At the Blue Ridge Book and Author Showcase

Yesterday was a wonderful day and an exceptionally well-run festival, thanks to dedicated organizers and volunteers. I did my usual rambling presentation to a very nice group who asked thoughtful, intelligent questions at the end; I got to see lots of friends and acquaintances -- including more than a few of my ex-students who say they're still writing away (very gratifying!)

And I had the pleasure of seeing three of my favorite writers doing their presentations!

Sharyn McCrumb was the keynote speaker and by the time I got there, the place was packed. I stood at the back -- too far away to get a decent picture. Sharyn is always a fascinating speaker and this time she had a lot to say about the universality of folk tales -- how the same story -- for example, the story of the human taken to Fairyland who returns home only to find that years, rather than days, have passed. Sharyn told a Japanese fairy tale with this theme and went on to reference the Dutch Rip Van Winkle and the old Scots ballad of Thomas the Rymer. I loved this because I've used a variation of this same story -- turning it into a Cherokee tale -- in The Day of Small Things.

Later in the morning came Sheila Kay Adams (and this link will take you to some of her stories and music). I've known Sheila a long time and always loved her story-telling, her ballad singing, her banjo playing, and, oh yes, she writes as well. Every bit as well.

This was a bittersweet performance as Sheila's husband Jim died just a few months ago and when she spoke of him and sang his favorite song, we were all close to tears. But like the strong mountain woman she is, Sheila has taken her grief and turned it to love and grace and beauty.

Another great treat was listening to Kathryn Stripling Byer, the Poet Laureate of North Carolina, read her poems. Kay has done a wonderful job bringing poetry, her own and that of others, to a whole new audience.

Reading poetry to oneself is a quiet pleasure; hearing the poet him/herself perform the poems adds a whole new dimension. Kay reads with a heartfelt earnestness that makes the poems extremely accessible -- I find myself thinking 'Yes, that's how I remember it. She just says it better."

When the day was ended, I went to dinner with Carol (of Writers Porch), Gary, and Kathryn Magendie and the talk turned to ghosts and hauntings and shadow men and all manner of neat stuff.

It was a fine day. And the folks in charge of the Showcase are already making plans for next year (June 5, I think I heard someone say.) Well worth putting on your calendar!

And a Happy Mothers Day to all !

Blog Friends

Last night, as preliminary to today's Blue Ridge Book and Author Showcase, there was a reception at the Cedars in Hendersonville and I got to meet two of my blog buddies -- Carol Murdoch (The Writers Porch) and Bo Parker (Cobbledstones.) What fun to spend time with folks I already feel I know via their blogs and comments !

The reception honored Louise Howe Bailey, a much-loved historian of Hendersonville and Henderson County, with a charming dramatic presentation of some of her writing. (Carol took pictures -- I'm hoping they'll show up on her blog.)

When the reception was over, I walked back to The Waverly Inn where I am staying and enjoyed chatting with Gary Carden (Holler Notes). We sat on the beautiful front porch till the mosquitoes became troublesome and I made notes of ideas to pursue. Gary's a story teller and a playwright and I came away with ideas for at least six books, somewhere down the road. . . Melungeons and Lumbees and Lost Colony survivors and fool killers, oh my!

What Message?

The clouds are swirling ominously this morning.

Thunder is rolling and the rain is falling.

It really looks as if God is about to part the clouds and speak . . . and I wonder . . .
what the message will be?

Eddie and the Turkeys

Sounds kinda like a punk rock band, doesn't it?

But this post is about something that happened a week ago right out by our bird feeder. The pictures aren't great -- I was taking them from a distance and through a window screen -- but if you click on them to biggify (still love that word, Tammy), you'll get a better idea of the cast of characters.

So, it's late morning and Eddie, the ex-tomcat, is crouched by the bird feeder working on his life list. And four turkeys are working on the sunflower seed. (Eddie is the black blob center right.)

The turkeys are pecking and scratching and having a fine old time and Eddie is laying low -- imagining, no doubt, what glory would be his if he could bring down one of these birds.

Finally the turkeys decide to move on to the front yard and they start down the little dog trail. They seem to notice Eddie but don't appear to be at all disturbed by the presence of this fierce beast of prey -- this deadly stalker.

They take their time, looking around to make sure that everyone's in line. Eddie maintains his crouch.

What happened next went so quickly I didn't get a picture of it. As all four turkeys got onto the trail and started downhill, Eddie charged at the last one -- which squawked, made a little hop, and spun around ready to peck at the attacker.

Suddenly Eddie seemed to notice that he was severely outclassed. He dropped, flattening himself against the grass till he looked like a catskin rug.

And stayed that way as the turkeys continued their leisurely promenade down the trail. Only when they were around the corner and out of sight did Eddie break his freeze position and hightail it for the house.

Next time, I think he'll want backup. Or a gun.

Greens . . .

We've had rain every day for almost a week and the array of various shades of green is staggering. Above, the creamy blooms of the horse chestnut (or buckeye) are lifted above the the glistening jade of the leaves.

