68. Saguaro Cactus

            I grew up on the Little Salmon River in the heart of Idaho. While it can seem like a timbered area, it is fairly hot and dry in the summer. If you float down the river about fourteen, fifteen miles from where I lived you will meet the little town of Riggins. You won’t see many trees there and it has a high desert climate, though there is very little, if any, sage brush. The average rainfall there is around 20 inches or just under, so if it didn’t get so hot in the summer it would have less of that desert look but it’s nestled deep in canyon walls that intensify the summer sun. While you won’t just spot cactus growing on the hillsides, there are little Prickly Pear growing there.

            Since everywhere else around there is forested I became fascinated with the cactus growing on the hillsides near my home town. I also had an uncle who lived in Tucson, Arizona. My fascination and love of the Saguaro Cactus stems from those things. I love those giant cacti that can grow as high as 40 feet. The thought that you can walk around the Sonoran Desert and tap into one of those monstrous cacti and get liquid sustenance has always fascinated me. But to walk around much on a day over 100 degrees does not appeal to me, so I’ve never needed to tap into a Saguaro.

            The Saguaro is a very unusual species of cactus that is limited to the Sonoran Desert.  Even though you will see pictures of it somewhere in every little desert town in the west it can only be found in southern Arizona and a little patch of southeastern California and the Mexican state of Sonora. Funny that such a specifically placed cactus has become a symbol of the American west. But, then again as I said, cactus grows all over in the west so why not use the king of all cacti as the symbol of all of these western states? All of the western states, even the wilds of Alaska and the seeming tropics of Hawaii have desert climates. So, yeah, I love the Saguaro Cactus in all of its actuality and symbolism because I am an American man of the west.

Frost Covers the Cornstalks

Frost covers the cornstalks,

Shivers shocks to the ground;

Ice covers all the walks

Where all were wont to bound.

Colored leaves of yellow

Begin patterning grass

In myriad winnows

That were in the trees last

Night and now rimed with ice

In the yard. How quickly

Summer fades to this nice

Transition that soon grimly

Brings the bitter snowy

Cold. Just yesterday I

Was playing, now suddenly

I’m old. But here awhile

I’ll linger ‘midst colors bold

To hold in frozen tableau

My memories of old.

I still can move a bit

And, careful on this ice,

The mem’ries with wit

Arranged on grass so nice

As if still suspended

In the trees.

67. The Robin

Did you know that the robin, that harbinger of spring, is American? Oh sure, you can read British works that mention the robin, but that little bird in Britain is not the same bird. The American Red Breasted Thrush is our robin, not some sparrow sized white and red breasted beauty. I didn’t know that until I went to England over thirty years ago. Apparently our forefathers who came to this continent from England saw our little red breasted friend in the spring and he was the closest equivalent to their homesick longings for spring in England and they gave that name, robin, to him.

It’s really amazing how many things we have in this part of the world that we just think are everywhere but in reality they are a distinctive part of our continent and quite often, more particularly, our country. I know people don’t often think of that, but now, as we begin to approach winter and those little tweeting friends that drive our cats crazy begin to leave for warmer climates of the south, remember that they are specific to our part of the world. The robin, American Red Breasted Thrush, is specific to us. Just one more thing we Americans have to be thankful for. And I, for one, am thankful for all those robins in my back yard.

66. Cranberries

The negative press in the country seems to make us sound divided, and sometimes we are, but as Americans there are lots of things that unite us. That has been my focus in the blog and the entries that are numbered relate to those very American things that I am thankful for. Heres to cranberries:

It’s that time of year when I start thinking of cranberries because they are associated with the winter holiday season and right now the leaves are falling… But I also have heard of associations of cranberry juice with bladder infections, so maybe the berry could also have those illness associations that would make someone despise them. Not me. I love them. I remember as a kid having that gelatinous canned cranberry “sauce” with a turkey dinner and I didn’t like that. But now, as an adult, I have come to appreciate my home made cranberry “sauce” (more of a relish really) that is a mix of sugar, cranberries and whole oranges. And I’ve always loved cranberry juice. When I was in Europe I don’t really remember even hearing about cranberries. They seemed an unknown, even more so than peanut butter or root beer. While I didn’t miss them as much as I missed peanut butter, there was definitely an absence in my American sensibilities. I mean there really aren’t many European things you can’t get here but there seemed to be huge gaps in American things there. So, yes, cranberries are an American thing that I am grateful for.

65. Maple Syrup

            When I was younger and we would have pancakes I would use an imitation maple syrup like Mrs. Butterworth’s on them. It was ok and I didn’t know any better but when I was older and went to Vermont for the first time, I had real maple syrup. There was no going back for me. The real thing makes all the others pale.

            Maple syrup is a very American thing. I now am speaking North American because we all know that most real maple syrup you buy in the U.S. come from Canada. Maple trees are from this continent and taking their sap and boiling it down to a syrup comes from this continent. Given the choice between baked beans on toast or maple syrup on a waffle, I’m going to always choose the waffles and syrup. To me it’s a no brainer. And yes, I’ll gladly take a maple bar for breakfast. There are many things that are distinctly American and I’m grateful for them. I’m especially grateful for maple syrup.

64. British Culture in America

I wrote about how I am appreciative of the Hispanic culture in America, but I would be crazy not to mention the British influence on our culture and how much I love it. I mean, come on, an Anglophile like me with a Master’s Degree in English? I’ve got to love it. In America we still use all of the English measurements from the pound to the mile. Oh sure, we don’t use the “imperial” gallon, but that was just a matter of 15^th century standardization. And our language, however Americanized we’ve made it, is still English. Yes, our English is probably a bit more apt to borrow pronunciations of the words from whatever original language they came. You won’t hear an American fishmonger (if we even have those!) tell you there’s a T at the end of that word when you ask for a salmon filet. We keep the French pronunciation because we know it’s not really an English word at all.

But come on. England has always been about taking on every culture as its own. How American is that? Maybe we don’t Anglicize the foreign words, but we certainly incorporate them into our everyday existence so that, in all honesty, we don’t really know why we don’t follow the typical Anglo pronunciations. Pints and quarts are as American as apple pie and that’s why we Americans, like any good Brit, know to mind our P’s and Q’s even when we’re all about watching everything else (except maybe our manners, which we do mind).

There’s no doubt that Americans are heavily influenced by our British brethren though most of us don’t even know it. It’s not just historically, but currently. We watch “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” “The Office,” and countless other TV shows that aren’t on PBS but still had their start not in Hollywood or New York but in London. We know about the Beatles and that British invasion, but “American Idol” is British? Yes, it is. And I don’t have a problem with it at all. I’m always up for a good bit of fun. And a nice spot of tea with a splash of milk because I appreciate how I’ve been shaped by my British ancestry and how it continues to influence my country.

The Phrase That Lingers

The Phrase That Lingers

A phrase spoken lingers in the air

Hanging like a photograph on the wall

And I ponder it, much as I would that photograph.

Perhaps for everyone else time has moved on

But for me I’m caught in a sweet syrup

That flows slowly, clinging to the bottle,

It’s last drops hanging, nearly refusing

To let go.  And I’m that syrup

Clinging to that phrase.

Sometimes it might be words of beauty

That I want, perhaps need, to bask in.

Other times it cuts into me like a knife

And I won’t let go of the pain

Aching into my very core.

That last one is the phrase, like the photograph,

That I shouldn’t ever bother to even dust.

I should take it off the wall and

Throw it away.

But instead I wrap myself around it

Clinging to the pain it causes

Not even trying to drip off of it

Just ceaselessly clinging, remembering

That phrase came from

You.

Brian Potter