\nspetialmente messor lo frate Sole,\u00a0<\/em>lo qual \u00e8 iorno, et allumini noi per lui.<\/em>
\nEt ellu \u00e8 bellu e radiante cum grande splendore:<\/em>
\nde Te, Altissimo, porta significatione.<\/em><\/p>\n
Praised be to You, my Lord, with all your creatures, This early 13th century poem by St. Francis of Assisi was written in medieval Italian, the oldest known poem written in the vernacular of the time. It has a sweet ancient sound, a lovely cadence with little latinisms creeping in.<\/p>\n I’m leaning against a stone wall as I scribble this down on a school notebook, using a Ticonderoga N. 2 pencil. The stone wall is over 100 years old, and the sun has been warming it for tens of thousands of days.\u00a0 Seems like Brother Sun and Cousin Limestone have something going. Brother Sun is illuminating, and it feels great.<\/p>\n Saint Francis of Assisi was quite the guy.\u00a0 Catholic or not, you have to admire the guy for his ability to bring the Divine down here to earth where we mere mortals can taste it.\u00a0 Brother Sun and I have been friends now for over five decades.<\/p>\n I\u2019m on a bit of a quest today.\u00a0 I\u2019m roaming the back roads of southwestern Wisconsin in search of, well, I don\u2019t really know.\u00a0 Photographs?\u00a0 If I find a nice image, that would be okay, but it certainly isn\u2019t necessary.\u00a0 A nice stream to paddle? \u00a0That would be nice, but it’s pretty cold out. \u00a0 How about some peace and quiet?\u00a0 That sounds great.<\/p>\n Laudato si, mi Signore, per sor’Acqua,<\/em> \u00a0Be praised, my Lord, \u00a0for Sister Water: I cross numerous rivers and streams, some barely large enough to float a canoe if you didn\u2019t care much about the bottom of it.\u00a0 Little towns, little churches, and little cemeteries.\u00a0 I love little cemeteries.<\/p>\n One of my favorite things about Wisconsin is the relative stability of the population.\u00a0 In other words, the names on the headstones in the cemetery are the same as the ones in the local phone book.<\/p>\n It has long been a habit of mine to walk around old country cemeteries, looking at the stones that were carved before the days of computer graphics and laser etching.\u00a0 The workmanship varies from place to place and stone to stone.<\/p>\n Sometimes it\u2019s evident that a local craftsman was employed, and the work is meticulous but somewhat Spartan.\u00a0 Sometimes you can tell that a local craftsman was a master artist and stonecutter, with beautiful carvings of flowers, lambs, and my favorite, a finger pointing straight up, as if to say “Why seek Ye the living among the dead?”<\/p>\n Laudato si mi Signore, per sora nostra Morte corporale,<\/em> Be praised, my Lord, for our Sister Death, I like the contemplative feeling of these old, hallowed places.\u00a0 Usually there are no more than a few dozen stones, sometimes fewer, seldom more. The languages of the stones are a testament to the variety of people who settled this area, and often you\u2019ll find a stone in Welsh or German.\u00a0 You can see stories in the stones, like the young mother of 22 or 23 buried next to an infant who died a few hours later.<\/p>\n Where was the father?\u00a0 Did he pull up stakes and leave the place, grief-stricken and unable to bear to live in the place that robbed him of his wife and child?\u00a0 No one can tell, and no one will, but it certainly reminds you of the fragility of life a century ago.\u00a0 The settlers of this place certainly were \u2013 the birth and death dates were plainly spelled out, and though the elements had softened the letters, the words were still\u00a0plainly visible:<\/p>\n born June 4, 1857, died February 18, 1879 Where life is precious, it isn\u2019t measured in years, or decades.\u00a0 It is measured in days, in moments, and each moment that passes is lost, gone forever.\u00a0 Our ancestors knew this, and to that end marked their final resting places with the most permanent material they could find and with words that reaffirmed they knew the value of life.<\/p>\n Laudato si, mi Signore, per frate Focu,<\/em> Be praised my Lord, \u00a0for Brother Fire, I got cold just sitting on the ground, reading stones in the shade of large cottonwood trees.\u00a0 I found a small area off the side of the road, built a small fire, and warmed myself from the outside in as my water boiled for something else to warm me from the inside out.