All posts by Laurie Graves
Muted Beauty
The glory of autumn is starting to fade, as it does every year. Austere November is right around the corner, and the glorious maple trees have begun to shed their leaves in preparation. While I am a little sorry to see the passing of those bright red, yellow, and orange leaves, I also love the muted beauty of November—the browns and russets. After all the hectic color of October, I find November’s tones soothing.
This picture of a once-green fern illustrates my point. It has faded to white and has brown outlines on the edges. The fern is a good reminder that beauty comes in many shapes and colors, from the first blush of spring to the deep green of summer to the mature beauty of autumn and finally to the sparkling cold of winter.
Would I be pushing the point too much to apply this principle to people? No, I don’t think I would be pushing it too much, and so I will.
Leaf Peeping or Bird Watching?
Is Sherlock admiring the beauty of the leaves, or is he scanning the trees for birds? Alas, I fear it was the latter.
Awash in Beauty: Peak Color for Central Maine
On Maine Public Radio, I heard that this weekend is peak color for foliage in central Maine. It seems that adults await this weekend as eagerly as children await Christmas. And why not? The countryside is awash in color, and beauty comes from every angle.
All a person can do is give thanks to nature for this generous gift.
Walking with Liam
When our dog, Liam, was young, Clif and I would take him for several walks during the day, and all told we would cover about seven miles. Even then, that wasn’t really enough exercise for our lively Sheltie. Fortunately, we have a half-acre yard fenced in, and he could run like crazy around the perimeter, making a track that a friend dubbed “the Liam 500.” Oh, Liam was an energetic dog. And he stayed energetic for many, many years, wowing friends with his wild racing in the backyard.
Blindness, however, has slowed down this once active dog who loved to be outside from dawn to dusk. Nowadays, Liam only wants to stay out long enough to do his business. As for racing around the backyard—those days are over, and the Liam 500 is no more, completely filled with grass.
We still take Liam for walks several times a day, but we are lucky if we go for a mile, total. Nonetheless, the walks are enjoyable. Liam sniffs, I look, and even on a short stretch there is always something to see on our country road.
Now that it is fall, the air has a nutty smell as the leaves and the acorns fall. Crickets jump by the side of the road, and chipmunks scurry to fill their pantries. Even on a gray day, the woods are bright with yellow ferns, and in mid-October in central Maine, the leaves are a blaze of orange and red.
On our walks, I spot those little stars of autumn twinkling in the tall grass.
In the woods, I notice a fallen log with lichen.
I admire the variegated mat of leaves on the side of the road.
Then it’s back to our very own yard.
These short walks are a good reminder that no matter how close you are to home, there is something to see, something to notice.
Autumn Glory
Progress Report: Autumn and Maya and the Book of Everything
As we Mainers might put it, this fall has been wicked weird. Last Friday, the town’s thermometer read 80 degrees, and in the evening Clif and I had drinks and supper on the patio. (We thought those days were long gone.) In short, this fall has been warm, and as with anything, there are pluses and minuses. On the plus side…we have had to use very little heat, and in a state like Maine, where it is cold for at least eight months of the year, this is a real blessing. The cost of heating is a real issue for many Mainers. On the other hand, this unnaturally warm weather is yet another reminder of climate change, and while northern New England might enjoy the milder weather, it’s not so great for the rest of the world.
However, this October Monday is seasonably cool and very windy. A good day for hanging fleeces on the line. The sky is bright blue, and the trees are ablaze with color. Maine is glorious in October, and if there is a finer place to be, then I don’t know where it is.
The gardens have their own beauty in autumn. The flowers are gone, and I miss them. However, the foliage has turned red and yellow and the seed pods add visual interest. This year, as Jason from the blog Garden in a City has suggested, I’m not going to cut back the perennials until spring. I’ve never done this before, and I have decided to give it a try. Not only will the uncut garden provide a place for beneficial insects to winter over, but it will also decrease the amount of work I must do this fall.
This, of course, brings me to my upcoming YA novel, Maya and the Book of Everything. I have been working like a crazy person getting the manuscript ready for the November publication. Clif and I have learned a lot with this first book, and for the second book in the series, Library Lost, we will have a much different time line.
But the major editing is done for Maya and the Book of Everything, and yesterday, a rainy fall day, I felt like a wet noodle. I spent most of the day on the couch, where I napped and read the current issue of The New Yorker. (I believe George Bernard Shaw called it a boiled sweet kind of day, where all you feel like doing is sitting in a corner and sucking on boiled sweets. ) I have found that an occasional day of rest is a good thing, necessary even, to recharge the batteries.
Today, I do indeed feel refreshed, ready to tackle the next set of chores for Maya.
Onward and upward.
Still Life: Feather on Red
The Golden Slant of Autumn’s Light
Autumn is here. As I work in my office, I can hear the rat-a-tat-tat of acorns as they fall on the roof. Sometimes it is so loud and steady that it sounds as though a mischievous tree-imp is throwing small rocks on the house.
For the most part, the humidity is gone, and on nice days, the air is cool and dry. The nights have become so chilly that it won’t be long until we put down all the storm windows. Indeed, we have begun pulling the shades at night.
Autumn brings with it many chores to be done by winter. The chimney needs to be cleaned, and there is still wood to be stacked. Clif takes care of both of these things. At sixty-five—Clif’s birthday was Tuesday—he still feels spry enough to climb onto the roof with his long brush. Chim chimney, chim chimney, chim, chim, chiree.
In the fall, I cut down the spent perennials in the gardens. However, Jason, of the blog Garden in a City, doesn’t cut his down until spring. He feels there is more visual interest in the garden in the winter when the plants are not trimmed. I considered following his example, but spring is such a busy time that I was afraid it would add too much to my gardening chores. I am, ahem, not as quick or spry as I was in my younger years.
It is also time to take in the hummingbird feeders, clean them, and tuck them away until next spring. Those fluttering beauties no longer fly with a whiz around the backyard. They have begun their astonishing migration to warmer lands.
Autumn, to me, feels like a time of subtraction. Yes, we have asters and golden rod, a delightful duo. But along with the hummingbirds, the thrushes have left. I have not heard their piping song for several weeks. Soon, the loons will be gone as well. The nipping frosts will come, turning the landscape to an austere brown.
If it weren’t for the golden slant of light that autumn brings, this subtraction would be almost unbearable. But the light is so beautiful that it fills in for what we have lost.
And then there are the apples, another addition rather than a subtraction. For someone like me, who enjoys making pies and crisps, this aspect of fall is most welcome. No more apples from away, thank you very much. From now until April, all of my apples will come from central Maine.
While I am always sorry to see the passing of summer—farewell, my lovely flowers and hummingbirds—in truth I enjoy all the seasons. They all have their own beauty, from the exuberance of spring to the rich maturity of summer to the golden light of early fall to the glittering cold of winter.
The only season I don’t like is March. Yes, I know. Technically March is a month. But in northern New England this drear month feels like a season unto itself.
But never mind! March is nearly six months away. Right now, I will enjoy the thumping of acorns, the golden light, the bounty of apples, and cats in the garden.
My Ragged Gardens
Notes From the Hinterland 