. . . And Home Again

We left the motel in Virginia early this morning and were on our way in time to see sunrise along the eastern rim of the Shenandoah Valley. This wide valley has some of the most beautiful, well-tended farms imaginable, as well as some wonderful old farmhouses. Alas -- not easy to take pictures -- emergency stopping only.

But when we got into North Carolina, we stopped at the Sams Gap welcome center on I-26 and I sampled the autumn color.

Those distant mountains are the Blue Ridge -- some of the same ones we see from our house but at a slightly different angle.

And now I have to get to work. I've unpacked and the washer is churning. All those receipts have to be put with my tax stuff -- a lot of this trip was mercifully deductible. And there are some thank yous and follow ups to conversations begun this weekend to write . Maybe tomorrow I 'll post a little web album of some more pictures from Baltimore.

And, of course, number one priority in the coming weeks is Miss Birdie.

But I don't have to fix dinner! Justin and Claui, who've been looking after the house and the critters, left a delicious looking Spanish stew in the refrigerator for us, as well as a big chunk of cake -- are those great kids, or what?

Bye, Bye Baltimore

The picture, taken by John, is the Pride of Baltimore -- a modern re-creation of the famous Baltimore clipper, aka topsail schooner. These speedy ships were used to run blockades during the Revolutionary War, as well as during the Late Unpleasantness (aka the Civil War.)

John and I had hoped to visit Baltimore's Aquarium today, but on hearing that the crowds would be major on this holiday weekend, we decided to head home a day early. So I put in my hour as 'hostess' in the Bouchercon Hospitality Room, setting out granola bars , yoghurt, bottled water, and juice. The food was free (part of the Bcon package) and Sisters in Crime volunteers were the organizers and helpers for this much-appreciated amenity

We're somewhere in Virginia tonight and will be home tomorrow. I'm ready.

One more thing. Tonight we ate at a Chinese restaurant in some anonymous mall. I spent most of my time watching a little scene going on at a two nearby tables

At a little table at the back, two Chinese boys -- one around six, the other maybe ten -- were playing with some electronic game. Next to them was a Caucasian family -- Mom, Dad, blond baby girl in a highchair, and a very chubby boy -- probably also around ten. This boy was struggling to eat with chopsticks.

As the rest of his family chowed down with the aid of forks and fingers, the chubby boy struggled to make the fiendish Oriental implements do his bidding. I held my breath when, after several fumbled attempts, the boy actually brought a piece of what looked like General Tso's chicken almost to his lips. Victory in reach, he opened his mouth and the food fell. Undaunted, he tried again and again.

By now, the two Chinese youngsters were stealing covert glances at this little drama and exchanging quiet looks of self-satisfaction.

Pretty quickly the older boy lost interest and went back to his game but the younger one was fascinated and openly staring. The baby girl noticed him and started waving. And then the younger Chinese boy began to make silly faces that made her laugh and wave all the more.

Meanwhile, Mom was on her cell phone, talking as she ate; Dad was eating steadily; and the chubby boy was still using the chopsticks. He had discovered that he could stab the bits of chicken and was doing so, a chopstick in each hand.

I would have loved to take pictures of all this . . .

Bouchercon 2008 ~ Friday

At 8:30 this morning I joined Cris Roerden, Mary Saums, Cathy Pickens, and J.D. Rhoades on a panel of Southern writers. Lots of nice folks, including Molly Weston who took this picture) turned out at this early hour and I have some pictures of them but as I said yesterday, Blogger limits me to four per post. (Here's a very modest web album.)

I spent an hour at the Mystery News table with Lynn Kaczmarek and Chris Aldrich. Jim Huang, one of the organizers of next year's Bouchercon in Indianapolis was there and I heard a little about the monumental work that goes into one of these conferences. I'll be telling you more about next year's Bcon sooner or later.

And there was my lunch with Herself, my editor. It's always a delight to spend time with Kate and get a glimpse into the world of publishing. And I made bold to tell Herself that we had a donkey named Kate -- she was entranced and immediately had to see Kate the Donkey's picture on her Blackberry.

At the end of our very pleasant lunch, when I asked if I could take her picture for this blog, Kate, the editor, kindly but firmly declined to be photographed.

So we'll make do with the other Kate.

Bouchercon '08 ~ Thursday

And, of course, just about the first person I ran into in the book room was KAYE BARLEY of Boone, NC. Kaye is a perennial presence on DorothyL- a list serve for readers and writers of mystery -- and she has been a big supporter of Elizabeth Goodweather from the beginning. We'd never met in person but we've exchanged so many emails that I feel I know her.

