Love’s Labor’s Lost, one of three plays performed as part of Shakespeare Santa Cruz 2010 ~ now in its 29th season ~ opened July 21 in the Festival Glen, a natural amphitheater in the redwoods of University of California, Santa Cruz.

Directed by Tony award-nominated Scott Wentworth,

Love’s Labor’s Lost is Shakespeare’s most profoundly Elizabethan comedy, replete with witty debates, dazzling wordplay, and strongly drawn comic characters.

The play is set in Navarre, a kingdom devoted to the quest for self-improvement through bookish study. The king’s youthfully naive self-imposed command not to allow the distraction of women into the court is all but shattered with the arrival of the Princess of France and her feminine entourage.

The men, who had vowed to avoid all women in favor of intellectual pursuits, immediately fall head over heels and begin finding ways to allow the power of love to take its natural prominence over learning and the affairs of state. But the realities of life finally intrude on the revelries.*

The relaxed atmosphere and park-like setting of this outside venue invite theatergoers to enter into another world for a few brief hours. Many families, enjoying this regional cultural treasure, bring a picnic lunch and recline on blankets on the forested slopes. Glen tickets are reasonably priced so more of the public is able to attend performances here and benefit from the offerings Art provides.

As the 2007 commencement address speaker at Stanford University, award-winning and internationally acclaimed poet Dana Gioia presented an impassioned argument for the value of the arts and arts education:

Art is an irreplaceable way of understanding and expressing the world—equal to but distinct from scientific and conceptual methods. Art addresses us in the fullness of our being—simultaneously speaking to our intellect, emotions, intuition, imagination, memory, and physical senses. There are some truths about life that can be expressed only as stories, or songs, or images.

Art delights, instructs, consoles. It educates our emotions. And it remembers.

Due to underfunding, Shakespeare Santa Cruz almost closed its doors last year. However, thanks to efforts of theater lovers and donors from far and near who recognize the value of Art (read Donor Notes), Shakespeare Santa Cruz survived and continues to inspire and educate young and old alike.

* Text from website of Shakespeare Santa Cruz.

Formerly Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, Dana Gioia currently directs the Harman-Eisner Program in the Arts at the Aspen Institute.

I don’t know whether nice people tend to grow roses or growing roses makes people nice. ~ Roland A. Browne

After meeting Tessa Sabankaya, owner of Bonny Doon Garden Company – which recently moved from its kiosk location outside Bookshop Santa Cruz into Fair Street New Leaf Community Market – I’d opine that nice people tend to grow roses.

And grow roses she does, along with scores of other flower varieties in her expansive garden glen in the Bonny Doon redwoods.

The exquisite art of nature—the play of light on plants, flowers, and intriguing organic shapes—has entranced me since childhood. Even today walking through a lovely garden leaves my heart and soul rejuvenated. ~ Tessa Sabankaya

Employing an intuitive sense of aesthetics, she combines knowledge of flowers and herbs with an understanding of the Language of Flowers to fashion bouquets that not only please the eye, but intoxicate the nose and quicken the heart.

I am personally drawn to her precious fragrant posies, which recall bygone days and an old-fashioned rhyme we chanted as children:

Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
A pocket full of posies;
Hush! hush! hush! hush!
We’re all tumbled down.

If Tessa’s floral designs spark a desire to engage your own creativity, you’ll be happy to know that she offers garden workshops several times a year. The next one is scheduled for late November, giving you ample time to dream up a decorative arrangement for your holiday table.

All Tessa’s flowers are organic and sustainably grown “to honor and preserve the natural environment from which we draw our inspiration.” Another reason why I believe nice people tend to grow roses.

Roland A. Browne is the author of The Rose-lover’s Guide – A Practical Handbook On Rose Growing.

The first printing of the Ring-a-ring-a-roses rhyme appeared in Kate Greenaway’s 1881 edition of Mother Goose.

Frequenting our downtown Farmer’s Market in the summer is a savory affair, especially if you’re a tad hungry and in need of a jolt of energy, which is where bite-sized fruit samples come in. Enjoy the juicy blast of organic orange, strawberry, cherry, blueberry, plum, peach, or nectarine, and your taste buds will talk you into buying as much as you can afford.

I did just that and found myself ruminating on the exotic flavor of a nectarine over breakfast one morning.

The nectarine is a cross between a peach and a … and a …

I really didn’t know!

Come to find out that the nectarine first appeared on the peach tree as a bud sport ~ a fruit clearly differing from the rest of fruit on the plant, which can be grafted as a cultivar to grow new plants that retain this genetic difference. Something to think about for sure, especially if you consider yourself somewhat of a purist but prefer the taste of a smooth-skinned white nectarine to that of a fuzzy peach.

Botanists have traced the peach to China, as the tree is mentioned in Chinese writings dating back as far as the 10th century BCE. The nectarine first appears in English literature around 1600. Poet Andrew Marvell wrote about it in his idyllic poem, The Garden:

What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

So my simple breakfast rumination ~ like all ruminations ~ opened a window of knowledge … and made eating nectarines a little bit sweeter.