Below, clumps of water cress in the branch under the willow rejoice in the flowing water. Watercress was first planted there by some tenants a good fifteen years ago and it has seeded and spread with a will. I have sighted it growing happily in the branch at least a mile down the road.

The pale new yellow-greens are perhaps my favorite -- lacy against the sky and feathery against the solidness of the dark tree trunks. But would that pale green be half so charming without the deep green of the evergreens as background?

And the newly-mown grass! I don't know where I first heard the phrase 'emerald sward' but that's what comes to mind when I see it just now! Of course, with all this rain, that new-mown look is gone in about 24 hours.

There's been too much drought for the past several years for anyone to complain of rain, even as weeds prosper and gardens await planting. This gentle persistent rain feels like restoration . . . like healing . . . like a blessing on the land.

But Wait . . .

. . .there's more!

The plethora of bloom at our place just now expresses perfectly my state of mind. More and more good news!

As soon as Herself told me that she had accepted the rewrite of Birdie's book (which I really must learn to call The Day of Small Things,) I sent her the proposal for the next Elizabeth book -- the one where I get around to dealing with that troubling message from Aunt Dodie.

I am already under contract for this book but Herself still has to approve my plan -- a sort of road map -- for the book before I begin. And it's not automatic -- it's happened in the past that she's rejected my ideas and, kindly but firmly, sent me back to the drawing board.

But this time my luck was in! Herself was most enthusiastic about my plans for Elizabeth's next adventure and gave me a big thumbs-up! So I'm diving right in -- the book opens as Elizabeth gets another phone call.

"Gloria's a . . . a complicated person."

I put the phone down and glowered at it, as if it were responsible for this new and unwelcome twist in my life. "Or as they say around here, crazy as a shithouse rat. And with all the farm work and our wedding set for early June, this is definitely not a good time for a visit."

I was thinking out loud, trying to make sense of the just-ended conversation. "But if things are so bad with her husband that she wants to come stay here -- and for a month or more -- what can I do? And things must be seriously bad -- Glory hates it here. 'Too much nature, she always says -- as if nature was something you wouldn't want to step in."

Phillip looked up from his book with that calm, amused look he's so good at. "This guy's -- what -- your sister's third husband? So problems with married life aren't exactly new to her. What's the big deal this time?"

I continued to stare at the phone, wondering if this had been some elaborate joke. But the thing is -- my sister has no sense of humor.

"Well," I told Phillip -- my poor long-suffering Phillip who deserves better than this, " according to Gloria, the problem is that Jerry's trying to kill her."

Hallelujah!

It's the light at the end of the tunnel! It's a new day dawning!

It's clouds rolling away and blue skies ahead!

It's an email from Herself saying that the pruning away of excess material in The Day of Small Things (aka Birdie's book) worked for her and that the results were "spellbinding!"

The manuscript is in copy editing now -- when that's done, I'll get it back and address whatever further small changes are required. But for now . . .

O happy day!

(If I could turn a cartwheel, I would!)

Cold Case

In the summer of 1973, John and I, with our not-quite year-old son, went looking for a place to live that wasn't Florida. On our way north, though our heads were filled with visions of cheap land in New York state or even Canada, we stopped to visit a friend of mine from college.

She and her husband had recently moved to a mountain farm in western North Carolina and, as I hadn't seen her in over 10 years, the opportunity was too good to miss.

On our first night in North Carolina, John went with my friend's husband and his two brothers to a little music festival in a place called Sodom. (We women stayed home with the babies.) John told me later about his first introduction to the county that was to become our home -- the matter of fact way in which his host put a pint bottle of whiskey in one overall pocket and a pistol in the other and the way the car swerved around the narrow road that wound its way over Lonesome Mountain -- where the VISTA worker was murdered, as one brother told him.

The 1970 murder of VISTA worker Nancy Morgan was still a hot topic when we moved to the mountains in 1975. And it was still unsolved. Local opinion seemed to be that she had been killed by another outsider -- in fact, in 1985, a fellow VISTA worker was tried and acquitted.

Outsiders, on the other hand, tended to believe that it was the work of a local person or persons and that the sheriff's department knew more than they were saying.

Almost forty years later, the murder is still unsolved. But Mark Pinsky is on the case.

Mark came to visit me yesterday -- I was the last stop on his Columbo "Just one more question" tour of our county. Mark has been interested in the case since the beginning -- and over the years has visited the area to ask questions of all sorts of people, following facts as well as the elusive hints and allegations. He's working on a book about the case and is in the final stages -- trying to wrap up all the loose ends and be sure that he's learned as much as possible from anyone who knows anything about the matter.

I'm not one of those -- I know nothing -- but I've also been interested in the case because it was the basis of the subplot so recently removed from Miss Birdie's book. I called the murdered woman 'The Do Good Girl' and came up with what I thought was a pretty good answer to the whodunnit question.

