Lughnasa Harvest Moon
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
Walt Whitman, Stanza 52, Song of Myself
The journey into gong fu cha continues. Today I bought some new teas at Teavana. Still have made no tea in my yixing teapots. I want to be ready to do it, able to be in the moment with it and there’s been too much going on. Probably tomorrow, too, since I plan to take soil test samples from the orchard and the vegetable garden. Maybe Wednesday.
Today has been a modern and contemporary poetry day, focusing on pre-modern poets, Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman. The class proceeds by reading a poem, then a video of the professor and six U. Penn students doing a collaborative close reading of it. This is a very rich process. I’ll post one of the videos here along with the poem, so you can see how much you can get from careful attention.
This morning I sprayed brixblaster for the reproductive vegetables. Maybe one, no more than two more. No more drenches.
