Country Pleasures

We used to have a clothesline -- but it involved negotiating a steep path with a heavy basket of wet laundry and eventually I used it less and less, opting for the ease of the electric clothes dryer. Now, with rising awareness of our carbon footprint (and rising electric bills), it's time to reconsider. Our lovely new solar powered, retractable clothes dryer is conveniently located a few steps from the washer.

I'd forgotten the pleasure of composing a sort of ad hoc color display, the gorgeous smell of sun-dried sheets and towels, the housewifely pleasure of pegging out the wash, just like the mom on the old Lassie TV show (Luke, don't forget we have that Grange meeting to go to tonight.)

Yes, there are down sides -- the stiff-as-a-board towels (think of them as exfoliating agents), the sudden thunderstorms, the not-quite-dry-at-the-end-of-the-day jeans. I'm not getting rid of my electric dryer -- I'm relegating it to backup status.

A homely pleasure, like dogs in pickup trucks or fresh-gathered eggs, the clothesline reminds me of the way things ought to be.

Sunup to Osondu

Yesterday was full -- garden work in the morning and, in the afternoon, a trip to Waynesville for a reading at Osondu Booksellers at 7.

Osondu is another lovely independent bookstore -- and they also sell teas and wine by the glass. Like all indy bookstores, they must be feeling the competition from the on-line and big box retailers, not to mention the growing sales of digital books. And just as I was writing this, my emailed dinged with the arrival of a newsletter from Deb at Aliens and Alibis with the following quote:

"Books emanate romanticism and possess the ability to create a stronger social community. Local bookstores are breeding grounds of positivity, thought and creativity. In Austin, we can frequent BookPeople, Austin Books or Monkeywrench Books . . . to get away from the everyday stresses of life, either to sit down with the latest Grisham novel or to chill with a cup of coffee and listen to a new beat. Bookstores are artistic havens for individuals to outsource their creative energy. Digital books just can't provide this same type of community outreach, and if more people continue to replace books with convenient digital versions, small community bookstores may suffer or eventually die off."--Amanda Patterson in the Daily Texan.

The stores I visit this month and next - Malaprops' and Accent on Books in Asheville, City Lights in Sylva, Osondu in Waynesville, and Highland Books in Brevard are all such breeding grounds, such artistic havens. May we never lose them.


(No post yesterday as our server was down.)

For pictures from my garden and from Waynesville go to

http://picasaweb.google.com/vickilanemysteries/ASaturdayInJune

Chicken Yard Forensics

Take a close look, Watson. What can we deduce from the curious markings on this bone, recently photographed in Vicki's chicken yard?

(Had me stumped for a moment, I'll admit.)

The Secret

"Master," the young monk asked his teacher, "what is the rule for a life well-lived?"

"Brew the tea properly," the venerable Buddhist monk replied. "Make the room warm in winter and cool in summer. This is the rule for a well-lived life."

I've been working on part three of the rule. The pinks and lavenders and greens and purples of spring have been mostly replaced by blue and white. (Still need to move those orchids into different pots.) Blue and white quilts hang in the living room and I scrounge in my mathom closet for blue and white objects.

It's not really a big deal -- the pillow covers are all homemade (in years past) as are most of the paintings. The odds and ends in the corner cupboard represent years of gifts and some flea market or junk shop bargains. It's pleasant to see the room begin to feel lighter and more open as I toss out the piles of magazines and reduce clutter. A few vases filled with ferns cut from outside and the room is definitely feeling cooler.

Now for that tea!

Summer Seen

Pale sweeps of cloud and mist tint the morning sky. . .

Sunflower stems lift up swirled buds . . . up . . . higher up . . . while heart-shaped leaves take deep green breaths . . .

And the daylily bloom unfurls for its moment in the sun.

Stories Waiting To Be Told

When I spoke at Malaprops' last Saturday, Nancy M. (who lent me the wonderful diaries kept by her aunts Odessa and Inez) brought me pictures of the two, as well as of their parents and some schoolmates. Each of these photos sets my mind going -- the thin little woman with her two big daughters on either side -- all in their best finery. I know from the diaries how hard these women worked and it's nice to think of them all dolled up for a picture. I'm wondering about their ages -- girls in their twenties, Mama late forties maybe? (Nancy, help me out here!) And what was Mama's name?

I'm in love with all three of these -- from the beautiful hound to the dude in the suit who can hunker like Clint Eastwood (is that a Bible in his hand?) to the handsome fella with the wonderful mustache -- Nancy's granddaddy looks like a charmer.

And this stylish trio at Walnut School -- Odessa, Christine and Eloise. Notice the difference in footwear and poses -- do you think Christine was something of a minx? And I'll bet Eloise hated her shoes.

Three stories, waiting to be told -- maybe as part of Miss Birdie's story. Many thanks, Nancy!


(Later )-Nancy has just sent me the following: "Grandma was Tennie Etta (Treadway) and she was born in 1878. Odessa was born in 1914, Inez in 1916 so I believe in this picture (which was probably around 1935) Odessa would be 23, Inez 21 and Grandma 57. Granddaddy (Paul Victor Henderson) was born in 1876. So they had their children in their 30's - late for back then - but they married late.

