Autumnal Equinox

The long wait is over — autumn is officially here!  The new season swept into town in a shower of raindrops under cover of soft gray skies.  The trees have yet to flash autumn a warm greeting of color, but the mushrooms?  Oh, the mushrooms!  They are welcoming autumn with all their might, much to the delight of the deer, who have been eagerly dining on the delicate morsels springing up throughout the yard and woods.

So many beautiful forms!  Rounded and smooth, ruffled with fringe, embossed with dots.  Buttons, cones, discs.  Red, yellow, and tan against the bright green moss.  And, of course, stark white against the fallen leaves, black with rain.  Perfect on this day of balanced light and darkness.

Each year on the equinox, I return to a beloved poem by Lisel Mueller.  By now it is an integral part of my life’s yearly cycle.  Favorite excerpts are below.  Happy Fall, everyone!

One More Hymn to the Sun

You know that like an ideal mother
she will never leave you,
though after a week of rain
you begin to worry

but you accept her brief absences,
her occasional closed doors
as the prerogative
of an eccentric lover  . . .

You like the fact that her moods are an orderly version of yours,
arranged, like the needs of animals,
by seasons: her spring quirks,
her sexual summers,
her steadfast warmth in the fall;
you remember her face on Christmas Day,
blurred, and suffused with the weak smile
of a woman who has just given birth

The way she loves you, your whole body,
and still leaves enough space between you
to keep you from turning to cinders
before your time!  . . .

She never gave up on you
though it took you billions of years
to learn the alphabet
and the shadow you cast on the ground
changed its shape again and again

- Lisel Mueller, The Missouri Review, 2.1, Fall 1978


Mapping Your Course & Walking In Season – September 2011

September arrives on a cool breeze under a brilliant blue sky.  This month is a breath of fresh autumn air.  Summer is winding down, and with the new season comes, for me — and for many of you, too? — a wonderful sense of a fresh start.  A clean page.  A new opportunity.  September is a much finer month to declare the beginning of a New Year than is January, methinks.

This week, treat yourself to a few quiet moments to center yourself and make The List.  You know, The List of New Year’s Hopes and Dreams and Plans that — to be quite honest — is far more challenging to face in the worn, gray, early days of January than in these fresh, clear, golden days of September.

One approach to The List that I love isn’t a list at all: it’s a map.  I adore it because it is such a simple and lovely way to identify, clarify, and set your intentions for the upcoming year.

To make your map, take a large square of paper and divide it into nine smaller squares (three rows of three squares).  Label the rows of squares, from left to right:

  • Abundance & Prosperity  |  Fame & Reputation  |  Relationships & Love
  • Family & Elders  |  Health & Center of Self  |  Creativity & Children
  • Skills, Knowledge, & Self-Cultivation  |  Career  |  Helpful People, Travel, & Guides

When inspiration strikes, take your paper and pen (or pens — colored ones — if you’d like to stay true to the map’s roots and traditional colors) and step outside into the burgeoning autumn.  Sit.  Ponder.

Reflect on each square and on the goals you have within it.  Dream.  Listen to your heart.  Be specific.  Be honest.  The only dreams that belong on your map are the ones that are truly yours — not the ones you feel obligated to have, or the ones others expect you to have, or the ones you wish other people would undertake.

Fill your squares with these dreams.  Take a long, last, loving look at your map.  Then file it away until next September.

When I have made a map this way, I have been floored by the outcome.  When the year has passed and I’ve revisited my map, I’ve been so surprised by how many of my mapped intentions were met — even ones I’d forgotten I’d set for myself, until my map reminded me.

It is as though the map’s grid is a fertile garden plot into which we plant the mental seeds of achievement.  As the year unfolds, the mind  – often unconsciously — searches for every opportunity to water those seeds, to feed them, and help them grow.  We follow those nurturing impulses, and throughout the year, we revel in the bounty that comes forth.

So, take a moment, take a chance.  Chart your course for the next year.  In the glory of autumn, progress is achievable, and anything is possible.

* * *

Without further ado, here are September’s Walking in Season photos, taken by Matt in the late evening of September 13th (a bit late this month due to Little Miss Irene).  And, also as always, you can view the entire 1.5-year collection here or watch a slideshow here.

Stop 1.  Phragmites everywhere.  And, Stop 1.5 has become too overgrown to easily reach, so we have decided to let it go unphotographed from this point forward.

