Orchids and Angels and Creatures of the Wood

A spray of orchids. 

I took this photo in the Orchid Conservatory,

 Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden

 Charlotte, NC.

I finished out 2013 reading the December entry in Jean Hersey's The Shape of a Year. I have posted some tidbit each month from her book that is an account of a year spent on her Connecticut farm. She has proved to be a pleasant companion.

Ms. Hersey is quite busy in December. She adds to her hothouse orchid collection benefiting from the bounty of another grower who is moving to Florida and giving away his plants. She spends time with cans of spray paint gilding Christmas angels made from copies of Reader's Digest and flowers made of artichokes for her front door wreath. 

She offers two recipes - one for herb butter and another for chapattis, a flat bread made by the Hunza people of Pakistan. She takes in the warmth and fragrance of a neighbor's cow barn when she arrives to pick up a load of hay to spread on her roses for the winter.

She reflects on holidays past and is excited at the arrival this Christmas Eve of her daughter and grandchildren. She marvels at the winter stars and snows and sunsets. And, of course, she writes of the wild creatures in the woods, the gardens, and fields.

I began wondering about the animals, the shrew, the fox and the deer and all the others outside there going their quiet ways this Christmas Eve, following their own particular stars.

What did Christmas mean to all these creatures of the wilderness, and the others -- rabbits, woodchucks, and our birds that visit the feeders and even the cricket in the kitchen? Their world must feel the Christmas season, if differently. Surely some instinct tells them that the shortest day has come and gone this week, that little by little the sun will rise higher in the heavens now. Each day will be longer though imperceptibly at first.

Ah, yes. Let there be light!

The Power of Light

Winter came swooping in overnight and the temperature plunged to 20 degrees. It plans on staying there all day. So I found myself this morning settled in with a cup of coffee and a copy of Jean Hersey's book, The Shape of a Year. I have been faithfully reading this book - month by month - containing Ms. Hersey's observations of life in and around her Connecticut home and small farm. It was published in 1967. 

I was enjoying her comments on the colors and fragrances of November and how she put together a terrarium made of moss, tiny ferns and plants, and a bit of lichen-covered rock or bark picked up on a walk in the woods near her house. I was tempted to try my hand at making her recipe for herb bread. 

And then the lights went out. And the heat. 

It didn't take long for my house to become quite chilly. And it was just a bit too dim to continue reading. 

After about 45 minutes, power was restored.  Then it went off for another 20 minutes and then came back on. Finally, I picked up Ms. Hersey again and in a moment, this is what I was reading:

I am thankful for light -- all kinds, man-made and natural. How lovely is dawn light, starlight, sunlight on green grass, candlelight, house lights on stormy nights, or on any night, street lights, and firelight. And the first streaming sunlight after a week of gray days and showers.

There is the magic of shining car lights on wet pavements on rainy nights. The mysterious lights on bridges like necklaces of diamonds in the gloaming. One of my favorite lights is the yellow beam of our outside light that greets us from down the road when we have been away for the evening. 

Well, I couldn't agree more. And what a pleasant meditation to read after sitting in the gloomy morning waiting for electric light - and heat - to return.

Leaf Peeping and Leaping

Just a tinge of fall color in North Carolina.

Driving through the Smoky Mountains last week, I was surprised to see that the fall colors were not as vibrant as I had thought they would be. I am sure there were many disappointed tourists who had planned trips to the area for the express purpose of 'leaf peeping'. The Chamber of Commerce, or whoever is in charge of such things, should have been out with cans of spray paint adding color to the trees!

Here, we are having a late fall as well. Some of the trees have shrugged on sweaters of red, gold, and orange and some are still cloaked in summer's green.

This is what Jean Hersey had to report on leaf happenings in October in New England in her book The Shape of a Year:

We forget from year to year how stirring fall colors can be. Annually we tell each other these are the very best we have ever had. And this year they really are! No one has any adjectives left. The scientific-minded speak of pigment and chlorophyll, the rest of us just surrender to our emotions.

The fragrance of burning leaves is another autumn delight. Their delicious rustle and the scent of their smoke invariably carry me back to the days when my father used to rake great piles to burn. Before he lit them my friends and I would burrow deep and hide ourselves in the slightly scratchy heaps. From here we would look out at the world through tiny odd-shaped chinks of light. My father would build several immense piles taller that he, and call us out when he was ready for the bonfires.  We'd stand beside him while three fires burned at once. He always did things in a grand manner -- never just one fire at a time. Enthralled and slightly awed we watched the blowing feathers of blue smoke circle heavenward, and now and then a great volcanic eruption would mushroom out, followed by a roar of flames as a new part of one of the heaps caught fire.

