Yesterday’s Wordle word was “gruff” and I started thinking about the first time I remember the word “gruff.” It was being read the story “The Three Billy Goats Gruff” by my mother when I was very young.
We always had books in the house. I remember many trips to the library in Shreveport and in Austin. Books were often given as gifts in my family, and still are. There are bookshelves in every room of the house except the bathrooms. I often purge books…some go to friends…some to the Goodwill…because more books always come into the house.
And like many of you readers, I have a stack of books in progress. I usually only have one fiction going at a time, but read bits of several non-fiction books at the same time. Here is the current bedside stack:
When I got my hair cut yesterday afternoon, I expected to talk to my hairdresser about what we did for Thanksgiving, the weather, etc. We ended up talking about books. I had my eyes closed most of the time as clippers neared my face and bits of my hair floated down around my shoulders. She talked about Jane Austen’s books and her current interest in Roman history, sparked by a book a client and professor gave her.
Driving home, the radio featured an interview with a British author (I didn’t catch his name) who said that he recently read that the number of people reading for pleasure is down 40%.
I remember a drive home from the library when I was in my teens. I had a brief bout of depression as I came to the realization that I would never be able to read all the books in the world.
I do admit to lots of screen use these days, but always find time to sit and read a book, even if it is only for 20 minutes…sometimes in a chair and sometimes in the tub.
Here is a photo of one of the bibliophiles in my family:
This is my late father. Note the pen in his right hand. He was always marking books with comments in the margins and underlines and exclamation points…as if he were still a young man in college. He always had a book with him. I know he had at least one book in his pack going into combat in Korea. He took books with him on canoe trips and into hospital waiting rooms. On road trips my mother drove while he read.
There is another photo that only exists in my mind’s eye. It was taken many years before his portrait. It shows the front of a ranch style house. On one side of the house is a driveway leading to a carport. In the carport a station wagon is parked. The back of the station wagon is open. There are two human figures in this shot. One is me at 9 years old. I have straight blonde hair to my shoulders and am wearing shorts and have an arm full of books that I am putting into the back of the station wagon. The other figure is my 8 year old brother. He is shorter and rounder than me and has a short crewcut. He also has an armload of books he is placing in the back of the station wagon. We are loading my father’s books into the station wagon for him to take to his new rental house. My parents were separating after 10 years of marriage and my father was giving us the privilege of loading up his books. Many, many books will be left behind with my brother and I and my mother.
We are a book family and always will be a book family.
I wrestle with what to write about. So many ideas. Do I post more pictures of critters from my yard? Do I write about more important to the world sorts of things, like the dismantling of our government? Ideas come and go and I jot down notes on a variety of topics. I write 3 legal pages of notes about my family’s relationship to music, from me to ancestors I’ve never met. I have been hearing more bird song lately and think maybe I should write about that. Or, I should finally write up my words about Harriet Tubman that I have been meaning to write up for about a year. It is Black History month. My mind keeps churning out subjects.
Serendipity strikes. Many things have entered my life in the past few months that seem connected.
Have you ever heard of the Rosenwald Colored schools? Neither had I until the past year. I had first run across them in a legal document among some old family papers.
The document reads in part:
“Be it known and remembered, that on this the 10th day of March A. D. 1926, I, Mrs. Ellen J. Buie, widow of H. H. Buie, deceased, have granted, bragined and donated, and by these presents, grant, bargain, donate, set over and deliver unto the Franklin Parish School Board, of Franklin Parish, La. herein represented by H. W. Gilbert, President, accepting this donation in all its parts and clauses, the following described property, towit:” A description of the property’s boundaries follows, and then this:
“To Have And To Hold the said property unto the said Franklin Parish School Board for the use and benefit only of the Rosenwald Colored School.”
My great grandmother was born in 1856 into a family that owned slaves. In the 1860 U. S. Slave Census her father owned 32 slaves aged 50 years old down to 6 months old. 66 years later she gave something back to the descendants of the people her family had enslaved. 2 acres for a school. When she was 14 she had been sent away to a convent school in St. James Parish. Maybe it was this experience that made her value education? And her daughter, my grandmother Mary, became a school teacher.
Here is a photo of my great grandmother Ellen Julia Copeland Buie (1856-1935):
But, the name Rosenwald meant nothing to me at the time I first looked at the document. Some months later, I happened to read a genealogy blog post about the Rosenwald schools. (there is a link to the blog at the end of this post). Then I happened to be showing the family document to my brother and I realized the importance of the name Rosenwald Colored School.
And then…I saw an advertisement for a special exhibit at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum that was about the Rosenwald schools in Texas. And they would be showing a film about Rosenwald on February 8th, with a panel discussion afterwards. I felt compelled to go. The film, by Aiva Kempner, was about 90 minutes long and told the story of Julius Rosenwald who was a rich philanthropist. Descended from Jewish immigrants who instilled quite the work ethic in him, he eventually bought Sears and Roebuck. He believed in giving back to the community. One of his projects was building schools for colored children in the southern states. He partnered with Booker T. Washington to do this. He built these schools during the Jim Crow era. “Separate but equal” was not equal at all. His generosity led to the building of thousands of schools to educate black children. He had three parts to these projects. One, he put up some money. Two, the community also raised funds, and Three, the community did the labor to build the schools.
