Category Archives: Fall

Cats, Fall, Franco-American, News

Our Yard in Mid-October

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Last week was a yard-work kind of week. Spending time outside in October is no great strain, even if it involves blowing leaves, scrubbing pots, and bringing garden ornaments down cellar. In Maine, there is too much snow in the winter to leave most garden ornaments outside. I do leave a few of the staked ornaments out. Over the years, they have rusted and provide a nice contrast with snow.

In between work, I found time to admire the maple in our backyard.

Here is a close-up of this autumn glory.

But I also looked down and found this yellow fern.

Beauty above and beauty below.

Along with the beauty, there is also loss. A hard frost came and nipped the coleus.

But as my daughter Dee pointed out, the coleus brought color to our shady yard from June through October. And for this we are all grateful.

As we worked, Kai alternately napped and kept track of what we were doing. Here he is in napping mode. His perch allows him to survey the backyard. If you look closely, you can see the gazebo’s frame behind him.

Late Sunday afternoon, Clif suggested, “How about having a fire tonight?”

I thought about this for two seconds. “Great idea!”

The patio was covered in leaves, but it took me only five minutes or so to blow them off. Then it was a simple matter to set up the fire pit, chairs, and little tables, one of them makeshift—a bucket lid on an upturned plant pot. Worked wicked good, as we would say in Maine.

“How about some popcorn for a snack?” I asked.

Clif nodded. “And hot chocolate.”

Perfect for a chilly late afternoon.

We stayed out until the sky was dark and the moon rose and the solar lights came on.

A finest kind of way to end one week and begin another.

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Reading

I am the creative nonfiction editor for Résonance, an electronic literary journal “that seeks to encourage…creative works by established and emerging writers, primarily…about the Franco-American communities of the United States.” (From the mid-1800s to the early 1900s,  roughly a million French Canadians emigrated to the United States, my ancestors among them. My family name is Meunier.)

The journal is published annually, and Volume 8 is now available. And what a fantastic issue it is, if I do say so myself. In the creative non-fiction section, the varied pieces show the range of what it is to be Franco-American, and the writing takes us not only across our country but around the world in unexpected ways. The journal also features an interview, book reviews, fiction, and poetry. Please take a look, if you have the time.

Over the next several weeks, I’ll highlight specific essays. Today, it’s “Trader Joe and Trader Vic: French Canadians, Otherness, and the Taste of Difference” by Leslie Choquette and Jay Gitlin. In “Trader Joe and Trader Vic,” Choquette and Gitlin explore the history of these two businesses and the founders’ Franco-American heritage. It’s a lively, informative piece that certainly taught me something I didn’t know, and I’m Franco-American.

Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books, Fall, News

Back for a Bit

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For now, my part is finished for the proof copy of my soon-to-be-published book, Darcy Dansereau and the Missing Children. I’ve written the blurb, a brief bio, and a dedication to a childhood friend. Until I have the actual proof copy in hand, there’s not much to do on Darcy. So back to blogging, and I’ll also resume work on book six, Iris Starmoss, Elf Detective.  As the saying goes, no rest for the wicked. However, when I get the proof copy, I will need to take another break.

Luckily, I have a kitty assistant to help me write. She is a stern judge who hates the passive voice.

Along with getting the proof copy ready, I have been working on fall chores as the leaves come down, down, down. At least once a week, I use the leaf blower to clean the driveway. This will be an ongoing chore until all the leaves have fallen.

Yesterday, I helped Clif take down the roof and sides of the gazebo. Now only the skeleton remains, along with happy memories of summer nights spent on the patio.

I have emptied and scrubbed most of my outdoor pots. The coleuses are the last of the potted plants, and I’ll get to them soon. Then, I’ll bring in the outdoor ornaments. We have too much snow to leave them out year-round. Following the advice of my blogging friend Jason, who died a few years ago, I don’t cut back the plants in the fall. Instead, I wait until spring. I have done this for several years, and the plants do just fine.