\u00a0\u00a0 Brother Fire is a good friend of mine, and has been for years. I return home from a camping trip and the first thing my wife does is to smell my hair (what\u2019s left of it, anyway) for signs of wood smoke.\u00a0 Brother Fire gives me delight indeed. Brother Fire is one of my best friends.<\/p>\n I contemplated the flames and warmed my hands, still thinking I could find my river and get in a few strokes before dark.\u00a0 I stretched out the Gazetteer and looked for streams or rivers that looked like they needed a good paddling.\u00a0 I was only a few miles from the Platte River, where it runs into the Mississippi near Potosi.\u00a0 That would be my next destination.<\/p>\n I finished the hot chocolate, thankful to Brother Chocolate for the much-needed calories.\u00a0 I doused my small fire with a water bottle, cleaned up the mess and got back into the truck, my mission now selected.<\/p>\n Laudato si, mi Signore, per frate Uento<\/em> Be praised my Lord, for Brother Wind Brother Wind. \u00a0Now there\u2019s a relative I really wasn\u2019t anxious to see at the reunion.\u00a0 Brother Wind had been AWOL most of the day, and I was making hay out of the cloudless sky and warm sun, which when the wind wasn\u2019t blowing, was almost too hot on my skin.\u00a0 A quick check in the rear-view mirror showed that Brother Sun had given my face something to remember the day, and Brother Wind would surely finish the job if given the opportunity.<\/p>\n I found a put-in across the river from a farm, whose watchdog was not happy about my intrusion.\u00a0 I loaded up the canoe as quickly as I could and launched into the current, paddling upstream first because I am both a realist and a Calvinist.\u00a0 You gotta suffer for your free ride back to the car.\u00a0Besides, Murphy the Lawgiver told me that if you paddle downstream first, you will find Sister Water running swifter and the Brother Wind in your face if you try to paddle back upstream.<\/p>\n It felt good to be in the water, the boat moving well into a slight breeze.\u00a0 Brother Wind stayed home, but his little sibling Sister Breeze gave the cattails and reeds along the shore just a hint of movement.\u00a0 I paddled for a while until I noticed the sun starting to disappear behind the hills, which happens fairly early this time of year.\u00a0 In the open areas you can see two hours more sun than down in the valleys, and it was time to find a place with more warmth.\u00a0 The paddle back to the car was easy, with the help of the current I was back in no time and the boat loaded up.\u00a0 The mud from the shores of the Platte was dark and murky, and it felt soft like baby powder when it dried on the bottom of the hull.<\/p>\n Laudato si, mi Signore, per sora Luna e le stelle:<\/em> Be praised, my Lord, for Sister Moon and the stars, No stars, but Sister Moon is out early.\u00a0 A nice crescent, thin and bright against the cloudless blue.\u00a0 It is a blessing to see the moon on a day like today. It\u2019s a reminder that night comes early and a lot of the sounds we\u2019re accustomed to hearing in the woods are silent, the frogs deep in the mud, the birds south, except for the red-breasted nuthatches honking at each other.\u00a0 The cold seeps into your bones, reminding you that without Sister Oak and Cousin Hickory, the house is cold and dreary.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Laudato si, mi Signore, per sora nostra matre Terra,<\/em> Be praised, my Lord, for our sister, Mother Earth,<\/em> \u00a0<\/em>Mother Earth was good to me today.\u00a0 The flowers are gone, mostly, but we found some glorious grasses and the last of the red currants and bittersweet along the road, their cheerful red even brighter against the dun-colored grasses, which couldn\u2019t decide between gray and brown.\u00a0It’s not in the poem, but Mother Earth is also a soft, brown bed, in whom we bury each other and cover each other with a sweet blanket of sod, and hopefully a few colorful flowers too. I like to think of Mother Earth as giving us a nice, cool hug when we finally go the way of all flesh.<\/p>\n Wisconsin breeds the sort of people who like a deep taproot, one that goes deep and reaches the water.\u00a0 Let others move to the big cities, to the fast-paced coasts, where life runs at a speed that reminds us of hamsters on an exercise wheel.