This exhibit at the Bob Bullock museum only runs through February 23rd, so I urge all my Austin friends to go before it ends. There is also a former Rosenwald school near Bastrop that has been renovated. The panel discussion after the film talked about this. It is called the Hopewell school and we plan to visit it soon. (American Youthwork’s Youth Build Program put in some labor on this renovation).
Here is where the serendipity keeps on giving…
The film has interviews and photos of many African American celebrities from politicians to those in the arts…actors, singers, poets, composers, business people…people who either went to Rosenwald schools or benefited from Rosenwald’s other philanthropic projects: Rita Dove (poet), Maya Angelou (author, poet), Gordon Parks (photographer, filmmaker), John Lewis (politician, activist), Marian Anderson (singer)……
On the way home from the museum we stopped to pick up our mail. There was only one piece. The envelope’s stamp was a picture of John Lewis!
At Christmas I was gifted a book that I had never heard of and now am currently about 3/4 of the way through this novel. It is based on the friendship between Eleanor Roosevelt and Mary McLeod Bethune. It follows their friendship and how they worked together to advance the rights of black people in this country. Two women with different skin colors working together. The authors of the book are two women, one white and one black. One episode in the book is about securing a public appearance for the singer Marian Anderson when the DAR refuses to let her sing in Constitution Hall in Washington, D. C. She ends up singing for a huge crowd at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The book is entitled The First Ladies and the authors are Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray.
Flipping through t.v. channels earlier this month I came across a film on PBS about the poet Paul Laurence Dunbar. I had heard the name but was not familiar with his work. I learned that Maya Angelou’s title “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” is based on a line from one of Mr. Dunbar’s poems (“Sympathy”).
See what I mean? ….birds,singers, arts, education, history of our country and the struggles of blacks in this country…
There is a threat to dismantle and destroy the U. S. Department of Education right now…and any kind of diversity initiatives. What can we do? We can all take positive actions to lift up our values, be it contacting our representatives, to showing up in solidarity, to giving money to those organizations that lift up our sisters and brothers, neighbors and friends. No matter your political sympathies, the current destruction of our government will affect us all.
Take action with Love in your heart and as John Lewis is quoted:
“Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the Soul of America.”
*”Lift Every Voice and Sing” is the title of what is called The Black National Anthem and was written by James Weldon Johnson.
*I don’t know whether or not a Rosenwald School ever got built in Franklin Parish, Louisiana on the land my great grandmother donated.
Links:
donorschoose.org Donate directly to individual teacher’s projects
(original photo by Jerry Larson and used with permission of Jerry Larson and the Waco Tribune-Herald)
Who is this sun glassed adventurer?
He is my baby brother, Robert Richard Downes, kayaking on the Brazos River. The photo also adorns the cover of one of Robert’s books entitled Hello to a River, which chronicles his canoe and kayaking trips.
Texas is home to some wonderful rivers that have inspired many adventurers. My brother is one of those. He drew inspiration from several generations of outdoorsmen and women in our family. I remember canoe trips we took in my father’s canoe starting when I was 5 and my brother was 4. That canoe was inherited from my dad’s grandfather and currently sits on saw horses in my back yard. Robert tells of his journeys on Texas waterways (and a few others). His book includes the writings of our father, John Richard Downes, who kept notes about the canoe trips he took on the Texas Colorado river. I contributed one short piece about me meeting my father at the end of his last canoe trip to bring him and canoe home.
Each trip down a river will be different. The traveler might encounter sudden storms, miserable heat, mosquitos and unexpected currents. But, along with the unpleasant, there is the pleasant: the helpful people met along the way; the sightings of birds and other creatures; the time spent with one’s own thoughts. The lone traveler becomes the philosopher.
This book is a fun and readable true story that will fit nicely on the bookshelf next to Robert Graves classic Goodbye To A River. And this is a good gift for lovers of Texas rivers and nature.
Here are Robert’s Other Books:
A collection of essays about the author’s adventures in Texas, Mexico and other Latin American countries. Gift this to anyone with an interest in foreign travel and Texas.
This is a true crime mystery about a case my brother worked on when he was employed by the U. S. State Department in Mexico. It is about the disappearance of American professor Nicholas Schrock while he was traveling to a summer teaching job in Guadalajara. Great details about the investigation and a good look inside of the everyday work of our government employees.
This latest book is a departure from Robert’s past work and is a fictional spy tale. Here is the opening line: “It all started innocently enough, at least to an outside observer, but appearances can be deceiving.”