I recall such a scene from my own childhood only it was my grandfather who raked the leaves and set them alight to fill the air with that distinctive autumn smell. Now, of course, one can't burn leaves in the city anymore which is a shame as whole generations of children will never experience the delight of jumping into piles of leaves and the thrill of watching them burn. 

A Glimmer of Autumn

It is still hot here - highs in the 90s for the next week. I am ready for autumn - still officially two weeks away. Although there isn't much of a hint of fall in the air yet, I gleaned a bit of hope from the September entry by Jean Hersey in her book The Shape of a Year. Maybe this will give you a glimmer of cooler weather as well. I hope so.

The earth grows cool to touch, the first sumac leaves turn red, and a new school year begins. One morning the air is crisp and cool and sharp. The scent of wild grapes drifts on the breeze with the pungent odor of chrysanthemums, and bright red apples ripening. Rich harvests of peaches, tomatoes, cucumbers, and golden pumpkins are everywhere evident.  Great simmering kettles send their fragrances through home kitchens as shiny jars of jellies, relishes, and packages for the freezer stand row on row.

The air is like wine, squirrels gather hickory nuts, and the chipmunks we haven't seen for weeks are busy about something in and out of the weathered gray rocks on the wall where they live. Nature first hints delicately of winter ahead with a day that is chilly around the edges. Then we have Indian Summer weather. Next comes a cold night and morning with white frost scalloping the green strawberry leaves. 

Something in us responds to the flaming foliage and falling leaves. We feel a surge of fresh energy as this new season is born. We too are ready for changes, and to move forward into new and untried areas of thought and action. A kind of preparation fills our days as we gather together our households and ourselves for new activities, new friends, new horizons.

A Meditation on Queen Anne's Lace

Queen Anne's Lace

The park where I take a daily walk has a meadow that has been left to the wildflowers. This area, beside a small fishing pond, is contained but grows free. Here the tall grasses (that are already tasseling) and the yellow- and white-blossomed flowers, along with an occasional flash of purple, wave gently in the breeze that blows off the river. Lots of insects flit and buzz about and a family of red-winged blackbirds finds the spot to be just right for them.

As I walk past this fragrant area, I spot many feathery blooms of Queen Anne's lace. I remember as a young girl collecting stalks of this wildflower with my mother and bringing them home to dye. We would fill a jar with water, add a few drops of food coloring, stick in the stalks, and wait for the magic to happen. 

Soon, the white blossoms would begin to turn blue or green or pink. I thought this was great fun and was reminded this morning of our little experiments with nature while reading Jean Hersey's August entry in her book The Shape of a Year. 

She writes:

Everywhere butterfly weed gives way to Queen Anne's lace, whose name comes to us from Henry VIII's day. During his gay revels, the King used to pursue the most attractive ladies of the court down the twisting paths of the famous maze at Hampton Court, causing shrieks of laughter that echoed back to the palace. When Anne became Queen, she heartily disapproved of all this, and ordered the maze cut down. Tulips, daffodils, and wild carrots were planted instead. And so, runs the tale, wild carrot acquired the name of Queen Anne's lace. The more sophisticated members of the court may have wondered at this roadside weed being brought into the formal palace gardens. But one of the charms of the Queen was her love for simple things.

July is sand and sea and warm blue days...

Photo image by Ari
at
aribrownest.com

Month by month, I have enjoyed reading along with Jean Hersey in her book The Shape of a Year (1967). Here are some of her observations on July:

This is such a deliciously free and lovely time of year. So few clothes, so few deadlines, so few commitments of any kind. It is truly a month of freedom.

Even the birds, so earnestly filled with householding and launching new families last month, now gather nonchalantly on the light wires -- there may be seven or thirteen together. No longer do they fly in pairs, but in small flocks dart here and swoop there with carefree air and no pressing purpose. Perhaps it is a holiday time for them too. We no longer hear the rich melodious early morning symphonies of last month, but instead casual, intermittent music rings forth at any time of day, just as we, when filled with the joy of the moment, spontaneously whistle a gay little tune, or break into song.

The Curtain Rises on Summer

And now a meditation on June from The Shape of a Year (1967) by Jean Hersey:

There is an urgency in April and May in both man and Nature, an urgency that quiets during June. The promises of early spring are fulfilled this month. In the garden everything is in and up -- all the basic work complete, and we relax while the curtain rises on summer. This is the month we spread our deep hay mulch and after that the garden becomes entirely carefree -- no more tending or weeding. This leaves hammock time, beach time, visiting time, hours of wonderful long conversations with friends on vast or simple subjects, and best of all, time to do nothing. 

