Lost Cove

On the other side of our mountain is a magical spot called Lost Cove, the home of the friends who had a lathe for John. We drove up the narrow winding road to the beautiful fields and wildflowers and the immaculate (and well-protected)  gardens that Pat and Connie have created over the years.

They have worked hard, ridding their land of invasive species and adding native plants wherever possible. One could spend hours walking around and seeing it all.

But we had time only for a brief visit as John was eager to get the lathe loaded and back to the shop before a potential thunderstorm arrived.

That's not a coffin but the cabinet the lathe sits on.

An unlooked for bonus--turning tools inside!

We stopped for a quick look at the old cabin they've turned into a fine guesthouse--a beautiful job of restoration.

Such a magical spot-just over the mountain!

 

Mute Monday

 

Almost Done!

Come on in!

The shop is near complete--major stuff in place and there's a lathe passed on to us from John Jorgenson via our friends Pat and Connie Toops, that we are picking up this afternoon.

John is painting the back door and I'm at work on a barn quilt to  be hung outside, above the long window. 

The place is a miracle of light and space.

The workbench under the window is a treasure--handmade by and given to John by our friend Drew Langsner.

A place for everything and everything in its place . . .

And the hydrangeas are still at it, joined by an exuberant volunteer Buddleia!

It's been a long journey--but thanks to the help of friends, the shop is back!

 

A Sandy, Watery Sort of Playdate

On Friday I had another playdate! My friend came over and we played in my daddy's big sand pile. It is a million times bigger than mine.

We dug holes and buried things. We also slid down the side. 

We got Very sandy.

So we rinsed off in the branch.

We got Very wet. When it was time to go up to the house in Meema's car, we took off our clothes and rode up nekkid.

We took a warm bath and played with my tub toys while Meema went to find some dry clothes.  We played Splash till we were ready to get out.

Then we ate some lunch and, after that, went and played with stuff in The Room. Later we read books till it was time for my friend to go home.

I love playdates!

 

The New Normal?

First off, the pictures aren't related to what I have to say (except, perhaps, on some strange subliminal level. 

It's my calendar--suddenly filling up with Things To Do after over a year of blankness. Long postponed routine maintenance (dentist, eye doctor, etc.) And people getting in touch, planning get togethers, seeking a return to normal life.  All good, all welcome.

But.

The pandemic's not over. The new variant is continuing to spread--chiefly among the unvaccinated but there are reports of even vaccinated folks contracting covid.

So we are continuing to exercise caution, even thought we're vaccinated. I've had the unpleasant task of telling an old friend not to come to visit since she's not vaccinated. And I'm starting--though it's half a year away-- to worry about the Easter Party. At this point, I'm inclined to think it should be restricted to vaccinated people (except for kids for whom there's not yet a vaccine.)

But how to do this? Traditionally the event's been open to whoever shows up, no questions asked. But, as was true the past two years when there was no party, I don't want this beloved event to be a source of infection.

And, alas, at this point I know there are friends and habitual attendees out there who for reasons I don't understand (ie. non-medical) choose not to get the vaccine. Their choice, certainly. But if their choice has the potential of endangering our larger community, then I am left with a hard choice of my own.

Maybe things will sort themselves out before I have to make a decision. I sure hope so.

 

BuckBuck, Dave, and the Davettes

 

A Visit from Another Writer

I had a nice visit yesterday from Leah Weiss, the author of the very popular If the Creek Don't Rise and the forthcoming All the Little Hopes.  Leah was in my class at Wildacres a few years ago when she was at work on Hopes.

We chatted about the difficulties of bringing out a book during a pandemic and the necessity of promoting that book, as well as the need to balance the rest of one's life with with the demands of writing.  

It felt good to talk with someone in the writing game--it's been over a year of no conferences or in-person events with other writers. I forget how energizing that sort of interaction can be.

Leah's books are delightful explorations of compelling characters in difficult situations.  I was privileged to read an advance copy of All the Little Hopes and feel sure it will find a wide audience

Check  out Leah's website HERE. 

 

Practice . . .

Pictures of cupcakes and pie aren't really something I'd normally want to mess with but I learn something new with each little exercise from my books. A landscape, a candle, a gift, some fruit . . .

Then I make some attempts from pictures I've taken--a local haybarn and one of my daylilies. And a mountain lake from my imagination... an excuse for applying plastic wrap to the boulder in the foreground--such a cool effect!

