Friday, February 18th, 2011

A cold wind, - some blue sky to the north with clouds heaped up like dumplings, but the wind is miserable, - it whines as it scurries down the street in town, and I hurry with my shopping and errands.  I was bewitched by the  cornflower blue of the clear sky and came out without a scarf.  Before I was finished in town a large black cloud had appeared and the wind was wild and blowing granular bits of snow in erratic patterns.

We came home to a warm lunch and poignant thoughts of a mild day yesterday that had sent me out into the garden, filling bird feeders and moving straw back and forth, peering to see how the foxgloves had survived the winter and if the hellebores were going to make it for Lent.  Ah well, I see these alternating winter/spring days are prevalent in blogland, even in those parts where the snowdrops are blooming.

I have to be content with looking at pictures of the garden in bygone days.

Apricots in the Lost Garden

The promise of all this lovely jungley growth where today 

there are only dried, bleak remnants of last year's

fall splendour.

That pretty annual vine that I bought at a Garden Club sale and that grew 

and bloomed so beautifully,  Although I buy the seeds each year and the plants grow I

have never had a bloom on it like this again.  But

that won't deter me from trying again this year.

Remember how the black-eyes Susan carpeted the hills in early spring

and the bloom on the apple trees wafted their fragrance  along the lane

where Caspar and I went walking

the sweetness of the Violets

the tender new growth along the banks of the creek

and the lush beauty of the white peony!!!!

I could show you the Iris and the Poppy and the Roses and the passengers

alighting from the Chinese Lantern Underground Railway,

but it is bedtime, so I will tuck in with my dreams

and try to be patient.......

Life is eternal and love is immortal;
And death is only a horizon,
And a horizon is
nothing save the limit of our sight. - Rossiter W. Raymond

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is E


E is for Eccles cakes

This is what Wikipedia will tell you about this elegant but homey pastry.....

"Eccles cakes are named after the English town of Eccles.


It is not known who invented the recipe, but James Birch is credited with being the first person to sell Eccles Cakes on a commercial basis, which he sold from his shop at the corner of Vicarage Road and St. Mary's Road, (now known as Church Street) in the town centre, in 1793


Nicknames for Eccles Cakes included Squashed Fly Cake, Fly Cake, Fly Pie or even a Fly's Graveyard, owing to the appearance of the currants that it contains.

But I can tell you of my own personal history with Eccles Cakes.  I can't remember my mother making them on a regular basis, but our Vicar's wife rolled out the slender pastry every morning, cut it in rounds and filled them with melted butter, currants and brown sugar, a bit of vinegar, a smidgen of spice (cinnamon, nutmeg)  - gathered the pastry together in a twist at the top, turned it over and rolled it out flat, sprinkled the cakes with sugar and put them in the oven to bake.  (Nowadays people use puff pastry......)

This was during the Great Depression (compared to which the recent one we had was just a little Dint) and the Vicar and his wife were compassionate people, not only preaching the word of the Lord but caring for the congregation as a shepherd would care for his sheep.  Each afternoon the Vicar's wife would visit in the Parish, carrying with her the offerings of her kitchen - the Eccles Cakes that she could whip up in a flash, so familiar were they to her fingers and her heart.

A little variation on the traditional Eccles Cake recipe involves using sweet pastry to make tartlet cases and filling them with Ecclefechan, which consists of...

1 egg

4 tbsps of melted butter

i cup mixed dried fruit

3 tbsps brown sugar

2 tsps wine vinegar

2 tbsps chopped walnuts or pecans

Mix the sugar, melted butter and eggs together.  Stir in vinegar, dried fruit and nuts.

Pour into unbaked pastry shells.  Bake for 30 mins at 375 F

For more variations on the Letter E go here, to ABC Wednesday  with many thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt

and her kind crew.

February 14th, 2011

This and that.....

Weather report, - this morning the snow lay in lachrymose mounds and strips through the garden, effectively hiding any thrusting shoots which might be trying to check the skies and the whereabouts of Spring.  It was still dark when I arose, and I opened doors and windows to let the fresh morning air into the house.

