quince

One night, while at university, I neatly won a game of Scrabble against my housemates by landing the word 'quince' on a triple-word-score.  When I lay the word on the board they smirked, insisting that 'quince' was not a word.  I informed them that I had not only cooked but consumed a quince earlier that day while they sat around the kitchen table eating tortilla chips; in response, they shook their fists in fury and swore eternal vengeance.

So this past Sunday, when I spotted a pile of quince at my local farmer's market, I skipped over with glee, not only due to my fond memory of the aforementioned Scrabble game, but because quince are rare, their season short, and I've been saving up recipes all year (plus I'm intrigued by ancient texts which indicate that Eve's forbidden fruit may perhaps have been quince).  Why did I only buy three?  My bags were already overloaded with kale, Brussels sprouts & jars of honey, but I'm planning to buy more quince next Sunday (reassuring myself that quince season runs through October & November, so they should hopefully continue to appear at the market for the next two months).

I'm not sure which recipe to try first: this one at Orangette, this one over at Food 52, this recipe at Chowhound, this recipe at kitchn, this one at Bon Apetit or this other one at Bon Apetit (I'm thinking maybe the Chowhound one with honey and cognac... or the one at Bon Apetit for fig & quince preserves... oh,my).

GOBLIN MARKET

By Christina Rosetti

 

Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

“Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy:

Apples and quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Plump unpeck’d cherries,

Melons and raspberries,

Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,

Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Crab-apples, dewberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Apricots, strawberries;—

All ripe together

In summer weather,—

Morns that pass by,

Fair eves that fly;

Come buy, come buy:

Our grapes fresh from the vine,

Pomegranates full and fine,

Dates and sharp bullaces,

Rare pears and greengages,

Damsons and bilberries,

Taste them and try:

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;

Come buy, come buy.”

caterpillar

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

-- Christina Rosetti

Happy first day of spring...

Another Poem by Sara Teasdale

The Coin

by Sara Teasdale

Into my heart's treasury

I slipped a coin

That time cannot take

Nor a thief purloin.

Oh, better than the minting

Of a gold-crowned king

Is the safe-kept memory

Of a lovely thing.

Sara Teasdale

When I was in the 4th grade I had a teacher who assigned all her students to do something which seems quaint and old fashioned.  Each month she gave us a poem to memorize and then required every student to stand, one by one, in front of the class and formally recite the poem.  We had to first say the title of the poem, then the name of the poet, and then recite clearly, in even measure, the words of the poem.

We memorized Sea Fever by John Masefield; Oh Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman;  Eldorado by Edgar Allen Poe; Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost;  You are Old Father William by Lewis Carroll;  Adventures of Isabel by Ogden Nash; and Stars by Sara Teasdale.  Even now, I remember the first stanza of each poem, and can still recite, from start to finish, three or four of the poems we were required to memorize.

Of all the poetry we memorized, Stars was my favorite. Over the years, I have occasionally run across other poems by Sara Teasdale, but, until recently, had never thought to read more of her work. About a month ago I acquired a small volume of poetry called Stars To-Night. In this book I found such lovely poems. Below is one of my favorites.

On the Sussex Downs 

By Sara Teasdale

Over the downs there were birds flying,

Far off the glittered sea,

And toward the north the weald of Sussex

Lay like a kingdom under me.

I was happier than the larks

That nest on the downs and sing to the sky,

Over the downs the birds flying

Were not so happy as I.

It was not you, though you were near,

Though you were good to hear and see,

It was not earth, it was not heaven

It was myself that sang in me.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Do you have any favorite poems or poets?

Garden

Two years ago, tucked into a narrow spot on the side our our house, we created this space for a vegetable garden.  Because of the local deer and rampaging racoons, we decided to enclose the space; however, we still lost all our bean-vines that first year because I planted the vines on the exterior of the enclosure instead of inside.  We have also learned, by trial and error, that this location does not get enough sun to grow zucchini, standard pumpkins or cucumbers.  We lost our zucchini, pumpkin & cucumber vines that first year to powdery mildew.  Last year we planted butternut squash and musque de provence, which are naturally resistant to powdery mildew, but had nary a squash to harvest.

 

This year, based on the successes and missteps from the previous two years, we have narrowed our focus and are only growing three "crops..." (though I had intended to put in some leeks, and never quite got around to it.)

Strawberries...

Tomatoes...

And Blue Lake pole beans... 

Can you see in the top photo of this post how the bean vines have taken over our little garden enclosure?  They're amazing!!  (We've also planted morning glories and a new hydrangea bush, just for fun...)

And every morning, when I check on our little plot tucked into 

the narrow spot on the side of our house, I hum this little chant --

Grass grass grass,

tree tree tree,

leafy leaf leaf,

one two three.

Birdy birdy bird,

fly fly fly,

nest nest nest,

high high high.

Cloudy cloudy cloud,

wind wind wind,

rain rain rain,

mud mud mud.

Doggie doggie dog,

runny run run,

quickie quick quick,

homey home home

Beddy bed bed,

sheety sheet sheet,

sleepy sleep sleep,

dreamy dream dream.

