Autumn Hops and the Hound of Heaven

Con lúpulo a la izquierda y la Catedral de Astorga al fondo.
Hops on the left forefront and the Cathedral, Astorga, at the center.

Lúpulo de Otoño y el Sabueso del Cielo

Noventa y nueve por ciento de todo el lúpulo para la producción de cerveza crece en esta provincia de León. España es el cuarto productor de cerveza en Europa después de Alemania, Reino Unido y Polonia, pero es el mayor productor ya que las compañías alemanas dependen del lúpulo español importado para la mayoría de su producción.

Ninety-nine% of all hops for beer production are grown in our province, León. Spain is the fourth largest beer producer in Europe after Germany, the UK and Poland, but is the biggest grower since German beer companies rely on these Spanish hops imported for the majority of their production.

Estos días de otoño, primero templados, luego fresquines, se extienden hasta los largos meses de invierno, cuando la lectura llega a ser más constante y con mayor intensidad. Una de esas lecturas me recordó una expresión que había oído tanto que pensaba que tenía que ser un versículo bíblico.
Descubrí, sin embargo, que el "sabueso del cielo" es el título de un poema de 182 versos  del irlandés, Francis Thompson, por el que se hizo famoso.
Fotos acompañadas con la interpretación moderna en inglés.  

These fall days, first warm, then chilly, stretch long into the long winter months, when reading becomes more constant and with deeper intensity. One such reading reminded me of a term I'd heard so often that I thought it must be a Bible verse.
I discovered, however, that the "hound of heaven" is from the 182-line poem by the Englishman Francis Thompson, for which he became famous.
Photos and The Hound of Heaven, modern interpretation.

Las plantas trepadoras del lúpulo repletas de flores listas para ser recogidas en septiembre. 

He followed me peacefully and swiftly, yet unhurriedly.

He told me, “all people who betray you, betray Me.” (John 15:18-19

If the world hates you, realize that it hated me first.

If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own;

but because you do not belong to the world, and I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you.) I kept trying to get away from God.

Though I knew of His love for me,

I feared that if I had Him,

I would have to give up everything else.

I kept running across the ends of the universe.

I wanted to hide from this tremendous Lover.

I even tried to hide in the sky.

I tried to tempt the God’s servants to help me hide from God, but they were on His side.

I realized my own sinfulness next to their faithfulness.

So I tried to find another fast way to flee from God.

I clung to the wind.

But no matter where the wind took me, God continued to follow, peacefully and swiftly, yet unhurriedly.

Las flores verdes del lúpulo que sirven para hacer cerveza.

He said, “Nothing shelters you that will not shelter me.”

I stopped trying to flee from God through adults, and began through children, because they will innocently and naively help me.

It just as they started to help, their guardian angels took them away from me.

So then I turned to the beauty of nature to find my happiness.

I enjoyed sharing my experiences of happiness and sadness and all the other emotions with nature.

But even this experience of nature could not ease my human pain.

Una montaña de trepas en camino a la peladora.

I cried to Heaven but there was a language barrier.

I speak through sound. Heaven speaks through silence.

Nature cannot satisfy my thirst.

I am thirsty still. God continues to follow, peacefully and swiftly, yet unhurriedly.

He said, “Nothing contents you that doesn’t content me.”

I have nothing left that will allow me to exist without God in my life, and I have been driven to my knees. I am at rock bottom. I tried everything.

I wait for the love of God.

Everything else, all other dreams, have failed.

The earth is overloaded with heavy sadness.
God, must you break me down before you can use me for Your glory?
My heart is broken. What is to happen?

Everything is bitter, yet now and then a trumpet sounds.
The trumpet sounds from Heaven, but not before the death and resurrection of Christ.
God, must Your glory come from this rotten death? Now from this long pursuit of happiness comes God.

Las trepas peladas. Las flores han sido retiradas para ser secadas y luego utilizadas.

God says, “You keep running from Me. This is strange.
Why do you run from Me? I love you.
You didn’t do anything to merit My love.
Human love is different from My love.
For human love you need merit.
I love you no matter what you do because I Am Love.
I have prepared a place for you with all of the desires of your heart.
I am what you have been seeking this whole time. Psalm 37:4

Find your delight in the LORD who will give you your heart’s desire. John 14: 1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled.
You have faith in God; have faith also in me.
In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.
If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.
Where I am going you know the way.

Psalm 139: 1-15 O LORD, you have probed me, you know me: you know when I sit and stand; you understand my thoughts from afar.
My travels and my rest you mark; with all my ways you are familiar.
Even before a word is on my tongue, LORD, you know it all. Behind and before you encircle me and rest your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is beyond me, far too lofty for me to reach.
Where can I hide from your spirit? From your presence, where can I flee?
If I ascend to the heavens, you are there; if I lie down in Sheol, you are there too.
If I fly with the wings of dawn and alight beyond the sea, Even there your hand will guide me, your right hand hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely darkness shall hide me, and night shall be my light”
Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day.
Darkness and light are but one.
You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are your works!
My very self you knew; my bones were not hidden from you, When I was being made in secret, fashioned as in the depths of the earth.