Daddy (Edgar William - Brother in the diaries) was born in 1917. I don't know who the man is with Granddaddy but believe (since I agree with you that's a bible in his hand) would be the preacher of the Walnut Presbyterian Church - who always came to Sunday dinner. You notice that Granddaddy had his overalls on - he wore those to church but he would put a tie on which came off as soon as he cleared the church door! The house behind them still stands. If you go out Academy Road, go left when the road forks, the house is the next one down on the left. I don't know if the garage and barn (on the right) are still standing or not. Granddaddy built that house. You can also see it when you turn off of 25 toward Walnut and look to your left across the holler - before you start up the hill to turn into Walnut.

Grandma died in 1973 at the age of 95; Granddaddy in 1951 at the age of 75. Odessa and Inez always got dressed up like that on Sundays for church, for any funeral (and they went to them all!!) and for going to Asheville on Saturdays but since Grandma has on a nice dress (not what she called her "house dress") that it's a Sunday.

Alien Abduction Theory

This time of year brings out the box turtles, roaming around in search of food and love. And like the fabled chicken, they always want to cross the road. I often stop to help them to the other side, having seen far too many get run over by folks who weren't paying attention. The problem is, sometimes, that the other side of the road is a sheer cliff I doubt the turtle could climb or it's a steep drop off into a rocky stream that could be fatal. So I put the turtle in the car with me and drive till I find what looks like a nice turtle habitat and there put my befuddled passenger out into a nice grassy place with water nearby.

The turtle has generally stayed tight shut as we travel. I set him down in this new place and he slowly lowers his shell and peers suspiciously out.

I imagine him later, hanging out with new turtle friends.

"Well, the way I got here is I was abducted by an alien. Thelma Lou was expecting me and I was already running a little late and just then along come this strange vehicle. It slowed down and then it stopped and hovered right near me."

"What'd ya do, Tee Roy, what'd ya do?"

"Well, I shut up tight, hoping it'd lose interest and move on but then all at oncet something grabbed me by the carapace and swooped me up. It must of been the alien, putting me into its vehicle. I stayed shut as tight as I could, having heard that them aliens are bad to to put probes in a body's orifices-"

"That's gross, Tee Roy! Did they do it?"

"Naw, they didn't do nothing. Unless it was some kindly of a mental probe, scanning my brain to steal all my knowledge. I didn't feel nothing though. The vehicle went along for a few minutes and then I could feel it stopping and could hear the hatch opening. Then the alien got out and carried me a little ways and set me down. And that's how I come to be here. Reckon how long it's going to take me to get back to Thelma Lou's? And reckon if she'll believe this story?"

Meet the Author

Another book 'event' today -- this time at Malaprops' in downtown Asheville -- a few doors down from the library. It's a wonderful, funky bookstore with a very good staff -- people who actually read and know the books they sell. (They also have a coffee shop and I highly recommend the 'Brain Freeze' - a frappeed concoction that was just the thing for a miserable hot day.)

A nice crowd turned out -- some old friends, some email acquaintances, some fans I hadn't met before, and one nice man who just happened to wander by and stayed to listen and buy a book.

Several people have asked me recently if I get nervous before these things. I can say very honestly that I don't -- the folks are always so friendly and seem content to let me ramble on, stopping now and again to read a bit from the new book. My favorite part, however, is the questions at the end and I'm always disappointed if there aren't any. Fortunately today there were some good ones -- like who makes various decisions about the book (my editor) and do I mind (no) .

There were no 'spoilers' - questions that would give away key plot points, ruining the story for those who hadn't read it - and no weird questions that would make me wonder if it was actually one of my books they were talking about.

And folks bought lots of books -- always a good thing, for me and for our local independent bookseller. And they signed up for my newsletter, also nice. (Jane R, - the email you gave me didn't work; you can sign up on my website if you like.)

Now back to Miss Birdie

Miss Birdie on My Mind

I woke up early this morning and lay in the predawn dimness of our bedroom, listening to the dogs' heavy breathing. I'd fallen asleep with a worrying thought and it was still with me -- the realization that Miss Birdie needs to tell her story in first person rather than the third person I've been using. In my head, I ran through bits of some of the chapters I've written, trying to imagine how I'd rephrase them. After five or ten minutes of this, I got up, dressed quietly, and went outside to do some watering before sun up. It was five-thirty.

When the watering was done and the bird feeders filled and the laundry started, I powered up my laptop and set to. A few pages in and I knew this was the right decision. I want to tell Birdie's story without my voice, the author voice in the other books, creeping in. That author voice is too full of big words that don't work with Birdie. It's been bothering me all along.

"It's not going to be all dialect, is it?" My husband is a little worried when I tell him what I'm up to. No, I'll confine the dialect to when Birdie's actually speaking. Her thoughts will be in her own turn of phrase, without the phonetic spelling (which I'm really trying to go easy on anyway). For example, when Birdie speaks, I'll have her say 'git you a cheer,' but if it's her thoughts, she'll think "I told her to get her a chair.' A subtle difference but I think it'll work.

