At left is the title page of “Sange” (“Songs” in English), a collection of Norwegian hymns published by Lyngblomsten founding member Laura Ringdal Bratager in 1912.  At right is an image of one of the songbook’s hymns, composed with Lyngblomsten in mind.  A translation of the poem is provided below.

By Mara Gawarecki

April is National Poetry Month, and Lyngblomsten has a robust history with this literary form—both among its residents and its early leaders.  Laura Ringdal Bratager, one of the 11 founding women, was an amateur poet who published at least one volume of her work. She frequently wrote and recited her poetry at Lyngblomsten events. Her book Songs features text for Norwegian hymns celebrating the work of Lyngblomsten and the important role the Lutheran faith played in its founding, like her poem “Love the Elderly”:

Protect the days of age
Love them with reverence
Let us take them by their hand,
Filled with tenderness, compassion, peace.
Father and Mother have strived and suffered for us,
Loved us through fights and pain,
When the young ones left them so often,
They have missed, longed, suffered.

And at the quiet of life’s evening,
Many elderly are lonesome,
Therefore we wanted so much
To bring happiness to some of them here.
Build a home, where they will hear the sounds of music
And comforting words of songs, just
As the fragrance of a fjord or field of flowers,
Then time will not seem as long.

That legacy continues in the modern day thanks, in part, to Lyngblomsten committing to weave arts and lifelong learning opportunities into the daily fabric of life. Residents and participants have worked with teaching artists to compose and collect poetry and other writings. In 2023, participants of The Gathering (Lyngblomsten’s respite program for older adults with early- to mid-stage memory loss) collaborated on a poem celebrating the arrival of spring entitled “The Senses of Spring”:

Everything is open, everything
Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head
Birds singing
Cardinals, robins
Less sweet are the geese
Woodpeckers
They might be wanting

We have a cabin up north
And when we first open the windows
We can hear the spring peepers
Like sleigh bells
The call of the loon
The wind and tornadoes
Sounds of a bat cracking
A sniff of peony

My wife and I went to an Elvis Presley movie
And she said to me
I didn’t know he could dance
I’m getting old
In my blue jeans

Washington, D.C., at cherry blossom time
Is the most beautiful place in the world
Yellow stays strong
Daffodils and bumblebees
Sunshine and bright days
Watch the dandelions grow

Squirrels, lots of squirrels
Baseball, the fishing opener
Spring feels like music
Warm and breezy
Smells like sweetness
Spring forward, fall back
Hallelujah

I ate an apple
Too soon
Springs tastes like lemon meringue pie
Asparagus, rhubarb
It’s refreshing
I’ll drink to that
Gin and tonic
Cinco de Mayo

Last week when I came home
There were five does in my yard
That was a sight to behold
I’ll tell ya

And here are a few more poems, from residents of the Lyngblomsten Care Center and from Jean McKibben, a resident of the Lyngblomsten Apartments.

“Then and Now”

Residents of the 2nd Floor
September 18, 2018

It’s the perfect time to talk
about the good old days
and there were many of them, too.
A lawn right after a nice rain.
Apple Annie.

It’s apple-picking time.
Apple for the teacher,
for the doctor, too
I’m a teacher!
Johnny Appleseed.
Are they red and green
or pink and blue?

Harvest pumpkins, squash
Turnips, rutabagas—
you’ll be worn out!

My father-in-law planted two pine trees
when his daughters were born,
and I watched them grow.
There’s a little road going up the hill
to where they are, and
we still look at them
and call them by the twins’ names,
Jennet and Jeannie.

I remember going out in the garden and just standing there
wondering what to eat;
there was so much wonderful fresh stuff.
Put the vegetables in a cornucopia.
Squash and gourds, too.

Plant in the spring,
harvest in the autumn.
Bring Grandpa down from up north—
that was part of the ritual.

If we have chosen well
and cultivated well
and done our part,
we will have a beautiful harvest.

Harvest apples at Pine Tree Orchard.
The smells!
I loved everything.
I lived on a farm
and I had to drive a tractor
and cut the oats,
everything my dad grew.

I snap peas with my grandma.
We’d eat them that way, too.
Put bacon on them.
Green beans!

I’d use all the words
to praise you.
My mother would cry happy tears.

“Ode to a Toad”

Jean McKibben, 2024
Anaxyrus Americanus

Thou warty, wondrous one
lazing on a log enjoying the sun.
They say that you’re cold blooded,
but I must disagree,
for your heart is big and warm and free.
Your group is called “a knot of toads.”
He toads.
She toads.
Your luncheon repast consists of snails, spiders, and mosquitoes.
To the garden your presence is a gift,
For you clean up all those pests in a jiff.
In short, you are an ally, and a friend
And nothing is truer than this:
At the end of the day, you have earned yourself
A lovely Princess kiss.