Some people feel that doing nothing and being bored relate.

Boredom is a word I don't especially know, seldom use, and never think of as a state I experience. If it means a do-nothing interval between activities, I'm sure we all need a little more "boredom" in our lives. Certainly we all need more spaces between events! I'd not call such a space boredom, however, but rather a period in which to absorb and deepen the happening immediately behind you and prepare for the one that lies ahead.

All the birds are full of business.

Image source: Retrographix

The nights here have been cool and I have been sleeping with the bedroom window wide open. In the mornings, the birds are up before I am and I awake to their cheerful songs. This morning's chorus reminded me of the passage celebrating the month of May in The Shape of a Year by Jean Hersey:

Every morning a bluebird perches among the apple blossoms that cover the tree thick as popcorn. At dusk a thrush sings from down the valley, and the little warblers and 'witchety' birds squeak along the brook. Now and again a robin puffs with pride as he struts across the green grass, head cocked, listening for a worm. 

All the birds are full of business. Leave a length of yarn or string on the terrace and in an hour it is gone. The responsibilities of householding are uppermost. We keep watch to see who is building where. The phoebes are settling over the door to the shop. At one point several feet of nylon line trailed down from the nest they were building  I thought someone might inadvertently catch this and pull the carefully made structure apart so I cut it off where it dangled. I should have had more confidence in the phoebe, who knew exactly what she was doing. By night the remaining loose end had been woven up into the nest. Had she counted on the part I took off? How often we human beings interfere where we have no business -- and help in areas where help is not needed,

April is a kind of unfolding

April is like the raggedy, wandering gypsy lad of the fairy tale. When he moves streaks of gold show beneath his torn garments and you suspect that this elfin creature is actually a prince in disguise. April is just that. There are raggedy, cold days, dark black ones, but all through the month for a second, for an hour, or for three days at a stretch you glimpse pure gold. The weeks pass and the rags slip away, a shred at a time. Toward the end of the month his royal highness stands before you.

We seem to shed winter the way the gypsy sheds his rags - a little at a time. We welcome the breeze that blows with spring warmth over bare arms and through the hair. The sunny ground feels good to touch again. Spring stirs and wakens in both spirit and landscape.

                                                    --The Shape of a Year
                                                       Jean Hersey

March is restless and wild and windswept

March is restless and wild and windswept.

This is the month of sudden changes. One day the beginnings of spring are in the air, the next white flakes are flying. How many times the "last snow" falls or is it the first spring shower that happens to come down in flakes? A March snow serves a special purpose. Against its whiteness a rainbow of crocuses fairly preen themselves in sweeps and drifts along the gray stone walls.

In March winter is holding back and spring is pulling forward. Something holds and somethings pulls inside of us too. We are caught between two forces and sometimes nearly torn asunder. In the days of ghosts and witches, I'm sure that March was their season of special revels!

The restlessness in our bones responds to the wild restless winds of the month.

                                            

                                                     ---from The Shape of a Year

                                                    by Jean Hersey

The Very Heart of Winter

Here is what author Jean Hersey has to say about February in her book The Shape of the Year (1967). 

These are weeks of fires, and friends, and indoor life. February is the scent of freshly ironed handkerchiefs in the kitchen on a gray and snowy day. February is beef stew for dinner and the fun of preparing the vegetables, shiny onions, firm potatoes, rich orange carrots, and crisp celery, then smelling the delectable aroma of simmering stew all afternoon.

Each month I am reading Ms. Hersey's corresponding entry in her  month-by-month chronicle of events in her country home in Connecticut. She writes that "February is the very heart of winter."

I can only agree. The sun rose this morning on ground covered with snow from last night's storm and a temperature of eleven degrees. 

That beef stew she wrote about is sounding better and better.

January with Jean Hersey

"January begins a new year, crisp and fresh and white."
The Shape of a Year by Jean Hersey

I have just finished reading the January entries in Jean Hersey's The Shape of a Year (1967). She devotes twenty to thirty pages of this book to each month of a year spent at her home in the countryside of Connecticut. Her place is not quite a farm, although she describes flower beds and vegetable gardens. There is a huge meadow outside her living room window that reflects the many changes of seasons during the year. And there are deer and all sorts of creatures living in the woods around the house.

Ms. Hersey published quite a few gardening books and wrote articles for Woman's Day magazine. She also was interested in travel and cooking and this book promises recipes.