The temperature was six or seven degrees above zero, and as dawn rimmed the snowy hills a slight breeze came up, gradually accelerating, tumbling, turning somersaults, lifting three or four crows in a lilting ballet above the pasture.  A pseudo Chinook, come to bare the grass and melt the icy patches, it has continued tossing and turned during the day so that now only the snow caught in the dried grasses along the fence line remains in the valley.  Of course the hills are still white, mottled with the green of the pines and firs and the dusky paths of the cracks and crevices, marking the creeks and remnants of past rainstorms that cleared the hills of soil in racing rivulets.

Half an hour ago it started to rain, - not the cold rain of winter, but the soft and tender rain of Spring!!!

It is getting close to Happy Hour.  Twenty-four hours ago we had had tea, and our son and daughter-in-law were just gathering up their things, preparing for the trip home to Summerland.  We lingered at the door, saying goodbyes, and as always, admonishing careful driving and a safe arrival.  Someone remarked that 'it was the other fellow you have to watch out for...........

An hour later we had a phone call from our daughter-in-law to say they had been in an accident. A young fellow  had pulled out of a side road along the Channel Parkway in his monster truck, right into their lane - a great screeching of brakes, the air bags deployed  - there was nowhere for them to go and our daughter-in-law's poor Audi, which is so much a part of her working day and which she cherished, is now wracked and ruined, - beyond repair. Luckily, our dear ones escaped with minor bruises and swellings (so far),

 and the occupant of the monster truck came through unscathed, sitting high above all the carnage.

It causes me to think of Time and Chance - if we had only lingered two or three minutes longer at the door, - if our goodbyes had been lengthened by an extra hug or two, - if they had traveled just a little slower, or just a little faster, this encounter would never have happened and the young, inattentive fellow with his monster truck would have been safely out of the way.  How many of life's pleasures and pains happen by Chance, I wonder.  Ecclesiastics tells us that 'time and chance happeneth to all' and I guess it just leaves us pondering, "if only...."

A River Stone

The Pussy Willows,

peeking over the top of their tight, shiny packaging

peering around for signs of Spring

T

February 12th, 2011

Happy Birthday to my darling

Still with the same old twinkle in his eye

and the wry grin.

Friday;, February 11th, 2011

The Illusion of Immortality has been sitting on my shelves since the mid seventies when I went through a bad patch after reading the contribution to radical theology by John Robinson, the Bishop of Woolwich, in his book "Honest to God".  It turned my comfortable Anglican world upside down for a good while.  Eventually I returned to the church because I was very suspect of the morality of the secular world, but without the naive concept of religion that had been with me from the cradle to John Robinson.

Now, of course, in the Liberal church, we have The Church of The Golden Rule and Social Activism, and God and Christ have little place in it, except that Jesus is sometimes acknowledged as a prophet, along with Buddha and Mohammed.

I am off the topic I started to write on.......

My copy of the Illusion of Immortality is well thumbed, has lots of margin notes, and is falling apart in places.  I leaf through it, stopping to read whole paragraphs or pages, sighing all the while...

However, waiting for me at the Library is David Shenk's new book "The Genius in all of Us" which I think is a great consolation for those who are no longer anticipating Immortality (in one form or another) in that it opens the possibility for achieving a full and wonderful life while we are alive.  His theory, (that genes and environment combined help to realize a person's potential),  gives hope by dashing the theory of genetic determinism.... too bad, if you were born without talent and intellect there is no hope for you!!!


Daniel H. Pink, author of Drive and A whole New Mind has this to say about Shenk's book...


"David Shenk sweeps aside decades of misconceptions about genetics and shows that by overstating the importance of genes we've understated the potential of ourselves.  This is a persuasive and inspiring book that will make you think anew about your own life and our shared future".


Charles is going to sing with the Senior's Choir at a Valentine Tea this afternoon, - I am going to get dressed up and go along with him and sip tea, and after we will go by the library where I can pick up this book that I expect to inspire me to live a full and rich life for all those thousands of days left to me!


I will let you know after I have read the book and not just the reviews.

