Appalachian Dream

Winter Days

2012-01-17T16:08:00.000-05:00

Oh Winter...

I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,

And dreaded as thou art.

I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening know.

--William Cowper

Here, we are filling quiet winter days with...

visits to a favorite antique store,

(Through the Garden Gate in Richmond, Virginia)

peeks at early bulbs at the local nursery,

(Strange's Nursery, Richmond, Virginia)

baking snowflake blueberry pie...

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A Long Winter's Nap

2010-12-31T16:25:00.000-05:00

Watch as Marmalade and Snowball sleep into 2011.

Okay, so we don't get very excited about New Year's Eve. :-)

But I do wish you a blessed New Year!

And I will be offline until after Twelfth Night.

The Mice of Christmas

2010-12-25T09:27:00.000-05:00

The rest of the family is still sleeping, this Christmas morning. I'm sipping tea, Handel's Messiah is softly playing, and I'm pondering "the least of these my brethren." And I think "the least of these" must be the Christmas mice.

Have you ever read a good Christmas story that didn't have mice? There are even mice behind the panelling in A Christmas Carol, and two of my other favorite Christmas books star mice.

The first is The Night Before Christmas, a Golden book illustrated by Cyndy Szekeres.

The little guy looking up the chimney on the cover is the most adorable through all the pages, but also delightful is the use of tiny human trinkets as mouse-home furnishings.

The second book is Winter Wonderland, a Scholastic book illustrated by Jacqueline Rogers...

another illustrator who knows just what the inside of a mouse's home looks like!

Mice join the forest Christmas gathering in Eve Bunting's Night Tree. I see four mice here...

The Christmas mice take an understated, yet powerful role in The Night Before Christmas illustrated by Tasha Tudor, where they celebrate their own Christmas, complete with Christmas tree, beneath the floorboards of the living room.

That mice make Christmas is indisputable, as, in the famed tale of Rat and Mole, it's the field-mice who come carolling at Mole's door:

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim ray of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their forepaws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry streets to lamplit windows at Yule-time.

Villagers all, this frosty tide,

Let your doors swing open wide,

Though wind may follow, and snow beside,

Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;

Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,

Blowing fingers and stamping feet,

Come from far away you to greet--

You by the fire and we in the street--

Bidding you joy in the morning!

For ere one half of the night was gone,

Sudden a star had led us on,

Raining bliss and benison--

Bliss tomorrow and more anon,

Joy for every morning!

Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow--

Saw the star o'er a stable low;

Mary she might not further go--

Welcome thatch, and litter below!

Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell

'Who were the first to cry Nowell?

Animals all, as it befell,

In the stable where they did dwell!

Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'

If you should be blessed with a stable, complete with mice, or if you should have even a shed or garage with mice, you would do well to remember the "least of these" this Christmas morning, and put out a few cubes of cheese, some sunflower seeds, and a jar-lid full of water.

_______________________________

(mouse gingerbread cookie from Borders Books Christmas 2000 catalog)

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-23T18:50:00.000-05:00

A holy, joyful Christmas

to you and yours.

L.L. Bean Puppy Love

2010-12-10T10:51:00.000-05:00

Oh, no! My own blog has gone commercial!

But just look at those droopy little eyes, the heavy, furry paws.

This little guy is adorable.

Looking forward to seeing the L.L. Bean puppies is a Christmas tradition.

Do you suppose they have a cult following, or is it mass appeal?

The L.L. Bean pages of my photo album

Yes, we do want that puppy for Christmas.

He speaks a warm, woodsy, outdoors L.L. Bean Christmas to us.

_______________

Oops, An Arctic Blast...

2010-12-08T21:28:00.000-05:00

Now what to do with these post-season sale bulbs I bought last week?

We're south of the Mason-Dixon line. I've planted flower bulbs in wet, soft soil as late as Christmas Eve, and had perfect flowering the following spring.

But this year! It's going to be in the teens tonight. It's been in the 20's several nights this week. This once, I pushed it a bit too far.

I suppose I could return them, but...there's supposed to be one clear day in the low 40's this weekend. Maybe the ground will still be workable, and those Red Devons are worth it.

In the meantime, we'll stay inside and keep warm by eating rumballs.

Have one?

Actually, most of the rumballs are for shipping:

But most of the pizzelles will stay home. :-)

Can you smell the steam? We grate one whole nutmeg into these.

Will you have one? :-)

________________

For the trees...

2010-12-05T14:44:00.000-05:00

Some visit Colonial Williamsburg for the history.

I visit for the trees.

And the creatures.

And the ghosts.

In December, the sycamores are hung with festive seedballs:

The fig tree is setting fruit...

...and the many gingkos have carpeted the ground in golden yellow.

Here grow the oldest, largest boxwoods that I've seen. Boxwood is the only plant I know on which you can smell the strong, woodsy fragrance of the leaves simply by walking by. Even with lavender and rosemary, you must crush the leaves a bit or bury your nose in them.

The oaks around the Capitol Building make it my dream home.

The oaks, the way the evening sun lights up the front, casting dramatic tree shadows...

...and those round rooms on the end

where I'd like to take early morning tea in my nightrail and wrapper.

Would the ghosts let me live there if I didn't complain about their

rousing revolutionary speeches shouted from my balcony?

_________________

Snowmen and Staying Open...

2010-09-29T11:26:00.000-04:00

(Photo taken this past weekend at Colonial Williamsburg, and having no bearing on this post whatsoever...except as an indication that I still love to share the joyful things around us here with you whom I've met on the web.)

After all my blog rebellion below, and much heart-searching that followed (and driving my family crazy on the topic with my ponderings), I've decided to keep this blog open. I do apologize for the indecisiveness. There will be some changes. The first--purchasing a new computer this week--won't be visible to you except that there may be more frequent posts due to ease of use. As for the others, I need to sit down and write the bothersome elements of blogging, and think about how to minimize or eliminate them. Those changes might be more visible. Please bear with me through some more soul-searching and reconstruction!

Closing Down Blog

2010-09-16T12:14:00.001-04:00

It's been coming for some time. It's mostly based on computer frustration.

Last September, I started Appalachian Dream, intending for it to be a thirty-day trial fun project. And it lasted a year.

But I have a computer that's seven years old (that's not what I call ancient, but Microsoft does), and I literally click, walk away and do something, click, walk away and do something else, while pages are loading. And I refuse--here's the rebel in me--to be sucked into "I mindlessly buy a new computer every five years because Microsoft has decided that life should be that way." (Hey, it works for the auto industry.)

So that's my rant. :-) I woke up this morning in a great mood and knowing that I had a free morning. I thought I'd make blog post (we had a great hike at Seneca Rocks, West Virginia last weekend and heard some great music; see photo above), but, due to updates, restarts, and anti-virus software, it was two hours of my wonderful morning before I could even sign into blogger. That's pretty typical. I feel my eyes glaze over as I wait for my machine to respond. All that memory that I don't get to use for anything I want to do. Their hands are too much on my machine. I let it go.

Annie Dillard said: "Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you." I'm not happy with how I've spent this morning.

There are other issues, of course, one being innocence. To keep in the Annie Dillard vein (this is all from that wonderful book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek):

Self-conciousness, however, does hinder the experience of the present. It is the one instrument that unplugs all the rest. So long as I lose myself in a tree, say, I can scent its leafy breath or estimate its board feet of lumber, I can draw its fruits or boil tea on its branches, and the tree stays tree. But the second I become aware of myself at any of these activities--looking over my own shoulder, as it were--the tree vanishes, uprooted from the spot and flung out of sight as if it had never grown. And time, which had flowed down into the tree bearing new revelations like floating leaves at every moment, ceases. It dams, stills, stagnates...

Self-conciousness is the curse of the city and all that sophistication implies. It is the glimpse of oneself in a storefront window, the unbidden awareness of reactions on the faces of other people..."

To me, there is nothing that causes "looking over my own shoulder" and the "unbidden awareness of reactions on the faces of other people" like blogging. Since I started this blog, though it's been fun, it has been with me wherever I've gone. Hiking a trail, I am looking over my own shoulder, not to see what I'm seeing, but to see what you all will see. Annie Dillard calls it a return to innocence: to see what's in front of you, the only value being that you're seeing it. Not that you're seeing how interesting you must be to see it, nor how fun it will be to tell everyone else that you saw it, nor what they will think of your photos of it. Just to see it and to walk away with that alone. I might even set the camera aside for a year.

