Writing the Prairie:
A writing workshop at Paynes Prairie Preserve
The Prairie Writers grew out of a March 2010 workshop held on LaChua Trail. Participants spent about an hour jotting down notes, observations and ideas and then worked their writings into pieces of prose or poetry that they are willing to share. The initial workshop was led by David Stringer.
Other workshops will be offered beginning November. Meanwhile, we encourage anyone to submit writings about Paynes Prairie that you wish to share. We see a lot of photographers on the Prairie, and we writers have something distinctive and just as valuable to contribute to an appreciation of this treasure. Please email contributions ready for sharing to David Stringer at dstring@ix.netcom.com.
Bird Photography
reminds us that a bird is, after all, just
a bird - separate and unknowably itself.
The Wood Stork's huge, gnarled
and ancient beak, the Reddish Egret's
wing-raised balletic dance across
an early morning tidal sheen, the Bluebird's
unreal blue, the Red-shouldered Hawk's
patient evisceration of the snake writhing
around its legs, the uncommon Common
Yellowthroat's flitting disappearance
into tangled leaves - these are not for us.
They do not think of us. They have no
purpose, no plan, except to be. Never
posing, they are always posing. We freeze
a moment. The outline of the bird links
it to air, water, sand or tree. As we pause
to study what the camera captures by not
capturing it, the Bald Eagle soars beyond
the live oak, the Belted Kingfisher chatters
beyond the river's edge, the Anhinga dips
beneath the surface, and the Northern Parula
trills just beyond where we can see.
-- David Stringer
Dilemma : To use binoculars or not
-- Gail Dewsbury
Conducting an experiment at Paynes Prairie on La Chua trail, I spent time looking at a three block radius of the Alachua Sink. First without binoculars: an expanse of blues, greens, browns and blacks resolved into wind rippled shimmering water: islands, large and small in shades of green from chartreuse to deep forest: brown grasses matted and dead; a blackbird alone and still; at water's edge the entire scene framed by tall trees in shades of spring greens. Then looking up are the white pillows of clouds against the three shades of sky. The horizon sky is pale washed out blue; the next layer is aqua and a deep blue above my head. A satisfying and restful view at each turn of my head.
With binoculars, the details emerge. That blackbird is not just black but an oil slick of blues, greens and purple. Dark green foliage on the water becomes small round leaves with serrated edges. The chartreuse mass is exposed stems of the water plants. Among the drab brown grasses is a Purple Gallinule with it's red and yellow beak. And the sky contains three Turkey Vultures who have found the thermals in that deep blue sky. Back to the water, a tiny alligator head blends into the ripples. Details enhance the richness of the view but the overall scene contains the serenity that I seek.
I am retired and have been journaling for years. To appreciate nature's ways and write about them is hard work but a joy to me.
Drink It In
-- Kaitlin Deutsch
Are you ready? Are you ready?
With all eyes on heaven,
We slowly ascended from the sink.
Look up, darling, look
at these siphons of white foam
back-dropped in blue.
Can you hear
rasping of harried blackbirds
fluttering somewhere overhead?
What about
silent glide of vultures,
short bodies and boxy wings
careening across the flickering horizon,
uncertain in the haze of heat.
Spirals of blue-black water
spin through the cement block,
serving as a balance for a great blue heron,
who perches quiet but majestic,
as the mound of grass rises up behind him,
holding him steady.
It is here
where times flies
frolics in the shadows
dancing across dark ridged scales,
lost somewhere amongst the rushes
in this awe-inspiring
expanse of prairie.
And you can fumble
for all the words it is worth,
but sooner or later you must realize
that there are never going
to be enough.
I am Kaitlin, a junior attending Santa Fe High School, with a passion for writing prose and poetry that began in elementary school. I am deeply fascinated with the environment, and plan to study such sciences in college.
A March Day at The Prairie
-- Nancy Schlecht
Sun toasts the back, breeze cools the skin
Water ripples like antique glass
Green pine, brown marsh grass, jagged limb
Alligators draw up on the rim
Their home Payne's water and grass
Sun toasts the back, breeze cools the skin
Spanish horses range wide at whim
Over dust two fat bugs pass
Green pine, brown marsh grass, jagged limb
People celebrate winter's hem
Singles, lovers, small groups amass
Sun toasts the back, breeze cools the skin
Take note with camera eye or pen
Or just watch nature unsurpassed
Green pine, brown marsh grass, jagged limb
Conversations drifting upwind
Song of osprey, anahinga, heron
Sun toasts the back, breeze cools the skin
Green pine, brown marsh grass, jagged limb
A March Day at The Prairie
-- Nancy Schlecht
Sun hot on my back, cool breeze on my face
Water framed by green pines
Brown marsh grass
Surface shimmer rippling upon itself
Blue sky pierced by ragged stumps
Alligators drawn up on the rim by the sun
Birds wing, bison, spanish horses roam
A fat bug scuttles a dusty path
This sanctuary is a Prairie home
People wander along the path
Joyfully celebrating winter's hem
Young, old, singles, small groups, lovers
Conversations drift up in the wind
Arms point and voices call out
Adults see through the eyes of the young
Record sights with paper and pen, bulbous lens,
While others simply walk, watch and wonder
We're all glad we've here today
To experience this offering of nature
I hear the song of osprey, anhinga, heron
Sun hot on my back, cool breeze on my face
I am a retired Occupational Therapist from New Jersey visiting my sister. I began writing after my book, Lucy's Letters, A Mother's Gift was published in 2001. The book is composed of the letters my mother wrote to me over a period of 65 years. When she died our correspondence was over and left a void. I began to write daily recording events and observations I would have shared with my mother. I write poetry because its succinct nature of expression appeals to me and I love 'playing' with words and language. I enjoy writing about people and the natural world.
Prizefighter
-- Theresa Foster
Reeds rustle, shush,
water ripples, drips
with each lumbering step.
Fishes dart, cooters dive,
blue herons bolt then croak,
making way for the reptile.
Slosh, slosh, shhh, shhh, shhh
Atop the dune: belly plops, jaw drops,
legs uncurl, claws unclench.
Eyes close.
Ahhh...
I write:
"Like an old blown-out tire, the ebony
relic basks. Tired, but not beaten.
Majestic, still.
Neo-dinosaur notches not
rubber but bone, pewter peaks
on a topographical back.
Tail armor intact.
And the teeth... the teeth..."
Twig cracks
Eyelid snaps
Gasp
I teach psychology at Santa Fe College and work with autistic children. I am an avid birder and I love exploring the "real" Florida.
Circles
LaChua Trail: March 2010
-- David Stringer
Circular ripples widen
plunk! plunk! (fish?)
across bluegreen and
now olivebrown surface
of wind-stippled sheen.
I turn too late to see
plunk! and there: plunk!
Clouds emerge on the shimmer.
A gator cruises the waterskin,
then a turtle head. Plunk!
Above, a vulture circles,
carries me aloft,
riding invisible thermals.
I am a retired teacher and published poet and freelance writer. My books include The Beast Speaks, Inhale/Exhale, Ordinary Miracles: Learning from Breast Cancer Survivors, and Pet Loss: A Death in the Family. When in Gainesville my wife, an avid bird photographer, and I volunteer at Paynes Prairie.