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the Delectable D

D stands for Delphinium

One of my favourite flowers in the garden

Also known as Larkspur, it is to be found in the wild,

where all parts of the plant are Dangerous to cattle

and also to humans, if they are so Daring as to munch on them.

For more Delightful D's visit here at ABC Wednesday

with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

A Snowy Sunday

It was probably about six a.m. when the snow started to fall, - at first a fine white curtain, but then as the day advanced and the temperature rose the flakes grew larger and wetter, - perfect for a snowman or a fort, or any other statue that might appeal to your fancy.

It passed through my mind when I went out into the falling flakes that I might build a snowman, - very tempting when the snow is just right!  I had only thought of a simple fellow......

but Google showed me a great array of fabulous snow sculptures, built, of course, mainly in northern countries that are favoured with lots of snow in the winter.  This one really appealed to me....

However, I decided to forego the snowman, and came in for my camera when I saw what a glorious time the small birds were having at the feeder.  The quail flew in to the fence line, and then skimmed the top of the snow to get to where lunch was being served, but not as gracefully as when they seem to float over the grass.

A flock of starling came to rest in the top branches of the curly willow

but something soon startled them, or another passing flock caught their attention,  and they flew off in great swoops and swirls

whereupon they all took up positions in long rows on the wires off to the east, and if you click on the picture you might be able to see them

Late in the afternoon the snow stopped and the sky lightened, just a little, so that it was possible to see the tower behind us

This evening Sid came up with the tractor and cleared the road and the yard and a little path to the bird feeder, and back in the house the double amaryllis opened its beautiful petals a little bit further, and the forsythia glowed golden beside it.

We appreciate the moisture, - it could have come as rain, but then we would not have had the beauty of the snow.

By the way, the pussy willow tree is starting to make furry catkins.

This and That

The skies continue gray and melancholy here in the Similkameen - time seems at a standstill and I have to keep busy to keep cheery!

In the mail this morning were a couple of uplifting bloggy type e-mails, - one from the Rev. Barbara Crafton in which she speaks delightfully of her cats and their sojourn in the house during the winter.  She ends by saying

"The weather this winter has been a bit harsh for this part of the country, and February always feels long, though it is the shortest month.  But consider this:  even now,  the days are lengthening.  Even now, the buried shoots of plants lie suspended in their preparation for the signal they await: More light!  It is time!  Head toward the light!  Even now, their tiny hearts foretell the green leaves, waiting to pierce the surface and unfurl, offering their green faces to the life-giving sun. 

All the snow is water.  So is all the ice. We've had a goodly amount. The flowers will be wonderful this year."


which made me feel quite happy. 



And another from Sheila Gregoire, - in reality her weekly column on family affairs, maintaining some morality in society and a fair number of common sense tips on how to cope with life as it is now.  In this particular column she praises the film "The King", but goes even further in praising the honourable man and his family who accepted duty as it was thrust upon them, never shirking.  She says.....

"Throughout the film, people did the noble thing, the hard thing, the courageous thing. The movie leaves you feeling as if you have not just touched history, but have touched something profoundly good". 


 Here is a link to her column.

On another note, the Guru Grandson came on an emergency visit last evening, bringing his stethoscope to examine the ailing Printer which has been very recalcitrant, refusing to rise to the occasion and carry out its duties - if it were going to be around for any length of time I would probably call it the Duke of Windsor, but alas even a re-install didn't perk it up, and so we are in the market.

He also came to say last words over Windows Installer, which has been corrupt from the get-go, and has now been replaced by a brand new cheery chappie who is behaving in a most exemplary manner.

While the grandson was here we fell into conversation about Holograms (which he understands and I have just the faintest inkling of what they are all about).  He also showed me his Iphone and all the fantastic things it is capable of doing, and I grew quite dizzy as I stood in the middle of the room and the phone panned everything around me.  We discussed whether this amazingly smart generation is gaining as much wisdom as knowledge, and I wondered if they are being gently robbed of self reliance with all these scientific things that make life such a breeze for them.

Did you know that if you are out golfing that Iphone can measure the distance of your shot, and how far you are from the hole.  He didn't say if it was instrumental in forcing you to 'keep your head down' when you swing.