Anyway, this blog began in September, and will close in September. I'll be shutting it down the last day of this month.

Now for what's important:

I have so enjoyed meeting all of you, chatting, and exchanging ideas and windows into our lives! Thank you for being with me this last year. "They can't take that away from me."

__________________

Earliest Signs of Autumn...

2010-09-03T10:40:00.001-04:00

...in the Shenandoah River Valley...

The calling of crows.

The first harvested field:

And, finally, there is some indefinable change in the air, the shadows, the barns:

_________________________

Personal note: We're staying on-guard at home today--Friday is usually a day out!--waiting to see what Hurricane Earl is going to do as he passes. All will be well as long as there are no sudden turns toward land. There's a grey cloud cover this morning, and, if he stays on track, we should simply have a bit of wind and some rain bands through the afternoon and evening. Rain would be most welcome: the sycamore leaves are looking dry. Later: it's past, and not even one speck of rain here. Bummer! But...no trees down, either.

Sky Meadows

2010-08-25T21:33:00.001-04:00

Sky Meadows State Park

Virginia

Off The Grid

2010-08-24T16:36:00.002-04:00

Scrappy Fun Day Two was essentially consumed by getting these 1.5" squares off the 1" grid and spread out on the floor, so that I could better see the design without the fabric overlap and see if there were any holes.

Day Three will be color-block fine-tuning, and Day Four, sewing. But that will all be next weekend, most likely.

I really shouldn't even consider direction this early on, but I do kinda like the green in the upper lefthand corner, as well as on the upper right. It looks all wrong with the green in either of the lower corners.

I learned a few things these past few days:

One: Batiks are fun to work with! I can't tell the front from the back, so I use whichever has the pattern and color combo I need most. But what I like best is that they're so inky-looking. They feel almost like paper that's ink-saturated, almost like they're still wet. Once I even looked down at my hand after setting down a square to see if my fingers were stained.

Two: Mixed purples are fun! All the colors were a pleasure to handle, but I had a little burst of delight every time I set down a purple square and saw how it interplayed with the others.

Three: The toastiness of the brown center color-block caught me completely by surprise. Once I wanted to redecorate my bathroom in "tea and toast." It seems a good idea, once again.

Four: The placement of each little square in these seemingly randomly-scattered quilts matters very much!

Five: Before laying this all out, I had NO IDEA what I was going to do with that interesting, but kinda loud yellow-and-black checkerboard fabric, and now I love it. I know that I will select fabrics differently in the future because of this.

________________

(Little Waffles)

Scrappy Fun Day

2010-08-22T19:45:00.001-04:00

Some weeks ago, at my request, a friend sent me a padded envelope full of fabric scraps from her quilting room floor. Okay, I think she really keeps her scraps in bins, not on the floor, but I was enchanted by the image, in The Dean's Watch, by Elizabeth Goudge, of fabric scraps falling to the floor, so let's pretend she scooped them up from there!

Isaac had the kind of mind that delights to collect the pretty colored fragments of old legends that lie about the floor of the world for the children to pick up. --Elizabeth Goudge, The Dean's Watch

That these scraps surprised me with such vivid, storybook colors only seemed appropriate. And I was hoping that some of her creative and kind spirit would slip in here with the fabric pieces.

For about a week, I was pretty certain that I wanted to make a randomly-assembled postage-stamp quilt pillow, but was distracted by ideas of wonky log cabins, postage-stamp Christmas stockings, and cathedral windows. I set it all aside for several weeks, knowing that if I put it all in the back of my mind, the right thing would pop forward at the right time.

Last night, I spend some time googling images for postage-stamp quilts. This morning I was thinking about mixing in a solid of my own for every-other square and enlarging this to a wall-hanging, still with random colors. BUT, why not play with the squares a bit first, just for fun? That ruled out all the quick ways to strip-cut and assemble postage stamp quilts, but I wasn't in a hurry.

The first thing was to put the fabrics in order from light to dark. That wasn't as easy as it sounded!

Then I cut all the fabric into 1-1/2" strips,

then into 1-1/2" squares, counting as I went. She was generous: There were 636 squares, just enough to make a 25" square wallhanging without diluting these with anything from my stash. I really didn't want to see ME in this.

The pieces that are left over--all less than 1-1/2" in width--are destined to become ornaments as shown in

Christmas with Jinny Beyer:

In case you're wondering, it is tremendous fun to receive a bag of fabric chosen by someone else (with taste). Like everyone, I get in a fabric-selecting rut at the quilt stores. It was a treat to receive a bag of beautiful fabric scraps, very few of which I would have thought to have selected myself. (I tend to go with calicos; she loves contemporary patterns.)

The other reason why today was just plain fun is that I plan most quilts first, then choose the fabric to fit the design. Working backwards, forming a design based on what fabrics I had was a hoot. All day I felt like I was putting together a jigsaw puzzle or figuring out a mind-teaser. It was fun to see what could be made from what was in hand, adding nothing else. John Hartford, the musician, once sang that "style is based on limitations."

So...getting started, without any clear plan, I laid out a dark diamond:

Then, because to me it's annoying when there's nothing in the center on which to focus, I added a cross and four flowers.

The next step was to play with light and dark insets, rather than just fading to a light center as I had originally planned. And I wanted more punch in the small partial diamonds.

Then, making it up as I went, I abandoned the idea of filling all the diamonds alike, re-sorted the squares by color, and started filling in the diamonds. Even at this point, I wasn't certain that I didn't want to turn the ceiling fan on high for an instantaneous random, confetti look.

And lastly, I added borders:

It's very brightly colored, and on the busy side: you have to like the crazy quilt look...and I do. Unfortunately, I assembled it on my desk, so it's going to double as mousepad until I get a chance to sew it!

I still want to do some tweaking in each color block, and then to sew it, of course, but that will be on another scrappy fun day.

______________

(Official Desk Guard Bunny)

Zinnia Love

2010-08-18T06:25:00.001-04:00

Lilacs and Zinnias seem to be the only flowers in our yard that interest yellow swallowtails. Monarchs, fritillaries, and others will visit everything, but this queen of butterflies is discriminating.

And, of lilacs and zinnia, they seem to love the latter the most. You cannot approach them very closely when they're on lilacs, but when they're infatuated with zinnias--drunken with pink--you can walk right up to them and they won't fly away.

Thoroughly distracted, they are.

It's hard to believe that our zinnias began here this spring:

because we have...not so great success with seeds, here in our clay soil. As it was, we didn't get mixed colors, but a single pink, but since it's a good pink, we and the swallowtails are thrilled.

We found zinnias on a list of ten annuals easy-to-grow-from seed. Other plants on the list--arugula, nasturniums, alyssum--failed in our soil! But the zinnias come up reliably and bloom for weeks in mid-to-late summer. Zinnia love.

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Deer Ears

2010-08-03T15:58:00.002-04:00

It always made me laugh

to see the deer ears

on this vintage Raphael Kirchner Christmas postcard,

one of the favorites in my collection.

It's so charming.

The mood, the night, the candles

but, most of all,

the very curious, pert, stylized deer.

Weird noses! Weird stances! Weird ears!

Their ears look like antennae,
nearly the same size as their head and neck,

especially those of that most obscure creature

who's nearly hidden behind playfellows and handwriting:

But I assumed they had more basis in artistic vision than in reality.

Because, in our experience, deer ears have looked more like this:

Then, earlier this summer, driving out of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania,

we stopped on a bridge at dusk to snap a photo of deer at a distance.

When I uploaded the photos later that evening,
there was instant recognition:

Kirchner deer!

Precisely!

Kirchner was right!

Kirchner deer ears!

"Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now this postcard is among the ones
that I hope to reproduce with acrylics.

It means even more to me than before.
It's become personal.

But just now I'm practicing drawing,
learning to get the lines to speak the right message
before the color begins.

___________________

Where The Duck Lives

2010-07-22T08:14:00.001-04:00

I'll be gone for quite some time

to where the duck lives.

You know...

where we saw him last summer.

Happy late summer to all.

Embracing the Archaic

2010-07-17T13:37:00.003-04:00

"Incidentally,

what is the point in keeping in touch with

the contemporary scene?

Why should one read authors one doesn't like because they happen to be alive at the same time as oneself? One might as well read everyone who had the same job or the same coloured hair, or the same income, or the same chest measurements, as far as I can see."

--C.S. Lewis, Letters, The Collected Letters of CSL, Volume III.