“My heart is restless until it rests in You.” -St. Augustine

The Hound of Heaven  original
That His Pursuit of our Souls

May be Swift and Brief

 

 

It is happiness the human soul is ever yearning for. It never stops its quest for happiness. Night and day, year after year, it is grasps after happiness. Our days are long and we are weary. We endure our work to gain the wealth we think may buy rest and happiness. The days we suffer and are in pain (because no one is spared pain in this life) we try to be positive and wait for the agony (loneliness, sickness, death, betrayal...the list is so long) to pass, so we can finally be happy.

We look for happiness in nature; in every creature, in the earth, in the sea, in the air. Our soul asks nature where she finds her happiness. It asks all the creatures and the creation why they are glad and they answer, "God made us." 'We are for Him, for His glory."

So our soul, looking for happiness will not find happiness in the creation. Nature and all these things are not the source. It will find happiness only in God. And yet, instead of seeking happiness in God, we turn away from Him and continue to seek it somewhere, in someone, something; anything that isn't God.

But, God, in His incredible goodness never stops seeking our runaway souls, no matter how much we run away from Him. Wherever we run, we hear the sound of His feet following, and a His voice, stronger than the beat of His feet — But, without hurry, with an even pace; deliberate speed, majestic wisdom. The beat of His footsteps and His Voice calls to us, "All things betray thee, who betrays Me." It's true, all other things are just images of Him. If we love only a reflection we will be betrayed in the end. All the while we are running from Him who loves us true. And this is the image of the greatest love; God's never tiring of us and his relentless pursuing of us even as we run every which way but toward Him.

The Birthday Trip and Turquoise Scarf

Dark teal is the color of the long scarf Grandma Nome crocheted me the same week she died. It was the last testimony of her deep love for me. She picked my favourite blue, and she made it especially big and long for the birthday trip to New Hampshire where we traveled to see autumn's colours on the East Coast.
I'd dreamed of this moment, pictures cut from magazines and a million images in my mind of how it would be. I was, in fact, dazzled by New England’s beauty; covered bridges, the simple white and Quaker-style bed and breakfast we stayed in, contrasted against mountains ablaze with reds, oranges and yellows dipped sky-side with white. Nonetheless, an unexpected snowfall thwarted my fall fantasies of walking through dry leaves, breathing the autumn air and drawing the golden colours into my nature notebook.
The spontaneous plan to fly out during a somber 911 national pause had been my then husband’s plan, who insisted that we needed to get away. Getting away was his typical answer to the needs of my severely wounded heart. As much as the Man in the Mountain was missing his nose, our bed's crisp white-sheets were just as lacking and as cold. The distance of too many unreconciled hurts. What that charming colonial bedroom needed was a kind heart and gentle hand. Love after all, begins in the kitchen, in the den with the children, in the garden. It happens every season of the year. It flirts every day to include each moment. It grows patiently and warms like sunshine, a year-after-year long journey, a growing and maturing. It's not an impatient, quick-fix trip. So, I guess it's not surprising. I don’t remember much about the touches exchanged there.

What I do remember was my loneliness and then suddenly, the unexpected snowfall that spoiled all nature loving plans to hike, to photograph and draw autumn in all its glory. And you know, that cold snowed on more than those mountains. It foreshadowed something else; it shrouded more than the tree covered hills and darkened more than the New Hampshire sky.

We returned home to grandma dying. She got frightened in our absence, used to living alongside us and when she panicked we not there. Just a couple of days away from home. We thought all would be well, but her call to emergency brought the paramedics who then delivered her into inept hospital hands, all unaware of her fragile state. Without her medical history she was unprotected from their unskilled probing. It proved mortal.
So, I sat with her alone, in disbelief, those hours of hospital white, my hands grasping hers.
I’d heard and read about people taking their last breath. And it’s true. That midnight hour I listened to Grandma'a laboured breathing; in, then out, so slowly that I had to strain to hear her, and then she breathed one more breath, then a last, then none. A still surprise. A. Final. Silence.
How could it be? “Grandma, breathe. Don’t go.” But she was gone, just like that, only minutes past twelve o'clock. My fortieth birthday, turquoise scarf over my lap, was her going home day.

Written 1.17.15

Cousin Connie's Apple Jelly

Mermelada de manzana de mi prima Connie.

Connie has a talent in the kitchen in the most traditional and wonderful way. She and I share our love of baking, but I've never put down jams, jellies and other canned produce like she has. I'm a big fan of hers and of all that comes out of her kitchen, like her Apple Jelly.

Connie tiene tanto talento para la cocina al modo más tradicional y maravilloso. Compartimos el amor por la pastelería y hornear, aunque nunca he podido hacer mermeladas y conservas de otros productos de la huerta como ella. Soy muy fan de ella y de todo lo que sale de su cocina, como su Mermelada de Manzana.