The other day Charles and I were watching a DVD which we converted from movie camera film, first shot in the years we were on the farm and bringing up a family.  We shook our heads and rolled our eyes a lot, - were we ever so young, - look, look at the children when they were just toddlers and then growing up, eventually marrying and having children of their own.  We remembered incidents and things the children had done and taken part in, like May Day celebrations, - there were horses they had, birthday parties, Christmas mornings, and old and dear friends who visited,   Our parents were there, and I saw clothes I had made for the little ones,  and our youngest daughter performing as Dolly and Mame at school concerts and our oldest daughter looking quite beautiful, home for Christmas from Art School.  It was a lovely experience, lots of laughs and poignant remembrances,  but at the end of it I was left with a wistful and almost unbelieving feeling that we had ever been that young, and I am reminded of the thought Charles ended his recent blog with -  did we actually do all these thing - well, we checked the record at least on that DVD.

ABC Wednesday
February 2nd, 2011

The letter this week is the Cheerful C

C is for Caballero, Cavalier and Cards

El Caballero de la mano al pecho

El Greco 1541-1614

This famous painting (1580) by Domenikos Theotokopoutes

born on the Island of Crete in 1541, moving from there to Italy

when he was 26, and thence to Toledo, in Spain

where this picture was painted in 1580 and where the artist

was known as The Greek - El Greco.

Translated the title of the picture is

the knight (man) with his hand on his chest

and there has been considerable discussion and controversy about

the position of his hand, and most especially the position of the fingers

with the thumb pointed upwards and the two middle fingers closed together.

It is speculated that the position indicates a request for forgiveness of a sin, or 

that it is an ancient Jewish tradition, although there is no record of this.

On a lighter note we have a picture of

Cavaliers playing Cards, painted by Maximo Caballero

Maximo Caballero was a Spanish  painter who was born in 1867 and died in 1951.

He seems to have painted a number of tavern pictures with these

dashing Cavaliers busy at various activities.

A good place to set up one's easel......

For more C's visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kindly crew.

Gratitude

From the Archives, because I feel the need to comfort my spirit and set it on a different course than the one where it has been imprisoned by the rather desolate weather this January.

From October 11th, 2008

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

How very basic, and simple.

The dear ones on the Meadow sent this today, in celebration of Thanksgiving.

We had a discussion about things we are thankful for, and Charles, when asked,  said that he was

 thankful just for LIFE, and as he told me after all the rest of the blessings are wrapped up in this one gift granted to him, - especially precious to those who survived the sharp point of the Second World War.

For each new morning with its light!

This is the ultimate gift.

The rest is gravy....

Thanksgiving is somewhat like Christmas - it is the season to be 'thankful' as Christmas is the season of 'good cheer to men of good will'. They each carry their transitory messages which, if we could but hang on to them all through the year, would make this world a much more pleasant place.

They are, alas, but a nine day wonder in the media (well, Christmas maybe a 90 day wonder with its commercialism). However, in a couple of places I have read of a Gratitude Journal being presented as an antidote to depression and a way of lifting one's spirits. Sadness and thankfulness are just not compatible....

I think that keeping a Gratitude Journal is a great idea! So often we get mired down in misery because of things that go wrong, small hurts, sometimes large hurts, - the effects of aging, frustrations and failings, misunderstandings and sometimes just general gloom.

How can you maintain this misery if somewhere you are taking the time to write down the pleasant things. A smile from someone passing, the fragrance of a garden, a child's first wonder at the world around, unburnt toast and fresh coffee, a conversation with a friend, music that stirs memories, - the list of things to be thankful for is endless.

I have a little red leather covered book that will be just perfect for this - expect to see me smiling most all the time!

I have to tell you that the entries in the Gratitude Journal petered out after six months or so.  I would like to think I was too busy in the garden and too contented to feel the need to remind myself of blessings.  

However, now that I am gathering myself together to greet February with a big smile and great enthusiasm, perhaps I will resume recording all the small and wonderful things that make me happy, - or not!  Sometimes we need to be grateful for the things that make us sad, but also teach us something of value.

