Sunday, August 08, 2010

Poem for Sunday and Corn Roast Festival

The Guitar
By Federico García Lorca
Translated by Cola Franzen

The weeping of the guitar
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
to silence it.
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.


We got up ridiculously early on Saturday because Daniel was going to the first robotics competition of the fall season, the Battle of Baltimore, and needed to be at school at 6:30 a.m. to carpool -- thankfully, I was not the one who had to drive him around the Beltway at that hour! I tried to fall back asleep, but the cats forgot that they had already been fed and started walking on me soon afterward. So I am a bit bleary-eyed. We had a nice afternoon, though -- we went to the Union Mills Corn Roast, which we attended last year with my in-laws. This was the 40th annual roast, and even though we got there well after 1 p.m., it was quite crowded. Adam had seven ears of corn, Paul had three; I had only one, though it was excellent, especially with the melted butter they provide. (Visitors also get applesauce, tomatoes, watermelon, a dinner roll, and a quarter chicken, though son and I didn't eat the chicken.)

Union Mills is the Shriver family homestead and played a role in the Civil War when the two brothers who owned the property took opposite sides. The mill is still in operation and we bought some buckwheat flour to bring home, plus I bought a couple of beads from a local jewelry designer. We visited the blacksmith shop and listened to the Standard Delivery Jazz Combo. We did not hear "Maryland, My Maryland" this year, possibly because we missed ex-governor Bob Ehrlich but also possibly because his Republican primary opponent, Sarah Palin-endorsed Brian Murphy, was walking between the tables shaking hands and working the crowd as we sat down to eat. I think his candidacy may actually be a conspiracy to make his opponent look good, because after half an hour of seeing the anti-taxes and anti-choice t-shirts on his cronies, I was ready to switch parties just to vote for Ehrlich in the primary.

Thousands of ears of corn are cooked for eager diners at the annual Union Mills Corn Roast.

They are delivered to picnic tables by volunteers... guests who have already picked up chicken, fruit, and drinks in the entrance line.

There is live music throughout the afternoon, plus wagon rides, tours of the homestead, a craft fair in one of the barns, and strolling entertainment.

Brian Murphy tried to track down recruits to vote for him in the Republican primary next month.

Other local candidates and their staffs were there as well...all Republican, so far as we could tell.

We walked around the mill...

...visited the blacksmith and wood carver...

...and bought flour to bring home for pancakes.

We were going to visit the Carroll County Farm Museum nearby in Westminster, but just as we left, Daniel called to say his team about to leave Baltimore after losing in the quarterfinals. So instead we drove to Silver Spring to pick him up from his carpool, then came home and had sloppy joes for dinner (some veggie, some turkey). Adam and I dropped in on Rose to visit the bird after dinner, running into his two best neighborhood friends on the way; poor Rose had a date and was not expecting three teenage boys to invade her living room, but she was very nice about letting them help feed the bird before I ordered everyone home. The little peeping birdie is now sitting on the upper perch when he's in the cage and testing his wings when he's on top of it. We're hoping he'll start eating seeds and bits of worm soon.

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