The Season of Apples

When my boys were little, we lived in California. Every autumn, we'd drive to a local farm. A hay ride would take us to a barn heated by a huge wood stove, where we'd listen to stories of Johnny Appleseed while sipping fresh cider. The van would be heavy with boxes on the drive home, the smell of fresh apples promising deserts to come. For the next few days, our kitchen would be warm with the scent of pies, sauce, butter...all of the trappings of fall.

Over the years, I've scaled back a bit, but we still celebrate the change of season with a trip to our local apple farm. The farmer sends me a postcard of harvest predictions which I post on the refrigerator and we debate which type of apple we want for pies. This year, autumn was upon me before I noticed the post card was missing.

Taking my daughter, I drove up to Mount Vernon last week, visions of apple brownies dancing in my head. The familiar big red barn greeted us and we bounded through the door to a cold emptiness. The displays that usually held mounds of apples were empty, shoved back into a corner of the room. Had I missed apple season? I was sure I'd seen apples on the neighbor's tree this morning. The honor system box was still there, accompanied by the low hum of two ancient refrigerators displaying jugs of cider. A note from the owners explained that they were retiring but that their sons would continue to make and sell their cider...which I can buy at my local grocery store. I put money in the box and took a jug for old-times sake...and then spent the next 15 minutes explaining to my daughter why the apples were all "bye-bye."

As we drove away, my brain registered what I'd missed on the way in...a huge tract of recently cleared land, sporting large piles of up-rooted apple trees.

Revenge of the Blog - Julie Weathers

I have been featured and mentioned a couple of times lately in the blog of my (hopefully still after this) dear friend Julie Weathers. I've known this wonderful lady through my on-line writers' group for...a long time, and I've only ever found one thing wrong with her: she could use a bit more self-confidence. So, after she posted a chunk of Dominion with such glowing comments, I promised a revenge blog.

Then I started thinking -- this was hard! What bit would I choose? Aside from being a wonderful writer, she's also a delightful poet and a wit to boot. There is this one scene where some enchanted jars fly around and annoy the wizard's wife while spouting poetry...I wanted to use that one. But then I thought, naaa...she's using that as one of her Surrey entries and it would be just a shame if anyone read it on the internet first. So, I decided not.

Another one of my favorites is a scene where her heroine takes a wrong turn and winds up in a crypt. Now, that's my kind of scene. I'm not sure she fully intended it to be that funny, but it brings to mind all of the times I've gotten lost. But then, I thought...taking that chunk out of context...no, it would lose something magical.

Hm. This was harder than I thought it would be. Not because I don't love so many things she writes, but because I was going to take just a snippet, take it out of context and try to show the world what a fabulous writer this woman is...and then I found a piece she doesn't feel is done. In fact, when I said I might snag bits of it, she seemed shocked and horrified and wanted more time to edit it. <evil grin> Perfect.

I am a big believer in copyrights, so I'm only going to give you a taste of this woman's writing.

Excerpt from "Jeffrey" ©2008 Julie Weathers

"Mother, how was your trip?" she asked as she reverted her attention to the old woman. "You must be exhausted. Come up on the veranda and sit down."

"It was marvelous. You know how I love the mountains in the spring time. The does are just now introducing their bashful babies to the world. I watched one who was perched on a high ledge above the cut. He laid ever so quietly just watching the train pass as he pretended he was invisible to the world of mortals and I dare say he probably was to most of those ninnies. The air is so crisp and clean and the sunshine smells so good."

She helped the aging queen up the stairs just as the coachman followed Elizabeth through the front door.

"Granny," Elizabeth corrected in her most irritating proper manner, "no one can smell the sun." She turned to her mother, "We put Granny's cases in her room."

"Thank you both," the queen nodded regally. "And you most certainly can smell the sun, my dear. In the spring it is a light pleasant smell with just a hint of sweetness and rain. In the summer the lightness turns to rich molten honey squeezing into every pore of the darkened earth."

"What does the sun smell like in the fall?" Jeffrey asked excitedly.

"Ah, I think autumn sunshine smells the best of all. It is the summer honey with just a hint of the deep winter sun. It's spicy and pungent with just an occasional bite here and there to remind us of the approaching blue sun of winter."

Now, can't you just taste the richness of her prose? After I read that, I went out back and lay on the lawn. The cats came and practiced stalking me. I lay there, smelling the sun and letting the warmth ooze into my pores. I forget that there is such richness in the world, but Julie never seems to. Her writing is filled with asides that remind me of the beauty and power of the world. My friend Veronica brought me a jar of honey from her bees yesterday. Reading this snippet again, I suddenly have an irresistible urge to open that jar.

Surrey International Writers' Conference

I'm going to Surrey! The confirmation has been received: I'm a registered Trade Show vendor at the 16th Annual Surrey International Writers' Conference. Table decorations and gifts are on order.

This is an exciting opportunity for me, because I love working with my fellow writers. Let's face it: content is the most important part of any website, and writers know how to generate content. The trick is learning what to do with that content, handling the marketing, and creating a site that is as unique as the person it represents.

If you're going to be at the conference, stop by my booth and play with the toys I'm bringing. I've got lots of goodies to give away.

Kittens -- part 2

The mother cat and one of the kittens have returned to our porch. We have no idea what happened to the female kitten I called "Rose", but are happy to see the others again.
Since we no longer have any responsibility towards them -- our neighbor having declared them to be his cats -- we can just enjoy their visits.
The male kitten, Trapeze, cuddled up to me when he first saw me and purred with great gusto. I'd never heard him purr before. Mark had named him Trapeze because of the high likelihood of him becoming a "flying young man" due to his tendency to bite. We don't know what has happened to them in the time they've been gone, but he no longer wants to bite, seeming content to play and cuddle. My daughter carried him around for a while today, and he was content.
I enjoy these furry companions and find myself sitting outside and watching them play. There is something soothing about having a cat curled up in my lap, the purring hypnotizing me into resting for a few moments out of these hectic days.

Another update: Rose now resides down the street with a loving family. Trapeze and Tigress were cornered by a gang of raccoons at 2AM the other day. I beat of the evil things with a 2 by 4, several large flower pots, and much yelling. I swear, one of the beasts actually stood up and laughed at me. Nevertheless, I rescued the kitties and have returned them to their rightful owner -- again. We all know they'll be back. There is much discussion around our household about the size and strength of the local raccoon population, as my husband informed me the next day that they were more than capable of overwhelming me. I pointed out that might be so, provided children or cats were not involved.