The Gardens in Winter

Blogging friends in New Zealand and Australia have been sharing photos of their beautiful spring gardens. Am I envious? You bet I am. Spring is one of my favorite times of year when everything bursts into glorious life.

Because I live Maine, which is in the northern hemisphere, winter is here, and spring is but a distant dream. I know. Technically it is still fall, but it sure doesn’t feel that way in northern New England.

However, my gardens in winter have their own austere beauty, especially now that I don’t trim back the plants in the fall. This idea came to me from my blogging friend, Jason of Garden in a City, who maintains that it is better for the natural world to leave the stalks and stems until spring. I have been doing this for several years and have become a real fan of this method.

Here are some pictures that I recently took in the front yard. Because we live in the woods, the lighting can be tricksy. This time of year, the sun—low in the sky—flickers briefly across the front yard and hardly makes it to the backyard.

So onward we go, spinning around the sun. Every season has its delights, even winter, whose cold touch stills all that is green and growing.

 

The Death of a Friend: Esther Bernhardt, 1937-2019

Yesterday, Esther Bernhardt, a dear friend for at least twenty years, died. I was prepared for this death—her granddaughter had let me know that Esther had had a stroke and was not likely to survive it—but I have lived long enough to know that even when you are prepared, the death of someone you love fills you with grief. As indeed it should.

It amazes me that only a few weeks ago we met for lunch at Barnes & Noble and had the type of conversation that I love best. We talked about books, politics, movies, and family. With Esther, I could let my mind range free, and she was always interested, even if she wasn’t familiar with what I was talking about. And for me, that is quite a gift, one that I never take for granted.

Long-time readers might remember past posts about Esther. Born in 1937, she grew up in rural Maine, and I liked nothing better than to hear stories of her girlhood. Even though only twenty  years separated us, it seemed to me that Esther grew up in a time that was far, far removed from my own. She remembered when many roads were not paved and what a treat it was to ride on a tarred road. She told of going to girl scout meetings and walking home alone for miles in the cold and the dark to find bean stew waiting for her. She laughed as she remembered her school bus that had long wooden seats on each side and windows that were only in the front.

“That bus was so dark,” Esther told me the last time we met. “I never could see who I was going to sit next to. I don’t know why that bothered me, but it did.”

“Because you were a child, and those things matter when you’re young. Sometimes even when you’re not young,” I said.

“Right,” she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. And, yes, Esther really did have a twinkle in her eyes. She was the kind of person who had a keen sense of humor and appreciated the ridiculous nature of everyday life. Whenever we got together, we always had a good laugh. Esther was just plain fun to be with.

Exactly a week ago today, Esther called and left a message. She had a new phone number and didn’t want me to think it was a telemarketer when I saw the unfamiliar number. I laughed when I heard that message because that’s exactly what I thought. Immediately, I called her back.

I knew her birthday was at the end of the month, and I also knew she loved my apple crisp.

“How about if I come over with an apple crisp to celebrate your birthday?” I asked.

“Sounds lovely,” she said, and we made a date for Monday, November 25.

Unfortunately, she is gone, and we won’t be able to celebrate together. But I will make an apple crisp in her honor and give thanks to all the wonderful times we shared.

I will also give thanks that Esther died exactly the way she wanted, at home, surrounded by her beloved family. She had a long life filled with both joy and pain, and when we last met, Esther told me, “I’ve had a good life.”

She certainly did.

Farewell, dear friend. How I will miss you. The road to your house was never long and sitting in your bright, cozy kitchen was one of the best places to be.

 

 

 

 

A Sad Time

Yesterday, I learned that a dear friend is dying. We also had a nasty little storm of snow and then rain, the new normal for central Maine.

These pictures perfectly capture my mood.

Having reached the age of sixty-two, I have lost many people and dogs I have loved. It doesn’t get any easier, and maybe it shouldn’t. After all, to be mourned is to be loved.

And how I will miss her when she’s gone.

Interviewed by Rapunzel Reads

In September, my YA fantasy novel Maya and the Book of Everything was featured on the delightful blog Rapunzel Reads, where books for young readers are reviewed by two sisters—Piranha T. and Super Kitty. After reviewing Maya, the sisters asked if I was willing to be interviewed for their blog.

I most certainly was, and here is a snippet of the interview:

RapunzelReads: What books inspired you when you were growing up?

Laurie Graves: The books that inspired me were Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. When I read A Wrinkle in Time, in the late 1960s, I had never encountered such a wild, thrilling story that incorporated science, time travel, and fantasy with vivid characters. It almost felt as though an electrical charge was coming to me from the book. Then there was The Lord of the Rings, which pulled me right into Middle Earth. I was there with Frodo and Sam as they made their way to Mordor, and there seemed to be no veil between me, the reader, and Tolkien’s story. Last but certainly not least is Shakespeare. I fell in love with him when I was in seventh grade, and that love continues to this day. When I first started reading Shakespeare, there was a lot I didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. I was completely dazzled by the way he used language, and I could hardly believe that anyone could write so brilliantly. Even now, I am still in awe.

To read the whole interview, click on this link.

Rapunzel Reads, thanks yet again!

 

Don’t Mess with Time

It was an eventful weekend. We went to two craft fairs and sold lots of books. Some people were repeat customers who were eager to read my second book, Library Lost. Always a good thing for an author to hear.

It was also the weekend where we set the clocks back an hour and went from daylight savings time to eastern standard time. I always live in dread of this weekend when we mess with time, and night comes crashing down an hour earlier. I am not a fan of short days and long nights, and, to my way of thinking, it would be easier to adapt if we could approach the long dark more gradually. Simply put, I wish we could do away with daylight savings time and stick to eastern standard time year round. This would allow for more light in the morning when people are heading to work and children are going to school. We would sacrifice an hour of light in the summer, but having dusk come at 8:00 p.m. instead of 9:00 p.m. should not be a hardship for too many people. Seems unlikely to happen, but I continue to hope.

At least three weeks behind schedule, the first hard frosts of the season came this weekend. This was the temperature when I got up this morning.

The frost nipped the nasturtiums. Although the orange flower is still perky, the leaves are decidedly droopy.

Autumn is a time of subtraction. First the hummingbirds go, then the geese, and many other birds follow. Butterflies migrate. Leaves fall. The crickets’ song has been stilled, and I miss the sweet sound.

Still, there is beauty in November’s austere landscape.

Looking down in my own yard,

and across the Kennebec River, about ten miles away from where we live.

Winter subtracts even more. But that is yet to come.

 

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