HFVS Spring Forward with Guest DJ, Lucy Kalantari (Podcast/Radio Show)

Hilltown Family Variety Show

Listen to Podcast:

Spring Forward with Guest DJ, Lucy Kalantari

Celebrate spring with HFVS Guest DJ Lucy Kalantari. Butterflies, botany, banana splits, and rainbows, this playlist covers the many beautiful colors and facets of spring. Featuring Red Pants Band, KB Whirly, Dog on Fleas, Laura Doherty and much more! — www.LucyKalantari.com

Saturday from 9-10am & Sunday from 7-8am
April 8th & 9th, 2017
WXOJ LP – 103.3 FM – Valley Free Radio
Northampton, MA

Featured Video: “Our Garden” – Lucy Kalantari


New Podcasts ♦ Archived Podcasts Subscribe to Podcast
Radio  Facebook Twitter

Listen to Podcast:

PLAYLIST

 

  • Karen K – “Spring Day” [Blue Bike Chronicles]
  • Grin Brigade – “It’s Spring” [Crazy With Happiness]
  • Key Wilde And Mr. Clarke – “Katy Caterpillar” [Animal Tales]
  • Laura Doherty – “Butterfly” [In a Heartbeat]
  • Dog on Fleas – “Grow Grow Grow” [Recipes]
  • 123 Andrés – “La Semilla” [Arriba Abajo]
  • Lucy Kalantari – “Our Garden” [Big Things]
  • Jon Samson – “Fruits or Vegetables” [A New Kids Album]
  • Danny Weinkauf – “Botany” [Red Pants Band]
  • Lucy Kalantari – “Close the Loop” [Big Things]
  • Frances England – “See What We Can See” [Explorer Of The World]
  • Tom Proutt and Emily Gary – “The Song of the Tiny Cat” [A Celebration of the Seasons: Goodnight Songs]
  • Lard Dog & the Band of Shy – “I Like” [Single]
  • Ella Fitzgerald – “Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall” [Ella & Friends]
  • Louis Prima – “Banana Split For My Baby” [Capitol Collectors Series]
  • KB Whirly – “The Littlest Worm” [Camp Songs Vol.1]
  • Israel Kamakawiwo’ole – “Somewhere Over The Rainbow & What A Wonderful World” [Facing Future]
  • Elizabeth Mitchell and You Are My Flower featuring Simi Stone – “Changes” [Let All The Children Boogie: A Tribute to David Bowie]

 

Save

Save

Awaken to the Moments

The Good Life: A Year of Thoughtful Seasons by Sarah Mattison Buhl

Grace Uncommon

I hope we can all awaken to the moments when we are in the presence of such gifts, and better still, to recognize the potential for it in ourselves. The good news is that grace will come, even when you are too busy to roll down the window and wake up.

Spring comes as a miraculous surprise to me every year.  The fresh air arrives out of nowhere and makes me giddy.  The branches are bare and the ground is muddy, but I am intoxicated by the scent of the wind.  In the bustle of my life I often overlook graceful simplicity, because I can’t seem to slow myself down to see it.  Like many parents, I spend most of my time in a minivan.  But when I happen to roll the window down, the unexpected, graceful spring air wafts in and I am blessed; I stop feeling sorry for myself and I step back into my body.  Persephone has returned, and so have I, fully awakened by the uncommon grace of spring.

Two weeks ago I accompanied my daughter to the Academy of Music Theatre in Northampton.  She was performing in the ballet Beauty and the Beast with the Pioneer Valley Ballet (PVB).  As I waited to drop off my darling dancer along with the other parents, a little boy not more than four exclaimed, “Look!  The fust- flowah-a-spring!”  All of us swung our heads to view this improbability, and lo and behold, he was right.  There it was, poking its dainty purple crown purposefully out of the mud.  The spell was broken when the same sweet cherub jabbed his umbrella within a hair of this purple miracle and announced, “I’ne- gonna-deeg-et-up.”  Read the rest of this entry »

Spring Comes in April

The Good Life: A Year of Thoughtful Seasons by Sarah Mattison Buhl

March Revelation

March is the worst of its kind. After traveling through the inky darkness of  winter, we arrive, weary, on the doorstep of March.  March tells us, wide-eyed, that he is the official herald of spring, a time when daffodils shine in abundance.  The most desperate among us will crack the bedroom window allowing March to sneak in. I’ve known March a long time, and while I still want to believe he is the real deal, I finally know better.  Spring comes in April… Read the rest of this entry »

The Ripple: Reassuring Voice of the River

Get Into the Flow Like a Mayfly

We measure our lives in decades, which is fine; but what if we measured our lives like the mayfly, who reappears in the same place for tens of thousands of years, each individual a facet of single transgenerational being, each individual a carrier of the baton-of-life in the finish-line-less relay-race of the species in time?

“Rivers can take this—don’t worry!” said Jason Johnson, who works with Masswildlife’s Caleb Slater to stock our streams with trout and salmon, after hearing me whine about the drought.

“Most droughts occur in late summer. The fact that this one is happening as the leaves come out…” I’d worried.

“The tree species that are native to our area can handle this. It happened a few years ago—the buds dried and fell off, but new leaves appeared,” he retorted, determined to make me cheerful.

It’s good to know that; I don’t mind being reassured. Words are just words, though. Real assurance requires the real.

Reassurance can be found, for example, in the flocks of blackflies that greet you when you step into the woods. As a native species, they’re tough survivors—at least as old as the mammal species they’ve supped upon for plus or minus fifteen millenia. Ah, but this is just more blather! To the river we go, sure our blackflies will follow.