In between fall chores, I have found time to take a couple of autumn pictures.

A leaf on our front porch,

and color in the woods behind our house.

We are nearly halfway through October, and I wish I could implore this beautiful month to slow down, to not go by so fast. But October moves in her own time and, of course, won’t listen to me.

So I’ll take time each day to enjoy the blaze of red, orange, and yellow; the golden glow of the slanted sun; and the crisp but not cold air.

Oh, October!

 

Books, Fall, Flowers

Tapping on Autumn’s Shoulder

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In the Northern Hemisphere, we are one day away from the Autumnal Equinox—September 22. While I love this crisp time of year, I am always a little sorry to see a season end. (And, yes, I feel the same way about winter, too.) This summer, while too dry, was lovely nonetheless, with days that weren’t too hot or humid. At least most of the time. It actually felt like an old-fashioned Maine summer, the ones I remember from my childhood. So farewell, Summer! While I hope 2027 has more rain, I hope we have the same lovely temperatures.

Yesterday, I took some pictures of our yard and road to chronicle the changing season.

The coleuses are still thriving and will continue to do so until a hard frost nips them.

But I have stopped deadheading the flowers, and now that summer is coming to an end, they are free to be their rangy, spiky selves.

The begonias are doing well, too, and provide a welcome burst of color by the front door.

As for the gardens…well, we are heading toward late September, and as always, the plants are pretty much done blooming for the year. The picture below gives readers a pretty good idea of what the gardens look like. (Oh, the phlox was so beautiful this summer!) Readers can also see the progress on the house. The new siding is up, and the window frame is patched. Next comes the painting.

While the gardens are in decline, the trees, with just a tinge of color,  are beginning to gear up for their autumn glory. I went to the end of our driveway and took this picture of our road. Still a lot of green, but there is a slight blush of color.

And in our driveway, a little color, too, a preview of what will come when the leaves coat the driveway in a thick carpet. Then we turn to our trusty leaf blower—electric, of course—to help clear the driveway.

But that’s a couple of weeks away.

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Reading

I had planned to keep a monthly book log, but as I thought about my birthday challenge—70 books by 70—it seemed better to list them by the week. That way, I can go into them with a little depth without having readers’ eyes glaze over from too much information.

Book 1 of my 70 by 70 challenge

John of John by Douglas Stuart

Warning: Minor Spoilers

John-Calum (Cal) has graduated from art school, but unable to find a job, he couch-surfs at his friends’ homes and steals food from them when they are away. Therefore, when Cal’s difficult father, John, summons Cal home to Harris, an island in the Outer Hebrides, Cal only hesitates briefly. When John tells Cal that his grandmother is sick, this clinches the deal.

So home Cal goes, to his angry, sometimes abusive father, his beloved grandmother, Ella, and the tight religious community—Free Presbytarian—he left behind for the sinful big city.

Cal’s father is a lay preacher, sheep farmer, and weaver with a true feel for color and texture. He is also gay, a fact he hides from almost everyone, including his son. Cal is gay, too, and he also hides this from his father and most of the island community. This tension—a closeted father and son—drives the story, dialing up the emotional temperature of the book.

I became totally immersed in the world Stuart created—the austere beauty of the island as well as the family turmoil—and I read avidly late into the night to find out how the conflicts would play out.

But I do have two major criticisms.

First, religion is initially up front in John of John and of great importance. But as the story progresses, religion is pushed to the back burner to make way for Cal’s and John’s issues. The minister is never more than a one-dimensional figure, and while the church is featured from time to time and even causes a violent confrontation between Cal and John, it just doesn’t get the time it should in this story. After the chains-in-the-playground incident—put there to stop kids from playing on Sunday—I wanted much more about the Free Presbyterians, a group I had never heard of until I read this book.