Enchanted Realm of Color

2010-07-10T01:32:00.001-04:00

When you enter the Jinny Beyer Studio,

set peacefully among whispering white pines and mature oaks,

you enter an enchanted realm of color.

A fairytale feeling lingers with me even today, coloring my vision.

Tomorrow I plan to read Grimm.

More than when you visit her website,

What We Saw At Mabry Mill

2010-06-21T16:12:00.001-04:00

Think warm sun on your shoulders.

(But the breeze made me run back to the car for a flannel shirt.)

This was back in May, when I finally visited Mabry Mill,

built in 1910,

and the most-photographed location on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

But before we saw the mill, in the general store we saw a landscape quilt of the mill.

Fascinating.

Each vertical slice was created by a different woman.

The detail was amazing, but I wondered,

"Now, why did they put a woman hanging her head out the mill window?"

Later, when I attempted to get a photo of the mill without someone hanging their head out that window, I understood. (Please revisit first photo.) Later still, I hung my own head out that window,

and laughed.

So...this will be a photo tour...

We saw...

a man in the parking lot hoping to sell his custom-built wooden pickup truck:

The hood ornament was our favorite part.

We saw...

wild azalea blooming in a stand of white pines:

The mill from the back...it had that built-of-matchsticks look that old mills often do:

The waterfall sounded beautiful in the quiet woods.

We saw...

a yellow swallowtail on orange flowers, enjoying the sunshine:

The peace of the mill in a wash of spring green...yes, you could see the peace:

Yellow flowers under the millrace, gathering sunshine into themselves:

and the race eventually disappearing into the woods.

Trillium and ferns,

and a duck resting in the shade.

An old wagon that made me want to pull out my Ingalls books,

A beechwood, one of my favorite things,

An unmentionable. Can you guess what it is?

Broad hint:

And lastly, two very kind men grinding cornmeal in the mill.

One joked that they would break the camera, but it's still working.

____________________

A queer dusty man was the Miller of Arden,

From top of his head to the soles of his feet.

And he made mealy tracks in the kitchen and garden,

And left a white trail on the road and the street.

His wife was a trim little, neat little spinner.

She saved all her pence and she bought her a broom;

So that when he came home every day for his dinner,

She chased and she dusted him all round the room.

Nancy Byrd Turner

Lost in Thought

2010-06-04T13:03:00.001-04:00

It's going to be quiet here for a little while. I haven't yet learned how to both live life fully and write about it at the same time, and right now the former is getting precedence. I'll probably be around visiting, but, at the moment, life is consuming all my creative energy.

What's blooming...

2010-05-26T18:43:00.001-04:00

This morning's watering stroll was such a joy. It was sunny and early hot...which means, tender like early morning, with the prophecy of ninety-at-noon. I laugh to put this as my first photo, because for years I didn't like Stella D'Oro's. Then, suddenly, last summer I did! Now we have them everywhere. Anything that's everblooming will eventually win you over, I think.

Here is Iron Cross oxalis next to Dusty Miller. We have five types of oxalis; they're all very dear to my heart as they're so gnomish.

Here they are shown with their own striking leaves:

There are ten times more corms each fall than the preceding spring...another desirable plant trait! I dig them in the fall, but this spring, the extras that I didn't dig grew, anyway. I love that. Surprise!

This photo, I call Surprised by Sage. Another surprise!

I had no idea that common sage flowers were so lovely when I planted it last summer. It didn't bloom until last week, and now I'm thinking I'll gather seeds and make an entire bed of it. Funny how you're supposed to pinch back most of the herbal flowers to gain leaves, but they are some of the prettiest, so I rarely do.

This hydrangea is Endless Summer Nikko Blue (they said). But we forgot to put on his coffee grounds. They're on there now, so we'll see what happens. He was just a little three-inch eBay starter plant last summer, and now he's a shrub. Very rewarding, but we do have to get those blooms blue.

The ligustrum hedge is in bloom;
the aroma is wonderful on a warm breeze.
It intermingles with the scent of the honeysuckle at the woods' edge.

And we're thinking the Shasta daisies will open next week. It seems a little early, but they're so welcome. Particularly since we're grateful that this patch didn't get chomped by deer. Doesn't it look ready to burst open?

Two more things, then I have to go take dinner out of the oven...

This is our second year planting Cotton Candy petunias, and we just love them, but I didn't notice that darker pink center until I took this photo to show to you. Blogging makes you see more.

I grow cleome because my grandmother did. They even grew up between the cracks in her sidewalk. And my mother likes them.

That leaf in the background is an elephant ear in a pot. It's our first year growing those. We had to buy a package of three bulbs, though we only needed one, so when our Asian neighbor stopped by, we asked if she would like the remaining bulbs, and she said...they EAT them! The bulbs! She said that they cook them rather like we do potatoes. So she took them, but I don't know if they'll ever be planted.

__________________

(Bunnyfluffer's yellow flowers really needed water!)

Mrs. Tittlemouse's Madcap Cousin

2010-05-25T14:21:00.001-04:00

This is in response to Mrs. Tittlemouse and a Song of Ascents at Lanier's Books.

It struck me as humorous that, on housekeeping days, we each had a mouse tale from childhood in our minds, guiding our actions...but tales with opposite intent!

Little Brown Mouse's red paper rose and cheerful blue dress still make me smile.

(Little Mouse Dances written by Elizabeth Upham,

as published in The New More Friends and Neighbors, 1952.)

In Search of Cozy

2010-05-16T17:59:00.002-04:00

Many people dream of summer in the wintertime. I confess that I reach back (or ahead) toward winter at some point every summer. It usually happens in July. This year, it's happening in May.

Perhaps it's because, in April, I dragged out everything I own that's pink. And now I'm having a backlash...craving hearth colors.

Even snowmen...

Even Christmas!

The best place to find hearth-warmth is in quilt stores, so I've been poring through old copies of The Country Register and visiting new quilt stores across Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania...with a few antique stores thrown in.

Last week's quilt store, Wilson's in Hagerstown, Maryland, boldly proclaims itself to be "your favorite quilt store" and "the prettiest quilt store in western Maryland" (they might also have said the sweetest staff). It has reason to boast.

Searching for hardwood floors and calico-garbed bunnies hanging from doorknobs, I found a carpeted, well-lit former brick ranch, stocked with a good mix of modern, traditional, and cozy. I lurked in the homespun section, though, soaking it in, taking a few pics, and getting ideas.

What came home with me? A bunny wall hanging...see?

It's a springtime project, but not pink! and a vintage sweetpea bowl from Rocky Ridge Collectibles, just up the road, to celebrate pink...in April.

Tomorrow, it's going to be raining. We can't garden, anyway, soooo...it's off to explore more Country Register stores, this time in West Virginia, I think.

______________

(All quilt store photos kind compliments of Wilson's Quilt Shop.)

A Too Well-kept Secret

2010-05-02T11:47:00.001-04:00

Since this blog was created, there has been a statue at the top of the sidebar, always a photo that I've taken in an old garden or churchyard in our countryside roaming...one that brings me peace, and that I hope will bring peace to others. Since shortly after this blog was created, there has been a video linked to the statue image--kind of a hidden gift for anyone who was interested enough to click something that didn't say "click me."

When I was searching YouTube for a video to link to the current statue--which is of the Blessed Virgin Mary and is high up on a flower-encircled church in Williamsburg, Virginia, very near the historic district--I discovered an artist whose music and videos have been both haunting me, and bringing me great peace, beauty, innocence, romance, and hope this spring. This morning, I thought perhaps the secret video was too secret--perhaps I'm the only one who is enjoying it!--and that I should point it out a little more clearly to others.

The artist is Angelina, and she began her singing career at age 10. She's now 21 and attending the New Orleans Music School (conducting), but it's the music videos that she recorded at ancient romantic, spiritual locations Europe when she was 15 that are deeply moving to me.

As the seasons unfold this year, I'm looking forward to exploring her other music: both earlier and current creations, including her Christmas recordings.

Are you not Catholic? Then I will tell another secret: the secret word from Naomi Ragen's novel, Sotah:

Sift.

Take the beauty and leave aside the doctrines that she strongly believes, but that you do not.