These books are available at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com. (search for his full name “Robert Richard Downes” because there is another author with a similar name)
Here is the “About The Author” bio at the back of his latest book:
Robert Richard Downes is a retired Senior Foreign Service Officer with over 37 years of federal service, the majority served overseas with the U. S. State Department. He lived and worked in Australia, Germany, Guatemala, Mexico, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Venezuela as well as studying in Austria, Germany, and Hungary. After leaving the State Department, he returned to his native Texas where he fills his time reading, writing, kayaking, and volunteering for local charities and international organizations.
In January 2019 I posted my first blog piece, “A Closer Look”, in which I talked about how looking closer at things can reveal so much. I gave the example of how beautiful Cedar Waxwings are up close and used this photo:
Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum) Up Close
In my blog piece last month (“Tree Peace”) I showed photos of various trees, some decorated and some winter bare. The bare one is the huge Burr Oak in my back yard. Siting on the back porch at dusk watching the last rays of the sun as they illuminate the branches gets me out of my worries about the world and brings me peace.
Over the two years I have posted these blog pieces I often spend more time worrying about what to write about than actually writing. I was contemplating writing about several different subjects, but nothing was really speaking to me. I kept thinking about our country’s current problems with political division and the ongoing pandemic/lack of vaccine. I pressure myself to write about them. But, so many others are writing some thoughtful and often brilliant pieces. I don’t know that I have anything better to add. I know so many people are agitated and afraid right now, me included.
So, yesterday evening, to escape my worries, I chose to sit outside and bird watch. Had the usual White Winged Doves and Cardinals. I even saw a Hermit Thrush take a bath in our shallow pond. I could hear the laughter of Robins once in a while and the sweet whistles of the many flocks of Cedar Waxwings in nearby yards. And then:
Cedar Waxwings in Burr Oak Tree
The Cedar Waxwings decided to hang out in my back yard tree. They came in one by one. Some would leave and others fly in to replace them.
Some sat like sentinels while others preened themselves. All seemed to stay in the sunny branches as the shadows grew on the lower branches. I saw one gently put its beak to another’s, like a kiss. There was constant movement and sweet whistling noises. Other flocks of Cedar waxwings were flying over, as were flocks of Robins. All were heading west into the setting sun. Watching them was mesmerizing.
Sometimes it is better to look at things from afar. The birds reminded me of little golden balls, like ornaments. I see in them the beauty of a large, peaceful, cooperative group. I am thankful for this magical gift of nature that swept me away for a while, and I love witnessing the cycling of the seasons once again. I feel the connection to January 2019, although that seems so long ago. I wonder if any of these birds came to our tree two years ago? As the sun continued to lower in the sky, the birds began to leave the tree. Afterwards, the only evidence they had been there were numerous purple bird droppings left on the cover of our outdoor grill.
I look at trees every day as a birdwatcher, but I don’t really “see” the trees. Recently, a friend from Colorado has been e-mailing me of her encounters with various trees and this has prompted me to look at trees a bit closer. Our native trees have been beautiful this fall. Not just beautiful, but spectacular: the brilliant yellow of the cedar elms and the big tooth maples; the reds of the cypress and the Texas red oak; the intense scarlet of the aptly named flame leaf sumac.
I had intended for this month’s blog to be a celebration of central Texas trees showing the rest of the country that: “Yes, we do have seasons down here.” Driving down nearby streets, the colors would catch my eye and I would tell myself, “I will come back tomorrow and take photos of that tree.” I kept telling myself I was going to do this, but I kept putting it off. Then, a few days ago I noticed that the tree colors were less vibrant and more leaves were falling off the trees. I realized I was missing, may have already missed, my opportunity. I thought I had already learned my lesson years ago when I did a lot of nature photography: Take the photo now! “The sky will not look like this tomorrow.” “That bird may not be in this spot tomorrow.”
This is a pattern of mine throughout my life, to plan to do something and then not follow through and then the opportunity has passed, never to return. There is a feeling of shame associated with this habit of procrastination, and a feeling of sadness.
On the 13th of this month while surfing the internet, I learned of the death of author Gary Svee. He was someone I had intended to contact. I wanted to ask him about why he wrote what he did about an ancestor of mine. I had been given a phone number of someone who knew him and was so anxious about calling a stranger out of the blue that I kept putting this off. I put it off for a year and a half. Now it is too late.
I went to his online memorial page and left a note. On the page it said that people were being asked to donate money to plant a tree in his memory. So, I did that. There is some sort of meaningful connection between the tree leaves transitioning and people transitioning that I am trying to grasp as I write this. The book of fiction this man wrote was entitled Single Tree and painted a sympathetic portrait of part of my family tree, a great, great uncle. I wanted to thank him, whether or not my thanks would have been welcome by him. But, I didn’t do this. He will never know what his book meant to me. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared. I cried when I read that he had died even though I had never met the man. I think maybe I cried more in disappointment at myself.
So, I share with you here some of Austin’s color and my advice to take action. Colors don’t last. Lives don’t last.
Natural Musings 