Dancie dance dance,

singy sing sing,

grow grow grow,

biggy big big.

-- Woody Guthrie

Picking Plums

 Yesterday we heard from a friend of Little Mr.'s that her neighbor had a tree with an overabundance of plums.  I immediately volunteered to help solve this problem of overabundance.  When we arrived, I was astonished by the color of these tiny plums; they are golden yellow in color, sweet as they are pretty and the children had a marvelous time plucking these bright jewels from the tree.

 Now I have to decide... shall I share some of this plum-bounty with a few other friends by giving away a pound or two?  After all, how much plum-crisp can one family eat?  This little dilemma makes me think of the William Carlos Williams poem This is Just to Say...

This is Just to Say...

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

. . . . .

Well, if someone ate all the plums in my icebox, they'd have quite a stomach ache.  I should give some away, right?  Mmmm... maybe not...

Book Spine Poetry

I was alerted to the blog 100 Scope Notes and the concept of Book Spine Poetry via the lovely Anna B.  The samples of book spine poetry posted over at 100 Scope Notes are laugh-out-loud funny and not to be missed.  Of course, after having a look, I was compelled to try this out and have discovered that creating book spine poems is an addictive pastime.  My first attempt turned out to be R-Rated (and not exactly appropriate for this blog.)  Above, you can see a sample of one of my subsequent attempts...

If you're of a mind (and have time to email a photo), I'd love to see what you come up with!

My Favorite Bowl of Soup

Last night I read that Maurice Sendak, author & illustrator of the books Chicken Soup with Rice, Where the Wild Things Are, In the Night Kitchen and so many others, had died.  Faith Pray of the blog Sacred Dirt has written a lovely post in honor of Mr. Sendak, and below I offer my meager tribute -- a re-post of something I wrote back in October:

________________________________

 

This October 

I will read

A book so fine, 

it's pedigreed.

Maurice Sendak's 

famous creed:

Reading once

reading twice

reading chicken soup

with rice.

I've lost count of how many times I've already read this to my wee Bloom today, and I expect to read it a few dozen times more before the day is done.  He stands by the rocking chair and pats the seat, indicating that I should sit down.  He chants, "BAH-bah-bah," which means he wants me to read a book with rhymes, and then he hands me one of our tired, battered, ancient copies.  And so we begin again...

Reading once

reading twice

reading chicken soup

with rice.

_______________________________________

Thank you Mr. Sendak.  You will always be remembered... with love.

Three Little Ghostesses and a Give-Away

Three little ghostesses,
Sitting on postesses,
Eating buttered toastesses,
Greasing up their fistesses,
Up to their wristesses.
(-- Anonymous)

Inspired by this little rhyme I have painted and stitched up these three little ghostesses.   

Would you like one of these funny little spooks to come haunting at your house?  Just leave a comment below and I will choose a winner via random number generator on Wednesday, October 11th.  If you would like to have a chance at this give-away please make sure I have a way to contact you.

Boo!

 A winner!  #8 -- Rachel of the etsy shop Woolgypsy!

It's Time to Sleep, My Love

"It's time to sleep, it's time to sleep," the fishes croon in waters deep.
The songbirds sing in trees above, "It's time to sleep, my love, my love..."
-- Eric Metaxas

Last September I wrote a post about The Night You Were Born by Nancy Tillman and have been meaning to write a post about this book, too.  Not much to say about it, really, except that it's so very lovely...

Fairy Poetry: W.B. Yeats

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

 For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

 (W.B. Yeats, The Stolen Child)

I think of my wild wisp of a brown boy who seems half faery himself... I think of his 20 freckles (seven on the back of his neck, four on his nose, three on his forehead, two on each cheek, one on his right shoulder, another on his knee -- and sometimes before bed, I must kiss each freckle goodnight...)

I think of my jolly plump elf of a baby... Bright-eyed and pink cheeked toddling around the house meowing to the cat...

And the refrain from this poem breaks my heart...

Grow Grow Grow

We got our summer garden into the ground about a month ago.  This is our second year planting vegetables in this tiny spot on the side of our house and we are trying to learn from our mistakes.  Last year the deer ate up our green bean vines and powdery mildew infested our cucumber, zucchini and pumpkin vines, so our yield from the garden was only a few strawberries and a small crop of tomatoes.

I did research and learned that squash from the family Curcubita Moschata are resistant to powdery mildew, and so we planted butternut squash and a beautiful variety of pumpkin called Musque de Provence.  We also planted blue lake green beans, two varieties of tomato, carrots and we have strawberry plants which survived from last year (you can even see an eager strawberry, nearly ripe in the photo below!)  For good measure, I planted some morning glories & snapdragons and allowed last years nasturtiums to go to seed...

Every morning when I look over our growing garden I have a little poem running through my head.  The poem is by Woody Guthrie and I first heard it last week sung as a rhythmic chant to gentle percussion on the album You are my Little Bird by Elizabeth Mitchell.

Grassy Grass Grass

by Woody Guthrie

Grass grass grass,

tree tree tree,

leafy leaf leaf,

one two three.

