Bishop Hill, Illinois

http://qctimes.com/app/goanddo/family/fun/?itemID=266&t=Bishop_Hill,_Illinois_|_100_North_Bishop_Hill_Street,_Bishop_Hill,_ILI love coming home to Illinois for the summers. I love relaxing by my parent's pond or taking a drive in the country with my camera in tow. There are a few places that I make a point of returning to every year. The first is Bishop Hill, Illinois. I love the quaintness of this small Swedish settlement tucked away on the rolling plains somewhere between the Quad Cities, Galesburg and Peoria, Illinois. (See this article http://qctimes.com/app/goanddo/family/fun/?itemID=266&t=Bishop_Hill,_Illinois_|_100_North_Bishop_Hill_Street,_Bishop_Hill,_IL)
My favorite time to visit Bishop Hill is in the Fall, when the old maple trees that line the park have big golden leaves.

I love eating at the Red Oak (http://www.theredoak.com/) where you can order Swedish Meatballs on mashed potatoes (or homemade noodles) with lingonberry cream sauce, and I love a big piece of melt-in-your-mouth Five Berry Pie. The Colony Bakery (http://www.bishophillcolonybakery.com/), just across the street, sells the most delicious Swedish breads and cookies. I always make a point of purchasing a piece of pottery from Jeff at the Bishop Hill Colony Pottery where you can watch Jeff throw his pottery on the wheel right in front of you. (http://www.bishophillpottery.com/)

Perhaps, the reason I love Bishop Hill so much is that my father, the late Robert P. Sutton, wrote about this beautiful little town in his book Communal utopias and the American experience: religious communities, 1732-2000, and he used to take me here when I would visit for the summers. I have fond memories of listening to a local band playing in the park, eating in the Red Oak, and purchasing antiques and pottery with him. It is a wonderful town to walk around and spend time with friends and family.

Resting and Being Still

To every season there is a time to every purpose...how often do we take seriously the time to rest?I have such a hard time being still and allowing myself to rest. I recently drove across country to spend a few weeks in the country at my parents' home. The house sits on four acres of wooded property overlooking a pond and a lovely grass-covered hill. The bull-frogs, toads, crickets and frogs lull you to sleep at night, and in the morning, a misty haze rises off of the pond. My days at my parents' home are slow and restful. I find my mind racing trying, telling me I should be home cleaning out closets or making lesson plans for the upcoming year. Yet, here I sit, spending my days playing games with my nephew, visiting with family, reading a book or just looking out at the birds and squirrels. I almost feel guilty not being home working.  Then I remind myself that resting and being still restores the spirit and my energy is renewed when I do return home to work.

I Love Little Books and Boxes

Patience from Glowing Heads on Vimeo.

On Vanity

THE TWO TREES
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,

The holy tree is growing there;

From joy the holy branches start,

And all the trembling flowers they bear.

The changing colours of its fruit

Have dowered the stars with merry light;

The surety of its hidden root

Has planted quiet in the night;

The shaking of its leafy head

Has given the waves their melody,

And made my lips and music wed,

Murmuring a wizard song for thee.

There the Loves a circle go,

The flaming circle of our days,

Gyring, spiring to and fro

In those great ignorant leafy ways;

Remembering all that shaken hair

And how the wingèd sandals dart,

Thine eyes grow full of tender care:

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

 

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

The demons, with their subtle guile,

Lift up before us when they pass,

Or only gaze a little while;

For there a fatal image grows

That the stormy night receives,

Roots half hidden under snows,

Broken boughs and blackened leaves.

For all things turn to barrenness

In the dim glass the demons hold,

The glass of outer weariness,

Made when God slept in times of old.

There, through the broken branches, go

The ravens of unresting thought;

Flying, crying, to and fro,

Cruel claw and hungry throat,

Or else they stand and sniff the wind,

And shake their ragged wings; alas!

Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:

Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

"The Two Trees" is reprinted from The Rose. W.B. Yeats. 1893.