Tricky treats

This morning we headed off to St. Croix Chocolates in Marine-on-St. Croix to get our Halloween/Samhain painted chocolate pumpkins. We arrived a few minutes after opening time. The store was full of little, and not so little, old, and not so old, ladies. What it did not have, yet, were painted pumpkins. They were still drying although the Better Half [BH] had been assured by one of the owners that restocked pumpkins would be available by opening time today. BH asked the sales staff to hold four pumpkins for us when they were ready and we proceeded to Stillwater to look at books at Valley Bookseller. Plus, I had seen something about Stillwater having reorganized their parking requirements and I was curious since BH and I used to shop Stillwater fairly frequently prepandemic.

gourds and painted chocolate pumpkins

Photo by J. Harrington

Stillwater’s “new and improved” parking arrangements are sufficiently confusing and annoying that we will not be returning to shop unless absolutely required. We lucked into an empty 30 minute parking space in front of the book store, but what used to be free spaces next to the book store and behind the River market co-op are now designated paid parking or market patrons only. I ended up with a couple of books as treats for me and BH bought some treats for the Daughter and Granddaughter persons. Between travel time and browsing time, and time searching for a parking space, we thought enough time might have elapsed that it would be worth checking back at the chocolate shop to see if the paint on our pumpkins was dry. Sure enough, it was. So, our trip was sometimes frustrating but overall successful and I later figured out that, along with allowing us to gather our Halloween treats, the fates also provided us with several tricks of the season.

I’m not sure if you know about the great Yogi Berra and his (in)famous quotations, but today’s travels definitely reminded me of one of them: "No one goes there nowadays, it’s too crowded.” 

The Problem

By Jane Hirshfield

You are trying to solve a problem.

You’re almost certainly halfway done,

maybe more.

You take some salt, some alum,

and put it into the problem.

Its color goes from yellow to royal blue.

You tie a knot of royal blue into the problem,

as into a Peruvian quipu of colored string.

You enter the problem’s bodegas,

its flea markets, souks.

Amid the alleys of sponges and sweets,

of jewelry, spices, and hair combs,

you ponder which stall, which pumpkin or perfume, is yours.

You go inside the problem’s piano.

You choose three keys.

One surely must open the door of the problem,

if only you knew only this:

is the quandary edible or medical,

a problem of reason or grief?

It is looking back at you now

with the quizzical eyes of a young, bright dog.

Her whole body pitched for the fetch,

the dog wants to please.

If only she could ascertain which direction,

what object, which scent of riddle,

and if the problem is round or elliptical in its orbit,

and if it is measured in foot-pounds, memory, or meat.

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💖 Happy Valentine’s Day ❗💚💝

sweets for our sweeties

Photo by J. Harrington

As you go about your day, and the  rest of your life, think about today’s poem. What are we missing? Who and what waits to be found? Are we paying attention enough?

Love at First Sight

Wislawa Szymborska - 1923-2012

They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways—
perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?

I want to ask them
if they don’t remember—
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver?—
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.

They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.

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Preparing for Samhain

On October 31, many Celts celebrate Samhain, an antecedent to our Halloween. In the spirit of the season, decorations honoring both feasts have been acquired and are mostly in place. It’s not clear if any pumpkins will be carved this year, since our principal pumpkin carver (the Better  Half) is busy with other projects and the “young’uns” now have their own home to decorate and pumpkins to carve.

ghosts of Halloween to come

Photo by J. Harrington

In the 25 or so years we’ve lived here, we’ve not once has a trick or treater come to the door. Nevertheless, again this year we’ll pick up a few bags of candy, the kind we ourselves particularly like, just to be on the safe side. It just wouldn’t do to be without treats for any local ghosts, goblins, witches, wiccans and such, should any arrive at our door.

Halloween candy table decorations

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday, while returning from our trip collecting most of our decorations, we drove past a cornfield full of harvested stalks plus several dozen sandhill cranes. That was an unexpected and very pleasant surprise, even though it means they’re gathering and staging in preparation for their migration south. If they encounter much southern weather like last year’s Texas brutal cold spell, cranes and other waterfowl might as well skip the trip. If they stay up North, we can use the troughs  we used to use to feed whitetails, before CWD struck, to feed cranes in the winter.

Samhain

By Annie Finch

(The Celtic Halloween)

In the season leaves should love,

since it gives them leave to move

through the wind, towards the ground

they were watching while they hung,

legend says there is a seam

stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil

earth from the sky in one last pale

wave, as autumn dies to bring

winter back, and then the spring,

we who die ourselves can peel

back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.

Tonight at last I feel it shake.

I feel the nights stretching away

thousands long behind the days

till they reach the darkness where

all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch

move with me, and when I brush

my own mind across another,

I am with my mother's mother.

Sure as footsteps in my waiting

self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,

intimate, a waiting bounty.

"Carry me." She leaves this trail

through a shudder of the veil,

and leaves, like amber where she stays,

a gift for her perpetual gaze.