Since I'm writing fiction, the real murder is only a springboard for my imagination. I've changed lots of details and purposely not read a lot about the actual case. Two remarks -- one made by a local man about 33 years ago, the other, heard more recently -- were enough for me to spin a tale of 'what if . . .'

I'm hopeful that I'll get to tell my Marshall County version in a later Elizabeth book.

Thrift, Honesty, and Rue

Three virtues -- all in the garden and all in this first picture. That's rue, the little clump at the base of the tuteur; colorful thrift cascades over the wall; and there's honesty, at the top of the photo at the far end of the row of thrift.

Thrift is the common name around here for Phlox sublata, aka creeping phlox or moss pink. This time of year it's glorious -- carpeting steep banks, covering graves, or, as in my garden, adorning the top of a rock wall. Drought-resistant and tough, thrift will grow in the poorest soils. My neighbor Louise gave me my first bits of thrift, divided from her own plants. "They like to grow over rocks," she said. "Get you some little rocks and oncet you plant your thrift, set the little rocks all round it and hit'll grow like one thing!"

It did.

Thrift was first; Honesty came later. Lunaria annua is called Moonwort or Honesty by some, Silver Dollar Plant or Money Plant by others. I'd always yearned after stems of the pearly white disks to use in dried flower arrangement. Then a friend gave me some dried branches from her garden and I sat on the front porch, carefully peeling the brown, mildew-spotted covers off the seed pods to expose the translucent silvery circles. In the process, many a flat black seed dropped to the porch floor to be swept away by late summer breezes.

Now, about ten years later, the purple flowers of self-sown Honesty trace a path from just below our front porch , down the hill in purple battalions to the barn, and on down the road into our neighbors' property. Those cheerful clumps of purple are everywhere -- lovely jolts of color accomplished with absolutely no effort in my part.

And there's something to be said for that.

Rue -- its formal name is Ruta graveolens -- is an odd little herb, poisonous to some, strangely strong-smelling, and said to repel fleas. Later in the season it will show some small, not very exciting yellow flowers. I've never tried to use it for anything at all. Rue is in my herb garden because Shakespeare called it Herb 0' Grace and I'm a fool for names like that. And because Elizabeth Goudge wrote about a lovely old inn with that same name.

Rue is also said to exert a strong protective magick -- and that seems like a good enough reason to keep it around.

Wisteria and Chocolate

The wisteria was in full bloom and that was a good enough reason to invite some friends to dinner last night. We began with drinks and nibbly bits down at the pond so we could enjoy the sight and smell of the lavender panicles drooping around us.

Such a beautiful May Day -- from the welcome rain to the emerald green of the pastures and the flowers blooming everywhere.

Moussaka was waiting for us back at the house, along with John's seeded bread, Greek salad, and sauteed asparagus and shitakes.

And for dessert -- frozen chocolate pie -- a popular favorite. I just wish I'd had the presence of mind to take its picture before we laid waste to it.

Frozen Chocolate Pie

A wonderful, mostly do-ahead crowd pleaser

Pecan Crust (1 9-inch)

2 cups coarsely chopped pecans
1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar
3 tablespoons melted butter
2 teaspoons coffee liqueur (I use rum instead because I never happen to have coffee liqueur around)

Stir ingredients together; press mixture firmly onto bottom and up side of a nine-inch pie pan.

Bake at 350 for 10 to 12 minutes. Gently press sides of crust with back of a spoon; cool.

Frozen Chocolate Pie Filling

6 (1 ounce) semi-sweet chocolate squares
2 tablespoons strong coffee (or 1/2 teaspoon instant coffee)
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup coffee liqueur, divided ( again, I use rum instead)
1 and 1/2 cups whipping cream, divided (half will be used to top the pie)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Melt the chocolate squares with the coffee in a heavy saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally. Gradually stir about one-fourth of the hot chocolate mixture into the beaten eggs; now add the egg-chocolate mixture back to the remaining chocolate, stirring constantly. Gradually stir in three tablespoons coffee liqueur (or rum) and cook, continuing to stir for a few minutes. Remove from heat and cool.

Beat 3/4 cup of whipping cream with the vanilla till soft peaks form. Fold into cooled chocolate mixture. Spoon into pecan crust. Cover and freeze. Thaw slightly before serving so it will be easier to cut.

Before serving, whip remaining 3/4 cup whipping cream with 1 tablespoon rum till stiff peaks form. Spread on top of pie and grate a bit of chocolate on it for decoration

May Day . . . and the Winner Is . . .

April showers have ushered in May flowers. Everywhere I turn, there's something beautiful -- from an early Rosa Rugosa bud to the single silken flower on my treasured tree peony. . .

. . . that opens to reveal its complicated interior tangle of golden stamens.

. . . as the white coral bells on the lily of the valley spread their seductive scent on the Spring breezes.


A Happy May day to all!














The winner of the quilt book is Willow -- who should email me with her snail mail address.

My email is vicki_laneYOUKNOWWHATGOESHEREmtnarea.net