Stop 2.  The water is filmy and black.

Stop 3.  Trees were downed in the forest, though not as many as one might think.  Perhaps trees in the wood experience lower-force winds during hurricanes than trees out in the open, and therefore fall less often?

Stop 3.5.  Invasive plants. Lots and lots of invasive plants.  And mosquitoes.  Lots and lots of mosquitoes.

Stop 4.  The water is high.


Under the Harvest Moon

"Snow peas? Yes! Bread? No, thank you!" at 9 months old.

We call the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox the Harvest Moon. That moon is tonight!  Tonight is also the 9-month anniversary of Bennett’s birth.  In honor of these: a photo of the baby I love, and a poem by a poet I love!

UNDER THE HARVEST MOON

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

- Carl Sandburg, Chicago Poems (1916)


Harbingers of Fall

At the edge of our lake stands a lone Black Tupelo tree.  Each year, its leaves are the first to don autumn colors.  They are our harbingers of fall.  Yesterday, we looked up and saw that their green had gone red-tinged.

Yesterday, too, we walked to the edge of the woods and watched the deer gather in the field at twilight.  Fawns, does, young bucks with new antlers.  In small groups, they emerged from the forest’s margin, convening in the dusk in the center of the field.  Their nightly ritual.

As we stood in that mellow light, watching, a mild wind blowing steadily against our bare arms, our bare legs, our bare heads, it was so evident:

Summer is departing, and autumn is on her way.

Though the hot bright days of summer may have worn us down, the crisp cool days of autumn will restore us.  It’s a wonderful time of year, so full of bounty and promise.  How I love it!


A Smoky August Moon

Smoky sunrise on the morning of the August full moon

The Great Dismal Swamp in southeastern Virginia and northeastern North Carolina is on fire.  An acreage the size of Williamsburg is burning, and is likely to continue to burn for weeks or months.  The smoke is so voluminous that it can be seen in satellite photos from space.  And this morning, in the early hours, the winds brought that smoke to our town.

In the night, we awoke to the smell of it: campfire and peat, filling the house.  At dawn, we saw it at last, blanketing the lake, encircling the trees and houses, and screening the sun, which shone red from behind.  Shepherding breezes have prodded much of the smoke onward over the course of the morning, though some haziness and much of its scent still lingers.

We wonder what tonight’s full moon will be like.

The August moon is often known as the Dog Days Moon.  The name has origins with the Greeks and Romans, who termed the summer days when the dog star, Sirius, and the sun rose simultaneously in the sky as the Dog Days of Summer, since the event typically occurred between July and September and coincided with the hottest part of the season.  It’s interesting to note that this simultaneous rising of Sirius and the sun no longer comes at summer’s peak due to shifts in the Earth’s axis of rotation – and, hence, the dates of the equinoxes – that have occurred since Roman times.

Enjoy the full moon, and remember to kick back to breathe easy on this Code Red day, southeastern Virginia friends!


Island Pork Tenderloin Salad

We served this dish to friends last night, as we have recently become smitten with it.  It’s a winning Gourmet recipe that we altered only by reducing the amount of sugar in the glaze to less than half of what is called for.  If you’re a cabbage skeptic, fear not the Napa cabbage — it is far milder than other cabbages.  A perfect gateway cabbage, really.  Before you know it, you’ll be eating red cabbage salad with abandon!  Well, maybe not red cabbage salad.  But Island Pork Tenderloin Salad, you will be!

The recipe looks more complicated than it really is.  In essence, you just roast some pork tenderloins while you chop up a few vegetables and fruits and whisk together an easy dressing.  And then you lay it all out on a plate and enjoy!

Island Pork Tenderloin Salad
Gourmet, May 2003
Yield: Makes 6 to 8 main-course servings

For pork

2 teaspoons salt Read the rest of this entry »


Walking In Season – August 2011

August, that hot, bright, last month of summer.  Everything slows in this month’s haze and heat.  We retreat to the water, to the shade, to the cool of indoors.  In the last lazy days of the season, we make time for afternoons with a cold drink and a good book, final trips to the shore or creek, easy weekend getaways with friends and family.

August, a month of ripening, both in the garden and in the wild.  At the side of the road, farm stands are piled high.  In kitchens, canners work overtime to preserve the bounty.  In the woods and fields, fat seed pods mature on the stem. Here and there, asters begin to flash their gold and purple faces, harbingers of autumn.