We have come to the end of January, and her is my 

River Stone #31

Aware, always

with the eyes of a child,

of the great potential

for wonder and awe

and curiosity.

(Kierkegaard said this much more elegantly across in my sidebar)!

A River of Stones
January 30th, 2011

River Stone #30

Weather report.

Bright blue skies,
and sunshine.
Bitter wind,
falling spirits...
In the dead of Winter.

A River of Stones
January 29th, 2011

River Stone #29

Large, wet snowflakes,
and the Quail,
huddled in trios
beneath the sheltering sedum.

January 28th, 2011
A River of Stones

River Stone #28

Having provided the prelude

for remembrance and sorrow

I slide the funeral music into the drawer

and bring out the Ragtime

A River of Stones
January 27th, 2011

River Stone #27

stopped by a flagman

i ponder on the helter-skelter  arrangement of rocks,

wondering how they arrived in that formation

and composition

and what will happen to the small green lichen

when the road workers  toss it aside

and rearrange geological history

Being rather antiquated, besides being retired, I don't play the organ very often any more.  I fill in where I'm needed, and nobody yet has taken over the organ at funerals, so unless the bereaved import some more sophisticated music you will usually finding me playing the Prelude while the church fills for the service.

This morning, while Charles was away singing, I began to gather my music together for Friday's service.

I pondered about whether to play old hymns, which are often familiar even to those who only enter the church for funerals and weddings (both of which are often celebrated outside the church, and I use the word 'celebrated'  for a funeral service as they are often re-named ' Celebrations of Life'.)

Oh dear, I got distracted.  I pondered over whether to play old familiar hymns or some of the gentle, comforting classics.  My question was answered when I asked the family, who prefer classics.

Tonight I went looking for less complicated versions of Pachelbel's Canon in D,   - it is very jarring when you  hit a wrong note in those long, slow introductory chords and I like to make things easy for myself and my ego....  The other Bach and Handel pieces in my small repertoire present no problems and while I was putting them in order I caught the end of the Oprah show in the background, and her discussion with a gentleman whose name I never did catch about the value of gifts that make a lasting difference in our lives and those material things that please us for a short time (I think they mentioned nine months) and then are forgotten.

And I thought about the gift of music, and the lasting pleasure I was given with the opportunity to study the piano, and felt a great warmth of gratitude for this gift which makes life more pleasant for both Charles and I, because he loves music and gets to listen when I play Scott Joplin for him every morning and I get the joy of doing this!!

A River of Stones

River Stone #26

A rush of syncopated music

and the day begins

on a high note

P.S.  This is Post #700

A River of Stones
January 25th, 2011
River Stone #25

The amaryllis,

checking the back buds

in the bathroom mirror

sighs with satisfaction

ABC Wednesday
January 26th, 2011

The letter this week is B

B is for Buble

Michael Buble sings the songs that we danced to in our 'romantic' years, and when I am not listening to The Forties on Sirius Radio I indulge in a bit of nostalgia and listen to Michael Buble, singing a la Sinatra those melodies that live in our hearts.....



For more B's visit here at ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kindly crew.

A History of England - at least all that can be remembered.

I have been spending my evenings knitting yet another pair of socks ( a tale to this project) and reading on the computer Ken Follett's "Pillars of the Earth" which has filled me in quite nicely on the times of Stephen and Maud, but while looking for another History of England that used to dwell on our library shelves in the house we moved from I stumbled across an old tattered and torn copy of '1066 and all that" by W.C. Sellar and R.J. Yeatman, c1931!

This book has been in my possession for a few years B.C. (before Charles) and I am not sure how it escaped the general dispersal when we moved, - probably because Sentimental Attachment hid it amongst the books to be kept.  Despite its antiquity I see that the book is still available from Amazon, and well recommended!

If you want to click and look inside you will have to go to Amazon to get a taste of this 'unique and hilarious spoof', and I would recommend you do that if you are anxious to appear  that you are better acquainted with English History than in truth you really are. This will give you the highlights that should carry you through any conversation about the Island's history that doesn't get too detailed.   And of course, there are now vast numbers of mini-series if you want visual entertainment as well.