Then I met up with Sheila Connolly -- author of two mystery series and another email friend -- and we took advantage of sighting Lee Child -- author of the wildly successful Jack Reacher series -- so I could get the two of them in one shot.

Margaret Maron, who was kind enough to blurb IN A DARK SEASON, calling it a 'tale of love and lust,' was hanging out with Barry Zeman, author and authority on the history of the mystery and Bonnie of The Black Orchid Bookstore in NYC.

And there were and will be lots more -- Blogger only lets me put four pictures per post. But when the weekend's over, I'll make a web album

I did make it to an excellent panel called IT'S ONLY MAKE BELIEVE: Telling Lies for a Living (Laurie R. King , whose work I have praised far and wide was one of the panelists).

When it was time for supper, John and I walked down to the Inner Harbor where we had sangria and tapas, sitting outside with a fine view of the USS Constellation (ca. 1854).

It's an early evening for me though -- the panel I'm on is at 8:30 AM tomorrow morning.

A Little Autumn Color

I almost never like to leave the farm for any length of time for fear of missing something wonderful in the ever changing cycle of the seasons. In spring I want to be here for the first crocus, the daffodils, the tulips. In summer it's the first tomatoes, the new green beans, the corn. There's always something about to bloom or ripen -- and now it's the leaves, edging toward their fall glory.

The Virginia creeper has gone red, as have the dogwoods, and the maples are just beginning to turn.

We'll be back on Monday -- surely I won't miss too much.

I hope to be able to access the Internet from our hotel room. If so, you'll hear from me tomorrow. If not -- till Monday!

Weed or Flower?

Usually the cows wait till John is at least a hundred miles away to make an escape but this morning they jumped the gun. We're leaving for Baltimore and the Bouchercon mystery convention tomorrow, girls.

John and Justin put them back where they belong, with Otis supervising from a distance.

On my way back to the house, I was thinking how fortunate we are to have so many pretty weeds. This pink smartweed even calls itself a weed, not a wildflower, but if it were in a nursery catalogue as a 'vigorous ground cover with delicate pink flower spears in profusion,' I'd probably order it.

Goldenrod is gorgeous. The drawback is its propensity to spread like wildfire. (I've been told that it's ragweed, blooming at the same time that is the bane of folks with allergies - not goldenrod.)
Some clever horticulturist has developed a non-invasive type for the garden. I believe that in the UK it's marketed under its Latin name -- solidago.

The wild asters or Michaelmas daisies form lavender and white clouds in unexpected places. Their tame cousins are showier but these are free, bless their little hearts.

A Thin Line of Day

A thin line of day
Edges the eastern mountains --
Swelling molten gold.

Blushing pink, the sky
Awaits dawn's trumpet herald.
Nature holds its breath.

Rising from river,
Cool mist veils the blushing sky;
Cloaks the rising sun.

The Tears of the Yunwi Tsunsdi

She was like a half-tamed woods creature -- poked her head out the bushes a little ways and waited. Big blue eyes in a dirty sun-brown face, hair a greasy snarl, and a dress no better than a feed sack with holes in it.

I can do something about that, I thought and I felt in my skirt pocket for my charm.

'Come up here, honey,' I called and she inched out of the bushes and up the steps, her feet a-dragging.

But when she got close, she looked me in the eyes even afore she looked to see what was in my hand and that was when I knew.

'Oh, honey,' I said, feeling as if I might bust out crying, 'they's so many things I have to teach you and likely not much time. But we'll make a beginning with the story of the fairy crosses and how they came to be.'

When I put the little cross in her hand, she studied it close, running her finger up and down over its ridges. Then she looked up and whispered, 'This is from the little things, ain't it?'

Law, they was a catch in my heart at them words.

Fairy crosses or fairy stones are formed from staurolite, a combination of iron, silica, and aluminum that often crystallizes into cross-like shapes. Traditionally carried for luck, fairy crosses are said to protect against witchcraft, disease, and disaster.

Cherokee legend says that the Little People, the Yunwi Tsunsdi - a race of tiny reclusive beings known for their ability to find lost people -- were dancing and drumming and singing at a location near today's Brasstown, NC when a messenger arrived, bringing news of the Crucifixion. The terrible story made the Little People cry and when their tears hit the earth, they turned into the tiny crosses that can still be found in the area today.

The section in italics is a taste from Miss Birdie's book. The fairy crosses in the picture are very small -- about the size of my little fingernail. (No, I didn't find them myself -- they came from the Silver Armadillo in Asheville.)

This is a Test

Really, it is. I had a long post on another subject and Blogger keeps rejecting it. So I'm trying this. Maybe Ali Ali will be more to Blogger's liking.