\u00a0 Leave me behind, halfway between the coasts, insulated by prairies from the hectic pace of the big and noisy.<\/p>\n My taproot was cut when I was nineteen and I took off from home in California (big and noisy par excellence<\/i>) and set off for Italy, never to return to California.\u00a0 I was without home, without place for several years, until I met a young Wisconsin woman who had a very deep root system and invited me to grow alongside her.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t a hard choice.\u00a0 As I visited with her family and traveled the back roads between Belmont, Rewey,\u00a0 Arthur, Mineral Point, and Platteville, I fell in love with the land around me,\u00a0which only deepened my love for my wife.\u00a0After twenty three years, I have put down a very thick, deep taproot that is impervious to any sort of drought. \u00a0I have found my place. It’s here<\/p>\n Laudate et benedicete mi Signore et rengratiate<\/em> Praise and bless my Lord and thank him<\/em> After 30 years, I find myself continually nourished by this place, and look forward to continuing the exploration, on foot, by canoe, and occasionally, in an old cemetery. \u00a0I do think I serve, sometimes with and sometimes without humility, when I take friends and other various and sundry people on the rivers and streams of this Driftless Area, the southwestern part of the state of Wisconsin where the glaciers just couldn’t quite reach.<\/p>\n That’s my place. Good luck rooting me out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" As I wrote this a few years ago, I was sitting against a stone wall in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. It seemed a nice thing to post on Easter. \u00a0-DB _________________________________ Laudato sie, mi Signore cum tucte le tue creature, spetialmente … Continue reading
\nEspecially our brother, Sir Sun, and You illuminate us through him.
\nAnd he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor:
\nOf you, Most High, he bears your likeness.<\/em><\/p>\n![\"stfrancis\"](\"https:\/\/www.canoelover.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/stfrancis.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nla quale \u00e8 multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/em>She is dear and useful, humble, precious and pure.<\/em><\/p>\n![\"DSC_8838_3\"](\"https:\/\/www.canoelover.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/DSC_8838_3.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nda la quale nullu homo uiuente p\u00f2 skappare:<\/em>
\nguai a quelli ke morrano ne le peccata mortali;<\/em>
\nbeati quelli ke trouar\u00e0 ne le Tue sanctissime uoluntati,<\/em>
\nka la morte secunda no ‘l farr\u00e0 male.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/em>From whom no living person can escape:
\n<\/em>Woe to them who die in mortal sin;
\nBlessed are they who find themselves doing your holy will,
\nBecause for them the second death will do them no evil.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/i>Age 21 years, 9 mos., 15 days<\/i><\/p>\n
\nper lo quale ennallumini la nocte:<\/em>
\ned ello \u00e8 bello et iucundo et robustoso et forte.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/i>By which the night is lit,
\n<\/i>And he is beautiful and delightful and powerful and strong.<\/i><\/p>\n![\"OLYMPUS](\"https:\/\/www.canoelover.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/fireplace-005-1.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\net per aere et nubilo et sereno et onne tempo,<\/em>
\nper lo quale, a le Tue creature d\u00e0i sustentamento.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand for air and clouds and for all weather.
\nby which you sustain your creatures.<\/i><\/p>\n
\nin celu l’\u00e0i formate clarite et pretiose et belle.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/em>In heaven you formed them clear and precious and beautiful.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n
\nla quale ne sustenta et gouerna,<\/em>
\net produce diuersi fructi con coloriti fior et herba.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nWho sustains us and rules us,<\/em>
\nAnd produces diverse fruits with colorful flowers and grasses.<\/em><\/p>\n
\ne seruiteli cum grande humilitate.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAnd serve him with great humility.<\/em><\/p>\n