Birdy birdy bird,

fly fly fly,

nest nest nest,

high high high.

Cloudy cloudy cloud,

wind wind wind,

rain rain rain,

mud mud mud.

Doggie doggie dog,

runny run run,

quickie quick quick,

homey home home

Beddy bed bed,

sheety sheet sheet,

sleepy sleep sleep,

dreamy dream dream.

Dancie dance dance,

singy sing sing,

grow grow grow,

biggy big big.

It's a good chant to sing over a garden but I think it's even better for singing over growing children...  our best, most beautiful little blossoms and blooms...

St. Clare

Every so often I hear a song which makes my heart beat faster and gives me butterflies in the pit of my stomach. The other day I found a CD by Suzanne Vega at the library and was listening to it in the car. The moment this song started playing I felt a fluttering of wings...

St. Clare
by Jack Hardy

call on that saint
and the candle that burns
keeping her safe
until her return

plaster and paint
holding the fire
a poor woman's saint
holding all man's desire

bold little bird
fly away home
could I but ride herd
on the wind and the foam

all of the souls
that curl by the fire
they never know
all man's desire

watercress clings
to the banks of the stream
in the first grip of spring
when the snow melts to green

barefoot and cold
and holding a lyre
by the side of the road
holding all man's desire

call on the saint
when the white candle burns
keeping her safe
until her return
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Teddy Bear

We have a favorite teddy bear rhyme in our house. It goes like this:

Round & round the garden goes the teddy bear.
One step. two step, tickle you under there!

The actions for the rhyme are as follows: For the "round & round" part, you use your index finger to draw a circle round & round the palm of your child's hand. On the "one step, two step" part, you walk your fingers up the child's arm then give a soft stroke with your finger at the side of the child's neck.

However, these days in our house, we've been doing the actions for the rhyme a bit differently. "Round & round" goes in a circle around baby's belly button which leads to endless giggling and infectious baby laughter (most delightful, as you can imagine!)

He Looked at his own Soul with a Telescope...

He looked at his own Soul with a telescope. What seemed all irregular, he saw and showed to be beautiful constellations, and he added to the consciousness hidden worlds within worlds.

-- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Notebooks

The House was Quiet and the World was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

— Wallace Stevens

I welcome insomnia. I love being awake at 4 a.m. to hear the great-horned owl in the tree behind our house. I love watching the inky dark outside give way to foggy gray. I love hearing the newspaper land at the foot of our steps when the delivery man goes by. I love seeing lights blink on in windows down the hill and across the valley.  But most of all, I love to read at night when everyone else is asleep.

Wynken, Blynken and Nod

Another favorite lullaby...

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea---
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

-- Eugene Field

Hello Kitty!

Five years ago we brought home a pair of birds -- Blue-Capped Cordon-Bleu finches which we named Mr. and Mrs. Blue-Cap Twitterpeep.

They brightened our home with their warbles and fluttery affection for each other. Best of all was the courtship dance of Mr. Twitterpeep. Every day he would pick up a bit of paper from the bottom of the cage or nest and hold it in his beak as a tender offering to his mate, all the while singing a pretty song and bobbing up and down like a little wind-up toy. He was absolutely irresistible.

But Little Mr. has been begging for years to add a furry pet to our home. He's had his heart set on a dog, but as a compromise we decided to try out a cat. This meant that our little birdies had to find a new home. Luckily, we have friends who have a beautiful aviary in their San Francisco Victorian apartment. So off went our birds to their new home last Sunday.

Bye-bye birdies.

Hello kitty.

Our new kitty is named Charlie. He is 10 years old and came to us from a posting through a local cat-rescue organization.

Little Mr. B. and Charlie have taken well to each other and are fast friends already. Above you can see Little Mr.'s photography efforts -- kitty insisted on a close-up!

Obsession

The sun has gone from the shining skies,
The dandelions have closed their eyes,
The stars are lighting their lamps to see
If babes and squirrels and birds and bees
Are sound asleep as they should be.
(Anonymous)

Every few years I buy an album of music which I cannot stop listening to. I listen in the car then, when I get home, I bring the CD into the house so I can listen some more. My current obsession is Natalie Merchant's most recent album -- a 2-CD set called Leave Your Sleep.

In the liner notes, Merchant relates that her inspiration for the album was sharing poetry with her own child. The songs are all poems written for children & set to music in a variety of styles. There are no less than 4 musical arrangements which include accordion, which, as far as I'm concerned, is nothing less than fabulous. The CD set comes with an elegant little book which includes all the poetry/lyrics and fascinating biographical information on each of the poets featured. The poems are dreamy and some of the music to which they are set is even dreamier.

I think my favorite is Equestrienne by Rachel Field:

See, they are clearing the sawdust course
For the girl in the pin on the milk-white horse.
Her spangles twinkle; his pale flanks shine,
Every hair of his tail is fine
And bright as a comet's; his mane blows free,
And she points a toe and bends a knee,
And while his hoofbeats fall like rain
Over and over and over again.
And nothing that moves on land and sea
Will seem so beautiful to me
As the girl in pink on the milk-white horse
Cantering over the sawdust course.