The Yarkin Pearl (Repost)

 

The folks at The Orchard told me to pick out a bag of apples to take with me and after browsing through the various varieties -- Jonathan, Stayman, Delicious -- I chose York.

It's a tasty, crisp eating apple and tart enough to be good for cooking too.  But, to tell the truth, I chose it for reasons of nostalgia.

Our first fall in the mountains, Clifford, our neighbor down the hill, gave me an apple to try, saying that it was an old time variety and a good keeping apple.  

I tasted it and was impressed. We were planning to plant apple trees come spring and I already had a tentative list of varieties.

"What's the name of this apple?" I asked, and was told that it was a Yarkin Pearl. 

Interesting, I thought, Yarkin could be the name of the discoverer or breeder of the apple and Pearl could be because it was so good -- or maybe the name of his daughter. Nice.

This was 1975 - pre-Internet -- and I began to hunt through my nursery catalogues and Rodale gardening books for more information on this pearl of a fruit -- but alas! I could find no Yarkin Pearls.

I intensified my search, checking various orchard-related books out of the library and leafing  through back issues of Mother Earth News and Organic Gardening.

1975 was also before I learned the language of my adopted home.

Finally I came across the name York Imperial.

York Imperial . . . Yarkin Pearl.

Yep.

No Celebration

I've been disappointed in my country on numerous occasions -- but the  blatant cruelty and greed of the current regime, not to mention its cynical flaunting of the Stars and Stripes while ignoring the Constitution, has me wondering what those Founding Fathers would make of what their vision has become.

Masked thugs kidnapping people and deporting them or putting them in concentration camps without due process --was this the American Dream? An administration that is for sale to the highest bidder, that selects its officials based on appearance and loyalty, rather than experience and integrity, a president who delights in vulgarity and rudeness -- no, nothing to celebrate today.

Instead I'll remember the quiet Fourths of my childhood--a picnic supper of ham, potato salad, and watermelon under the big oaks in my grandparents' back yard and then, as it began to grow dark, my little brother and I with our sparklers, weaving fiery patterns in the air  . . .

 

The Blessing of Rain

Ir's such a pleasure to sit on the porch in the evening with an adult beverage and watch the rain sweep toward us. 



 

What Are You Doing to my Beloved Country?

I weep for my country. As our president gloats over a quickly built concentration camp in the Everglades while contemplating deporting US citizens whose politics he doesn't like; as spineless congresspeople vote for tax cuts for billionaires and cuts to Medicaid and SNAP; as the GOP noose tightens around every aspect of life, I wonder when those who support this lawless, heartless  regime will realize what they have wrought.

There is so much to deplore and be angry about but just at this moment, I am particularly incensed by every cross-wearing, bible waving, so-called Christian who turns a blind eye to the very real evil that is before them.

There will be a reckoning.

 

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbits

 

 

Dreaming . . .

              

 Attributed to Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou

The Oldest Person You Know

Scrolling through Facebook on a hot day, I came across one of those things  "Find Your Stripper/Witch/Drag Queen Name" and foolishly read on.

Your first name is the name of the oldest person you know . . . and that stopped me cold as I realized I know only a handful of  people older than I (82).  And that's only by a few months or a couple of years.

Of course I know of some folks in their nineties and beyond, but suddenly it was borne in on me that among the folks around that I count as friends, I am definitely the older generation. 

It's weird. In my grade at school I was always the youngest (and usually the tallest -- now I've lost a few inches.) 

Ch-ch-ch-change. The wheel turns and I shouldn't be surprised.

 

Dog Days

Still too hot.

 

Still True

 No man is an island, 

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know 

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

                     John Donne, 1572-1631

Chicken Salad Memories

Hot weather like we're having requires cold meals. I've done cold potato soup and gazpacho and last night was chicken salad. (And potato chips--a traditional accompaniment and rare indulgence.)

As we sat on the porch watching veils of rain sweep across the valley and disappear, we remembered another hot summer.  

It was the summer of 1966, the last three months of John's enlistment in the Marines,  and he was stationed at an air base in Beaufort, SC. (That's Byew-fort, not Bow-fort. Bow-fort is in NC.) We were in half of a non-air conditioned duplex and it was godawful hot. 

I evolved a routine of preparing dinner in the early morning before the house heated up, then spending the rest of the day reading in a hammock out under a big oak.

We cycled through chicken salad, tuna salad, and shrimp salad, broken by chicken or hamburgers done outside on a hibachi.

When the heat was unbearable, sometimes we went to a movie (air-conditioned!) The movies changed once a week, but sometimes we saw the same movie twice.

There was a Dairy Queen across the street that we patronized. Our dog Juno , we learned, was also a patron--on the lookout for kids who might drop their ice cream if bumped. And sometimes she bumped them.

On John's days off, we went to a mostly deserted beach and set up camp in the dunes. We could often see porpoises frolicking close to shore. It was pretty idyllic.

By the end of the summer, John had been accepted at University of South Florida and had turned down an offer to re-enlist and go to Officers' Training School. I had my teaching position  (Mistress of English) at Berkeley Prep in Tampa to return to and the future was set--for a few more years, at least.

Old times they are not forgotten.

 

Too Hot for Words

 

Greensleeves

                                            

I always loved the old tune Greensleeves--in fact I wanted to use it as part of the music at our wedding. The Episcopal church would only allow liturgical music, but as it happened, there was a hymn with the Greensleeves tune. .. . but because the title of the hymn was What Child Is This? I reconsidered.

When my FB friend Mario posted a video that tells the story behind the old song and details the meticulous recreation of the various items the besotted lover gives to the lady, including a sumptuous gown, well, I had to see it.

It's a delightful treat for a hot day. Actually, there are two videos. One, showing the work of the various makers of historically accurate apparel and confectionery; the other a sumptuously mounted, tongue in cheek acting out of the song.  You can find them HERE                                

 

No Nobel for You, Donnie

After a truly unhinged rant bemoaning his lack of a Nobel Peace Prize despite his YUGE successes in diplomacy,  Dear Leader has dropped many YUGE bombs on Iran -- without congressional input and without reliable intelligence concerning Iran's nuclear activities. He was disappointed with his parade so now he flexes his military might.

This is what happens when a man with all the emotional control of a toddler is given power.