In the deep hours of night, I am awoken by gentle moonlight falling, soft and luminous, upon my face and hair. I silently greet this moon rising into the quiet night sky before falling asleep once more. I have a special fondness for the wild beauty of the waning moon. I do not know why.
Past my window, the moon continues to rise, sharing its bounty, glimmering upon the river water and illuminating the surrounding hills. Above them, fine clouds have become lustrous platinum the light of which fills the land so that it seems a fairyland I do not know. Instead of my own small realm which I know so well.
In the morning I will see that we have had visitors: fresh footprints are made by small creatures that walk silently upon the soft earth overnight. Who they are I cannot say, for in this place nearly anything is possible. But I observe very little outside in the cool Winter night, even under this beautiful moon, because my bed is so warm and sleep is so delicious here.
Snow blankets the woods, the skies are vast and quiet, the earth remains serene. What lovely peace this is.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, October 8, 2007
Poem
Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
~ Ryokan
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
~ Ryokan
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Fragrant Mountain
As I walked home after work this afternoon, I noticed a rich, earthy fragrance lingering here in the woods. It was a heavy scent that I associate with Autumn. It seems as though every season lends its own perfume to this river, these hills. I then thought of the Poet of the Fragrant Mountain, Bai Juyi... from there my mind went to one of his poems, written in 833 A.D. It is one of my favorites, and it reminds me of my own little home, so much beloved.
The Sky-Blue Yurt
The finest felt from a flock of a thousand sheep, stretched over a frame shaped like the extended bows of a hundred soldiers.
Ribs of the healthiest willow, its color dyed to saturation with the freshest indigo.
When the typhoon blows it does not shake, when a storm pours it gets even stronger.
With a roof that is highest at the center, it is a four-sided circle without corners.
With its side door open wide, the air inside remains warm.
Though it casts a lonely shadow during nights brilliantly illuminated by the moon, its value doubles in years when the winter is bitterly cold.
Softness and warmth envelop the felt hangings and rugs; the tinkling of jade enfolds the sounds of pipes and strings.
It is most convenient after the earth has been covered with frost, and it is the best match when snow fills the sky.
Positioned at an angle is the low chair for singing, evenly disposed are the small mats for dancing.
When I have leisure time I lift open the curtain and enter the yurt, and when I am drunk I wrap myself up in a cover and sleep there.
Behind me an iron lamp-stand that bears a candle; a silver incense censer that flames is suspended from the ceiling.
Kept deep within is the flame that lasts till dawn; stored inside is the fragrant smoke that lasts till evening.
When the animal-shaped charcoal is close by, fox furs can be cast aside.
When the ink-stone is warm it melts the frozen ink and when the pitcher is heated it becomes a stream in springtime.
An orchid canopy will barely attract a hermit and a thatched hut is inferior for meditating.
(But invited to my yurt) an impoverished monk responds with praise, and a threadbare scholar stays in place, unwilling to leave.
Guests are greeted with it, descendants will hand it down to posterity.
The Wang family boasts of their antiques, but they have nothing to equal this Sky-Blue Yurt.
The Sky-Blue Yurt
The finest felt from a flock of a thousand sheep, stretched over a frame shaped like the extended bows of a hundred soldiers.
Ribs of the healthiest willow, its color dyed to saturation with the freshest indigo.
When the typhoon blows it does not shake, when a storm pours it gets even stronger.
With a roof that is highest at the center, it is a four-sided circle without corners.
With its side door open wide, the air inside remains warm.
Though it casts a lonely shadow during nights brilliantly illuminated by the moon, its value doubles in years when the winter is bitterly cold.
Softness and warmth envelop the felt hangings and rugs; the tinkling of jade enfolds the sounds of pipes and strings.
It is most convenient after the earth has been covered with frost, and it is the best match when snow fills the sky.
Positioned at an angle is the low chair for singing, evenly disposed are the small mats for dancing.
When I have leisure time I lift open the curtain and enter the yurt, and when I am drunk I wrap myself up in a cover and sleep there.
Behind me an iron lamp-stand that bears a candle; a silver incense censer that flames is suspended from the ceiling.
Kept deep within is the flame that lasts till dawn; stored inside is the fragrant smoke that lasts till evening.
When the animal-shaped charcoal is close by, fox furs can be cast aside.
When the ink-stone is warm it melts the frozen ink and when the pitcher is heated it becomes a stream in springtime.
An orchid canopy will barely attract a hermit and a thatched hut is inferior for meditating.
(But invited to my yurt) an impoverished monk responds with praise, and a threadbare scholar stays in place, unwilling to leave.
Guests are greeted with it, descendants will hand it down to posterity.
The Wang family boasts of their antiques, but they have nothing to equal this Sky-Blue Yurt.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The First Chill of Autumn
Awaking this morning, I knew that cool Autumn had arrived in the night. I drew the windows of the house shut with a touch of wistfulness, knowing that they will not likely be opened again until Spring. For breakfast we had steaming rye porridge. Then, when I ventured outside, I could see my breath suspended in the air....
It is growing chill quickly and I am not the only one who notices. The animals are clearly readying themselves for the long Winter. Flocks of wild geese and ducks fly frequently over the house now, following the river southward. Huge gatherings of birds are also visible: great numbers of white egrets and black crows may be seen by the river and songbirds of all kind are visiting our woods. A few days ago my husband spotted a vast flock of pelicans on the river, a thousand or more swimming! I saw pelicans again today, flying overhead in the September sky, dazzling white against the blue, illumined by the clear Autumn sunshine.
Perhaps because of the cool weather, I have been in very much the mood to cook. In the last couple of days I have made a number of soups and stocks. Chicken soup with noodles and matzoh balls was delicious, as was a vegetable potage brimming with scrumptious late Summer vegetables. I also made wild mushroom and shallot polenta, curried yoghurt green bean salad, and fennel-beet risotto. Tomorrow I am cooking pasta sauce with wild rice meatballs, planning for plenty extra to freeze for when I have little time to cook. Lucky me that my husband loves pasta!
Just now I took pecan sandies from the oven. Maybe I am cooking because the stove warms the cottage so. I dream of a cast iron cooker that would warm little Orchard House all through the cool months... which is to say most of the year here. I think this is only a dream, though. Laugh if you will, but: our cottage kitchen is only 68 square foot!
Olives arrived at market this week; I bought some green ones and set about curing them in brine. I have not done this before, but my cookbooks make it look easy-peasy. We shall see in a few weeks!
It is growing chill quickly and I am not the only one who notices. The animals are clearly readying themselves for the long Winter. Flocks of wild geese and ducks fly frequently over the house now, following the river southward. Huge gatherings of birds are also visible: great numbers of white egrets and black crows may be seen by the river and songbirds of all kind are visiting our woods. A few days ago my husband spotted a vast flock of pelicans on the river, a thousand or more swimming! I saw pelicans again today, flying overhead in the September sky, dazzling white against the blue, illumined by the clear Autumn sunshine.
Perhaps because of the cool weather, I have been in very much the mood to cook. In the last couple of days I have made a number of soups and stocks. Chicken soup with noodles and matzoh balls was delicious, as was a vegetable potage brimming with scrumptious late Summer vegetables. I also made wild mushroom and shallot polenta, curried yoghurt green bean salad, and fennel-beet risotto. Tomorrow I am cooking pasta sauce with wild rice meatballs, planning for plenty extra to freeze for when I have little time to cook. Lucky me that my husband loves pasta!
Just now I took pecan sandies from the oven. Maybe I am cooking because the stove warms the cottage so. I dream of a cast iron cooker that would warm little Orchard House all through the cool months... which is to say most of the year here. I think this is only a dream, though. Laugh if you will, but: our cottage kitchen is only 68 square foot!
Olives arrived at market this week; I bought some green ones and set about curing them in brine. I have not done this before, but my cookbooks make it look easy-peasy. We shall see in a few weeks!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Peek-a-boo
Our little Orchard House is in there, just a-ways behind the apple tree. Trust me, it is. But it is a bit shy, and the trees in Summer are protective of it. This photo shows Little Orchard House around Midsummer. I will take another at Autumntide so we can see how the cottage is growing up when leaves are falling down!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Busy Days
There is much hustle-bustle at Little Orchard House as my in-laws are coming for a visit next week. From the Great Plains they are travelling north, north, all the way North to this beloved wintry land of ours.
They have not yet seen our new house (we moved in only last November) and I am very busy with trying to make the realm tidy and very spiffy so it will show how truly beautiful it is. I love our Little Orchard House so much that I want all to see it at its best.
I have scant time for words but, for the sake of Tara and her blackberries, I include this recipe for berry flummery!
