Paradise Found

Paradise Found

Paradise Found Volume 2 Number 1 Late Summer Publisher ... Bathsheba Monk Editor ... Fanny Barry Pennsylvania, USA Tulum, Mexico Cover photo: Goodbye, Summer Bathsheba Monk

Taken at St. Luke’s Rodale Institute Organic Farm

SPONSORS We are delighted to gift this e-magazine to you thanks to the generous support of our sponsors, Blue Heron Book Works, LLC and Eco-Woman: The Trilogy. Please see the back of this publication for information on supporting them.

CONTENTS Page 9... “Late Summer Delight” Photo and essay by Bathsheba Monk Page 10... “Cottage Chrysalis” tapestry by Deanna Jacome Triangle Gallery www.deannajacome.com Page 12... “Delight in the Human Condition” essay by Fanny Barry Page 16...Photo by Suzy Malick www.hippiegandhishanti.com @hippiestyletulum Page 20... “Finding the Delight” Photo and essay by Pam Varkony www.pamvarkony.com

Page 24... “Mountain Mama” essay by Steve Hundley Page 24... “Plurality” painting by Emily Strong www.emilystrongfineart.com emilystrongfineart@gmail.com Page 28... Photo by Suzy Malick Page 29... “Lovelies” Poem by Lee Upton to be included in a collection of new and selected poems to be published by Saturnalila Books in 2027 www.leeupton.com Page 32... Photo by Suzy Malick Page 31... “The Old Southside Blues” poem by G. Bruce Boyer to be included in the collection, “ Music in the Background.” Bridwell Press ( Dallas, 2027)

Page 34... “Gracie” photo by Pam Boyer P.age 36... “Keep Your Quarters” essay by Vera Cole Page 37...”How the Light Gets In” painting by Emily Strong Page 39 ... Photo by Bathsheba Monk

Errata: in the spring edition of Paradise Found, we spelled Suzy Malick’s name incorrectly. Sincere apologies. In this issue her contributions are correctly cited.

Late Summer Delights

It’s a sultry late summer day, my favorite time of year, and delights are divebombing me. Yet, I’m flummoxed, unable to define delight except to say it’s a moment that slips through awareness as quickly as it ambushes. A flash of pleasure? Maybe. I know it when I see it, feel it, taste it and then let out a warble like a pigeon. And I know I must pay attention, or I miss it. So here I am, reduced to defining it by examples. My list of late summer delights:

A crash of ocean waves knocking me over A pint sized kid cartwheeling across the sand The way my house sparkles, anticipating guests The first taste of icy cold beer on a rogue hundred degree day A glance in a mirror at my tanned face and thinking, “I might be good looking” Realizing I’m going to enjoy a book I just opened Bumping into a friend unexpectedly The guests arrive, ready for fun Clearly under divine orders, kids transfer the ocean to buckets, then to holes A chill in the lake signaling the end of summer and then, sigh... The guests leave What’s on your delightful list?

Bathsheba Monk

Deanna Jacome

"Drawing fingers across the soft, textured mounds, I feel generations of input. The dyes from nature and her shapes pulled together thread by thread, cross stitch by cross stitch. A tapestry mirrors a simple life spun from the imagination and inspired by nature’s vision. What can be more delightful than a field of blossoms immortalized in weave?"”

Fanny Barry

Delight in the Human Collective As I step onto my balcony and read co-creator of Paradise Found, Batahsheba Monk’s list of delights, I feel late summer. The air’s not quite so oppressive. The sunrise is a few minutes later than before. The birds’ songs are less sultry this not so humid morning. The Caribbean Jays chatter more vehemently in this Daoist contribution to the seasons: Late Summer. Even the plants are a bit more vibrant. Contemplating delight, I walk down to feed the cats. I notice a tuft of orangey red hair behind a plant and am delighted to find the newest stray. Orange Kitty is visiting once again. I delight that this street urchin chooses to show up every other day or so, calculating days I get an appointment to neuter him. He never shows when I’m prepared. It’s delightfully annoying. I slide a plate close to the plant and he emerges, purring as I rub behind his ears while he gobbles the food. My other cats growl that low feline moan as they eat theirs. I remind them they were all once intruders too. I delight when they stop and call good bye as Orange Kitty skulks away. Frodo wraps himself around my ankles before I go to the studio to practice yoga. It’s on my list of delights.