At the river, we find the aerial bobbings of the longtailed mayfly. Up and down they flit, yoyo-ing as if played with by kids. They are older as a native species than the blackfly, and form the basis of the aquatic food chain of which trout and salmon are the hungriest. biggest-mouthed predators. Find a boulder to sit on, exposed in mid-stream—a perch fit for a Zen monk or an osprey. Look closely: the twin tails of the mayfly straighten to parallel as they rocket upwards. They linger at zenith for a moment of motionless poise, then drop; their tails split and become V-shaped parachutes they sit on, like children on swings. Wings of chrome-fuzz in the sunlight, bodies slender and dark, they ride for seconds like William Blake’s cherubim: miraculous beyond the ken of science. How can the value of these lives be over-estimated as they do this, as their ancestors have done since before the Ice Age, and the arrival of mammals? We measure our lives in decades, which is fine; but what if we measured our lives like the mayfly, who reappears in the same place for tens of thousands of years, each individual a facet of single transgenerational being, each individual a carrier of the baton-of-life in the finish-line-less relay-race of the species in time?

This is what the river asks us through its tumbling hiss of water against stone, and answers with the yoyo-ing mayfly. In the same place the river speaks its soothing words of white water, the mayfly does its courtship dance, and lays its eggs from which next years dancers will emerge. The kinetic force that gives voice to white water also trebles the oxygen content, and mayfly nymphs—and hungry trout and salmon—need an oxygen-rich environment.

In this way, the voice of the river—even in drought—is voice that reassures. As long as there’s flow, there are the mayflies.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kurt Heidinger, Ph.D. is the Executive Director of Biocitizen, non-profit school of field environmental philosophy, based in the Western MA Hilltown of Westhampton, MA where he lives with his family.  Biocitizen gives participants an opportunity to “think outside” and cultivate a joyous and empowering biocultural awareness of where we live and who we are. Check out Kurt’s monthly column, The Ripple, here on Hilltown Families on the 4th Monday of every month to hear his stories about rivers in our region. Make the world of rivers bigger than the world of pavement inside of you!

[Photo credit: (ccl) Marko Kivelä]

The Ripple: Message of the Spring Peepers

What the Peepers Are Telling Us

Eggs in a vernal pool near the Westfield River in West Chesterfield, MA. (Photo credit: Sienna Wildfield)

Last night, I sped my family home from a week of Spring Break that took us far from the Nonotuck biome. As they slumbered in their car seats, I was feeling anxious—Had the leaf buds burst yet? I couldn’t see; it was too dark.  This fleeting moment of the return of life is one of the sweetest in the circle of seasons, isn’t it? The thought of missing it brought a dull pain to my heart. An imaginary finger wagged in mind: “Was your vacation worth it?” But just as we approached Mt. Tom on Rt 141 in Holyoke, where it ascends and then drops over the old volcanic ridge into the plush yet rusted valley of Easthampton, we heard it..

PEEPERS!!!“my daughter exalted, suddenly awake. The sound of thousands of frogs, louder than the radio and engine drone, almost vibrated our skins. We were so happy! To be home again where the viva-power of our non-human neighbors is so intense, and so inspiring.

I didn’t need to see the treebuds anymore—the frogs told me they hadn’t burst yet.

The vivifying relationship between the peepers and the trees and the rivers is one we sense, and feel, and celebrate. The mere appearance of the tiny frogs in the vernal pools, their cheerful uninhibited en masse braying—all those Romeos impressing their Juliettes—is something real that signals that life, the bios, is so much bigger and more beautiful than we can embrace with our thoughts, our science, our philosophies, our stories, our paintings and our music (That doesn’t mean we can’t try to, though; Vermont-based musician Nico Case talks about how she sings along with the peepers.).

Go ahead—try to catch a spring peeper. Track their sounds to the pool they’re cavorting in and you’ll find that, just at the moment you’re almost close enough to see them, they hush. Get closer and you’ll find, that unless you’re ready to get your feet and hands wet, all you’ll see is dead leaves submerged under water. The peeper family is an ancient one, and it got that way because it knows how to hide from raccoons, birds and humans.

And yet, despite all this, Robert Frost deserves credit for nearly getting his arms around these squirming multitudes. In his poem Hyla Brook, he re-presents the relationship between Hylas (peepers ), trees and rivers that I want you to witness outside today. He describes how, as temperature rises, trees awaken from their winter slumber and suck the water out of the soil. The vernal pools, and forest streams and brooks, start disappearing the moment that leaves start unfolding on branch tips; all that water becomes the green of the trees. This is why white water canoeing is an early spring sport—

The songs of the peepers, then, peal before buds break and flowers appear. For all we know, it’s not only us who listen with joy; the trees might be listening, too.

Find out how families can become citizen scientist for Vernal Polls in Western MA in Hilltown Families’ recent post, Citizen Scientists Wanted for Vernal Pool Habitat.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kurt Heidinger, Ph.D. is the Executive Director of Biocitizen, non-profit school of field environmental philosophy, based in the Western MA Hilltown of Westhampton, MA where he lives with his family.  Biocitizen gives participants an opportunity to “think outside” and cultivate a joyous and empowering biocultural awareness of where we live and who we are. Check out Kurt’s monthly column, The Ripple, here on Hilltown Families on the 4th Monday of every month to hear his stories about rivers in our region. Make the world of rivers bigger than the world of pavement inside of you!

%d bloggers like this: