The First of October

The days grow shorter....

It is dark when I waken and I am tempted to turn and snuggle in the warmth of the bed, until I think of Bruce's bladder, and up I rise, calling to him to come and greet the day.  He's a sweet dog, and wakes with a smile and great enthusiasm as he lifts his leg!!!

The garden is toying with the idea of slumber, but you know how it is, preparing to go to bed.  It doesn't all happen at once, and so we are spending pleasant hours outside these days, Callie and Bruce and I, dead-heading, gathering up barrow loads of compost material, saving seeds of the nicotiana and finding a spot for the potted foxgloves that didn't bloom this year, but surely will next summer.

I am making a pot pourri of garden herbs, drying them slowly and then sieving them as needed.

In the meantime the garden goes about its business - the fall flowers bloom profusely.  Especially the asters whose blossoms swarm with bees when they open to the sunshine in the morning...

I am continually snipping off yellow daisies who have done their thing, and now grow old and dry and withered as old things (and people) are wont to do.....  The blooms that take their place are smaller, but never ending.....

The lilies and the peonies have donned their autumn colours....

but look - the honeysuckle is in bloom again...

and at irregular intervals the lovely chinese lantern

marks the spot where the chinese rail line has 

established a station....

Mister Lincoln has raised his stove pipe hat and seven feet in the air

three rich red blossoms start to open against the blue of the sky.

Callie sits on the stump of the pussy willow tree that was taking over the garden,

looking through the cutch grass that grows just outside our fence. -

probably not as frustrated as I am inclined to be -

too interested in the neighbourhood kitties that wander down the lane.

The sedum and the chrysanthemums are saving themselves for October, when

the trees turn golden and scarlet and bronze

and the sky a brilliant blue.

Soon, soon, soon I must take a trip to Cawston and to Ginty's pond...

Maybe tomorrow!

The Loon

ABC Wednesday
September 28th, 2016

The letter is L for Loon

The Loon

Not quite four a.m. when the rapture of being alive

strikes me from sleep, and I rise

from the comfortable bed and go

to another room, where my books are lined up

in their neat and colourful rows.  How

magical they are!  I choose one

and open it.  Soon

I have wandered in over the waves of the words

to the temple of thought.

And then I hear

outside, over the actual waves, the small,

perfect voice of the loon.  He is also awake,

and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out to the fading moon, to the pink flush

swelling in the east that, soon,

will become the long, reasonable day.

Inside the house

it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight

in which I am sitting.

I do not close the book.

Neither, for a long while, do I read on.

Mary Oliver

or this......

The Loon on Oak-Head Pond

cries for three days, in the gray mist

cries for the north that it hopes it can find

plunges, and comes up with a slapping pickerel,

blinks its red eye

cries again

you come every afternoon and wait to hear it,

you sit a long time, quiet, under the thick pines,

in the silence that follows,

as though it were your own twilight, 

as though it were your own vanishing song.

Mary Oliver,  (again)

For more great Ls visit here at ABC Wednesday

with thanks to Roger, Denise, Leslie

and their lovely helpers.

K is for Kingfisher

ABC Wednesday
September 21st, 2016

The letter is K for Kingfisher

The Kingfisher

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave

like a blue flower.  In his beak

he carries a silver leaf.  I think this is

the prettiest world - so long as you don't mind

a little dying.  How could there be a day in your

whole life

that doesn't have its splash of happiness?

There are more fish than there are leaves

on a thousand trees, and anyway, the kingfisher

wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.

When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the

water

remains water - hunger is the only story

he has ever heard in his life that he could

believe.

I don't say he's right.  Neither

do I say he's wrong.  Religiously he swallows the

silver leaf

with its broken red river, and with a rough and

easy cry

I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body

if my life depended on it, he swings back

over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it

(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.

Mary Oliver

For more interesting Ks click here to visit

ABC Wednesday

with many thanks to

Roger, Denise, Leslie

and all keen helpers. 

J is for Jewels.

ABC Wednesday
September 14, 2016

The letter is J for Jewels

And here is a pretty, romantic poem by Sara Teasdale, entitled "Jewels"

If I should see your eyes again,
I know how far their look would go --
BAck to a morning in the park
With sapphire shadows on the snow.

OR back to oak trees in the spring
WHen you unloosed my hair and kissed
The head that lay against your knees
In the leaf ahadow's amethyst,

And still another shining place
We would remember - how the dun
Wild mountain held us on its crest
One diamond morning white with sun.