Second, John is a violent, angry father who still beats his twenty-two-year-old son. Yet it felt as though the reader was supposed to root for John’s search for self-actualization in the book’s concluding chapters. While I had some sympathy for John and his conflicts, I found I couldn’t cheer him on as he tries to come to terms with his sexuality. Stuart made him too hard and too abusive. In short, John is a real canker.

But I was with Cal—sometimes selfish, sometimes good-hearted— all the way, even when he made bad choices. And it was this sympathy that kept me reading.

Books, Fall

That Splendid Season plus August’s Book Log

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The calendar has flipped to September, the month that brings fall, Maine’s splendid season. In our yard, the goldenrod is abloom by the edge of the woods.

The air has a delicious, nutty smell as plants mature and form seeds. At night, the temperature drops to 50, and I put another blanket on my bed. One evening, it was so chilly that we even had to turn on the heat pump. But during the day, the temperature rises to the mid-70s and sometimes reaches 80, only to cool down at night. I wish we could have a couple more months of this weather, but maybe fall’s fleeting nature is the reason why I love this season so much. I feel very lucky to have a birthday in this beautiful month—as does Clif—and  you can bet there will be simple but fun celebrations that I’ll feature on this blog. As longtime readers know, our philosophy is to celebrate early, celebrate often.

My gardens are winding down and are definitely past their best, as this photo of the front yard illustrates.

Unfortunately, COVID slowed down Clif’s work on the house, but he’s pushing on, and he should get most of what he needs done before the cold weather comes.

But the plants on the front porch still look glorious and will do so until the first hard frost nips their beauty.

I am glad to be at the beginning of September rather than at the end. I still have most of this month to look forward to, as well as October, surely the most magnificent month in Maine. October is also the birth month of my eldest daughter.

Let the celebrations begin!

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One of my blogging friends, Rupali, features a book log every month. I really enjoy her log, so I decided to follow suit and share what I read each month.

Book Log for August

Zone One by Colson Whitehead

I’m a huge fan of Colson Whitehead, especially The Underground Railroad and The Nickel Boys, both of which have deservedly won a Pulitzer Prize. But if I had read Zone One first, I’m not sure I would have read another one of his books. A good lesson in how even very good writers can have a misstep, and not to judge writers by just one book.

Zone One should have been exciting. It features a zombie apocalypse, for God’s sake. The protagonist—call him Mark Spitz—and his cohorts are trying to clear a section of Manhattan, the titular Zone One, of zombies. The book’s action takes place over three days, but there are so many flashbacks to Mark Spitz’s pre-zombie life that the narrative becomes bogged down. The last twenty pages nip along nicely, but by then it’s too little, too late.

The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

Spanning ten years, The Correspondent follows Sybil Van Antwerp, a retired lawyer, through her daily life in Maryland. But rather than tell Sybil’s story in prose, Evans presents the novel in epistolary form—letters Sybil writes and letters she receives. Evans does this in a moving, compelling way, and I found myself saying, “Just one more letter” when I should have been cooking dinner.

Loss and grief inform the story. While Sybil is feisty—she never backs down from a fight or a slight, no matter how small—she is also stuck. Despite being prickly to the extreme, Sybil does care about other people and makes connections in unexpected ways. During the course of the book, these connections help Sybil unfold, and I was with her all the way.

The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout

Born and raised in Portland, Maine, Elizabeth Strout’s style typifies many people’s notion of a New England writer—spare, no-nonsense, and so brisk it borders on abrupt. I’ve read several of her books. There is no fat in them and only a glint of humor here and there. Yet, a sympathy for the characters runs strong in her books, and nowhere is this more evident than in The Things We Never Say.

Artie Dam—teacher, husband, father, and son—is the main protagonist in this story set in Massachusetts. A born teacher who is well-liked, Artie should be happy, but he’s not, and as the story progresses, we find out why. The book wheels through time—past, present, and future—revealing an unhappy childhood and troubles in his own marriage. The title suggests part of his problem: all that is left unsaid. Woven in with Artie’s problems are problems of the United States. But in his own gentle way, Artie makes a big difference in his community. If only there were more Arties in the world.

The Things We Never Say is a quiet story beautifully told.

Sag Harbor by Colson Whitehead

Yes, I gave Whitehead another chance. Such is the strength of The Underground Railroad and The Nickel Boys. Sag Harbor is a semi-autobiographical account of a summer in 1985 spent at Sag Harbor in the Hamptons, in a community built by upper-middle-class Blacks.

The story is told from fifteen-year-old Benji Cooper’s point of view. He and his brother Reggie are left to their own devices during the week while their parents work in Manhattan. Do Benji and Reggie get in trouble? Not really, although Benji comes close to losing an eye during a BB gun battle with his friends. Mostly, though, Benji broods about being a nerd, about girls, about fitting in, and about his alcoholic and at times abusive father.

There’s not much of a plot. Sag Harbor is essentially a slice-of-life story that ruminates on the past and explores the present. Yet there is a forward motion of sorts. At the end of the summer, Benji realizes he is now one of the older kids as he watches younger kids play on the beach.

At times, the book is laugh-out-loud funny. At other times, terrifying as Benji deals with his alcoholic father. I felt both tenderness and exasperation for Benji, exactly the way a parent often feels about their own teenagers.

The Witchmark by C.L. Polk

In a society reminiscent of Edwardian England, magic is reserved for the upper class. Everyone else must hide it or risk being sent to an asylum. Miles Singer is upper class, but his magic has been deemed weaker than that of his more powerful sister, Grace, and he is expected to spend his life assisting her. Not wanting to be in Grace’s thrall, Miles runs away, joins the military, and becomes a doctor, all the while hiding his magic. Miles gets caught up in a murder case, falls in love with a fae named Tristan, and becomes embroiled in his sister’s and father’s plans.

The characters and plot are well done and hold the reader’s interest. Unfortunately, Witchmark is undermined by platitudes and overwriting. Example: “The blood in my veins turned to ice.”

Fans of fantasy would probably enjoy the story. Non-fantasy readers should probably give Witchmark a pass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cats, Celebrate, Fall

Some Good Things…

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Readers must surely know that right now in the United States there is a constant fire hose of bad news that is covered, quite rightly, by various forms of media. No point in denying this bad news, and being somewhat of a news junky, I pay close attention.

But at least in my personal life, there are many good things happening too, and I hold on to them the way a person falling overboard might cling to a tossed life preserver ring. The good things help keep me afloat.

First and foremost, October in Maine. October in Maine is so glorious that it never fails to fill me with joy—that slant of sunlight reflected from the golden leaves; the deep blue sky made brilliant by the lack of humidity; the bursts of orange and red; the nutty smell of fallen leaves. I could go on and on singing the praises of October. And even this year, when the drought has muted the color of the changing leaves, it is still a wonderful month.

Here are pictures taken last week from my backyard.

A flash of red in the nearby woods,

yellow leaves against blue sky,

and the view from the patio.

Then there are the new cats, who despite their pesty ways with plants they shouldn’t be nibbling on, are bringing us so much joy and laughter.

Kai chilling on the cat tree
Little Fern helping me with my upcoming novel, Darcy Dansereau

 

Finally, there is another reason why October is such a special month for us: our eldest daughter Dee was born the end of October. We will be celebrating her birthday next Saturday with a trip to southern Maine, where we will meet our daughter Shannon and Mike. But that will be a story for next Monday.

 

 

 

 

 

Electric Car, Fall, News

Fall Flurry

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September is shaping up to be quite the month. There are two birthdays—mine and Clif’s—and while our celebrations are simple, they are always so much fun. My birthday is next Monday, and Dee, Clif and l will all be playing hooky, taking time off from work, having lunch at a local noodle shop—how I love noodles—going to a movie (surprise, surprise!) and depending on the weather, enjoying tea and cookies by the Kennebec River. Finally, ice cream on the way home. Phew, sounds like quite the day. Clif’s birthday is at the end of the month, and of course the birthday boy will get to pick his birthday outings.

Between my birthday and Clif’s, Shannon, Mike, and their dog Holly will be joining us for more birthday brouhaha. Our philosophy has always been: celebrate early, celebrate often.

At the end of the month, I will be getting together with two lovely blogging friends—Judy from New England and Thread and Dot from The New Vintage Kitchen. What a treat that will be! We will be meeting at Stonewall Kitchen in York, which is about a 200 mile round trip from my home. That will give our EV Bolt a good workout. Will I be able to get there and back again without stopping at the Kennebunk Travel Plaza to charge the Bolt? I’m thinking I will, but stay tuned.

Speaking of the Bolt…how I have come to love our zippy little car. I’ve gone here and there locally, and what a pleasure it is to drive the Bolt. Best of all, we charge the car from home and therefore never have to go to a gas station. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don’t miss that smelly experience. Not one bit. The final cherry on the sundae? It costs half as much to charge the Bolt as it did to put gas in our Honda Fit.

On a more serious matter, I was chosen for jury duty, and the trial will be held on September 16, 17, and 18. I found the jury selection process fascinating, and I was so moved by the judge’s ending speech to us, where she reminded everyone that the defendant is innocent until proven guilty, that we need listen closely to the evidence and keep an open mind. This I will make every effort to do. After the trial and verdict, I’ll write more about my experience.

Finally, after some testing of the camera on my phone, Clif, Clif the computer guy has determined it is the hardware that’s at fault. Therefore, next month, when this phone is paid off, I will be getting a new one, and once more there will be pictures on my blog. I have only had this phone for three years, and, yes, it burns my biscuit that it stopped working the way it should so soon. We are not ones who replace things at the drop of a hat. We like to things to last.

But, to borrow from Tony Soprano, what are you gonna do?

Note: I will be taking the week of September 15th off from blogging. Between my birthday and the trial, I know I won’t be able to keep up with reading blogs and commenting. I will back on September 22.

 

 

 

 

Fall, News

Welcome to the ‘Ber Months!

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Yesterday, my son-in-law noted that we have made it to the ‘ber months, his favorite time of year.

Mine, too. I don’t think I’m overstating the case by claiming that autumn in northern New England is spectacular. Blogging friends, if ever you want to visit Maine, this is the time to do so. While there are still plenty of tourists until mid-October, the summer frenzy is over, and the weather is usually delightful—warm days, cool nights, low humidity.

Then there are the changing leaves where, among others, the maple and beech trees are a burst of glory that lights up the landscape in even the smallest town. After such a dazzling display, November can seem like a somber month, but I like the modest russets and browns of the oaks, which hold on to their leaves longer.

This September is proving to be a busy time for me. I have been called for jury duty, and on Thursday, I will find out if I have been selected. If I am selected, I am not sure if I will be able to keep with reading other blogs and making comments. I might have to take some time off.

But I will keep you posted.

Note: As the lack of pictures indicates, I am still having trouble with the camera on my phone. I’m not sure what I am going to do about this. So for now, no photos. Sorry!

Fall, News

And the Leaves Come Tumbling Down

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Note: It’s that busy time of year when Clif and I go around to various holiday fairs to sell our books. Therefore, until the new year, I will neither be reading blogs on the weekend nor commenting on those posts. It seems to me that those who post on the weekend also post during the week, which means I will be mostly keeping up with the comings and goings of blogging friends. Also, I am cutting back my own posting to once a week, on Mondays. After the new year, I am planning to resume Thankful Thursday posts.

Oh, Those Leaves

Right now the leaves are falling everywhere at our home by the edge of the woods.

On our front steps,

on the chairs on the patio,

and on the table, too.