If you do click and look inside this is quite likely what you will see, - a fine line drawing of the Magna Garter.

The first chapter will deal with the True English Kings, which ended with Edward the Confessor, since he was succeeded by "Waves of Norman Kings (French), Tudors, (Welsh), Stuarts, (Scottish) and Hanoverians (German, not to mention the memorable Dutch King Williamanmary"

As a Canadian I am particularly interested in the Chapter dealing with George 111, and no doubt some American bloggers remember the part George 111 played in their own history.

However, the part that interests me, and I quote "the elder Pitt at this time had the rather strategic idea of conquering Canada on the banks of the Elbe;  learning, however, that it was not there he told the famous poetic general, Wolfe, to conquer Quebec, instead.  At first Wolfe complained that he would rather write Gray's Elegy, but on being told that it had been written already (by Gray) he agreed to take Quebec.

Quebec was very difficult to approach;  Wolfe therefore rowed up the St. Laurence with muffled drums and ordered his Highland troops to skirt up the perpendicular Heights of Abraham with muffled boots, hoots, etc., thus taking the French by surprise.

At this engagement the French had a very peculiar general with the unusual French name of Keep-calm.

On receiving a muffled report to the effect that Wolfe's men had captured Quebec, one of his aides-de-calm called out: "See!  They fly!"  "Who fly?" asked the General, and, on being assured that it was his own men who were flying, "Thank God!" said Keep-calm, with a sigh of satisfaction.  "Now, I can fly in peace!"

unquote

There are equally discerning chapters on all the other Kings of England and their accomplishments, and scattered through the book there must be enough humour and wit to have accounted for it still being sold at Amazon and also carried on Library shelves

I do recommend it to you, although after the end of the Great War you are on your own, and will have to discover where this mad and merry account of history would have led you if it had only been written later.  Unless you can find the book entitled "1066 and all that - and now all this!"

River Stone #24

History

when viewed from a distance

and lightened with 

the yeast of irreverence.

A River of Stones

River Stone #23

a tear,

a memory,

a last goodbye

                                                                                     Steve Ingraham

A River of Stones

River Stone #22

Sunshine today
Sparkling windows
Pure Joy

What a treat to have blue skies 

I step out on to the deck and the fragrance of Spring makes me heady.

I know that she has just wafted in a little sample 

and that there are hard times ahead before she wanders in for good,

but the perfume lifts my heart and spirits.

The feeders are crowded with little birds, - the air is mild,

not a breath of wind, and I'm off for a walk.

My walks have been few and far between lately, - I miss the company of the little dog.......

It is grey and gloomy here today.  I made the bathrooms sparkle and played a little joyful music, but now I am turning to memories of the first day of summer, when the garden was green and the air was golden;  the poppies nodded in the warm sun and the roses and delphiniums and iris joined the peonies in a big garden party.  I expect that pictures of that day will lift my spirits, and yours too, I hope.  Close your eyes, - now open them, - it is the First Day of Summer, - join me on the garden path........

Did you smell the fragrance, and did it make you eager for spring, soft clouds, blue sky and balmy breezes?

River Stone #21

Is it memories

or anticipation

that light the fire?

River of Stones
January 20th, 2011

River Stone #20

Contained by fog

and a cauldron of clouds

I contemplate new plantings

A River of Stones
January 19th, 2011

River Stone #19


Blue skies
Bright sun

Rain streaked windows :(

ABC Wednesday

Here we are, off on another alphabetical roller-coaster, and the first ride is on the letter A

A is for Apple and A is for Ambrosia

Here is the tale of the Ambrosia Apple, a Similkameen discovery.

In the 1980's a tree grew on Sally and Wilfred Mennell's orchard, located on the Cawston Bench; a seedling that sprang up in a row planted to Jonagolds and in a part of the re-planted orchard where previously plums and Golden Delicious had grown. In the first year that it bore fruit the pickers in the orchard snacked on each and every one of the apples that grew on the little tree.

Wilfred and Sally, seeing the attraction it had, made sure that the next year they tasted first, and were impressed.

