Autumn Wisdom for the Equinox

                              

from The Education of Little Tree

"Fall came early to the mountains that year. First, along the rims high against the sky, the red and yellow leaves shook in a brisking wind. Frost had touched them. The sun turned amber and slanted rays through the trees and into the hollow.

                                           

"Each morning , it made its way farther down the mountain. A timid frost, not killing, but letting you know you couldn't hold back time; letting you know that the winter dying was coming.

                                              

"Fall is nature's grace time,  giving  you a chance to put things in order, for the dying. And so, when you put things in order, you sort out all you must do . . . and all you have not done. It is a time for remembering . . . and regretting, and wishing you had done some things you have not done . . . and said some things you had not said."

                               

That Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi

Teetering here at the end of summer, it seemed appropriate to have another of the quintessential summer sandwiches--while there  are good tomatoes available. We love BLTs and I love a plain tomato sandwich. Add to that pantheon, pimento cheese--and add tomato to it.

Pimento cheese is a beloved staple for sandwiches i\n the South. I understand that there are some really good prepared brands, but I've always made my own, as did my mother and grandmother.

Grated cheddar, mayonnaise (homemade, avoiding the perennial Southern debate as to whether Dukes or Hellmans is better,) a little grated onion, some Worcestershire, some Sriracha, and drained pimentos. And recently, I've begun adding cream cheese and whirring the whole mixture in the food processor.

Heavenly on crisp toast or in a sandwich. But the sandwich is elevated to the sublime with the addition of fresh tomato and torn basil.

The addition of basil was suggested years ago by a blogger friend Vagabonde, a Frenchwoman long time resident in the States. She had learned to make pimento cheese at the request of her husband and felt that the basil added that little je ne sais quoi. 

I heartily agree. And am thankful that my pots of basil are still going strong.

Silent Sunrise (Wait for It)

                                                                     

                            

                                                                    

Some Old Favorites

                                            

The Best Water In the World

We call it The Best Water in the World -- pure, chill water that flows out of the ground about a hundred and fifty feet above our house. The spring was discovered and dug out long ago by Louise Freeman when she and her family (husband and four boys) lived in the little cabin that still stands near our house. Tired of toting water uphill from the spring near the barn, Louise persevered till she found this one.

When we built our house, my husband 'headed up' the spring which had not been used for many a year -- digging back till the water was coming out over rock and gravel, then building a small concrete dam to make a catch pool for the water. Set into that wall is a pipe that runs into the reservoir. (A piece of screen covers the mouth of the pipe to keep 'spring lizards' (salamanders) out.) The water flows into the reservoir and from there into the house --- gravity water from the mountain -- an elegant thing!


 Our first reservoir was a 30 gallon wooden barrel, purchased from the Mother Earth News Truck Store. It served our needs for many years and was completely adequate back when we had an outhouse and did our laundry at the laundromat. But with a second child, the need for our own washing machine grew and indoor plumbing was next.

To meet the increased demand John built this concrete reservoir -- the materials for which were pulled up the hill by our mules Pete and Molly. It holds 750 gallons! An amazing amount of water!

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that the input from the spring -- a steady stream of water about the diameter of a pencil -- takes quite a while to fill the tank. But, once again, for many years the reservoir up the hill was adequate for our needs. Till the older boy went to college . . . and came back for breaks, bringing with him what seemed like hordes of friends -- frequently showering, constantly flushing friends.

The next step was a well -- but, we told ourselves, we'll keep the water from the reservoir running to the sink and use the well water -- which will likely taste funny -- for everything else.

Oh, the joy! When the well was dug and we tasted the water, it was impossible to tell the difference! So now we flush and bathe  with The Best Water in the World.

The Mystery of a Winding Road

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extremely Good Listening

                                            

                                                              

I came late to Terry Pratchett's work but have been assiduously working to remedy that oversight. 

For me, the best introduction to his work is the Tiffany Aching series which I've read now several times over.

But then I got the audio books. I listen to books mostly at night, usually for 30 to 45 minutes, after which time I'm generally asleep. So I prefer a book I'm already familiar with and, after romping through the collected works of P.G. Wodehouse and enjoying Gaiman's Ananzi Boys yet again, I decided to give the Tiffany stories a go.

There are two versions--one with a 'full cast' and one performed by Stephen Briggs. Having experienced a few full cast books that were too busy with sound--horse hooves, dinnerware clanking, etc.-- I opted for the single narrator.

And he is excellent! His characters sound different from one another; he does a hilarious turn as Anagramma, a know-it-all teenage witch; and the Scots accents of the Nac Mac Feegals are wonderful!

As is always the case, I pay much better attention to listening as opposed to reading (I'm bad to skim) and the stories are almost new to me in the hearing.

There is so much to love about these books--wit and an amazing amount of wisdom. Don't dismiss them as YA--this octogenarian ( omg, I am an octogenarian!) loves them, and wishes she were Granny Weatherwax. I also see a lot of Josie in Tiffany herself--and am eager for her to discover the books. I don't think she's quite ready yet, but have hopes . . .

Coming Home from School

 

Father of Our Country . . .

                                         

P

When the colonies broke from England to form a country free of a monarchy, it was up to George Washington, as the first president to set the tone for the new republic.

He rejected the suggestion that he be addressed as Your Highness or Your Excellency and strove to maintain the dignity of the office while rejecting the trappings of kingship.

He also set the precedent of a two-term presidency, turning down the almost certain possibility of a third term.

And this is the man the Current Occupant wants to memorialize with a colossal statue, (gilded, no doubt) while using his AI engendered likeness in nauseating videos in which the two are shown as buddies.

What, I wonder, would George W. think of DJT, the con-man and grifter who has dragged our country's reputation into the mud, alienating allies while sucking up to autocrats like Putin and Kim Jong Un?

Evensong

 

Why Did the Chicken . . .

 Why a chicken in the picture I was meaning to paint of the Rose Pink I showed you recently?

Well, it's like this. I'd done a light pencil sketch of the flowers on a good piece of watercolor paper and set it aside. A few days later, I saw a great picture of a chicken in our recent Farm Bureau magazine and immediately cut it out and traced its outline (I have no shame) onto . . . a good piece of watercolor paper.

And when I looked closer, I saw it was the same paper I'd drawn the flowers on. 

It's been my experience that pencil lines rarely erase completely. So, what the hell, I thought. The flower and the biddy can share the page.

The flower in real life is simple and one flat shade of pink. Though the flower's in front, the chicken and her attitude dominate the picture.

An interesting experiment.

Remembering . . .

. . . that awful day . . . and all that followed . . .

the selfless actions of many, the feeling of a nation coming together in mourning and resolve . . .

and then . . . the Islamophobia acted out by a few and, alas, seized on by some politicians for their own selfish ends. 

 A sad legacy on this day of solemn remembrance.

 

Hints of Fall

The golden haze . . .

The goldenrod . . .

The shades come up and the dining room is once again a pleasant place to be.

I love this dreamy time of year and the slow tarnishing of the mountain greenery.