And how good it is to have just a few moments' rest.
They have not yet seen our new house (we moved in only last November) and I am very busy with trying to make the realm tidy and very spiffy so it will show how truly beautiful it is. I love our Little Orchard House so much that I want all to see it at its best.
I have scant time for words but, for the sake of Tara and her blackberries, I include this recipe for berry flummery!
And how good it is to have just a few moments' rest.
Cinderella by Edmund Dulac
Blackberry Flummery
with Cornmeal Dumplings
1 quart blackberries
3/4 cup water
1/2 cup sugar (add an additional 1/4 cup if you like things sweeter)
2 Tablespoons butter
1 1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup cornmeal
3 Tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup milk
3 Tablespoons butter, melted
- In a large saucepan, combine berries, water, sugar and butter. Heat to boiling over a high heat, then reduce the heat and simmer mixture for 15 minutes, stirring frequently.
- To make the dumplings, combine dry ingredients and sift them into a large bowl. Add milk and melted butter; stir until flour is moistened.
- Drop dumpling mixture in heaping teaspoons into boiling blackberry mixture. Cook 5 minutes, then cover and continue to simmer until dumplings are firm, about 10 minutes longer. Cool slightly before serving.
4 to 6 servings
(Adapted from Abundantly Wild by Teresa Marrone)
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Rise of Autumn
In August, there comes a day when one feels that Summer’s hold is waning and Autumn waits in the wings, gathering strength. Often this may be observed in the first bloom of the asters or the quickening of apples’ ripening. A restlessness among animals may be noticed, and flocks of birds gathering. Always by August the trees and meadows seem tired to me as if they are ready for rest. But there is a change in the wind and in the quality of sunlight also. When I feel this, even if I have observed nothing, even if it is still quite warm, I know that Autumn is coming.
This year it was the tenth of the month when I knew that Autumn was near. Just ten days later, Autumn has all but arrived. The weather has become cool and rainy, the leaves are beginning to fall from the trees; the woods surrounding Little Orchard House has that cool, humid smell to it, richly fragrant of damp trees.
The old Chinese calendar I find most intriguing. The second week of this month brings a little season known as the Rise of Autumn followed, two weeks later, by another short season, the Suppression of Heat. It hold true even here, so many miles away: Autumn approaches.
Last week, I saw the first flock of wild geese fly overhead in a small 'v'. Last weekend before dawn, we were awoken by the sound of another flock flying low over the house, calling their endearing goose cries. Suddenly I understood that our home upon the river bluffs is within a great corridor for flocks of migrating birds. What a blessing! The dissonant harmony of wild geese honking is one of the greatest riches in this place. When I hear them flying by, calling down from high in the skies above as they pass through this land, my heart feels heavy and lightened at the same time.
This year it was the tenth of the month when I knew that Autumn was near. Just ten days later, Autumn has all but arrived. The weather has become cool and rainy, the leaves are beginning to fall from the trees; the woods surrounding Little Orchard House has that cool, humid smell to it, richly fragrant of damp trees.
The old Chinese calendar I find most intriguing. The second week of this month brings a little season known as the Rise of Autumn followed, two weeks later, by another short season, the Suppression of Heat. It hold true even here, so many miles away: Autumn approaches.
Last week, I saw the first flock of wild geese fly overhead in a small 'v'. Last weekend before dawn, we were awoken by the sound of another flock flying low over the house, calling their endearing goose cries. Suddenly I understood that our home upon the river bluffs is within a great corridor for flocks of migrating birds. What a blessing! The dissonant harmony of wild geese honking is one of the greatest riches in this place. When I hear them flying by, calling down from high in the skies above as they pass through this land, my heart feels heavy and lightened at the same time.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Something Special via Fairypost
It was a good mail day!
An absolutely delightful parcel arrived as part of the Society of Secret Fairies Summer Tea. It was from Gretel from the Middle of Nowhere and filled with wonderful little things. Just look!
Oh, happy day! Plentiful little things tied with pretty papers and ribbons!
Aren’t these delightful? Organic peppermint tea produced by Prince Charles’ estate, little orange jam-filled cakes for teatime and a swell reviving foot tea for soaking swollen feet.
Of course, I happily made tea at once and, of course, it was delicious. How could it not be when a secret fairy put so much care into it? Thank you very, very much, Gretel.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Lazy Days
The dog days of Summer are here. In this humid heat, working in the garden is out of the question. Working around the house isn’t much fun either. Thus, I have decided to loaf for a while.