Monk

Here are a few others: Hanging heavy earrings that weigh my collagen challenged ears to adorn trees instead and add a quirky sparkle to the wild My rescue dogs chasing themselves around the yard The sun outlining the sensuously curved and bronze barked tree called “Chaka a” as it sets behind the jungle Watching for fireflies as night falls Hearing the cicadas of late summer Watching the coastline pass on the Amtrak Acela train to or from New York or D.C. Discovering in a crowded airport your upgrade included the Airline Club Lounge A hug from a sibling A hug from a child A hug from an old friend A hug from a new friend A hug from a relative stranger is delightful Making planters from old paint cans and reinforced plastic bags Taking long hot showers with solar power and rain water And I delight in being alive to share these delights with you as we embody the tenacity, creativity, kindness and compassion it takes to recognize them no matter what.

Fanny Barry

Fanny Barry

Suzy Malick

“Catch, then, O catch the transient hour; Improve each moment as it flies!” St. Jerome

Monk

“So much of what we do is ephemeral and quickly forgotten, even by ourselves, so it’s gratifying to have something you have done linger in people’s memories.” John Williams

Finding the Delight . ..

Pam Varkony

Moving to Florida was an adjustment; the cold, grey winters of Pennsylvania traded for the warmth of the Sunshine State. It was not an easy trade. A lifetime of familiarity and friends left behind to become the new kid on the block. The trial and error of finding new doctors, dentists, house cleaners, with no one to offer trusted recommendations. And the biggest challenge of all: Finding a new hairstylist! That took months and several disasters, including one very upsetting episode of orange highlights. At least I didn’t have to worry about seeing anyone I knew in the grocery store. I have traveled extensively - four of the seven continents which will likely be my final tally. I have little desire to visit Africa, and even less to see either Arctic pole.

Travel is a wonderful teacher. I love adventure and integrating into new cultures. Learning what is good and beautiful and interesting about a place and its people is a gift. I decided to apply those lessons to my new home. Florida may not be another country or continent, but it is a different culture. I haven’t worn a tailored suit or pantyhose since arriving. Most of my lovely “northern” clothes haven’t seen the light of day in years, but I can’t quite seem to give them away. One day, shortly after we arrived, I got dressed up to go to Costco. But, back to those lessons I learned. I’ve learned to be casually well-dressed in linen and cotton and pastel colors. I’ve learned to be grateful for beautiful winters with no snow and ice. I’ve even come to some accommodation with the abundance of creatures that one encounters in a sub-tropical climate. Although the alligator in the backyard and the snake in the kitchen did push my limits.

Most of all, I’ve learned to appreciate all the natural beauty that surrounds me: the lush vegetation, beautiful birds, the smell of the ocean when the wind blows in the right direction, and waking almost every morning to the sun. Which means I can look forward to the sunset. Florida has the most glorious sunsets due to the high moisture content and cleanliness of the air. In summer, especially when afternoon thunderstorms leave behind towering clouds that stretch to Heaven, I delight in taking in the dazzling displays of gold, red, and peach. On some evenings, the sky seems less like weather and more like a painting. The clouds become mountains of light, glowing from within before slowly fading into twilight. It’s wondrous. As the famous photographer Ansel Adams once said: "Sometimes I do get to places just when God's ready to have somebody click the shutter”.

Pam Varkony

Mountain Mama

Emily Strong

I’d been going through an emotional low patch when I encountered an unexpected moment of delight. I’ve experienced this delight numerous times over past decades without recognizing it was joy. Perhaps because it had never been juxtaposed by my current depressed state. This moment arrived along southbound Interstate-81, a route I’ve traveled many times from Manhattan to Pennsylvania to Blacksburg, Virginia. About ten miles south of Winchester, Virgina, quite suddenly, the contours of a majestic mountain to the southeast appear on the horizon. Massanutten Mountain, the northernmost section of the George Washington National Forest, rises abruptly, 700 feet above the Shenandoah River Valley; 2,100 feet above sea level. As I continue south, the Massanutten falls off to my east, the Little North Mountain, and beyond that, the more majestic Great North Mountain rises up in the west. The weight of my recent emotions falls off. I’m in my comfort zone, my safe space. I’m in the maternal bosom of Appalachia. I’m heading home.

