Twisted Sisters
On Saturday and Sunday, Clif and I took our books and prints to a craft fair sponsored by the Friends of the Wells Public Library. Wells, Maine, is quite a distance from where we live in central Maine, but this craft fair is well worth the trip. We went last year and sold lots of books. While we didn’t sell quite as many books this year, we sold enough so that we were satisfied.
One of the pleasures of going to various craft fairs is meeting and talking to the other vendors. Last year we were across from these three charming, lively women who have dubbed themselves “Twisted Sisters.” Their business card describes them as “Three Sisters Practicing Old Crafts.” This year, we were again lucky enough to be across from the Twisted Sisters. Aren’t those aprons snappy? I heard one customer ask if the aprons were for sale. Unfortunately, they were not.
Here are some of the lovely items from Cynthia’s table,
Cheryl’s table,
and Dianne’s table.
During the two days of the craft fair, lots of fairgoers clustered around the three booths, and I expect many lucky people will be getting Christmas presents handcrafted by the Twisted Sisters. (I, too, bought something for a special friend.)
The Twisted Sisters don’t have a website, but this time of year they pop up at various fairs in Maine. If you should come across the Twisted Sisters, don’t hesitate to buy a wonderful handcrafted item from these sisters who practice the old crafts.
Sure beats anything you could find in a big box store.
The Pleasures of My Own Yard
Many people like to travel—to see new sights and to eat new food. While I understand the need for novelty, I find that I get plenty of variety in my own yard. Best of all, I don’t have to take a plane, bus, or automobile. I merely have to go down a few steps, and there are I am, surrounded by gardens and trees that look different with every season.
Right now, in Maine, it is fall, a lovely but bittersweet time of year, when all things green and growing are getting ready for the long cold of winter. In the front yard the leaves of the Solomon’s seal have turned a ghostly white, a pale contrast with the black-eyed Susans, which are beginning to fade.
The leaves of the hosta Frances Williams are yellowing and curling in on themselves.
In the backyard, there is a blaze of color in the woods, a bold punctuation among the evergreens. Soon the leaves will fall, a sprinkle of red on the forest floor.
We haven’t taken in the patio chairs and table, and it often continues to be warm enough for me to sit and listen to the crickets singing their song of fall. So far, the little jumping creatures haven’t been stilled by the cold. Neither have the nasturtiums, which are still blooming, albeit in a more desultory way than they were at their peak.
Often times, in the waning warm of autumn, Little Miss Watson keeps me company.
And watching over everything is a Spirit of the woods, guarding the yard whatever the season.
Autumn Treasures
Those Glowing Copper Ferns
A few days ago, I took a short walk up the road, looking for signs of autumn. In some ways, it was a melancholy walk as I remembered all the times I went out with my dog Liam, who would wait patiently as I took pictures. How I still miss that dog buddy!
I was looking for colorful leaves, and I did find some. However, there is still quite a bit of green; peak foliage is probably a week or two away.
Instead, what caught my eye, as I looked down, was the glowing copper of the ferns as they lit up the dark woods.
One of the great pleasures of living in the woods is that in every time of year there is something to notice. In Maine, the passing of the seasons is marked by exuberant new growth, fecundity, austereness, cold, stillness, and—if I’m to be honest—slush and mud. (I don’t want to give the impression that Maine is a state of unrelenting beauty. We have peak ugliness as well as peak foliage.)
After walking awhile and being dazzled by the ferns, I turned around and headed home. I noticed this tree stripping down to its essence, the first of many more bare trees to come.
Homebody that I am, even after a short walk, it is always a pleasure to return to our home nestled in the woods.
And the Acorns Come Tumbling Down
Thanks to a blog I follow—New Hampshire Garden Solutions—I learned that this is probably a mast year for acorns. This is from a recent post: “There must be many millions of acorns falling this year; I would guess enough to call it a mast year. In a mast year the trees grow a bumper crop and produce much more fruit than in a non-mast year.”
The things I learn from reading blogs! I knew that some years there were a lot of acorns. Other years, not so much. But I didn’t know there was a name for a season that produced a bumper crop of acorns. But now I do. Many thanks, New Hampshire Garden Solutions.
As I have written previously, we live in the woods, and there are several oak trees near one end of our house. This fall there has been a steady rain of acorns, and when the acorns hit the roof, it sounds as though we are being pelted with little rocks. Sometimes the rain is steady enough that I worry I will be knocked senseless when I am near the oak trees. So far, so good. I’ve escaped concussion and have come inside with nary a bump.
Joking aside, I have come to regard the acorns as little wonders.
