I would go kayaking on the River,
from Essex up to Amherst at the least,
paddling against the current ever
as though wrestling with an untamed beast.
Cornwall, Rocky Hill, and steep Maromas,
the Pratt and Whitney plant, the loony bin,
Middletown bridge, the tanks where they store gas,
Wethersfield where the settlers put in.
Hartford, Windsor, Enfield, and Warehouse Point,
the first rapids on that long tidal flow…
Pioneer Valley, which gods did appoint
to be an Eden in the world I know.
Coffee in cup, and fresh bread in sore hands,
I’d rest with friends from the river’s demands.
Someone on Tribe.net asked me this question as part of a new tribe called one hundred in fifty. I decided to answer this way. I hope you like it.
I’m almost done with a book called Bread Alone by Judith Ryan Hendricks. It’s about a 30-something trophy wife working to make contacts and open doors for her husband, David, an advertising executive. Then, David kicks her out of their fancy L.A. (Hancock Park?) home. Justine (that’s the woman) moves up to Seattle to be with her best friend CM, and she gets a job in a bakery because of her previous experience at a boulangerie in Toulouse. Eventually, she comes to understand that she wanted this life, her life, more than she wanted to be a plug-in application for her husband’s career. I’m enjoying it immensely, because there are a number of powerful women characters, and the book is also littered with bread recipes. It makes me want to get into bread-making again. I only did it a little while, but I miss it.