A  couple of afternoons each week are devoted to leaf cleaning.

Clif takes out our trusty battery-powered lawn mower that crunches and sucks up the leaves.

Here’s the yard before lawn-mower Clif has done his thing.

Then along comes Clif.

Et Voilà! Progress has been made.

At least for a day or so.

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For some silly fun, here are a couple of videos in honor of this delicious, spooky time of year.

First, from Saturday Night Live, the one and only David S. Pumpkins.

Second, “This Is Halloween” from the inimitable Tim Burton and The Nightmare before Christmas.

A happy Halloween to you all!

Fall, Home, Television

Scenes from Mid-October and a Review of the Television Series From

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In Maine in mid-October there is a certain chill in the air, letting us know that we are edging into a time of colder weather and long nights. In mid-October, we can no longer be sure that it will be warm enough to eat outside even when the sun is shining. In mid-October, we start bringing in some of the patio furniture. (The big table stays outside under cover.) In mid-October, the leaves are falling, falling, falling. Hence, the use of fall as another word for autumn.

For those who live in a warmer climate, October in northern New England might sound like a time for alarm—this is just the beginning of the cold and the dark? But we Mainers mostly take it in stride. We have known snow and cold weather from the time we were born, and to us it seems like the natural order of things.

However, I do want to add that when cold weather comes, a fair number of folks hightail it to warmer states. Snowbirds, they are called, and I will never be one of them. To me, winter means snow.

But before the snow comes October.

Here are some photos of what it looks like in our yard at the edge of the woods.

This weekend, Clif and Dee took down the screen house and tucked it down cellar until next spring. The round table and umbrella were also stored down cellar. After which, Clif moved our fire pit onto the patio, which stops the backyard from looking so lonely. But still. I miss the screen house.

In the woods, there is a flash of red, a blaze of glory, red against green.

In our new driveway, leaves aren’t the only things that fall.

And sometimes the leaves fall in a very fetching way.

All those falling leaves mean that the great leaf clean-up will soon begin. In the meantime, we will enjoy nature’s art.

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Watching: Television

From
Seasons 1 through 3
Available on MGM+

First, a disclaimer. Even though I come from the land of Stephen King (his Maine home is about an hour and half from where I live), I am not a fan of horror. The answer for this is simple: I get too scared. I have what might be called an overactive imagination, and horror taps right into it.

However, from the jump, I was hooked on From, which is billed as a horror/mystery show. Yes, there are strong elements of horror in From as well as some gore. However, the emphasis is on the characters and how they react to the terrible situation they are in.

And what is that situation? There is a town in the middle of the woods somewhere—it could even be Maine—that traps folks. While the exact method is a mystery, it involves a back road with a fallen tree and circling crows. That fallen tree spells trouble. When the series opens, a vacationing family encounters this tree and quite naturally tries to find another route. After Dad (Elon Bailey) turns the vehicle around, the family arrives in a shabby town with a smattering of inhabitants. Dad drives through the town but somehow finds himself circling around to that very same town. Again and again. The family is trapped.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the family is stuck in a town where monsters emerge at night and devour people if they are out and about. Steps have been taken to protect the houses, but I can tell you right now that accidents, bloody ones, still happen. Regularly.

Presiding over the town is Sheriff Boyd Stevens (played by the excellent Harold Perrineau). His job is to protect the town, to provide hope, and to figure out how they all might escape. Let’s just say that uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

There is a wonderful cast of supporting characters, all flawed but all very human in their frailties. Bit by bit, the episodes provide clues as to what this mysterious place is and how folks might escape.

In season 3, the cherry on the sundae is a reference to Camden, Maine. Clif, Dee, and I have found that in most of the horror or supernatural series we watch, there is some reference to Maine. It always takes us by surprise although by now we should be used to it.

No doubt in honor of Stephen King, that master of horror.

Even if you think you don’t like horror, From is a show to watch.