Beautiful as well as useful, they produce the majestic oak, thus providing a much-needed lesson about how mighty things can grow from a small seed. The acorns feed a variety of creatures who live in the woods around our house—chipmunks, squirrels, deer, and turkeys, to name a few. From the National Wildlife Federation Blog, I discovered that “more than 100 U.S. vertebrate species eat acorns. In autumn and winter, the acorn is the cheeseburger of the forest ecosystem—fairly easy to find and nicely packaged. They are one of the most valuable food resources available for wildlife.”
No wonder the oaks produce an abundance of acorns whenever they have a chance. If some acorns are to survive to grow into a tree, there must be many.
Therefore, as we head into the season of Thanksgiving, I give thanks to the oaks that provide shade, absorb carbon, and feed assorted denizens of the forest. Oaks are a vital part of Maine’s ecosystem, and how poor we would be without them. Long may oaks—and acorns—flourish.
Oh, Give Me a Patio with Nasturtiums!
Rapunzel Reads Reviews Maya
Not long ago, I was introduced to Rapunzel Reads, a fresh, charming blog dedicated to reviewing books for middle readers and young adults.
According to the blurb on the blog, here is how Rapunzel Reads was named:
Everyone knows that Rapunzel spent her early years locked up in a tower. We’d like to think she had plenty of books to while away the time, and that she’d appreciate our own favorites.
The blog is written “by & for kids.” The two young reviewers—“Piranha T.” and “Super Kitty”— are sisters who are twelve and fourteen. In the About section, Piranha T. and Super Kitty explain why they started Rapunzel Reads:
We…love to read, and to share what we read with our friends and family. With the help of our mother (who is also happiest when curled up somewhere with a stack of great books) we’ve decided to start this blog as a way to never lose sight of our absolute favorites, and to get a conversation going with people we know (and those we don’t!), who also might want to share their favorites with us on this site….
A few weeks ago Piranha T. reviewed Maya and the Book of Everything for Rapunzel Reads. What an honor! While positive reviews are always welcome, it is especially gratifying to have a good review written by a young person. Piranha T. concluded:
Maya and the Book of Everything was an excellent fantasy. Laurie Graves wrote a well-rounded plot which kept surprising me with twists I never would have anticipated. Maya was a clever and interesting heroine who I absolutely loved. The themes on books and reading were also fun, reminding me (although slightly younger than this book) of Finding Serendipity. I would highly recommend Maya and the Book of Everything to lovers of fantasy and complex plots ages twelve and up.
Many, many thanks, Piranha T., for this wonderful review. And readers, do check out Rapunzel Reads when you have a chance. The reviews are short and snappy, and those who love children’s literature will want to add many of the featured books to their TBR pile.
About the “Naughty Corner”
On yesterday’s post, I featured this picture of my husband, Clif, and his friend John.
My blogging friend Tialys—who, by the way, has a wonderful blog—asked, “But why are they standing in the naughty corner?” (Clif and I had a good giggle over this question.)
I had never thought of the portrait that way, but I can see Tialys’s point. John and Clif are, after all, standing in a corner. After thinking about the question, I decided that further explanation was needed.
The corner is a backdrop at the Colby College Museum of Art in Waterville, Maine, and is part of an exhibit called I Am Not a Stranger: Portraits by Séan Alonzo Harris.
Here is an explanation of the exhibit from the museum’s website:
Presented by Waterville Creates! in partnership with the Colby Museum, I Am Not a Stranger: Portraits by Séan Alonzo Harris will include approximately fifty new studio photographs of Waterville residents….This major new work by Harris, an accomplished photographer who is new to Waterville but has lived and worked in Maine for over twenty years, aims to represent the people of Waterville, build bridges across difference, and create a platform for storytelling and community reflection rooted in our shared space.
I Am Not a Stranger includes some of Harris’s portraits of Waterville residents, and if you click here, you will see selected works from the exhibit.
The gray corner was also part of the exhibit, and I asked a woman working at the reception desk if museum goers were allowed to have their pictures taken against the backdrop.
“Oh, yes!” the woman answered. “Snap away!”
Hence the portrait of John and Clif, two very photogenic guys.
The corner backdrop can be interpreted in a number of humorous ways. But it seems to me that the gray background frames the Waterville residents—and John and Clif and anyone else—in a way that gives them dignity and attention that everyday folks don’t normally receive. The backdrop guides your gaze and encourages you to look, really look, at the people in the photographs. The black and white only serves to heighten the mood.
Here is the same picture in color.
Better in black and white, don’t you think?
Friends for Nearly Forty Years: John and Clif
Notes From the Hinterland 