I remember my maternal ancestors, Lawrence and his son Daniel Shelor, who made the trek down the Great Valley Road from Berks County, Pennsylvania to Floyd County, Virginia. What an arduous journey that must have been! My sevenhour trip down I-81 may have taken seven weeks or even seven months in a Conestoga wagon pulled by oxen on a rutted, muddy, dirt trail. I cannot begin to comprehend what that must have been like. You may reasonably ask, how does anyone feel “delight” while traveling down a multi-lane interstate at high speed? Or at no speed at all in unexpected, annoying traffic backups. I admit, it’s not John Denver’s idyllic “Country Roads Take Me Home.” But it is for me. All my ancestors going back four generations grew up in hard scrabble Patrick and Floyd county Blue Ridge and Appalachian Mountains, creating a life in the face of daunting odds. Despite my depression, or perhaps because of it, the sight of those mountains reminds me what I’m made of. And now, driving faster to get there, from those ancient peaks, aflame with exuberant autumn foliage against a clear blue sky, the ghosts of my ancestors whisper in my ear and encourage me to go on. I’m home.

Steve Hundley

Suzy Malick

Lovelies My friends were honey, those lovies, spread on couches. Even insults didn’t keep stinging, who cared? The future was inside us, and we were eggy with it. We couldn’t get enough of yearning, and for what? We didn’t know and we would work at it. For no one exactly meant to pour over the brim or lie all night on the lawn.

(When the landlord comes just go to the door wearing nothing but a towel and he’ll back right out.) No one meant to tell anyone at all it isn’t pleasure when it’s only pleasure and you don’t need discipline if what you do gives pleasure. But then we grew and grew again and remembered: we once had more to regret and regretted less. Dear friends, we wore a crown of the little world’s insults. I think of you, lovies, and how it was all buttercups from there on in.

Lee Upton

Suzy Malick

The Old Southside Blues

Monk

There are many old Southsiders Have made their spirits shine th Beyond the soaring 8 Street Bridge Or Mountainville city line. They left their thoughts of early days By the Little Lehigh Creek And Arena Gardens skating rink, A larger world to seek. I’ll always be just one of them, They made my youth a shrine. So fill my cup and raise me up, And sing me Auld Lang Syne. And when I get to Heaven’s gate, I’ll look around hawk-eyed, And say, “You’ve got a great place here, But it’s not the old Southside.”

G. Bruce Boyer

Pam Boyer

“Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.” Alexander Smith

Keep Your Quarters I open my eyes, pause. What is this feeling, not feeling? The pain. Gone! I had slept through the night. Yesterday’s surgery revealed an extra tendon in my wrist, now corrected. Pain, present for years, has completely vanished. It never crossed my mind to expect this, a switch flipped. I am overcome with delight, sheer utter delight. I promise myself. I will remember this simple joy and re-live it every morning for the rest of my life. I will start each day with the delight of my wrist not hurting. Yet only days later, try as I might, I cannot summon again that first delight. I feel gratitude, happy, relief, and ease, but can’t muster delight. But, you know, that’s cool. I have a new appreciation. Delight is its own thing—inherently unexpected and ungrabbable. It is only real now. We cannot plan it, make it, or hold onto it. Delight is an eight-point buck in the driveway. A wild surprise.

Emily Strong

II realize I’m worn out anyway from running the show or thinking I do. Suddenly seems so dopey to decide that I will be delighted every morning at 7am. Right, and then I’ll make a rainbow. Control, attachment, stuff? Blah blah blah. You know what? I’ll risk it all. Give me delight. Surprise me. Yet I’m told, we’re told, build fences against the unexpected, the fleeting, and the risk of unbridled presence. Stay safe! Be comfortable! Protect your stuff! Know where you are, do not wander! Quick, here’s a reel of your past! Plan for your future! Buy now, this this this, new, thing. All the kids are doing it. You know you want it. And we find ourselves, caged with the caged. We put in our quarters and grasp for the stuffed gaudy thing. In the smoky, cold, tiled foyer of a cheap restaurant with large portions of crap for food, we dream and ache and act. We grab. Robots with robots. Who is manipulating who? We forget. And our pinched delights rot responsibly in temperature-controlled self storage.

Silly from a wrist to this, in a sense. But I’m serious. Protest! In the strongest way possible. Walk on by. Who gives a flying fuck? Keep your quarters. Exit, to enter. Laugh. Feel. Let. And, god willing… Delight comes.

Monk

And goes.

Vera Cole

“Nothing in the world is permanent, and we’re foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we’re still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it.” Kahlil Gibran

Monk

Monk

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