If only … I’d had my camera with me. If only … I’d pulled off the road to breathe in that awesome seascape. If only … I’d taken the time to drop what I was doing and follow the lead of the Universal Magnet, pulling me into new adventures and demanding that I join the dance of life, impromptu, right now!

So, I confess, I’ve missed more than a few magnificent sunsets. One just a few days ago. From what I could see from the mountains, the sky was on fire. I could only imagine what it looked like on Bonny Doon Beach. But it slipped by.

The following evening my husband and I resolved to head west at dusk and catch the last rays of the sun. When we got to the coast, a cold fog bank was rapidly rolling in, blanketing the horizon and making us shiver in our light summer jackets.

This wasn’t what we’d hoped for, but in Nature one learns to expect the unexpected. It happened to be a full moon and a train happened to be stopped on the tracks along Highway 1. And although we didn’t get the impassioned photo we’d hoped for, we were quite pleased with this dreamy blue shot at twilight that was determined to tell its own story.

This poem was written for a Peace Project organized by Judy Fisk Lucas. I wrote it thinking of the flooding along the Mississippi a few years back, but it seems relevant every time another place falls to waters, like Nashville, just recently.

I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river in my soul. ~ African American spiritual

After the storm,
hissing, roiling waters burst through
sandbag levees; the river
brings no peace at all.
Waters carry death and carnage,
waters carry stories and belongings,
waters carry worry and fear,
hope and need and new beginnings.

After the flood,
after waters recede, settling between
banks, whispering of dreams and desires,
even before debris can be cleared,
shoots spring up from sated earth
skyward; like hope, eternal.
New-washed land shows signs of life.
Et in terra pax.*

*And on earth, peace.

To learn more about Kelly, visit her website.

This week’s image ~ from the Cascading Water series of Lucie Grenier.
Thumbnail image ~ from the Cascading Water series of Lucie Grenier.

Responding to community need after a personal time of trial where she found herself alone with no one to turn to for help, Katie Ritchie created Deborah’s Palm, a women’s center in Palo Alto offering resources, counseling, classes, and comaraderie to women of all ages walking through its doors.

Resource center, sewing/craft room, Katie Ritchie (all smiles), library

And welcoming doors they are. After years of dreaming, studying, and planning, Katie successfully transformed an 1896 Queen Anne Victorian (formerly a bed and breakfast) from the foundation up into a cheerful, comfortable, and accessible refuge: a home away from home. The center is a reflection not only of her good taste and capable hands, but ~ most important ~ of her caring and loving heart.

Garden flower at Deborah's Palm

Staffed by compassionate and knowledgeable volunteers, Deborah’s Palm – in addition to a library, meeting spaces, kitchen, exercise room, sewing center, Internet alcove, offices, and information kiosks – also features a newly landscaped flower garden alongside three towering palm trees and a white picket fence. When I visited in early June, yellow dinner plate dahlias, sweet peas, and blue hydrangea filled the beds, while luscious pink peony bouquets graced the center’s interior.

Upstairs meeting room expresses Katie's vision for Deborah's Palm: A place to "Connect, Discover, Unwind, Restore"

It was fun to check the schedule to see what gatherings Deborah’s Palm had scheduled for the month: sewing, quilting, cooking, knitting, baking, gardening, weight training, yoga, and healthy eating classes; book club discussion and readings; and two free special lectures: Got Issues Workshop and Detecting Depression in Teens & Young People. Quite an impressive selection for having opened just a month ago!

And ~ knowing Katie~ there will be further transformations as she and Deborah’s Palm continue to respond generously to community need. Deborah’s Palm is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization located at 555 Lytton Avenue in downtown Palo Alto, California (94301). Office Phone: 650/473-0664, Fax: 650/473-0660. Email: info@deborahspalm.com. Hours: Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

A special Thank you! to Jane Benson for introducing me to Katie Ritchie and Deborah’s Palm.

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,–alone,

`As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

`Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.’

~ by Robert Frost

This week’s image ~ above right ~ courtesy of Penn Quarter, Creative Commons.
Thumbnail image ~ Wildflower Sisters.

Poetry arises out of the unknown and speaks to what we do know. ~ W.S. Merwin

Contemporary American poet W.S. Merwin thus affirms what philosopher-poet Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi penned eight centuries ago in his poem “Two Kinds of Intelligence”:

There are two kinds of intelligence.
One is that acquired by a child at school
from books and teachers, new ideas and memorization.
Your intelligence may become superior to others,
but retaining all that knowledge is a burden.
You who are so busy searching for knowledge
must be a preserving tablet, but the preserved tablet
is the one who has gone beyond all this.

For the other kind of intelligence is the gift of God:
its fountain is deep within the soul.
When the water of God-given knowledge surges from the breast,
it never stagnates or becomes impure.
And if its way to the outside is blocked, what harm is there?
For it flows continually from the house of the heart.
The acquired intelligence is like the conduits
which run into the house from the streets:
if those pipes become blocked, the house is bereft of water.
Seek the fountain within yourself.