But I will turn my eyes from you
As women turn to put away
The jewels they have worn at night
And cannot wear in sober day

For more Js click Here to visit ABC Wednesday,
with thanks to Roger, Denise, Leslie
And all their Jolly helpers

Irish Music

ABC Wednesday
September 7th, 2016

The Letter is I for Ireland

and here is a little Irish Music to set your toes a-tapping

more interesting takes on the letter I here

at ABC Wednesday, 

with thanks to Roger, Denise, Leslie 

and all irrepressible helpers

Hello September!!!

.....and welcome!!!

April might be wet and moody, and the summer months can leave you

gasping with the heat

but when did September ever let you down????

Such a wonderful month..

full of energy and enthusiasm and new beginnings...

During the school lunch years (and they were many with our

six children stretched out over sixteen years)

when I was making sandwiches, baking chocolate cakes

and cookies, how I yearned to pack up a lunch

for myself, and join them in the learning experience.

Eventually I did go back to College

but in the meantime September was like New Years,

full of good intentions and

wonderful projects to tackle.

And the colours, the harvest, the mellowness,

the gentle descent into sleep

that was going on in the gardens and

throughout the countryside.,

I loved it then and I love it still.

A few pictures of the countryside in the Autumn

Not this year's pictures - many of them taken on those wonderful
picture taking drives that Charles and I indulged in
when everything was particularly beautiful....

ABC Wednesday
The letter is H for William Ernest Henley

1849-1903

Probably known best for his poem "Invictus"

which reflects his resilient struggle with the deadly disease,

tuberculosis of the bone.

"I am and Master of my fate

I am the Captain of my Soul"

Henley lost his left leg below the knee when he was in his teens.

In 1873 his other leg was affected by tuberculosis

but thanks to the innovative treatment of Dr. Joseph Lister it

was not amputated.  

Henley stayed almost two years under Dr. Lister's care

and during this time he turned to writing poetry 

about his hospital experiences.

These poems are probably the most interesting of all for the present day reader,

as they depart from the traditional themes and imagery

of Victoria poetry and have an affinity in form

with Gerald Manley Hopkins and T.S. Eliot.

'In spite of his illness Henley was a strong and sociable man with boundless energy, 

excellent memory, enthusiasm and versatile mind.'

As much as I admire his poem Invictus

probably my favourite Henley poem is

"O Gather Me the Rose"

lovely words with a gentle admonishment

to gather joy as we find it and whenever we can.

O gather me the rose, the rose,

While yet in flower we find it

For summer smiles, but summer goes,

And winter waits behind it.

For with the dream foregone, foregone,

The deed foreborn forever,

The worm Regret will canker on,

And time will turn him never.

So were it well to love, my love,

And cheat of any laughter

The fate beneath us, and above,

The dark before and after.

The myrtle and the rose, the rose,

The sunshine and the swallow

The dream that comes, the wish that goes

The memories that follow!

William Ernest Henley fell from a railway carriage in 1902

and the accident caused the latent tuberculosis germ

to awaken.  He died on he 11th of July, 1903, a the age of 53.

For more interesting Hs visit here at ABC Wednesday

with thanks for Roger, Denise and Leslie

and all Helpers

G is for Goulash

ABC Wednesday
August 24th, 2016

The letter is G for Goulash

Not part of my repertoire, 

but I have such fond memories of the goulash made by a family friend, 

when I was a child.

And so the other day I made a pot of Goulash

and although not exactly enchanted by it

I was really very pleased, and vowed to make more. 

I made my Goulash American style,

 with ground beef and tomatoes and

elbow macaroni

But I am reminded of the wonderful history of

Hungarian Goulash

and the practically of taking along a

dish that cooks while you herd cattle.

   

This thick, hearty dish is popular with herdsmen in Hungary.

They make it in a cast-iron kettle hung above an open fire, out in the fields. 

The herdsmen have the best ingredients at hand -  prime quality beef, and as it cooks while

they work it goes well with their lifestyle.

During the 19th century, when there was a general raising of

national awareness of Hungarian culture

language and 'gastronomical delights'

this peasant dish came to be accepted by town folk, and even the elite.

Today it is a tourists' favourite, and is featured

in all the best restaurants in Budapest, 

throughout Hungary, and with

slight national variations in many other

countries of Europe.

You ask for Gulyas - Hungarian for Herdsman.

Here is a Classical Hungarian Goulash Recipe

Heat up a couple of tablespoons of oil or lard in a heavy pot and braise 2 medium chopped up onions

until they are a nice golden brown, - 

then add two cups of beef cubes, stirring a bit until they become brown.

Add 2 cloves of garlic, 2 diced carrots, 1 diced parsnip, a couple of celery leaves 

and 2 or 3 medium potatoes, sliced, 

i tablespoon of Hungarian paprika and

a teaspoon of caraway seed.  

along with one bay leaf. some ground black pepper and salt to taste.