Since my mother learned that I enjoy reading detective stories (her very favorite), she now sends boxfuls of them; a new parcel arrives every few weeks of her gleanings from the shelves of used bookstores and friends-of-the-library sales. This is very nice, as I tend to be a rapacious reader. I just read The Death-Cap Dancers by Gladys Mitchell, The Rose Rent by Ellis Peters and have just now finished Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, which was wholly satisfying. Next on the pile is Ellis Peters’ The Holy Thief, a tale which begins ‘In the height of a hot summer, in late August of 1144....’ This I can certainly empathize with at present.
On a related note, my Brother Cadfael rosebush is headed for the compost heap, the poor thing. What happened? Well, first that pest Raccoon roughed it up, digging at its roots before abandoning it overnight as I slept. I replanted the little bush, but... then the Bunnies got to it.
Bunnies. So soft. So winsome. So fearfully hungry. Despairing, I purchased garden fencing, cobbling up our handsome woods with wire mesh ‘round the roses. My rosebush, however, never really recovered from the attacks.
Since my mother learned that I enjoy reading detective stories (her very favorite), she now sends boxfuls of them; a new parcel arrives every few weeks of her gleanings from the shelves of used bookstores and friends-of-the-library sales. This is very nice, as I tend to be a rapacious reader. I just read The Death-Cap Dancers by Gladys Mitchell, The Rose Rent by Ellis Peters and have just now finished Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, which was wholly satisfying. Next on the pile is Ellis Peters’ The Holy Thief, a tale which begins ‘In the height of a hot summer, in late August of 1144....’ This I can certainly empathize with at present.
On a related note, my Brother Cadfael rosebush is headed for the compost heap, the poor thing. What happened? Well, first that pest Raccoon roughed it up, digging at its roots before abandoning it overnight as I slept. I replanted the little bush, but... then the Bunnies got to it.
Bunnies. So soft. So winsome. So fearfully hungry. Despairing, I purchased garden fencing, cobbling up our handsome woods with wire mesh ‘round the roses. My rosebush, however, never really recovered from the attacks.
Animals gardening by Molly Brett
Harumph! Helpful garden animals, my foot! Bunnies do not help me to trim the lawn...
Well, not with a push-mower anyway.
On a happier note, this morning I made a delicious lazy-day breakfast: blackberry flummery with cornmeal dumplings. We found so many wild blackberries that I was able to put up quite a few for Winter in addition to having my copper pot filled with blackberry porridge today.
What a good morning it will be when I again taste the wonderful tartness of blackberry preserves in a time when all the world around us is covered in snow. In fact, though it feels as hot as a pot right now, before long Winter will arrive again and not depart for a good long while. Such is life here in Hemiborea.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Thunk!
The busy season has begun for the squirrels, as acorns are now ripe enough to fall. Our cottage is in an oak grove, beneath the rambling boughs of one enormous old oak. Now that August is here, all through the night we hear soft thuds of acorns falling upon the roof and, as soon as day breaks, the squirrels awaken and scamper about, gathering and hiding the nuts. There is a continual din of little claws upon bark as creatures ascend and descend the trees and, oh!, the indignant chattering cries as the squirrels quarrel over nuts!
Illustration from Ocke, Nutte och Pillerill (1939) by Elsa Beskow
There seems to me be to be plenty of acorns for all. Every day I sweep our front steps of the pried-open shells of fallen acorns and dropped nuts. And the lower roof of the cottage, which I swept only the day before yesterday, is already covered in oak leaves and twigs and many, many nuts.
My sister is coming for a visit this evening. So I have an afternoon before me of baking and washing. There is laundry to be folded. I am going to take a walk through the woods and look for wildflowers for the kitchen table. And I guess I will sweep the front steps again.
Illustration from Ocke, Nutte och Pillerill (1939) by Elsa BeskowThere seems to me be to be plenty of acorns for all. Every day I sweep our front steps of the pried-open shells of fallen acorns and dropped nuts. And the lower roof of the cottage, which I swept only the day before yesterday, is already covered in oak leaves and twigs and many, many nuts.
My sister is coming for a visit this evening. So I have an afternoon before me of baking and washing. There is laundry to be folded. I am going to take a walk through the woods and look for wildflowers for the kitchen table. And I guess I will sweep the front steps again.
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