(It is hotter than the hinges of Hades here, but the roses and clematis are thriving -- good bye Spring, hello early Summer.)

Out Early

It's going to be hot again and I head out early with my hoe to plant another tier with corn and to sow another short row of Blue Lake bush beans. With any luck, that'll extend the fresh vegetable season a bit.

Meanwhile my husband, who has just laid drip hoses along the two rows of tomatoes, mulches them heavily with old hay. A beautiful sight! -- it'll hold in moisture, keep weeds in check, and slow down the onset of blight by keeping the blight spores in the soil from splashing up on the plant. But wait, there's more! Over the winter, the hay will rot, adding to the richness and tilth of the soil.

By nine-thirty it's already too hot so I pick asparagus (Eddie supervising) and head for the house and chores that will keep me inside. -- making hummus . . . and maybe some curried asparagus soup to chill for later. Sounds like a plan.

Svlva, NC

Sylva is one of my favorite little towns in North Carolina. High up in the mountains not far from Cherokee, it's maintained a nice balance between then and now. By which I mean that gift shopppes and galleries haven't crowded out ordinary stores for non-tourists and while there are several places not unfamiliar with goat cheese, arugula, and artisanal breads (all of which I really enjoy), you can still find a good biscuit smothered in sausage gravy (a guilty pleasure I won't turn down).

My favorite place to be in Sylva is City Lights -- a wonderful bookstore on a back street with all the best new books, a great collection of regional material, and a terrific used book section as well. (I found myself purchasing Volume V of Keen's Surgery - a 1909 tract (illustrated) that I expect to find a use for -- in fiction, if not practice.

I was in Sylva today reading from the new book -- while 20-some folks enjoyed a delicious lunch prepared by Joyce Moore, the owner of City Lights. This is my fourth year as a visiting author and there's always a great group of folks in attendance, old friends and new. This time it was fun to have on hand Lee Palatt , whose name was given to Nola's nosy neighbor in Dark Season. I'd never met her, except through e-mails so it was a little startling to have a character from the book walk up and introduce herself.

And the Poet Laureate of North Carolina was there too. (How cool is that?) Kathryn Stripling Byer (we were both presenters at the Lake Logan writers' retreat) is someone whose work I've admired for years and it's been so nice to get to know her a little. She's just begun a blog and if you want to read some really lovely poetry that speaks to the beauties of everyday, click on her name to follow the link . She's just begun the blog and I know it can feel lonely, writing stuff with nary a comment to let you know someone's out there. So stop by and say hi -- and see if you don't get hooked on her poetry.

NOTE!! Two of you all who signed up for my newsletter gave me addresses that didn't work. Donna R. and Pat P., also Tamra M. -- who signed up but gave no email -- you can sign up on my website .

A Hot One

When sunrise looks like this in summertime, we know we're in for a hot day.

Just at first though, it's lovely -- the air cool on my skin as I go out to fill the birdfeeder, the fragrance of roses and honeysuckle wafting over the dew-wet grass, birds calling, including one who says over and over, "Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!" A new hatched butterfly (a Spangled Fritillary maybe?) clings to one of the French doors, beating his wings to dry them.

As I'm watering some recently planted flowers above the rock wall behind our house, a huge black snake lunges out of hiding, coming toward me at approximately the speed of light. My gargling shriek of surprise unsettles both of us but then I grab my camera and spend a little time following him. He must have just shed his skin and is gorgeous -- shiny as polished obsidian. The pictures are on the web album below so those of you who don't share my appreciation for creepy, crawly things don't have to see them. (That would be you, Ann C. -- I know I'm testing your patience even with the butterfly)

http://picasaweb.google.com/vickilanemysteries/SnakeAlert

Suckerin' 'Maters

I've been suckering tomatoes -- cutting off the little shoots that grow up everywhere a branch comes off the main stem of the tomato plant. Left to its own devices, a tomato plant will turn into a jungle of greenery, sprawling lushly over the ground in multi-stemmed abundance. But the problem is, in the soil (or, at least, in our soil) are spores of various tomato blights which can kill a plant before it ever bears fruit. So we sucker and trellis our 'maters, keeping them well off the ground and providing lots of room for the air to circulate, in hopes of staving off the blight till the tomatoes have produced a good crop.

It's not a bad job. And after running a hoe through the garden and adding another tier of baling twine to the trellis, I'm quite happy to sit down and scoot along on my bottom, cutting off the tender sucker shoots and mounding the loose dirt around each stem. When it's all done and the garden is tidy once again, it's a wonderful feeling -- order out of chaos, just like a mystery novel.

One of my email buddies asked last night when I did my writing -- did I have a set time -- so many hour or words every day?

The answer is no -- sometimes the demands of life have to come first. In the summer, the only time I can count on for writing is now -- the time between supper and bed -- however long I can manage to stay awake.