In an illuminative 2009 interview with journalist Bill Moyers, Merwin speaks about the importance of listening deeply to “the fountain within yourself” – the other kind of intelligence – so near to poets, yet present in all thinking human beings.

Wisdom, resounding through the ages.

English translation of “Two Kinds of Intelligence” by Camille and Kabir Helminski,  Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance.

Thumbnail image by Lucie Grenier.

My first assignment as a park ranger for the National Park Service was at Glacier National Park – home to one of the largest Grizzly bear populations outside of Alaska. I was a technical climber, naturalist, and Grizzly bear manager. Actually, you can’t manage Grizzly bear. You manage people to stay far way from the bears. As rangers, we patrol the backcountry, take reports of bear sightings, close trails, post signs, and observe the interactions of bears and humans – from a safe distance!

One afternoon on a beautiful summer day it came to our attention that a sow (mother) Grizzly bear with two cubs was sighted on a trail within the park. This situation, a mom and cubs, is potentially the most dangerous scenario possible, mostly due to mom’s protection and aggressive behavior. My ranger partner and I promptly made our way into the backcountry, forgetting to take protection and radios.

We raced to the area of the sighting and made our way up the trail to a small ridge. As we reached the top of the hump, we discovered the approaching trio of bears. Momma bear saw us and immediately charged to our location. I turned to warn the other ranger and saw the back of his uniform as he raced down the hill, already half a mile from me – and the bears. Knowing that Grizzly bears don’t climb trees like black bears do, I quickly climbed up the nearest tree, as high as I could climb. Momma bear was mad and aggressive. She hugged and shook the tree for a very long time. Finally she left with the cubs following her in single file down the trail. I waited for several minutes before I made my descent from the tree and just when I was at ground level, I saw momma bear returning with papa bear, a huge male, about 1200 pounds.

These two angry and determined bears growled, hissed, snorted, and shook the tree as if their life depended on it. I was frightened to death and could see that they were not going to leave until they got me down and taught me a lesson or had me for dinner! Finally, after about an hour, they ran off into the woods, as if they had a plan or something.

Where was the other ranger and when was help going to come? I decided to climb down the tree and race to the ranger’s camp before the bears came back again. I started down through the branches and then caught a glimpse of the two bears running back towards me – and the tree. They almost looked like they were smiling. As they go closer, I could see that they were determined to get me this time because papa bear was carrying a beaver in his arms  – to chop the tree down.

Luckily for me, just as the beaver was almost done chomping his way through the tree truck, the other ranger and friends arrived to scare off the bears. Even though I have photos of the bears’ tracks and beaver’s teeth marks in that tree, most folks still don’t believe my story. But, despite the disbelief, I’m alive today and have great respect for bears and beavers!

If you enjoyed this post, you might also want to read Steve’s article about old San Diego. Visit Steve’s website, Baja Wine and Cuisine, and view one of his wine shows.

Image ~ above right~ courtesy of award-winning wildlife and wilderness photorgrapher Stephen Oachs, Aperture Academy.
Thumbnail image ~ http://www.flickr.com/photos/gander178/, Creative Commons.

God bless the grass that grows thru the crack.
They roll the concrete over it to try and keep it back.
The concrete gets tired of what it has to do,
It breaks and it buckles and the grass grows thru,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the truth that fights toward the sun,
They roll the lies over it and think that it is done.
It moves through the ground and reaches for the air,
And after a while it is growing everywhere,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that grows through cement.
It’s green and it’s tender and it’s easily bent.
But after a while it lifts up its head,
For the grass is living and the stone is dead,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that’s gentle and low,
Its roots they are deep and its will is to grow.
And God bless the truth, the friend of the poor,
And the wild grass growing at the poor man’s door,
And God bless the grass.

Words and music (hear the song) by Malvina Reynolds (1900-1998).

Pete Seeger describes his first visit with Malvina Reynolds:

It was in 1947, at a hootenanny in Los Angeles, a middle-aged woman asked if she could speak to me. “What is it?” says I. “Well, I need more time than we have here.” Next day she came to where I and my small family were staying, and said “I’d like to try doing what you do–sing for unions, for people trying to do something good in their corner of the world.” I said, well you don’t get rich but you meet all sorts of wonderful people. I probably told her to get on the phone when she read the papers about something interesting going on, and tell ‘em she had a song which would hit the spot for their meeting. She was 46 or 47, had a shock of beautiful white hair. I was 28; I remember thinking “Gee, she’s kinda old to get started.” I had a lot to learn. Pretty soon she was turning out song after song after song! (from a letter to C. H. S. dated 13 February 2006)

E. Y. (Yip) Harburg, lyricist of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” had it right when he explained the emotional force a song and lyrics must possess to penetrate a listener’s heart:

Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.

Malvina’s songs certainly meet this criteria. This beautiful song of hope, once heard, will never be forgotten. Remember its message on those bleak days as a ray of sunshine from an enlightened soul.

Image ~ above right ~ Verdant Meadow, Santa Cruz Mountains.

If you enjoyed this song, listen to Thank You Mother by Santa Cruz Woody.