attitude, when I discover that my neighbors, childhood friends, and acquaintances are actually poets. In fact I’ve started to get a bit self-conscious about my prosaic contribution to this little local gem. Bread, toothpaste and plastic bags – what are these when compared to heartbeats, celestial voices, and birdsong? Pretty meager, really.

But must they always be? One person’s loaf of bread may be another person’s masterpiece, right? Dorothy Parker took the politics of relationships and turned them into cutting wit (Men seldom make passes / At girls who wear glasses.). Elizabeth Barrett Browning turned politics and social injustice into bouquets of words (Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, / And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; / But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length / Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn / When the man-child is born.) And from her secluded room, Emily Dickenson made clear, sharp observations of the world (“Faith” is a fine invention / For Gentlemen who see! / But Microscopes are prudent / In an Emergency!).

So what’s a girl to do who loves lists, schedules, and plans, but also wants more poetry in her life? Well, maybe one person’s calendar can be another person’s form of self-expression. Being relatively new to gardening, hunting, and stay-at-homesteading in general, I’ve labored to put together my own “almanac,” to remember what I need to do each month. I’ve been diving into books and gathering internet resources to sort it all out. But maybe I should step back a moment, and look at it anew. Instead of trying to capture hours, I can try to capture how those hours feel. Oh, I don’t know how to explain it… I’m not a poet for goodness’ sake! But here’s my

Main Street

(Haiku) Homestead Almanac, for your reading pleasure (or at least for your reading).

January

Plan and repurpose.

Hands make warm afghan, with love,

Then open a book

February

Vegetable seeds,

Listed with hope of spring warmth.

The pantry echoes.

March

Tomato seeds wake.

Wood and glass shelter covey

Of quail, dream of eggs.

April

Cole, leaf, squash, onion

Unfold, prepare for life outside,

But lose friends to salad

May

Mother’s day scolds frost.

Dark soil made ready for new life,

Coil of worm bodes well.

June

Crab in dungeon deep,

Shrimp below flashing sockeye.

Wind in sails brings lunch.

July

Family, friends, summer camps,

Bonfire on rocks, driftwood blaze.

Winter is so far away.

August

Gun and pack ready.

Berries fall, deer leap and run,

But mushrooms sit still.

September

Chill air, like homebrew

Tastes bittersweet with last fruit.

Bulbs promise the spring

October

Clean spade winks at soil

Reclining under blankets.

Stacked wood laughs at cold.

November

Wood pops and glows red,

Like the yarn of winter gifts

And cranberry bite.

December

Spin down like snowflakes

On snow angels, celebrate

A good year’s ending.

Sarah Lewis is a local architect and student of sustainability, who hopes the serious and talented poets of Juneau will eventually forgive her. But she really enjoyed her attempts at haiku!