Should I tell more? In the spiritual battles I'm fighting, bitterness and anger toward God--both of which I've not experienced much in my life up till now--are my greatest encroaching enemies. These videos, along with carefully chosen books, soften my heart and spirit...keep them soft...not so soft that I can call them "open to the Lord," but soft enough that I can keep alive a hidden hope--hidden from the enemy!--that when He does turn a kind face to me once again, I won't be too stone-like to melt and respond. I still love Him. I know that we're supposed to be living, soft, human, touchable, not hard, cold, with a bitter twist to the mouth, and eyes that can't receive or interact because the heart closed them when it had to close. Books, music, websites, gardens, and music videos--all filled with beauty, goodness, and truth--keep my spirit alive, heart supple, and hopefully, mouth tender and eyes sensitive. (Aside: This is not at all a cry for sympathy. We have very good days, here. But, as with many people, beneath the surface, there have been, for several years, rather severe spiritual trials.)

You may watch here the video of peace that started me on this discovery:

or, since now you're in on the secret (smile), simply click the statue of the Blessed Virgin in the sidebar before you leave.

______________________

For Donna: A Miss Rumphius Quilt

2010-04-30T23:13:00.001-04:00

For several years I've been wanting to make a cottage-y, blue-and-white summer quilt for my mother, so when I stumbled across Deb's Miss Rumphius book recommendation, ordered the book from the library, and found that the character was very like my mother--and she had a blue-and-white quilt!--we decided to make a Miss Rumphius quilt for my mother's room.

First we were going to compose the blue squares of four triangles as shown in the book, then we were going to use just two triangles, and finally we decided that we wanted this quilt to be ultra-simple--fresh and clean as a sea breeze--so we settled on single-fabric squares, and made the squares oversized at eleven inches in order to veer away from a tighter checkerboard look and more toward a "billowy-white-cloud-on-a-blue-summer-sky" effect.

(A few squares laid out as a sample)

I do love elaborate quilts, and have made feathered stars, tumbling blocks, et cetera, but this one we want to be super-homey and comfy...one that you wouldn't hesitate to wrap around you before plopping down in a chair with popcorn, then drag with you across the floor to bed.

After much discussion, we decided (for now!) not to paint her bedroom furniture white, but since the sea and a ship painting are key to the book's plot, we do plan to mat and reframe what we call the "marshmallow dream ship painting" (shown in the above photo), and hang it over her headboard.

Then she'll be able to sail away on sweet dreams!

(From A Child's Garden of Verses, Robert Louis Stevenson. Illustrated by Tasha Tudor.)

(Deb: Sincere thanks for your 2006 comment on

Lanier's Garden Reading post.

Miss Rumphius has become a household name.

What a lovely story!)

_______________

Wordless: Purple and Pink

2010-04-18T12:36:00.001-04:00

Suddenly Summer

2010-04-08T16:04:00.001-04:00

Ninety degrees! In early April? I groaned.

Then it arrived.

And brought so many delicious summer thoughts with it.

One being Sun Tea.

It delights me that you can still buy a Mt. Olive glass gallon jar of pickles for $3.82 at Sam's Club. (One year, I know I'll arrive and they will have switched to plastic like everyone else. For now, it's sweetly nostalgic...probably the same jars my grandmother used.)

And the next day, make Mint Raspberry Zinger Sun Tea in the window.

And gaze, summer-struck, at the sepia impressionist painting

it makes of the trees in your backyard...

What to do with all the pickles, you ask?

You can make heaps of potato salad all summer, as we do.

Or chase your friends and neighbors with baggies of pickles each spring, along with those spadefuls of surplus shasta daisies. They really do eventually grow accustomed to such behavior. But even if they don't, the real estate market being at a standstill, they're captive recipients of your springtime generosity. :-)

Today's sun tea recipe:

1 glass gallon Mt. Olive pickle jar from Sam's Club

(Last year's sun tea jars are now full of seashells. These jars are also great for holding pillar candles out on the deck all summer.)

1 gallon distilled water

5 Lipton decaf tea bags

3 Celestial Seasonings Raspberry Zinger tea bags

2 sprigs of mint leaves plucked from the pot on the deck

Place all ingredients in glass jar.

Set in sunny window or outside for 3 to 5 hours.

Sweeten as desired while still warm,

then serve over ice, garnished with additional mint sprigs.

Click HERE for some great sun tea combo ideas.

_________

Sea of Flowers

2010-04-04T05:38:00.001-04:00

I'd love to say that this is our garden in early April.

Would that it looked like this at the end of June!

Alas! It's merely one of the nurseries that most inspires us:

Strange's in Richmond, Virginia.

Of this striking crowd,

the dark red marigolds came home with us.

But though the geraniums were lovely,

we have our own supply from the windowsill this year.

Not that theirs aren't fuller...

Theirs:

Ours:

But we're attached to ours,

having come through this winter together.

I always take photos of caladium, because I can't grow them.

The red ones look like watermelon,

and the white ones like balloons.

And doesn't this look like it's made of paper?

The hanging bougainvillea were tempting,

but pricey.

We'll probably hold out for petunia baskets.

This hibiscus almost came home with us. Isn't this a wonderful color?

So did this fairy:

And a few of these colored mushrooms:

But the cart was already full of flowers

and spring bulbs,

and one has to stop somewhere.

Doesn't one?

One does...

right?

__________________

Happy Easter!

Cry of the Gulls

2010-02-27T15:13:00.007-05:00

And, oh, the cry of the seagulls!

Have you heard it?

Can you remember?

(C.S. Lewis, near Cair Paravel,

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe)

Winter's shore calls more fiercely than does summer's.

The call is rougher, more rugged, real.

Gulls' cries pierce the cold, salty air.

Fishermen,
soberly intent on their lines,
scatter themselves along the surf's edge.

Tire-tracks of pickup trucks weave across the sand.

The sea colors are intense,

and our eyes eagerly consume their depths.

Dusk is rather deserted...

sunsets quietly blaze over the sound.

How nature's show goes on

whether or not there's anyone to watch!

Every day! Every day! whether we're there or not!

Repeatedly to mind comes Lucy Maud Montgomery,

describing the sea as "creaming and shimmering."

I ponder whether these seafoam hues

would translate well to paint colors:

or if they're best left to enjoy at the shore.

The few walkers are of the hardier type,

and are a pleasure to meet.

We walk and talk and sit,

gaze at sea, gaze at sky,

gather shells and driftwood,

and make beach art.

And find much art already made by nature.

_______________________

Forest Fantasia

2010-02-23T16:44:00.001-05:00

I come to acrylic painting from a needlework background. A desire to use appealing needlework patterns on surfaces other than cloth or canvas inspires me to go freestyle! To break out of squares. I've always considered my needlework to be rather like paint-by-number with thread. So it's time to cast aside the training wheels! Though I do adore the look of needlework in its own right.

This painting is, primarily, an effort to become familiar with how my acrylic paints, a Christmas gift, handle. I plan to paint ten to fifteen 9"x12" watercolor sheets like this before attempting anything serious that might actually get hung on a wall.

So the inspiration for this, my second painting since, probably, high school art class, comes from three needlework patterns. The first is a Prairie Schooler pattern called In The Woods.

I love the running creatures, as they are often seen in medieval work, and drew my own rabbit stencil freehand while looking at this rabbit. I want to practice animals like these because I hope to paint them on some wooden cheeseboxes that I have...see how you have to learn to paint to move these creatures from aida cloth to wood?

The second inspiration is a pattern in a beautiful knitting book called Handknit Holidays:

I love the foursquare design, and you'll recognize the tulip-like flowers topped by stamen dots. But, again, I created my own stencils freehand. This is important to me, because I want to learn to draw what I see, altering size and design as I please. And I made my foursquare design loosely, rather than strictly, symmetrical.

The final inspiration is Beth Russell's needlepoint translation of William Morris' tapestry, The Woodpecker:

Here is William Morris' original:

Perhaps it's not very obvious that this is, besides the source for the acanthus leaves, the inspiration for the color pallette! I need much practice in mixing colors. His colors, especially the teals, are much more muted and silvery than mine. But one has to start somewhere.

William Morris has become a passion! Instead of moving on to new subjects, I'm inclined to keep working from his tapestries and those of his school, until their influence is recognizable. I love that his passion was beauty. In addition to tapestry and wallpaper design, he was also a poet and author...a favorite of C.S. Lewis'. The latter said this about Morris' The Well at the World's End:

Beginning to reread The Well at the World's End. I was anxious to see whether the old spell still worked. It does--rather too well. This going back to books read at that age is humiliating: one keeps on tracing what are now quite big things in one's mental outfit to curiously small sources. I wondered how much even of my feeling for external nature comes out of the brief convincing little descriptions of mountains and woods in this book. (Diary, at Magdalen, July 4, 1926)

Click HERE to see the beautiful 1896 Kelmscott edition of this book, or to browse William Morris' works.