When the vegetables and meat are almost done add 2 medium tomatoes, 

peeled and chopped and the sliced green peppers.

Let it cook on low heat for another few minutes.

If you want to be really Classical here is where you

bring the mixture to a boil and add the CSIPETKE, or

small Hungarian noodles. 

A Hungarian Herdsman in Traditional Finery

doubtless ordering a bowl of Goulash.

Hungarian Style.

Here is a Hungarian Folk Song and some scenes that will perhaps

give you a taste of Hungary and its culture.

For more interesting Gs click here at ABC Wednesday,

with thanks to Roger, Denise, Leslie and

all grand helpers.

F for Fiddlehead

ABC Wednesday
August 17th, 2016

The letter is F for Fiddlehead

Chock full of vitamin A and C fiddlehead greens are a nutritional powerhouse rich in antioxidants, and a great source of fibre and omega-3 fatty acids.  The furled fronds of a young fern, the fiddleheads are harvested early in the season before the frond has opened and are cut fairly close to the ground.

Over-picking will eventually kill the plant, and it is important to maintain sustainable harvesting, whether you are growing them commercially or out in the woods  where it is damp, and the ferns grow freely.

Fiddleheads have been part of traditional diets for centuries in much of France, across Asia, and among Native Americans.  With a flavouring similar to asparagus this springtime veggie goes well in soups, salads and pastas - and quiche too!

Bring some potatoes, celery, onion, water, stock and salt and pepper to a boil, - cover and simmer about twenty minutes or until veggies are tender.  Add fiddleheads and simmer until they are tender too and you have a nice creamy fiddlehead soup.

Of course there is a Band, too that is called Fiddlehead Soup, - one which has a delightfully unique sound well known in the community in which they play (in eastern Ontario, Canada)

Fiddlehead Soup sings and plays English, Scottish, Irish, French, Spanish, Icelandic, Finnish, Northern Sami, Uyghur and Italian music, as well as their own compositions.  (I am not familiar with Uyghur music, but I plan to listen and discover.....

Glenna Hunter, Doug Hendry and Ursa Meyer. Band members.
The ladies are mother and daughter.

There is also a well known Canadian Literary Magazine called The Fiddlehead, 

and a Radio Pod Cast associated with it, both of which can be

found online.

For more interesting Fs click here to visit ABC Wednesday,

with thanks to Roger, Denise, Leslie and those helpers who frantically visit

the contributors to ABC Wednesday each week.

This and That

Saturday, August 13th, 2016

I sit down to compose a post, without a thought in my head about what I will write about.  The cat joins me, pussy footing it between the keyboard and the screen, as is her wont.

She visits me in the Loom Room too, where I am still struggling with the knots that secure the new warp to the end of the old warp - the dummy warp, - cosying up close, kissing my wrist.  I try to slip in to tackle this task when she is outside in the garden, but somehow she knows and before I have two or three knots tied she is there ...mother's little helper!!!

No warp knots tied today, but I did make a most delicious Italian Prune crumble - had a bowl with a smidgin of ice cream and felt thoroughly spoiled.  The kitchen is full of fruit and herbs and today I bought some pickling salt to make bread and butter pickles the easy way (recipe follows).

The Cobbler is 'just a cobbler' but I added a
little pear liquor to the filling and probably a bit more butter so that the topping was lovely and rich.
Prunes don't look terribly appetizing, but a half a cup of brown sugar, a half a cup of white, some crispy oats and they are heavenly.....

The pickles are a cinch to make - the recipe from my dear friend, Margaret, who alas is gone (as are so many of my dear friends...)

You need to bring to a boil 4 cups of vinegar, 4 cups of white sugar, one quarter cup of pickling salt, one and one half teaspoons of celery seed, one tsp of tumeric and one and one half  teaspoons of mustard seed. Pour over thinly sliced pickling cucumbers (as many as you can get your hands on..)
Stir every day for five days, and then store in the refrigerator in ice cream pails until they are all gone.  So tasty, and so convenient....

After a cool July the weather has been exceedingly warm, - 36 degrees C today,   I went early to town, while the night coolness was still lingering, and took the car.  It has been my determination to get familiar and happy with using Charles' electric cart, but it being one that he used in the orchard, built sturdy and big, I feel it somewhat cumbersome and for the same reason that I don't really like to admit that I am almost ninety-two, I am not happy being seen riding around on a cart for 'old people'. I believe this condition is caused by too much ego, and I do try to be more humble and accepting.......

Perhaps I will take the cart to ukulele practice tomorrow and I can practise being 'umble as well as strumming "Hello, my Baby" and "Buffalo Gals".

I listened to a video of the British Ukulele Orchestra and was so impressed

 and filled with admiration!

And I can't even whistle!!!!