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On Valentine's Eve

'Twas Valentine's Eve
and lovers, for loveds,
pulled cards, sweets, and flowers
from out of the cupboards

So Valentine's Day
would find all beloveds
enchanted and thrilled
with a visit from Cupid
     ~by Himself

You're welcome! It appears that, should we make it through tomorrow, St. Valentine has an even more wonderful present in store for those of us who have been trapped under an extended Polar Vortex. We get a warming trend right here in our own North Country. We may even break freezing in a week or so. Some of us will offer up a piece or two of chocolate as an offering that the warming trend holds through next October into November or so. No March or April blizzards this year, please! Let's let Mother Nature know we love her and hope she loves us back!

Let's let Mother Nature know we love her too!

Photo by J. Harrington

We are far from a "climate change" denier, but believe science would be well served by much better communications. It's really hard to reconcile a melting Arctic, disappearing glaciers and ice sheets and similar disasters with something like two weeks of well below "normal" temperatures, setting new records for low temperatures or extended cold periods or both. Those of us who have our hearts set on enjoying a better, more loving, tomorrow can do without excessive heat, cold, wet, dry or other weather abnormalities being described as simply "global warming," or "climate change."

God's World

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! 

   Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! 

   Thy mists, that roll and rise! 

Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag 

And all but cry with colour!   That gaunt crag 

To crush!   To lift the lean of that black bluff! 

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! 

Long have I known a glory in it all, 

         But never knew I this;  

         Here such a passion is 

As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear 

Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year; 

My soul is all but out of me,—let fall 

No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call. 

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On the sweetness of Christmas

This morning we headed South to Marine on St. Croix to lay our hands on some now "world famous" St. Croix Chocolate Co. chocolates. Today's the last day to get any before the holiday season is gone. There was a line already beginning when the Better Half climbed out of the Jeep to become second in line. We're delighted for Robyn and Deidre's "sold out" success and will craft a quick note to ourselves about what can happen when a local artisan get's discovered. We think it feels similar to when a neighborhood gets gentrified.

On the way to Marine, we drove past a harvested corn field being gleaned by two large flocks of wild turkeys with close to a dozen birds in each flock. Not only was that a treat for this old turkey hunter to see, it reminded us of the time, several years ago, when a local flock of turkeys visited the front yard in early December.

a flock of "Christmas" turkeys

Photo by J. Harrington

Now that we're back home, the Better Half is again baking her infamously wonderful orange cookies. It appears we may be getting surreptitious visits from elves who are absconding bit by bit (bite by bite?) with the products of prior sessions of baking Christmas cookies. We can't think of how else they might be disappearing as quickly as they have. 😇 At least with this latest batch we should be able to save enough to leave for Santa to go with  his glass of milk on Christmas eve.

As we pulled into the drive we noticed a large package on the stoop. Upon opening it, we discovered smaller boxes of frozen lobster pies sent from Maine by our sister in Massachusetts. We're truly looking forward to tasting a "flavor from home" this Winter and are very grateful to have a sister who is considerate and knowing enough to brighten our holidays considerably.

Johnnie's Christmas

Libbie C. Baer - 1849-1929

Papa and mama, and baby and Dot,
Willie and me—the whole of the lot
Of us all went over in Bimberlie’s sleigh,
To grandmama’s house on Christmas day.

Covered with robes on the soft cushioned seat,
With heads well wrapped up and hot bricks to our feet,
And two prancing horses, tho’ ten miles away,
The ride was quite short, on that bright Christmas day.

When all were tucked in and the driver said “Go!”
The horses just flew o’er the white, shining snow;
The town it slipped by us and meadow and tree,
And farm house till grandmama’s house we did see.

Grandmama was watching for us, there’s no doubt;
She soon come to meet us, and helped us all out;
And kissin’ and huggin’ said how we boys growed,
And big as our papa we’d soon be, she knowed.

And Dot she called handsome and said: “Ah! I guess
Grandmama’s woman has got a new dress.”
And said that the baby was pretty and smart;
“Dod b’ess it and love its own sweet ’ittle heart.”

And O, the red apples, and pop-corn on strings;
And balls of it, too, and nuts, candy and things;
And O, such a dinner and such pumpkin pie;
I eat and I eat till I thought I would die.

And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I wants you to eat; just eat all you can.”
When I eat all I could then I eat a lots more,
And I didn’t feel good as I had felt before.

At last it came time for us all to go back,
And into the sleigh again, all of us pack;
With grandmama kissin’ and sayin’ good byes,
With smiles on her lips, but the tears in her eyes.

We seemed much more crowded, and Bimberlie’s sleigh
Kept jerkin’ and hurtin’ me most all the way;
The robes were so stuffy I couldn’t get breath,
And Dot and the baby most squeezed me to death.

All night I kept tumblin’ and tossin’, ma said,
And frowed all the cover half off of the bed;
I dreamed of roast turkey and pop-corn and pie,
And fruit cake and candy, piled up to the sky! 

And I dreamed I was sick and just lookin’ at it,
A wantin’ and yet I could not eat a bit;
And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I want you to eat, just eat all you can.”

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Please be kind to each other while you can.