This week I attended training in arts integration. We studied Aboriginal culture and art, and created our own "Aboriginal" paintings. With that we integrated poetry. I started out wanting to paint and write about the effect of the spotted owl on the lumber industry in Oregon, but it soon turned to one of the most important people in my life instead.
Aboriginal art uses symbols and dots to tell a story. The symbol in my painting is a commonly used Aboriginal symbol. You should be able to interpret it by reading my poem.
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Tree Farmer
1
Dry, clean, and clear,
The
air wisps and waves over rolling hills and jagged peaks.
It
dives and dozes in the summer morning coolness,
And
traces the lines
Separating
the earthy shapes below.
Soft
as the whisper of a dragonfly’s wings,
It
touches the tops of the grand Douglas firs
Drinking
in the deep green,
And
twisting down and round the scratchy trunks.
Until
it breaks through the evergreen wall,
To
the clear cut canyon.
The
air weaves through drying brush piles,
But
stops short, seeing
A
sapling, peeking
From
the sea of brown.
And
then another.
And
another,
The
beginning of a new forest.
2
The
man grows trees.
He
grows children too.
The
air gathers round the father and his children,
Who
once carried dusty shovels
And
burlap bags of saplings.
Later,
staplers and papers to foil the deer,
Tin
foil to protect from mice.
The
air races round the children, their mother and father,
Faces
lit by campfire,
Singing
with an accordion,
Roasting
marshmallows in the glowing coals,
Slumbering.
The
air cools to older youth.
With
their father,
They
wield long pole saws in the drizzling rain,
And
then chainsaws,
Pruning
and training to grow
Straight
and tall, lumber.
It
is his farm.
It
is their farm.
3
But
really it is his farm.
And
now the air dips down,
Ruffles
gray hair,
And
traces wrinkles,
Lines
of satisfaction.
Seventy,
bent, but sinewy,
The
aging man climbs through a stand of trees,
Rows
standing at attention
Showing
respect.
I
will not spend my final years
In
a rocking chair,
The
thought flows,
And
the air embraces
His
trees,
His
children,
And
his memories,
And
whispers strength into his ears.