 

An Idyllic Fourth

                               

Dawn of a New Day?

I'd like to think that, on this Fourth of July, our poor country is beginning to recover from all that the past four years have thrown at us. 

I'd like to think that we are moving closer to the vision set forth in the Declaration of Independence: that all men are created equal and that governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.                

Powerful, lofty words. We pat ourselves on the back, proud to be a part of a country founded on such noble beliefs. We talk of American Exceptionalism, of spreading The American Way across the planet.

 

And yet . . . and yet, the men who wrote those words didn't mean them. Women and people of color weren't accorded those vaunted rights. Nigh two and a half centuries on and we still haven't gotten it right.

And never will until allow ourselves, not only to boast of our accomplishments in this noble experiment, but to recognize and strive to correct our failings.

"My country, right or wrong. If right, to be kept right; if wrong, to be set right." Carl Schurz

 

An Utterly Absorbing Trilogy

First of all, ignore the title. It's not what it sounds like. Filth stands for Failed in London; try Hong Kong and it becomes the affectionate nickname of Sir Edward Feathers, once a "Raj orphan," now a noted British judge. 

The publisher's summary says: "Long ago, Old Filth was a Raj orphan - one of the many young children sent 'home' from the East to be fostered and educated in England.

"Jane Gardam's novel tells his story, from his birth in what was then Malaya to the extremities of his old age. In so doing, she not only encapsulates a whole period from the glory days of British Empire, through the Second World War, to the present and beyond, but also illuminates the complexities of the character known variously as Eddie, the Judge, Fevvers, Filth, Master of the Inner Temple, Teddy and Sir Edward Feathers."

And a fascinating story it is, full of hints and allegations about the past and a loathed rival, as well as ruminations on aging and on the complexities of relationships.

I found it absolutely compulsive reading and, when I reached the end, felt bereft...and like a chain smoker lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the old, ordered the second book in the trilogy. 

 

The second book fills in some of the missing pieces of Old Filth's story. Told from the point of view of his wife Betty, it covers much of the same ground as the first book but with an entirely new and absorbing slant. The cause of Old Filth's almost lifelong rivalry with Terence Veneering is revealed, if not fully explored. That is left for the final book of the trilogy, which I raced onto at once.

Quoting: 

“The satisfying conclusion to Gardam’s Old Filth trilogy offers exquisite prose, wry humor, and keen insights into aging and death. While Old Filth introduced readers to Sir Edward Feathers, his dreadful childhood, and his decades-long marriage, The Man in the Wooden Hat was his wife Betty’s story. Last Friends is Terence Veneering’s turn. His beginnings were not those of the usual establishment grandee. Filth’s hated rival in court and in love is the son of a Russian acrobat marooned in the English midlands and a local girl. He escapes the war and later emerges in the Far East as a man of panache and fame. The Bar treats his success with suspicion: where did this handsome, brilliant Slav come from? 

This exquisite story of Veneering, Filth, and their circle tells a bittersweet tale of friendship and grace and of the disappointments and consolations of age. They are all, finally, each other’s last friend as this magnificent series ends with the deep and abiding satisfaction that only great literature provides. prose sparkles with wit, compassion and humor. She keeps us entertained, and she keeps us guessing. Be thankful for her books. Be thankful for this trilogy, which is ultimately an elegy, created with deep affection.”―The Washington Post

 

Random

The daylilies are in full shout, and I saw my first (and so far, only) cicada of the year.

We are blessed with rain and moderate temperatures-- those leaves below poking through the porch floor are the top of a six- foot plus poke weed growing below.

 

Asparagus Galette

An asparagus galette makes a fine supper.  There's a very simple, easy-to-do crust (you can actually make it in a food processor, then, after chilling, roll it out on parchment paper and leave it there to transfer to a cookie sheet.) 

You spread the uncooked pastry with a mixture of garlic, ricotta, Parmesan, and shredded Gruyere (I didn't have Gruyere around so used a herbed yoghurt cheese.) Then it's topped with finely cut raw asparagus (I added some sliced mushrooms.)

Fold over the sides, brush with some beaten egg, and in about a half an hour, there you are. 

A tomato and onion vinaigrette salad and a glass of white wine completed the meal. Another time I might consider putting a morsel of salmon between the cheese and the asparagus.

The original recipe is  HERE