All in all, I think my little painting looks more like Jo Sonja folk art than William Morris tapestry, but it's a start.

Chasing away the bogies...

2010-02-11T18:18:00.001-05:00

We're snowed up good and tight here.

The piles beside the driveway are as tall as I am.

The icicles hanging from our roof are half that high.

The highways are single-lane.

Our snowfalls have broken all records for this area.

We survived a 13-hour power outage.

We're out of driveway salt...

Woo-hoo! A real winter!!!! :-)

(Squirrel tracks in the dusk...and those little sticks just showing through the snow, to the right of the Bradford pear, are the top of our waist-high hedge.)

It's a good time to stay indoors and paint...

(Forest Fantasia. More on this later.)

In Praise of Winter

2010-01-30T16:49:00.003-05:00

I, singularly moved

To love the lovely that are not beloved,

Of all the Seasons, most

Love Winter...

and to trace

The sense of the Trophonian pallor on her face.

It is not death, but plenitude of peace.

--Coventry Patmore (1823-1896)

Snowy Eyrie

2010-01-27T15:13:00.003-05:00

Mostly sunny, they said, so we headed for the mountains, me with photographic dreams of peaks against blue skies. A few miles up the road, however, we looked at each other....clouds were building.

When we saw a snow squall over the distant range...

I forgave and forgot all. Snow surpasses sunshine!

We turned toward the hills and started winding through woods and past mountain streams.

Round and round.

Higher and higher.

And finally arrived at Wintergreen ski resort.

The only snow was man-made and on the slopes...

unless you count that which was falling.

The lodge was decorated with branches and owls, lights, lanterns, and greenery.

We sat for awhile by a fire.

Then took a walk outdoors.

We weren't there to ski, however.

This was mother-and-daughter's day out.

We don't put our faces on the internet, but I do wish I could show you my mother. She's beautiful!

Think of a cross between Isabella Rossellini and Paula Deen.

Alas that I favor my father! :-)

Finally, a bit frozen (it was 15 degrees colder up there than in the valley), we headed for lunch at The Edge.

Doesn't that look like an Eyrie?

There were 180 degree views out the windows, and this was what we saw from our booth:

It was toasty warm inside.

We ordered Irish coffee to shake off the chill, then nachos, and salad. Chatter and laughter. Couples in ski gear collapsing against each other in contented exhaustion. Parka-clad children with rosy noses drinking hot chocolate, whipped cream around their mouths. Lone, older, male, veteran skiers eating in grim, determined silence. The latter would hardly look at you; they would never smile. Years ago they became one with the mountain.

We made a pact to return for lunch once during each season this year.

Then strolled back to the lodge.

And headed home in the dark.

___________

Still, still, still...

2010-01-24T16:10:00.002-05:00

In winter silence is visible:

the snow is silence become visible.

The space between heaven and earth is occupied by silence;

heaven and earth are merely the edge of the snowy silence.

Snowflakes meet in the air

and fall together on to the earth,

which is already white in the silence.

Silence meeting silence.

People stand silent on the side of the street.

Human language is covered by the snow of silence.

What remains of man is his body

standing in the snow like a milestone of silence.

People stand still and silence moves between them.

Max Picard

The World of Silence

Quiet January...

2010-01-19T04:42:00.001-05:00

I adore January.

Quiet, long days. A blissfully long month.

A sense of timelessness.

Abundant time for painting, reading magazines, listening to good music...

I'm actually simply painting the frames of the two huge (31"x43") oil paintings shown above...a great find at a local antique store. The original frame color is shown on the right--shabby chic gone awry, I think. The new look is on the left, though there are still many finishing touches to be added...possibly an antiquing glaze, or gilding the second white border.

Painting is done to the following music:

to my family's dismay... :-)

I took my time leisurely inscribing the books we received for Christmas.

Book are inscribed to Celtic harp...

(There are, unfortunately, no samples online for this one...

you would have to call Colonial Williamsburg...)

And I'm just now starting to flip through my December magazines.

The sense of timelessness is intensified
by flouting what the rest of the world is doing

and wallowing in lingering December richness.

(January is so not National Weight-loss Month, here,

nor Daytimer Detail...
who laid those dictates on us, anyway?)

If you've not yet discovered the BRITISH Country Living magazine, you owe yourself a treat.

(It's carried by an increasing number of Borders and Barnes & Nobles.)

Not only have none of the three Christmas trees been taken down,

but we've been adding post-season-sale ornaments to one.

Last year, one beloved tree stayed up until Easter.

And we've not been going out much this month--too lazy!--

but I did catch this image of a sunlit beech wood--taken on the fly--that I kinda like.

Whenever it comes to mind,

I've also been hunting for a poem I once had

(please pardon my French; this is from memory):

J'aime beaucoup, dit le bon Dieu,

l'oiseau qui chante sous la pluie.

Apres l'averse, je l'essuie

avec un regard de mes yeux.

(I like very much, says the good God,

the bird who sings in the rain.

After the deluge,

I will wipe him dry

with a glance from my eyes.)

____________________

Later: Here is the original...

____________________

Happy Twelfth Night!

2010-01-06T17:42:00.001-05:00

New Year's Wishes

2009-12-31T06:22:00.001-05:00

I will seek elegance rather than luxury,

refinement rather than fashion.

I will seek to be worthy more than respectable,

wealthy and not rich.

I will study hard, think quietly,

talk gently, and act frankly.

I will listen to stars and birds,

babes and sages, with an open heart.

I will bear all things cheerfully,

do all things bravely,

await occasions and hurry never.

In a word I will let

the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious

grow up through the common.

(William Ellery Channing)

To all my cyber-friends:

You have enriched my life,

and touched my heart
more than you can know.

Exchanging cyber-visits and ideas
with you
has been a delight,
for me, and for my family.

So, from my heart:
thank you for
being my friends

and brightening my life

in 2009.

May God grant you
joy and peace in 2010!

_____________

Green Christmas

2009-12-29T17:09:00.002-05:00

It was a grand morning.

The last fortnight had been cold,

but now it was perfect open weather,

almost like spring.

It would be a green Christmas.

(Elizabeth Goudge, Pilgrim's Inn)

What was it about this Christmas--each year is so different!--that led me, two days before Christmas, when I found myself with free time on my hands, to unearth an adirondack from the basement--last summer's lawn furniture!--carry it up two flights of stairs to plop it down in the sunny office window, then sit for an hour, soaking in the rays (two feet of snow on the ground; my two feet on the windowsill), gazing at trees and birds against blue skies--seven geese flew over!--and listening to Dan Gibson's Songbirds At Sunrise?

I melted. I knew I had been given a gift: a garden room from the Lord at Christmas-time. (Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights...) I spent the remainder of the day rearranging the entire room to make an indoor balcony: a strip by the window with two pillow-padded adirondacks with a tiny table for a Calamondin orange tree and iced tea between them. I removed window screens, cleaned glass, set up CD player. It would be a surprise for my family.

We've spent at least a half an hour, since, on three different days, eyes closed, seeing red behind the eyelids, feeling the heat, getting a little color in our faces, and it has, in less than a week, changed my way of thinking. I now keep a notebook by my chair to write down ideas I have when I'm in there. Clearer thought. More optimism.

That first day, I even ran out through the snow in shorts and tank top to take cuttings of Fairy Rose and Rosemary, and delighted in potting them to add to our sun room. Gardening! Two days before Christmas! Me, the "dark, rich, and heavy" Christmas traditionalist.

But this year we've had more darkness in our lives than usual.

We needed the light and the life.

Just today, I remembered how some celebrate the return and triumph of light at this time of year.

I celebrate the Light.

We'll walk in the light,

beautiful light.

Come where the dewdrops of mercy are bright.

Shine all around us by day and by night,

Jesus, the Light of the World.

(George D. Elderkin)

Suddenly it all seems right for December, after all.

In The Quiet Of A Silent Night

2009-12-24T18:19:00.001-05:00

A blessed Christmastide to you all!

We celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas,

so see you after January 6th.

May the Christ-child visit your heart and home tonight.

Snow Shadows

2009-12-21T21:57:00.001-05:00

After that grey, snowy day shown below,

the sun came out the following day, and suddenly...

Sparkles and Snow Shadows!

Who could choose a favorite

between Autumn Shadows and Snow Shadows?

I won't even try.