In 1990-91 about 180 trees were budded onto M26 rootstock, to see if the variety would remain true to type, and when it did the Mennell family propagated about 400 trees.

The new variety was named Ambrosia because it had the honeyed flavour of  food for the Gods and I am  here to tell you that this is true!  A beautiful apple.

It has a smooth skin, is bi-coloured with an almost incandescent pink blush over a creamy white background.
And it smells delicious, with a slight honeyed fragrance.

It is the apple that Charles has before breakfast, and he never fails to remark on its wonderful crisp texture and the fact that the flesh of the apple is carried on such a small and unimposing core.  In a link to the Ambrosia it has been called (quote) a very civilized, refined apple, destined to be loved by connoisseurs of the good life everywhere. (unquote).

Here is a link to an Ambrosia Apple Home Page and below is a photo of Sally and Wilfred Mennell who recognized the qualities of this gorgeous apple and have made it available to apple lovers everywhere, - if you have not seen it in your stores do ask your local produce manager!

and Robert Mennell, a brother, out in the orchard garnering in the golden apple.

You will see the lovely hills and skies of the Similkameen Valley in the background.

For more interpretations of the letter A visit here at ABC Wednesday, with many thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kindly crew of helpers who go stalwartly on to another Round of ABC Wednesday.

A River of Stones
January 18th, 2011

River Stone #18

I suspect it becomes

as it was at the first,

a silver circle

to hold one solitary soul.

A River of Stones

The sun,

a star

kindling the clouds

River Stone #17

Sunday, January 16th

A dampish morning.  We come from church in pelting rain and warm up some soup for lunch.

What is there for it but to read a bit, nap a bit and an hour or two passes.

When I stir the clouds still hang low in the valley and the hills are swathed in mist,

but the garden lies in an intense light, - golden straw, russet branches, and the curled leaves on the willow dangling like gilded ornaments.  Autumn all over again......

I stand at the window with the camera, capturing the small birds as they feed, and a rat-a-tat  woodpecker making his way up the gravel driveway.

Suddenly a dove!  A flurry of wings as she swoops in front of me, makes a circle and disappears over the roof of the house.

A dove in January?  Well, perhaps a pigeon from a nearby loft, but nevertheless, a lovely sight, and I was lucky enough to catch her on the turn.

Today's River Stone #16

January flashes her garnets in the midst of gloom.

A River of Stones

January 15th, 2011

River Stone #15

Out in the garden
slumbers
the beauty of June.

Under the garden
tendrils
stretch and anticipate

Spring!

January 14th, 2011

River of Stones

Abandoned apples,

mildly fermenting,

awaiting their debut

at the Starling Bar

River Stone #14

A River of Stones
January 13th, 2011

River Stone #13

Death's angel hovers.

A slight lapse,
and gently the wings
slip under the weary body
and carry the old
heavenward.

Vincent Van Gogh

  It was remiss of me not to include the name of the painter with the picture on my header, and so I tell you now the story of  Landscape with Snow painted by Vincent van Gogh on February 24th, 1888.

As I reminded myself of the life of Vincent Willem van Gogh, and checked for facts which seem to have reached me by osmosis over the years, I was dreadfully saddened by the frustration and turmoil of his life.

He was born in 1853, the son of a pastor, and his upbringing was religious and cultured.  His sister described him as a 'serious and introspective' child, but it seems as he approached adulthood his ability to cope was affected by a tendency to excesses and mental illnesses.

After several failures as a clerk, an art salesman and a preacher in Belgium where he was dismissed for overzealousness, his brother Theo (four years younger and devoted to Vincent) urged him to apply himself to painting, and throughout the eleven years from 1879 to 1890 Theo supported him financially and with brotherly affection encouraged him.

In 1886 Vincent came to live with Theo in Paris, but two years later, seeking a warmer climate and a brighter atmosphere, he took the train to Arles, in the south of France.  Alas, when he dismounted from the Train in February of that year a he was confronted by a snowy landscape, but four days later, when the snow had begun to melt, he painted Landscape with Snow, the picture in the heading.