Connie, your sweetheart, Bob, looks as all-American as the the candy-apple red around him. I know we'd like him just by looking at him. Besides, don't we gals all love a man in the kitchen?

Connie, tu cariño, Bob, tiene el aspecto de ser tan todo-Americano, como el color rojo-manzana a su alrededor. Sé, simplemente mirándolo, que nos caeríamos bien.  Además, a nosotras las chicas, nos encantan los hombres en la cocina, verdad?

This 3-legged metal strainer and wooden pestle remind me so much of my grandmother and mother and how it was stored in our garage for each season of syrup and pie making. Good memories.

Este colador de metal de 3 patas y una maja de madera me recuerdan tanto a mi abuela y a mi madre y cómo yo lo almacenaba en nuestro garaje para cada temporada de hacer siropes y tartas. Muy buenos recuerdos.

Oh, Connie, I know I should be looking at the jelly in this picture, but I'm lusting after that beautiful red bowl perched on top of the toaster. I have two like it, a very small orange one and a larger forest green one. They're my favourites.

Oh, Connie, sé que debo mirar la mermelada en esta foto, pero en lugar de ello estoy deseando ese hermoso bowl rojo encaramado en lo alto de la tostadora. Tengo dos como él, uno muy pequeño de color naranja y otro más grande verde del bosque. Son mis favoritos.

Jelly jars lined up look like pure gold in the afternoon sunlight.
Alineados los tarros de mermelada parecen puro oro en los rayos del sol del atardecer.

Deciding Everything By Coffee

"We decide everything here by coffee; business, holidays, even our husbands."
"Aquí decidimos todo con el café los negocios, las vacaciones e incluso, los maridos."

It's a grey, rainy day and we woke up, looked at each and telepathically said, "café, café and chocolate with churros." It's Saturday, after all.

Fiesta de Las Marías

Esta noche no alumbra
La farola del mar,
Esta noche no alumbra
Porque no tiene gas...*

The Third Sunday of every September the townsfolk of Santa María de Guía , or Guía for short, celebrate La Rama de las Marías. The Virgen María of the town, dressed in green silk and brocade, is carried out of the church and carried through the town in homage, before returning her to the church.

This celebration commemorates when, in the 18th century, the town and surrounding area were devastated by a plague of locusts. To rid themselves of the locusts, the locals fervently prayed to the Virgen María that she would rid them of this blight, and, according to legend, she did. The island festival begins and ends by the blowing of conch shells.

The town, elaborately decorated with palm branches, fruits, gourds and all sorts of island produce, shares local rum, cheese, cooked and baked goods and more with each other and bystanders, like us.

Guía is famous for its queso de flor, or flower cheese.

A beautiful day, bright with colour, song and joyous goodwill to all.

* An Isa, a type of song and dance most characteristic of the Canary Islands. Google the first line and you can listen to a sampling. My own video didn't turn out. Musically speaking, the Isa is part played and part sung, begun by four lines or chords followed by instrumental accompaniment. It's a happy chant sung in parades during the "stops." There are endless varieties of the basic theme in the Islands because it's a genre that allows a lot of improvisation and lots of melodic and rhythmic assimilation.

Sostenible, Biológico, Requetebueno

A boxful of the best of the region and more organic goodies. My favourite this purchase is the sesame oil.

Trader Joe's in León, buying organice produce and picking up La Semilla Cooperative order. A happy sight.

Everything weighed and ready to go. Picking up our orders is a bright mid-week moment.

The Secret Life of Bees

“Every little thing wants to be loved.”

Copied pages from the book in a black tea/coffee ground wash to "age stain" their loo

A beautiful narrative, written like honey 

with slow-Southern talk thats knits the emotions 

of racial tensions, adolescence, young love, social injustice 

all into a cohesive and passionate tale.

“There is nothing perfect...only life.”

“And when you get down to it, Lily, that is the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love but to persist in love.”

“...women make the best beekeepers, 'cause they have a special ability built into them to love creatures that sting. It comes from years of loving children and husbands.”

Skinny and fatty bee surrounded by honeycomb hexagons filled with best quotes. In blue is Enrique's simple bee sketch highlighting my bees' need to a thorax, otherwise hidden. I'd like to call that artistic interpretation. He called it impossible, considering the science of a bee, and I tend to agree.

“Someone who thinks death is the scariest thing doesn't know a thing about life.”

“It is the peculiar nature of the world to go on spinning no matter what sort of heartbreak is happening.”

“After you get stung, you can't get unstung, no matter how much you whine about it.”

“Nothing is fair in this world. You might as well get that straight right now”

“There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you've hung it so careful.”

“The hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters.”

“People can start out one way, and by the time life gets through with them they end up completely different.”

“I'll write this all down for you," I said. "I'll put it in a story." I don't know if that's what he wanted to ask me, but it's something everybody wants--for someone to see the hurt done to them and set it down like it matters.”

A Spanish review.