Doesn't this tulip poplar shadow look almost creepy?

And the cosmos that was so frivolously pink this fall,

is now sober in still-life beauty.

The river birch keeps its leaves well into winter...

a botanical print on a striped background--very Waverly!

Sparkles above, as well as below!

__________________

Snow! Bliss!

2009-12-19T10:14:00.002-05:00

A shriek from Jamie brought them all out of bed at dawn the next day.

"Snow!" shrieked the twins and Sandy, tearing round the kitchen like maniacs, their mantle-like blankets flapping.

"Snow! Bliss! Rapture! Calloo! Callay!"

Snow does make some people temporarily mad, and it seemed to do so with the twins and Sandy.

Their first burst of wild spirits had not died down and they were tearing from room to room, up the stairs and into the loft and down again, shrieking madly, their flying blankets knocking over chairs and sticks and sweeping a cup off the table.

"We're sprites, we're spectres, we belong to the snow,"

they chanted, whirling through the room.

"Snow, snow, glorious snow! Wonderful, beautiful, glorious snow!"

--Olivia Fitz Roy, The House In The Hills

You guessed it. We awoke to "wonderful, beautiful, glorious snow" this December morning! What a gift!

We've not yet ventured out of doors (windy and blowing), but will be bundled up soon and out there playing. So far I've just hung tentatively out windows and the back door, in jammies, camera in hand. More photos should follow...

Luminaries: Sacks Full of Light

2009-12-15T17:40:00.001-05:00

Sometimes you're in the right place at the right time...

It was quarter-to-five. Michie Tavern General Store closes at five. We know that. And yet...

After a full day, we slipped in the door...to be greeted by a colonial-garbed woman, sweeping, and calling, "Come in! Come in!"

"You close at five, don't you?" I told more than asked her.

"Not tonight! There's a Yuletide dinner at the Tavern and we're open late. Give us a few minutes, then go upstairs for champagne and treats."

"Oh!" Me. Gleefully. "Really? Then I'll run outside and take a few photos in the dusk before shopping."

Then I really had time to notice the paper-bag luminaries on the old stairs, and to enjoy the details of the glowing store windows.

Luminaries! I love luminaries!

I've never made them. And I've been to many parties, but no one ever made us feel so very, very special by putting out luminaries! I was suddenly a kid in a fairy-tale. The day turned from wonderful-day-out-and-about, to magical-night-outside-of-time-and-space. Does this happen to you? I can't even describe it.

Back inside, I wandered up the stairs in a happy glow...champagne and chocolates!

"Why don't we have champagne at home?" I pondered. Would it be the same? Maybe if we had luminaries?

The many beautifully-decorated Christmas trees glowed softly in the old, historic building.

Homey quilts draped the walls.

I lingered near a candlelit window gazing at the forested hills in the blue dusk.

Outside of time and space...

Later we wandered up the hill toward the tavern. (There were dinner tickets left, they said, encouragingly, but we were in no way dressed for an event).

More luminaries! Leading the way up the wooded hill to a log cabin, windows aglow.

At the tavern itself: a cloaked figure at the gatehouse! a musician, half-hidden on the balcony, softly strumming a period instrument.

Dinner dress or no, I think I would have turned away, just to keep the dream alive, just to keep new impressions from overlaying these.

In Heaven, I will have such a dinner! You are invited. In the meantime, now that we know, next year we might return prepared for Michie Tavern's Yuletide Dinners...prepared for magic...or maybe...maybe I'll just leave it as one of those dreams on the blurred edge of reality.

_______________

Winter Lull...

2009-12-07T13:02:00.001-05:00

My network card died last week.
And I find myself

with so many free hours on my hands--

hours (in December!) to...

sit talking with family,

craft and hang special decorations,

try a new appetizer recipe or two--

that I also find myself not in a hurry

to replace the card right now

(though I so enjoy this blogging community!).

There will, then, be a blogging lull...

I don't know when I'll be back

(this is typed from another's pc...).

If it's after the holidays...

A Merry Christmas to you!

(Photos from last week at Colonial Williamsburg.)

The Spirit of Colour

2009-12-02T15:41:00.000-05:00

All the tintings of winter woods

are extremely delicate and elusive.

When the brief afternoon wanes

and the sun just touches the tops of the hills,

there seems to be all over the woods

an abundance, not of colour,

but of the spirit of colour.

Lucy Maud Montgomery here describes winter-white, snow-laden woods, but at December's birth, when colors fade and we search deeply to ferret out merely memories of color, I savor these lines.

We seek the Spirit of Colour.

Perhaps it is the soft-spun gold of a woolly, sheep-like cluster of roadside weeds.

Or the dull blue flash of junipers that draws one over to investigate...and not without reward!

I truly love these subtle colors...another favorite being the dusky-soft green of eastern pine needles.

We cheat just a little by seeking vivid color, not its spirit, in the windowbox of the cafe where we stop for lunch.

and laugh at Mr. Fox's Hunt Breakfast on Christmas Day, that hangs tableside while we dine.

then return to our own hunt...

for nature's elusive and wild Spirit of Colour.

Window Views

2009-12-02T14:52:00.000-05:00

Greetings. If you're here for Window Views...and Doors, Too! then please click HERE.

I've posted my Windows over at my Christmas blog this week.

Happy Advent!

C.S. Lewis: 111 Beautiful Years

2009-11-29T11:40:00.001-05:00

Like so many, to me C.S. Lewis is not just another favorite author, but is family. Okay, different than family. Better, even. Another category. A rock. A warm place. A stronghold. One of my people. One of those people who, just the thought of what they are pulls you through, gives you strength, hope, belief. Someone to whom you instinctively hang onto tightly from a place so deep inside that you can't get there yourself.

It's just good somehow, and right, that his birthday this year should fall on the first Sunday of Advent, this man who is a gift from Jesus.

Memories of hours spent poring through his books still give me pleasure. His are the only diaries and letters I've ever sat down and read cover-to-cover. Pure delight.

Every tale his brother or friends tell about him is more endearing than the last. He's quirky, whimsical, a little comical, but with deadly wit and intellect. You let down your guard, then wish you hadn't, then are glad you did.

As a child, I cut my spiritual teeth on his Narnian Chronicles and grew through the years into his more serious works, but still see something new each time I read through the Chronicles.

I just love this man and give special thanks for him today. He's Good People.

______________________

A Joyful Thanksgiving To You!

2009-11-25T22:42:00.000-05:00

For the fruit upon the tree,

for the birds that sing of thee,

For the earth in beauty dressed,

father, mother, and the rest,

For thy precious, loving care,

for thy bounty ev'rywhere.

Father, we thank thee! Father, we thank thee!

Father in Heaven, we thank thee!

--Larry Nickels

Stormy Weather and Magic Mountains

2009-11-15T13:39:00.000-05:00

Simmering stews, crackling roasts,

and mounds of carbohydrates

that can be guiltlessly indulged in after invigorating days outdoors...

Thus begins a chapter in Cold-Weather Cooking, my all-time favorite and a totally delightful cookbook.

Perhaps this seems a magical book to me because I found it in on a cozy, rainy day in a seemingly-forgotten attic in darkly-mystical and tragic Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

But it has as much to do with the intriguing recipes, romantic chapter titles, and Ms. Chase's personal tales interwoven with all.

So Long Summer, the first chapter about harvest foods, begins the culinary adventure that carries one through:

Finger Foods for Frosty Weather

Thinking Thanksgiving (Parts I and II)

Soups For The Solstice

December Dazzle

Holiday Cheer

Cold-weather Comforts

Stormy Weather and Magical Mountains

The Brumal Fire of the Viands (hearthside grilling)

Piscean Platters

The Tease of Spring

and culminates in Easter Feasts. If there's a month with a chill in the air, she has recipes to suit. So Long Summer, for instance, includes harvest-y heart-warmers like Nantucket Tomato Soup, Potato Caesar Salad, Pumpkin-Prosciutto-and-Parmesan Lasagne, Autumn Pork Roast, and Warm Tomato Pie.

She also includes menus for special moments:

and other than being an excellent cook, is an outstanding writer:

This is a cookbook that I simply love to sit down and read, especially this time of year. There are personal stories at the start of each recipe that make you truly feel that you're entering into her experience by concocting the recipe:

And, lastly, it's one of the prettiest cookbooks that I own, and it doesn't even contain any photographs.