But while I'm here, let me ask you to weigh in on the survey to your right. Inquiring minds want to know.

I'll try tomorrow with the other post.

Frost Warning!!!

October 15 is generally the date we begin to expect colder temperatures and frost -- I knew it was coming and I planned to move my tender plants inside before we leave for Baltimore next Wednesday. But not yet -- maybe this weekend, I thought.

It was 'right chilly' all day yesterday and I eventually even closed most of the windows in the house. Still, it was a surprise when, as I was working away at my laptop in the late afternoon, John called up the stairs to say that there was a frost warning and maybe we'd better bring those plants in.

So here they are, crammed into the little greenhouse -- calamondin and bay trees, rosemary and scented geranium, brugmansia, coleus, begonias, pineapple sage, amaryllis, bougainvillea, cacti --- all those pots of plants huddled together willy-nilly. The smell is wonderful -- and when the cold days come and the landscape is bleak, the door into the greenhouse will be a door into summer.

In the next few weeks I'll cut back a lot of the plants and root cuttings to have more plants next year. I'll do some repotting as well and try to find homes for some of the excess -- it's hard to toss out a plant because there's not enough room but I'm going to be forced into tough love.

That spathesphyllum (peace lily) in the foreground below used to sit on the counter beside the kitchen sink -- not any more. And where I once had one dragon plant -- now I have three because I hate to throw out the stems I'm forced to prune and so I root them.

All these house plants started out as little small things, many grown from cuttings but now they're making it difficult to move around. I must force myself to be firm -- the plants are taking over. Our house has become a no-kill plant shelter but I need to remind myself that these are just plants -- not puppies and kittens.

But when I look at the wine-red and fuchsia leaves of this coleus with their lovely chartreuse picotee edging, my first thought is to make more.

And, no, there wasn't a frost. Not yet.

Looking for Signs of Fall

I took a brief walk yesterday and most of the dogs went with me, including Eddie, the cat who has some species identity conflicts. Eddie followed along, meowing loudly till he caught up, then kept pace with us into the woods. As we walked, his tail got puffier and puffier, his ears went back, and he seemed to be somewhere between enjoying a walk in the wild and terrified at what might be lurking in those deep woods. Not unreasonable as my husband heard coyotes recently; I saw a fox last night; and we know there are bear in the area. Also bobcats, bigger even than Eddie.

Eddie stayed close the whole way -- tense, alert, and spooked by every falling leaf. When we turned back, he seemed relieved. I could see him beginning to relax as we left the woods, moving back into the pasture, and as we neared the gate to his own stomping grounds, Eddie resumed his customary Master of the Universe swagger, once again, emperor of all he surveyed.

One of my favorite wildflowers, the lobelia is still blooming and, thanks to a recent rain, the grass is still green. There's not been a frost yet (though it's definitely chilly at night), so the fall color hasn't come on beyond a slight tinge of red or gold here and there.

But I did see this tiny, two-leafed maple seedling doing its brave, crimson best.

And the wild persimmons are beginning to blush -- though it'll be several weeks and a hard frost before they're edible. Makes my mouth pucker to look at them now.

Country Workshops

The following sounds a lot like an advertisement/testimonial. And it kind of is, but it's also an look at some of the folks who live in my county -- and maybe in Elizabeth's Marshall County too.

Back in 1978 when my younger son was about six months old (not two, as the album caption says), my husband and his father signed up for a week-long wood-working class with some folks we'd recently met. Drew and Louise Langsner lived (and still live) at the other end of our county, about a forty-five minute drive from our farm. Though I had little interest in woodworking, I was suffering from a serious case of cabin fever and insisted that I'd like to go too. Fortunately my mother-in-law was willing to stay at our house and look after our five year old, so off John and Jack and Justin and I went for a week at Country Workshops. It was the first year of classes at the Langsner farm.

The experience was wonderful! A week of calm and craft, of beautiful surroundings, interesting people and wonderful food. Justin (still nursing - a 'tittie baby' as some say around here) was a calm, laid back infant, and I was able to carve a spoon and a dough bowl along with the rest of the class. We became good friends with our hosts and over the course of the years have watched them build their log home, expand their gardens, and put together an amazing curriculum for wood crafters and country/nature lovers.

The farm is beautiful, Louise's gardens are inspiring, and the various items produced by students in the workshops are heirloom quality craft. Below is a willow basket made by Louise and a chair crafted by Tom Donahey -- one of Country Workshops' teachers. There are many more pictures and complete information on the Country Workshops website

I can't recommend a more pleasant way to spend a week -- and you come home with a new skill and a fine example of your own handicraft.