I stepped out on my deck the other morning to get a breath of fresh air. It was the first day of June, and I immediately thought of the poem by James Russell Lowell that began, "And what is so rare as a day in June." I couldn’t recall more of it, but the first line was enough to remind me that June had arrived and with it the first soft summer day of the sixth month. It was such a pleasant introduction to this month that I sat outside for a good long time.
Thinking about Lowell’s introductory line, I was reminded of how in grade school -- oh, so many years ago -- we had to memorize verses of poems. I’ll always remember some lines from "The Village Blacksmith," "I shot an Arrow into the Air," "The Barefoot Boy," "The Children’s Hour," "Woodman Spare that Tree," "Between the Dark and the daylight," "The Wind," "The Owl and the Pussycat," and oh so many others that we committed to memory. Even today those old poems slip into my mind and take me back to those days of learning in a small country school.
And now by the time you read this June will already be over, and we are thinking July thoughts.
I always read the "Today’s History" offering in the Banner each day. Recently, I saw an item about how in 1949 the Senate confirmed Georgia Neese Clark as the first woman treasurer of our country. She lived in a small Kansas town near us and helped us establish one of our little weekly papers.
Oh, that was so long ago!
I continue to be awed by all the high tech communication gadgets. I observed one of them when my step great grandson visited me and showed me one. I call them gadgets because I don’t know how to address or name them.
It was brought out sharply when I recently attended a program at Grace Church in Rutland. It was Earth Sunday and the Southwestern Association of Churches gathered for a splendid musical program. In the large sanctuary it was difficult where we sat to see and hear the program. However, seated directly in front of me were two young women who each had a high tech gadget held up to their eyes that brought the program into focus for them -- and I, too was able to see quite plainly on their small screen the entire program.
GLEANINGS: "Fog like billows of a bridal veil was slowly advancing from the water toward the shore."
Harriett Leidich, a retired journalist, lives in North Bennington.