(Note: I'm not the type of cook who keeps on-hand gourmet staples such as capers and shitakes, so, unless it's someone's birthday dinner or a holiday, we often make substitutions, but the recipes still turn out delicious.)

________________________

For anyone suffering...

2009-11-15T12:04:00.000-05:00

In the middle of the night, I pulled an old book from the shelf and discovered this poem. It's lengthy, but I found it deeply moving, and we read it for our devotional time this morning.

From 'The Disciples'

by Harriet Eleanor Hamilton-King (b. 1840)

WE suffer. Why we suffer,—that is hid

With God’s foreknowledge in the clouds of Heaven.

The first book written sends that human cry

Out of the clear Chaldean pasture-lands

Down forty centuries; and no answer yet

Is found, nor will be found, while yet we live

In limitations of Humanity.

But yet one thought has often stayed by me

In the night-watches, which has brought at least

The patience for the hour, and made the pain

No more a burden which I groaned to leave,

But something precious which I feared to lose.

—How shall I show it, but by parables?

The sculptor, with his Psyche’s wings half-hewn

May close his eyes in weariness, and wake

To meet the white cold clay of his ideal

Flushed into beating life, and singing down

The ways of Paradise. The husbandman

May leave the golden fruitage of his groves

Ungarnered, and upon the Tree of Life

Will find a richer harvest waiting him.

The soldier dying thinks upon his bride,

And knows his arms shall never clasp her more,

Until he first the face of his unborn child

Behold in heaven: for each and all of life,

In every phase of action, love, and joy,

There is fulfilment only otherwhere.—

But if, impatient, thou let slip thy cross,

Thou wilt not find it in this world again,

Nor in another; here, and here alone

Is given thee to suffer for God’s sake.

In other worlds we shall more perfectly

Serve Him and love Him, praise Him, work for Him,

Grow near and nearer Him with all delight;

But then we shall not any more be called

To suffer, which is our appointment here.

Canst thou not suffer then one hour,—or two?

If He should call thee from thy cross to-day,

Saying, It is finished!—that hard cross of thine

From which thou prayest for deliverance,

Thinkest thou not some passion of regret

Would overcome thee? Thou wouldst say, ‘So soon?

Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile

More patiently;—I have not yet praised God.’

And He might answer to thee,—‘Never more.

All pain is done with.’ Whensoe’er it comes,

That summons that we look for, it will seem

Soon, yea too soon. Let us take heed in time

That God may now be glorified in us;

And while we suffer, let us set our souls

To suffer perfectly: since this alone,

The suffering, which is this world’s special grace,

May here be perfected and left behind.

—But in obedience and humility;—

Waiting on God’s hand, not forestalling it.

Seek not to snatch presumptuously the palm

By self-election; poison not thy wine

With bitter herbs if He has made it sweet;

Nor rob God’s treasuries because the key

Is easy to be turned by mortal hands.

The gifts of birth, death, genius, suffering,

Are all for His hand only to bestow.

Receive thy portion, and be satisfied.

Who crowns himself a king is not the more

Royal; nor he who mars himself with stripes

The more partaker of the Cross of Christ.

But if Himself He come to thee, and stand

Beside thee, gazing down on thee with eyes

That smile, and suffer; that will smite thy heart,

With their own pity, to a passionate peace;

And reach to thee Himself the Holy Cup

(With all its wreathen stems of passion-flowers

And quivering sparkles of the ruby stars),

Pallid and royal, saying ‘Drink with Me’;

Wilt thou refuse? Nay, not for Paradise!

The pale brow will compel thee, the pure hands

Will minister unto thee; thou shalt take

Of that communion through the solemn depths

Of the dark waters of thine agony,

With heart that praises Him, that yearns to Him

The closer through that hour. Hold fast His hand,

Though the nails pierce thine too! take only care

Lest one drop of the sacramental wine

Be spilled, of that which ever shall unite

Thee, soul and body to thy living Lord!

Therefore gird up thyself, and come, to stand

Unflinching under the unfaltering hand,

That waits to prove thee to the uttermost.

It were not hard to suffer by His hand,

If thou couldst see His face;—but in the dark!

That is the one last trial:—be it so.

Christ was forsaken, so must thou be too:

How couldst thou suffer but in seeming, else?

Thou wilt not see the face nor feel the hand,

Only the cruel crushing of the feet,

When through the bitter night the Lord comes down

To tread the winepress.—Not by sight, but faith,

Endure, endure,—be faithful to the end!

Window Views: Lamb and Flowers

2009-11-10T16:51:00.000-05:00

These are a few of my favorite windows from La Plata United Methodist Church in La Plata, Maryland.

I was trying to photograph the narthex lamb through the glass front doors, when they kindly let me in to take photos.

The following shows the sanctuary and less than half of the stained glass windows.

The rose window on the church front:

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Window Views and Doors, Too! is a photo meme hosted by

Mary the Teach.

This Morning's Gift

2009-11-06T11:09:00.000-05:00

We think it must have been deer that just beat the stuffings out of our magnolia last night. I've read that stags will attack trees and shrubbery--even deck posts--in the fall, but we've never had it happen. The tree, however, only lost a few branches at ground level. It will be fine.

This tree is not old enough that I would cut branches for an indoor arrangement, but since it was an act of nature...

This is the guy who, we think, caused all the trouble:

We saw him in the yard this summer, in the wee hours one moonlit night when we happened to be up and moongazing. He was about twice the size of any deer we've seen; he looked rather like a caribou. We watched as he slowly grazed his way across our yard--at that time only harmlessly munching grass--then disappeared into the shadows.

Magnolia branch arrangements are lovely and it's rare when we have occasion to make arrangements with sizeable branches of any type. Last spring, we visited a botanical garden, and I was awestruck that in the middle of the atrium, a woman was standing on a ladder making a flower arrangement using ten-to-twelve foot cherry and rain-tree branches. It was magnificent. My little magnolia arrangement takes me back to that time. What luxury! Who has blooming ten-foot cherry branches to spare? It was beautiful. Sylvan.

Later: A neighbor said that stags do this in order to mark their territory. That just about made me cry. When we first moved here, the land was pretty scraped off and not even a bird would land around our house. We planted many trees and shrubs and put out water to bring the wildlife back around our house, to make it feel like an extension of the forest, both to the creatures and to us. Now, a number of years later, a stag thinks this is his turf, not ours. :-) He thinks that magnolia from Lowe's is his, too. I'm very pleased.

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Bee Hug

2009-11-05T12:20:00.000-05:00

The cosmos in our yard are not only blooming, but are covered with bees, as though it were springtime.

This little bee I like best because he looks like he's hugging the flower.

This one is also a favorite, because he's hunched up like a bunny with its ears laid back:

Did you notice all the holes eaten in the pink petals? This little green guy and his chums are responsible for that.

Still blooming here--we've had no frost--are geraniums:

and lavender (a few sprigs):

fairy rose:

and snapdragons!

In the crape myrtle, a nest that held the robins who ate all our still-green and hard-as-a-rock holly berries this spring, is now exposed.

Our burning bush is finally starting to turn fire-red:

And fallen leaves are caught in the ligustrum hedge:

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Window Views: Fisherman's Wharf

2009-11-05T11:07:00.000-05:00

These are views out the window of Fisherman's Wharf restaurant in Wanchese, North Carolina.

Wanchese is seafood authenticity: a small, rough-around-the-edges, old fishing village on Roanoke Island.

Their primary industry has, for over a century, been commercial fishing.

Locals, tourists-in-the-know, and seabirds meet the homecoming boats, hoping to carry off part of the catch.

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Window Views and Doors, Too! is a photo meme hosted by

Mary the Teach.

All Saints' Day

2009-11-01T11:12:00.000-05:00

All Saints' Eve

2009-10-31T21:05:00.000-04:00

(The Resurrection, by Matthias Grunewald, 1515 a.d.)

I'm one of those who is glad when H*alloween passes. October is one of my favorite autumnal months, and I...well...I truly detest turning around in stores all month, and seeing big spiders and melting rubber faces, and hearing ghastly recorded moans. I hate that I have to put my potted plants in the garage for the night. Being creative, I guess I hate d*estruction. Loving life, I hate d*eath culture.

But it's more than that. I love All Saints' Day. And the following day, All Souls', when I especially remember my family and friends who have been "gathered to their people." When I drive past a cemetary, rather than thinking of skeletons and ghouls, I always envision the Last Day: all those graves popping open and people's beloved grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends leaping forth, bursting with life and joy...so different than H*alloween's gruesome imagery. Several of my dearly beloved grandparents are in graves. Some of my aunts and uncles. A few very dear friends. I can hardly wait for the graves to open. They contain a good deal of my joy.

