Rosie's World (repost)

                                                        

Of course, many of you know that I base the Goodweather farm in the Elizabeth Goodweather Mysteries on ours. So, let's pretend for a moment, that we're in the setting for Old Wounds.

The top picture shows the barn (lower right) the Goodweathers lived in while building their house. To the left and a little above the barn is the chicken house (hard to see but important to the story.) Higher up is Elizabeth's house and to the right of that, you can make out Ben's cabin (or Little Sylvie's in Signs in the Blood). The multi-tiered garden starts just above the chicken coop.

                                         

  

The second picture is taken on the road that runs along the top of the pasture and into the woods. (We call it 'the New Road' as it was bulldozed for us only about 35 years ago. It doesn't actually go anywhere -- its purpose is mainly to provide a way to get the tractor or our little utility vehicle into the woods for firewood or for hauling fencing supplies.)

This is the road Elizabeth often takes a walk on and the big tree to the left is where the deer stand that the young Maythorn used as a spy post would have been. And this is where the young Rosemary followed her mother on a cold winter day, with an unwelcome result.

She trotted down the path, smiling to think how surprised her mother would be when she

appeared. A little way on and the path veered sharply as it wrapped around the mountainside. Just beyond that turn was one of the benches Pa had made for Mum so she could sit and look at the view. Maybe she would be there. Humming, Rosemary hurried on.

In the late eighties I (me, Vicki, not Elizabeth) used to walk our two Akitas on this path daily. They were large (over a hundred pounds each) dogs and, though lovely with people, completely murderous around any other animals (dogs, cats, chickens, etc.) So they had to be kept in the house and exercised on the leash. Once, when we had just hit this stretch of very uphill path, a squirrel ran across the road in front of us. Both dogs lunged at it, pulling me down, splat on my face. I hung on to the leashes like grim death and the dogs kept going, towing me behind them like a particularly inept water-skier. When finally, after they'd dragged me almost to the top of the hill, I managed to stop them and stand up, the top of my head was completely covered with dirt and leaf mold.

I digress. The last picture, if you'll look closely is of Froghead, the rock that sticks out of the pasture like a granite thumb, the place where Rosie first meets Maythorn. My boys gave it that name and it was a favorite hangout of theirs. Higher up the mountain above the house, is what they called the cave -- actually a little shelter under some huge boulders that lean against each other. This, of course, was the inspiration for Rosie and Maythorn's Cave of Two Sisters.                         

                                             

But, and some people have asked about this, there is no Mullmore, no faux-Tudor mansion on the other side of the ridge. I do use my imagination for some stuff!

Sunrise

I grabbed this first picture and, thinking there was time before the sun showed, ran back inside to put on something over my thin nightgown--it was beautifully chilly.

Alas, I was too optimistic--I missed the crucial moment by a few seconds and ended up with this glare. 

Oh, well, I'll probably get another chance.

 

Josie's Bestiary--In Her Own Words

                                                                                      

This is a Dingola Poopfloot. It is very rare but there are a lot of them. It is one-half horse, one-half dog, one-half alligator. one-half Meema, and one-half imagination. The Meema half says NONONONO.

His poop is blue and long and gets stuck to his butt. His mouth is on his belly, and he has a long purple tongue. He has a red body with black stripes and a green tummy. He was born in the Dinosaur Age.

This (below) is a Kaptootie Tututu. It eats plants and is not rare. It was born in the Dinosaur Age also. It has wings and looks like a peacock but different. It is very colorful.

It used to be extinct, but one was still alive and gave birth to many more and they are REAL.

I AM NOT KIDDING!!!

                                                                                 

The one is called a (yelling) BLEEEEEEE! He is very giant. He eats brown tree trunks. He is pretty weird and don't blame me for it. He looks a lot like a turtle. He is half turtle, half ladybug, half kitty, and half elephant.

I spread out all my art all over the living room. It was my gallery so Grumpy could admire my work.

Here is the last one. It is a Rainbow Floobie-Doobie. He is so colorful. That is why he is called rainbow. He eats anything messy--like trash. 

His tail has eight feathers. He has a long tongue, as long as a grownup's arm. He is the rainbow-est dinosaur on earth. 

What is that brown stuff? says Meema.

His poop, I tell her.

Why do you want to show that? she says.

So you'll know what it looks like, I say. It looks like a cup cake and it's edible. It tastes like chocolate and vanilla.

Oh, says Meema.

Sphinx Moth, I Think

 

Iconic Summer Supper

                                                                    

Chicken salad! Just like my mother and grandmother made, though I add curry powder and a good deal more onion to the chicken, apples, celery, and mayo (homemade--I'll not get into the Hellman's vs Duke's controversy that consumes various Southern-based FB groups.) One of my earliest kitchen chores was cutting up the cooked chicken--with scissors, still one of my go-to kitchen tools.

