Poems from Cabin Country

Ed Zahniser is the younger son of the late Howard and Alice Zahniser. Howard was the primary author of and chief lobbyist for the 1964 National Wilderness Preservation System Act, a milestone in environmental legislation that today protects 111 million acres of wilderness on federal public domain lands. We told the story of Zahniser's collaboration with Paul Schaefer in that effort in Exploring Cabin Country, a feature for Adirondac magazine, and in this conversation with Ed.

A talented writer like his father and equally committed to wilderness preservation, Ed served for many years as senior writer and editor with the Publications Group of the National Park Service. Following his retirement in 2013, he was presented with the U.S. Department of the Interior Distinguished Service Award, the department's highest civilian honor.

Writing poetry for most of his life, Ed produced a new collection last year, Adirondack Cabin Country & Mountain Poems.

"The libretto is all Ed's," publisher John Ellsworth writes. "The song is the wind, the quiet, and the pause to listen in those times you've been mountain high."

Two of the poems that follow are from that collection. The last he wrote when we asked if he had any poems in his collection that spoke to winter in Cabin Country.


Mornings as a Child

 

Broken by brief rain

mug heat disappears 

tail between its clouds

I remember mornings

as a child, late August

dressing by the fire

Oatmeal bubbles up

spurts in blackened pot

Mountains unmoved

since we went to bed 

 

From the Zahniser family album, this is a rare photo of both the Zahniser and Schaefer clans together on the front porch of the Schaefer home on Edwards Hill Road in Bakers Mills. Ed and Monica Schaefer are missing, but here are the others: Front row: Mathias Zahniser, Evelyn Schaefer, Cub Schaefer, Esther Zahniser, Karen Zahniser, Mary Schaefer. Back row: Howard Zahniser, Alice Zahniser, Carolyn Schaefer, Paul Schaefer

 

Adirondack Augusts

 

Cut wood and carry water

mind empty of all effort

nearly stepped in the spring


I hum all day, no repetition 

wind soughs thru fir balsams 

night silence so thick I hear it

Can't keep things straight but 

stars don't seem to mind

 

The Zahniser Cabin, named Matteskared to combine “Matthias,” “Esther,” “Karen,” and “Edward.”


Adirondack Non-Winter Poem

by a Devoted Summer Resident

 

I admit to never having witnessed winter

in the Adirondacks. My major excuses are

how we mid-southerly flatlanders don’t

know how to drive in deep snow—the

drive from our otherwise year-round 

Maryland home is a solid 10-hour trek

even in favorable summer conditions.

 

Not to mention how our four-room cabin

has zero, zip, zilch insulation. And our sole 

heat source is a stone fireplace, that might 

well supply more unwanted heat to global 

warming than to fuel our cabin’s comfort.

Besides which, I have zero levitation skills

nor any useful experience on snowshoes, 

which, I am told are de riguer in winter—

not to mention skis, which have frankly

only ever managed to stir up fright in me,

especially now that I have artificial joints.

 

In both prose and poetry, Ed Zahniser writes about the natural world and the human experience, capturing the beauty and wonder of both in a way that is both profound and accessible. He conveys complex ideas in an unadorned way, never resorting to grandiose language or flowery imagery. He has a hawk-like eye for detail, which he paints in breathtaking landscapes. His ability to capture the essence of a place is remarkable. He writes about the joys and sorrows of life in a way that’s both honest and relatable. His words are a reminder that we are all connected by our shared experiences and emotions, and that even in the darkest of times, there is still beauty and hope to be found.

Dan Forbush

PublIsher developing new properties in citizen journalism. 

http://smartacus.com
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