August, a month of new beginnings.  Back-to-school shopping, bright yellow buses, the first day of class.  We never outgrow the thrill of new pencils and clean notebooks, do we?

By the end of the month, we sense a change afoot.  One day, we open the door, breathe deeply, and feel it: an easing, a lifting.  A shift.  The heat and humidity are waning.  Sunset finds us earlier and earlier.  The turn of the season is on its way.

Below are this month’s Walking in Season photos, taken by Matt in the late evening.  And, also as always, you can view the entire 1.5-year collection here or watch a slideshow here.

Happy August, everyone!  (Fun fact: until a week before Bennett was born, the name “August” — a family name on both sides of our family — topped our baby boy names list!)

Stop 1: Evening wetland

Stop 1.5: Overgrown

Stop 2: Looks like some tent caterpillars have stricken the little tree on the right.

Stop 3: Soft evening light

Stop 3.5: Note the tree to the left of the path that is snapped in half…. must have been one of last month’s thunderstorms.

Stop 4: No drought this year.


The Choice

It’s been a decision a month (well, years, really) in the making, but finally it has been made!

I have chosen not to complete my dissertation.

Even so, there is real work to be done on the project before I hand it to others. Specifically, the remainder of the cataloguing of more than 45,000 bee specimens from my five field seasons in the desert.

Many folks are optimistic that when I finish that massive undertaking, I will decide to make a Master’s degree of it.  I am not chief among those folks, but I do join in their ranks.

There is much more to write about this place where I stand, at the intersection of career, community, family, and self.  But for now, those posts are on the back burner.

For now, my time is for my family and community.

And, one hour a day, for bees.

Oh, how right and surprisingly good this feels!


Mostly Not Potato Salad

This week was our first chance to cook from Heidi Swanson’s Super Natural Every Day.  We made her Mostly Not Potato Salad (with a few tweaks), and folks, it is delicious.  Dee-LISH-ous.  We had to substitute yellow onion for the leek and dried dill for the fresh and it was still the best thing I’ve eaten in months.  But then, as many of you know, I am sort of in love with potato salad in all its forms — even “Mostly Not”!

If you’ve been looking for a perfect summer vegetable salad, this is it.

Mostly Not Potato Salad
from Super Natural Every Day by Heidi Swanson
Serves 4 to 6 (We doubled this recipe — we know how much potato salad we can pack away!)

1 lb red-skinned potatoes, unpeeled, cut into 1/2″ pieces
4 oz green beans, trimmed and sliced into 1″ pieces (We just left them whole, ’cause we’re lazy like that)
2 Tbsp whole-grain mustard
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp natural cane sugar (We omitted it)
Fine-grain sea salt (or kosher salt)
1 leek, white and tender green parts, trimmed and chopped (We substituted yellow onion)
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh dill
 (We substituted a lesser amount of dried dill — maybe a heaping tablespoon?  This is okay, since it cooks with the onions)
6 small stalks celery, trimmed and diced

1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and diced
6 oz extra-firm tofu, diced
1 tbsp minced chives (We actually added a few Tbsp capers instead of chives, and they were just right!)

1.  Bring a medium pot of well-salted (or unsalted, honestly) water to a boil.  Add potatoes and cook until tender but not falling apart, about 10 minutes.  Just before potatoes are done, add green beans to the pot for 30 seconds.  Drain and set aside.  

2.  Whisk the mustard, vinegar, 2 Tbsp olive oil, sugar, and 1/4 tsp salt in a bowl.

3.  Heat remaining oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add leeks and dill and saute, stirring occasionally, until golden and slightly crispy, 4 to 5 minutes.

4.  Gently toss the potatoes and green beans, celery, cucumber, tofu, chives, and half the leeks with the mustard dressing in a bowl.  Adjust salt if necessary.  Top with remaining leeks.  Serve chilled or at room temperature.


July’s Moon

Today’s weather, a rare July gift.  We give thanks for our open windows and the mild breeze wafting through them.

Tonight’s moon, the Ripe Corn Moon.  We celebrate over those sweet kernels and the harvest delivering them!

* * *

Summertime is a beautiful time to step outside and set your gaze skyward.  Enjoy that full moon, everyone.


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