There are potato chips on the side because that's part of the tradition. Potato chips are a rare treat around here--I remember one of the boys spotting a bag as I was putting away groceries and asking if we were having company--company and chicken salad being two excuses to buy chips.

Traditionally there should be a Sunshine brand peach pickle on the plate--but I haven't seen them in the store for years and am serving some oven roasted asparagus with cheese.

Chicken salad has been a constant in my life.

John's last posting in the Marines was at the air base in Beaufort (Bew-furt), SC, and it was ungodly hot in our rented duplex. I made chicken salad, tuna salad, and shrimp salad in a weekly rotation, doing the cooking early in the morning and spending the rest of the day reading in a hammock under the big oak that was the only good thing about that rental. 

Some evenings we would go to the movie just to sit in the bliss of A/C. The movie changed weekly and some weeks we saw it twice.

Chicken salad--not just a meal but a repository of memories.

(Apologies for the crummy pictures--we were in a hurry to eat.)

                                                   

Close to Home

For days Hosta had been watching Foxglove, admiring their deep lavender bells, so enticing to the bumble bees. Hosta leaned out over the stone walkway, hoping that Foxglove would notice.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Foxglove bent toward the walkway. Hosta trembled with anticipation. . . if only, even the briefest of touches . . .

Alas, it was not to be. A passing dog tore the pair asunder, never to be reunited. But the memory lingers . . .

 

More Watercolors

 

                                                                                         

                                                                                       

WOKE--What's in a Word?

Much as Communist or Socialist has been a handy scare-word since the Fifties for the Right to hang on anyone with progressive social views, now woke is the term of opprobrium that really gets their knickers in a twist, especially the knickers of Florida's governor.

Woke's a word politicians struggle to define--tricky because it can sound like moral theology.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, woke means 'alert to and concerned about social injustice and discrimination.'

What's so bad about that? Isn't it what most religions teach?

(Here's the thing that may have damned the term for the Right. Woke began as a term in Black slang and gained more widespread use as part of the Black Lives Matter movement. And we know what the Right feels about BLM.)

Through his spokespersons, we learn that Gov. Desantis defines woke as the belief that there are systemic injustices in America and that these injustices should be addressed. 

Fair enough. That's a good definition. And why wouldn't one want to acknowledge and work to correct these injustices?

Ron gets round this sticky dilemma of choosing not to address these injustices by simply declaring that there are none. Nope, we're all equal with equal opportunity, equal advantages, equal treatment. 

Magical thinking at its finest.

A Closer Look

 

Not Feeling the Fourth

I'm finding little to celebrate as the Supreme Court chips away at hard won freedoms and the GOP continues in thrall to a criminal and con-man.

If the 'Originalists' on the court have their way, they will take us back to the USA of the original constitution--where only white property owners have the vote, where Black people are enslaved (by poverty and discrimination,) where women are not valued above a fertilized egg, where the LGBTQ's of any sort are shoved back into the closet, where there's no such thing as climate change or pollution, where the social safety net is left to religious groups, and business, holy business runs the show. 

As more and more is revealed about the wealthy folks who've befriended and enriched various of the Supremes, I think it's time that, like NASCAR drivers, they wore patches naming their sponsors on those solemn black robes.

Nope, no flag waving today. I'm embarrassed by my country. 

 

My Kind of Fireworks

Once I enjoyed fireworks. The explosion of color against a dark sky, the changing patterns, the inevitable ooooh of the watchers.

But ever since I watched dogs cowering in fear at the sound, and as I became more aware of the negative effects fireworks have on other critters--wildlife, folks with PTSD--not to mention the possibilty of wildfires--the pleasure is gone.

Bailey, in particular is freaked by thunder and lightning. We'll be keeping her close during this long weekend.

I guess it's a consequence of being 'woke'--empathetic to the fears and needs of others. Does that make me un-American?

 

Salade Caprese

Several varieties of sliced tomatoes. The heirloom varieties now in the grocery stores make it special.

Fresh basil leaves.

Creamy fresh mozzarella.

Coarse sea salt and fresh ground Tellicherry pepper.

Olive oil and aged basalmic vinegar--the good stuff that's almost a syrup.

Heavenly on a hot day.

The mozzarella looks disconcertingly like mini-marshmallows. It's called mozzarella pearls and was on sale. (I usually go with the solid mozz and slice it. But the pearls worked fine.)

 

Rabbit Rabbit (Hare Hare)