It is noted for it's pale lilac colours in the mountains and in patches of bare earth.  A comment made on this work suggests that it may 'have been inspired by the snowy scenes   common to the Japanese prints van Gogh avidly collected, but it also follows conventions of the 17th century Dutch landscape painting in its gradation of color from dark greens and browns framing the foreground to blue sky in the distance, and through the diagonal recession of the road in the snowy landscape.  But, unlike Dutch panoramas with their broad expanse of sky, the present work shows van Gogh concentrating on the terrain between where he stands and the bright red-roofed cottage in the distance".

A few days later Vincent did a similar painting, 'Snowy Landscape with Arles in the Background'.

Vincent was able to settle in Arles,  renting four rooms in the famous Yellow House.  In this painting the rooms where he was able to create a studio, have friends in and regard as home are the ones with green shutters.

In the fall of 1888 Vincent invited Paul Gauguin to come and paint with him.  In the beginning they worked well together, producing marvelous sunflower and vineyard pictures.  Van Gogh's picture of The Red Vineyard was the only one of his painting that he sold in his lifetime, for which he received about $1,000.00 in modern money.  In a letter to Theo he describes it thus "a red vineyard, all red like red wine.  In the distance it turned to yellow and than a green sky with the sun, the earth after the rain violet, sparkling here and there where it caught the reflection of the setting sun."

During the years that Vincent painted he was continually plagued by periods of mental illness and after a few weeks the relationship with Gauguin became stormy, culminating in a night when Vincent came at Gauguin with an open razor, and when Gauguin fled, van Gogh cut off part of his own ear.

His illness became more severe.  Eventually he admitted himself to an asylum in Saint-Remy, and in May of 1890, seeming much better, he went to live in Auvers-sur-Oise under the watchful eye of Dr. Gachet.  Two months later, on July 29th 1990, and after a fit of painting activity he shot himself in the chest.  He survived for two days, and a devastated Theo was at his side when he died, his last words being 'La tristesse durera toujours' (The sadness will last forever).  Theo, unable to come to terms with his brother's death, died six months later and in 1914 his body was exhumed and buried next to Vincent.

Van Gogh was a prodigious painter and his finest works were produced in less than three years in a technique that grew more and more impassioned.  "He was completely absorbed in the effort to explain either his struggle against madness or his comprehension of the spiritual essence of man and nature".

During his lifetime van Gogh painted thirty self portraits, as an exercise in improving his painting when he could not afford models.  I was impressed by the following video which shows a progression of his life, and presents his portraits at the various stages of his mental health.




Not too many years after his death his fame as a painter grew higher and higher, and today he is recognized as being the most famous of Dutch painters after Rubens.

I was very much affected by reading of Vincent's life, and so it led to A River of Stone.

River Stone #12

My heart sorrows
for those to whom
peace never comes.

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is Z

Z is for Zabaglione

The recipe is here

Simple, smooth and delicious, -  exotic and comforting all at the same time.

For more interesting takes on the letter Z visit here, at ABC Wednesday.


A River Stone  #11

I add a little dab of jam
(apricot, I think..)
to my zabaglione.....

and praise Italians

A River of Stones
January 10th, 2011

River Stone #10

A little whimsy
as we ancients discuss
a picnic to pan for gold

at $200.00 per ounce

Well, why not!.  Our adventures these days are small scale, but when the first tender green grasses appear on the mountain side and the yellow bells and mariposa lilies lend a sweet grace to the rocky crevices we consider a few hard boiled eggs, some homemade bread, a little wine, and a trip up the mountainside to McIntyre Creek, where memories of panning for gold await Charles, at least.  For me a new experience.

Please, do not hold your breath while you wait for him to recount the trips he made with his father into the hills behind Oliver, but I will tell you when his posting finally shows up on From the Back Pasture.

In the meantime, suffice it to say he still has vivid memories of  travels on the sloping hillsides in a 1928 Chevrolet, and the excitement of prospecting for mica, gold and silver in the creek with his father and brothers.  I will let him tell you the stories as he has told them to me, and it will be an inspiration for him to once again follow and record these childhood memories.

Be patient!!!!

River of Stones

River Stone #9

Each day
a later dusk
speaks sweetly of Spring