But back to All Saints'. I'm deeply grateful to:

Saint Augustin (for his unparalled clarity of vision and relentless pursuit of truth, and for showing me that there really is more than historico-grammatical meaning in Scripture...he opened another world)

Saint Teresa of Avila (for helping me to understand my prayer life)

Saint John of the Cross (for teaching me to wait patiently during dark times)

Saint Therese of Lisieux (for showing me purity, simplicity, and how deep can be a childlike love of Jesus)

Oh, goodness, this could get lengthy. These people really are deep in my heart...family in the Kingdom...

Saint John the Apostle (his words are like poetry, are cleansing just to speak aloud, and have unfathomable depths)

Saint James the Just (for pulling me through one of the hardest times of my life...my parents' divorce back in my teens. I've never forgotten how his words were a lifeline.)

And more recently, Mother Teresa (whose words give me strength to love when it seems impossible, and whose beautiful humility humbles me. Her words imparted grace to me just last evening when I greatly needed it.).

The light moves me, and the darkness only does so when He's there. (Incidentally, I'm not one who minds if people want to dress their child up as S*uperman. We saw some really cute costumed children out-and-about this week, and laughed with them in their fun. This is not about what others do, it's personal preference.)

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For all the Saints who from their labors rest

Who Thee, O Lord, before the world confessed,

Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest,

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

(St. Therese of Lisieux when a child)

Gettysburg...A Place of Peace

2009-10-26T18:19:00.000-04:00

We've been visiting Gettysburg, Pennsylvania for about fifteen years. But this fall, for some reason, we have repeatedly been drawn to spending much of our free time simply walking there.

So, when last week, I had autumn leaf envy --

You know, it's hard to look at all those blogs from up north, when your own trees are still about seventy percent green. My internal seasonal clock is set to New England time, I suppose, because I always expect the fall colors to be peak around the end of September. Here it is the last week of October and, in the valleys, we're still about fifty/fifty. On the mountain tops, there are streaks of solid bronze, but still --

Last week when I had autumn leaf envy, and we jumped in the car planning to decide exactly where we were going once we were on the highway, I said, "Drive north! Drive north until we see color!"

We found color lurking just around the Mason-Dixon line, and we continued further northward into Gettysburg.

In our early years at Gettysburg, we focused on history. Now, though we still read a monument or two as we walk, we visit mostly to enjoy nature on and around the beautiful battlefield. And it is beautiful. And peaceful! What an anomaly that a place so famed for war holds such indescribable peace. As a favorite author once wrote, the peace "comes up from the ground and down from the heavens."

This time we stopped the car when we spotted a beautiful sycamore tree.

Without discussion, this was where we started walking for the day, and looking for nature's treasures.

The area seemed the epitome of autumn woodsiness.

Upon closer inspection, we saw a rabbit in the sycamore's bark pattern:

Looking overhead nearby, we learned that gingko trees bear fruit. These look wrinkled like English walnuts, but they're actually rather soft and rubbery to the touch.

Up the path a ways, we found a gnome's hole in the base of a tree:

There was another gnome's hole in a tree several yards away, this time with a pile of acorns at the door. We surmised that the acorns had actually dropped through the tree from a squirrel's stash higher up.

Along a split-rail fence, Michaelmas daisies and golden rod were in bloom.

As I stood taking photos, a monarch butterfly lighted on the flowers.

Further along the fence, Virginia Creeper made a bright red splash.

There can't be anything much more foolish than standing under a black walnut tree in the fall, shooting photos up into the branches, but I can never resist.

There were wild onions growing beside a rock. With the raindrops on them, they looked like fiber optics.

We found a cluster of white asters growing in the grass.

And the glowing yellow for which I had been longing.

When dusk arrived, we drove into town. There the beauty was also in the details,

and the maples vied with the streetlamps for the softest glow.

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Window Views: Baby Tree Frog

2009-10-22T11:53:00.000-04:00

Looking out our kitchen window...

This little guy was on the outside

of our kitchen window in the springtime.

He was about the size of my thumbnail.

We thought he was adorable.

Especially the expectant eyes of youth,

And his suction-cup toes.

Thank you for visiting!

Window Views is hosted by Mary the Teach.

Click HERE to see more Window Views And Doors, Too! from around the globe.

Oh, Beautiful Rainy Day in the Garden! Come See!

2009-10-16T13:45:00.000-04:00

There's a light drizzle. You'll find me out in the garden. Camera in hand at first, in love with little rain droplets on the plants (just look at those rain bridges above). Then, later, gardening. Our garden is never more lovely than in the rain, when the flowers soak in moisture through every pore, and bow their heads in content in this cool day of rest and refreshment.

What is cuter than a cluster of half-grown, Husky cherry tomatoes adorned with raindrops? These delight me.

Or the bizarre leaf formation of spurge, covered with the same?

One of the Better Boy tomato plants sprawled over onto our garden bench this summer and still bears green tomatoes. They probably won't ripen at this point, but will be sliced, dredged in flour, and fried. Mmmmm...

The known home of gnomes, pink wood sorrel is cute with or without raindrops.

The forsythia at the side of our house is starting to turn red. I notice in the photo what I didn't see in person: next spring's buds hugging closely to the branch. Faithful promise. Father, I praise You.

It seems that, out in the yard, not our cultured plants, but the stray, volunteer seedlings wear their raindrops best. Here is a tiny maple tree that sprung up in a pot of Elijah blue fescue:

In the mulch around a young tulip poplar, several pink cosmos plants surprised us this spring. Cosmos along the highway always seems to bloom in midsummer. Ours is always an October pleasure. These gracefully droop their heads in the rain.

Blossoms intertwine with nearly-bare tulip poplar branches, combining to give a spring-like cherry blossom effect:

But I came out here with another purpose. An autumn tradition began about ten years ago, when I first discovered, to my delight, that geraniums could so simply be propagated by:

1. clipping a two-to-three inch branch,

2. removing leaves from the lowest inch,

3. clipping off any flowers or buds so that all the energy may go towards rooting,

4. tucking the lowest inch into a pot of soil...no rooting hormone or anything!

5. keeping them moist, and in a sunny window, until they gain good growth,

6. then watering sparingly, as usual with mature geraniums (and pinch their tips, once well-established, to make them branch).

The tradition? Each fall, before the first frost, we bring in several clippings from each of our beloved geranium colors (geraniums are a huge favorite here), and have a joyful, winter window-full of color. Sometimes they don't bloom until Valentine's Day--wonderful Valentine reds and pinks! This year, I'm bringing them in a bit sooner, hoping for bright Patriot red blooms by Christmas.

Carefully selected branch tips are tucked into Grandma's old red-and-white enamel pan for luck. Everything she touched seemed to grow! They won't dare fail if she's involved.

Back inside, Laundry Room becomes Potting Room. Snubby, the lop-ear (in the background), pretends not to be watching for stray leaves to munch.

One-by-one, these dear little sprigs get tucked tidily into their pots.

Once on the windowsill, they look snug and perhaps a bit smug: they know they won't feel this winter's winds. They'll be watching, from the toasty-warm side of the glass panes, the birds outside at this winter's feeder.

The blooms clipped off the cuttings make a nice afternoon snack for Snubby.

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Window Views: Kid Outside A Candy Store

2009-10-14T15:37:00.000-04:00

My camera tends to blur photos taken at dusk

Still, the idea is captured and communicated...

We pause outside the candy store window

To watch in delight as candy apples are being made

Before entering the store to make our selections.

Anticipation is sweet.

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(Photos taken at Wythe Candy & Gourmet Shop, Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.)

Thank you for visiting!

Window Views is hosted by Mary the Teach.

Click HERE to see more Window Views from around the globe.

Lazy! Me?

2009-10-10T18:14:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm lazy this weekend. And not feeling talkative for no particular reason. So...I'll let Robert Frost speak for me. He does it better, anyway. And the stillness in his poetry suits me today. The understated quiet tone. So much so that, if you should need me between now and Monday, you can find me in the next room curled up with his book of poems...

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree

Toward heaven still,

And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep.

Middle of the night confession...

2009-10-09T05:05:00.000-04:00

The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil:

for thou art with me;

thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

thou anointest my head with oil;

my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

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(Text: Psalm 23, A Psalm of David; Photos: Antique holy cards)