She describes her single-story home, which she shares with husband Bob, and its own greenhouse filled with orchids. Now that was a surprise! This is not a separate building, but an 10-by-12 foot area that one sees immediately in walking through the front door. When she is in the kitchen cooking she can look at the flowers. In the dining room, she can smell "that good scent of warm earth and growing plants - and, of course, the deep fragrance of the orchids themselves."

This is how she spends the first month of the year: she declutters drawers and cabinets; she marvels at the Weather - sometimes  bringing snow softly whirling and sometimes bringing rain furiously hitting the windows; she and Bob read Katherine by Anya Seton in front of the fire; they go on a deer hunt - not with guns but with binoculars; and, she explains how she and Bob have each just lost twelve pounds in six weeks by simply Eating Less.

With her husband out of town, she winds up the month reading alone in bed On Becoming a Person by Carl Rogers. She reflects that according to Rogers, the person living a fulfilled life is, among other traits, open and interested in new experiences, doesn't shut feelings out, is grounded in some kind of religion or philosophy, and is completely at home in the world of Nature.

She writes:

This last, of course, particularly intrigued me. 

How delightful to learn also that the balanced individual is often inaccurate, untidy, vague, and unconventional, and does things on the spur of the moment. This was quite comforting as I can be all of these at times, and thoroughly.

Well, Ms. Hersey and I may not have hot-house orchids and deer hunts in common, but I can certainly identify with that description.

A Book of Days

I have already pulled off my shelves three books that I bought in 2012 and that I have been saving to read this year. 

It has been a few years since I have read daily from a 'book of days'. One year I read the daily diary entries in the anthology The Assassin's Cloak compiled by Irene and Alan Taylor. Another year it was Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach. And then there was the year I started each day with a meditation from 365 Tao by Deng Ming-Dao.

This year's book is Darwin's Orchestra: An Almanac of Nature in History and the Arts (1997) by Michael Sims (author of The Story of Charlotte's Web that I so loved). It offers a daily reading of essays by Mr. Sims on such varied subjects as: January 1 - Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons; May 22 - Singing insects; September 4 - Beatrix Potter and Peter Rabbit; and December 19 - Doctor Doolittle. 

It looks to be an entertaining and informative way to begin each day.

The second is really a 'book of months': The Shape of a Year (1967) by Jean Hersey. I bought this fine hardcover book at a used book sale last summer and instead of reading it in one big gulp, I thought I would follow month-by-month Ms. Hersey's chronicle of events in her life on her farm in Connecticut. I love reading this type of book and look forward to spending the year with Ms. Hersey, her family, her neighbors, and her gardens.

The third book is a whopper: The Art of the Personal Essay - An Anthology from the Classical Era to the Present (1994) selected and with an introduction by Philip Lopate. I already owned a paperback copy of this 770-page collection. It was so unwieldy to read that I never quite got around to finishing all the wisdom it had to offer. When I found a hardcover edition at the same summer used book sale as above, I snapped it up. 

I will keep this one - it is heavy - on my new desk and dip into it again and again. I can't wait to read the likes of Seneca (On Noise); Robert Louis Stevenson (An Apology for Idlers); Virginia Woolf (Street Haunting); and, M.F.K. Fisher (Once a Tramp, Always).

It is going to be a great year.

Three new/old books

Jean Hersey
The Shape of a Year

Lucky me! I scored three new/old books today and that always makes for a good day.

Read This! Handpicked Favorites from Indie Bookstores:

This little red book is, according to its back cover, "a reference for those who can never have enough to read. It offers booklovers an insider's guide to the treasured titles that have flown under the radar, but off of bookstore shelves."

In it 25 independent booksellers offer their picks of 50 books they love and love to pass on to readers. Michael Bogg's, co-owner of Carmichael's Bookstore in my hometown, has a list included here. Of his 50, I have read eight. I guess I have a lot of catching up to do. 

I hope to interview Mr. Boggs for Belle, Book, and Candle and will keep you posted on that project.

The Private Patient by P.D. James:
I picked this paperback copy off the Books for Sale table at the library. I just finished James's The Murder Room published in 2003. This is her latest (and last?) Adam Dalgliesh mystery published in 2008. 

The Shape of a Year by Jean Hersey:
This is a lovely prize also found on the library's sale table. According to the flyleaf, "it is a month-by-month chronicle of events in one woman's life, in her Connecticut house set in a meadow bounded by a rushing brook and hills covered with maples and hemlocks." 

It was published in 1967 and has chapter illustrations by John Pimlott.

I do so love a journal written by a woman that features the turning of the seasons and comments on daily life. It is in excellent condition for a hardcover book that is 45 years old. Not a tear or a bent page.

Here is her opening entry for November:

November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls.

Ahhh. A treasure indeed.