In May, my family had the opportunity to travel to Grass Valley in Northern California for a family reunion. Grass Valley is a beautiful little gem of a town, retaining much of its mining town charm, nestled among the towering Redwoods and dramatic scenery of Northern California. Our cousin's home sits on 5 acres of that scenery and is a stunning combination of cultivated and wild landscaping. It was remarkably beautiful. During our first night there, I sat on small bench in front of a huge honeysuckle bush (it smelled heavenly!). I was sort of unconsciously aware of a low humming coming from behind me, but it wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation that I realized I was hearing bees. Honeybees looking for pollen in the honeysuckle behind me. I immediately thought of Yeats' poem, "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" and understood what he meant by a "bee-loud glade". I sat with the words of this poem running through my head, listening to the bees, and watching twilight fall. I was more contented than I had been in a long time.
Life is difficult, especially when things are hustle-bustle and the pace becomes frantic. I believe we all need a place to escape to, even if only for a few moments, and even if only in our minds. Yeats went to Innisfree, and now I can go to that honeysuckle bush, limned in twilight, and listen to the bees.
Life is difficult, especially when things are hustle-bustle and the pace becomes frantic. I believe we all need a place to escape to, even if only for a few moments, and even if only in our minds. Yeats went to Innisfree, and now I can go to that honeysuckle bush, limned in twilight, and listen to the bees.
"Lake Isle of Innisfree"
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
--W.B. Yeats (1893)
