Monday Meander – October 26, 2020

The Time Between…

The gardens have been put to bed, the lawnmower and weed whacker silenced.
The forest floor is a carpet of fallen leaves.

Though there were no Fall Fairs this year of the pandemic, still we have paid homage to the plentiful gifts from the farms – apples, pumpkins, carrots, squashes, potatoes and more.

We have celebrated and given thanks for all the blessings of life.

The air outside my house pulses with Autumn's incense as smoke rises from a lazy fire in the woodstove within, murmuring about warmth.

I love this time between - a gracious respite after the September start-ups and October gatherings, after the harvests, bottling, and canning; before the Christmas machine roars to life, whatever form that may take this year.

It is a time of tender reflection, a time to look behind me and around me, within me and beyond me, where I've been and where I now am.  It's a bit like a meander through a fine old bookshop…

My fingertips brush across the bindings of the stories of my life as I stroll the along the years. A few tales linger on my heart, a few bring a tear, a few tease out a giggle or three, and of course, there are a couple of mysteries to ponder.

Every story is important.
Life is still good even the midst of the second wave of  a pandemic.

 

 

©2020 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - October 25, 2018

The Time Between...

The gardens have been put to bed, the lawnmower and weed whacker silenced.
The forest floor is a carpet of fallen leaves.

We have paid homage to giant pumpkins and shiny farm tractors at Fall Fairs.

We have celebrated and given thanks for all the blessings of life.

The air outside my house pulses with Autumn's incense as smoke rises from a lazy fire in the woodstove within, murmuring about warmth.

I love this time between - a gracious respite after the September start-ups and October gatherings, after the harvests, bottling, and canning; before the Christmas machine roars to life.

It is a time of tender reflection, a time to look behind me and around me, within me and beyond me, where I've been and where I now am.  It's a bit like a meander through a fine old bookshop...

Barter Books, Alnwick Station, Northumberland

My fingertips brush across the bindings of the stories of my life as I stroll the along the years. A few tales linger on my heart, a few bring a tear, a few tease out a giggle or three, and of course, there are a couple of mysteries to ponder.

All of the stories are important.
Life is good.





©2018 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - October 11, 2018

The morning dawned heavy with humidity and an unseasonally warm temperature of 22°C (72°F). Ahh, but the wind was up too, the kind of wind that forewarns of a cold front on the doorstep. I watched in quiet reverie as leaves of red and gold danced and swirled their way to the ground. An old children's song came to mind, the one my mother taught me so long ago, the one for which she wrote out the words when my own children came along.

Today once again, I could hear Mom's clear soprano voice serenading me. Once again I glimpsed her twinkling blue eyes, full of delight. And once again sheer joy filled the room.

The fount of all knowledge, Google, led me to discover the original poem written by George Cooper (1840-1927), and later published in a primary school reader - McGuffey's Second Eclectic Reader - intended for grades 4 to 6. Wikipedia, (not always the fount of all truth), says that when it comes to sales, these Readers rank with the Bible and Webster's Dictionary with more than 120 million copies and growing. Apparently, McGuffey's books are still used in some private schools and homeschooling. Lesson 43, "The Wind and the Leaves" shows Cooper's poem in full:

THE WIND AND THE LEAVES. 

"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come o'er the meadows with me, and play;
Put on your dress of red and gold
Summer is gone, and the days grow cold." 

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew. 

"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long;
Little brook, sing us your farewell song,--
Say you are sorry to see us go;
Ah! you will miss us, right well we know. 

"Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?" 

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
Winter had called them, and they were content.
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.

I like to imagine Mom bursting through the door of 39 Garden Street in Thompsonville, Connecticut, screen door banging shut behind the little girl. I can hear the thump of her shoes on the wooden porch, before she bounds down the steps then off down the sidewalk, scuffing through the leaves and singing...

     Come little leaves, said the wind one day...

©2018 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - September 27, 2018

She stoops to ...
                             Conkers! 

I love finding horse chestnuts in the Fall.  It’s a real thrill to pry open the thick spiny green shell -- a bit like opening a gift-wrapped present. There is such an anticipation of delight.  My recent finds are no exception.  The outer shell gives way to reveal a gorgeous nugget of deep red-brown roundness with a creamy top.  It reminds me of a perfect espresso with a crema top.  The delicate swirls of pattern invite my thumb to trace the contours over smooth shiny curves.   Fifty-five years melt away...

I look up from my English notebook to make sure nobody is watching me.  The teacher is writing in her daybook, and the other kids all have heads down, pencils scratching out a story.  My story isn’t going very well.  It’s stupid.  I can never come up with anything good. 


But recess is just minutes away, so I reach into my desk, past the packet of Dad’s oatmeal cookies to find the tangle of shoelaces. I tease through the tangle to grasp the two smooth round chestnuts.



Just yesterday I found these beauties under the big tree in a neighbour’s yard.  I raced home and headed right downstairs to my Dad’s workbench to get the hammer and a big nail.  It was a little tricky -- the chestnuts were a bit slippery and didn’t want to stay still on the floor -- but I got a good hole through two of them.  A third one split.  Oh well, good thing I picked up three!

Then I had to go find shoelaces. Big thick ones are the best, like the ones I found in my sister’s skates. Perfect! I put a good knot at the end of the laces and strung a chestnut on each one.  Two perfect conkers ready for action.

Ring!  The recess bell makes me jump, but in no time I'm in line, ready to head out the door. Danny, the boy with the ‘five-year bully’ (meaning he had beaten five others with this conker) already has a bunch of boys gathered around him, ready to try their luck.  I slip my way into the group.  They tease me as usual, being the only girl and all, but I don’t like skipping or hopscotch.  I like conkers!

One by one chestnuts smash against each other and one by one the boys ahead of me leave behind broken bits.  Now it’s my turn to get demolished – well that’s what the boys say!  I crouch down on my knees and take out the really big conker and lay it in the pit.  I close my eyes and Danny takes his best shot with his now eight-year bully.  SMACK!  “It’s your turn now.” somebody says.

“What?” I stammer, “My conker is still in one piece?”  I dry my hands on my pants, then grab the end of the shoelace and hold it tightly with my right hand.  I wrap my left thumb and forefinger around my conker and draw the shoelace up tight.  SNAP!  I see bits of chestnut flying in the air.  My heart sinks.

"Hey, the girl did it!" I hear someone shout.

I look down at the shoelace in my hand, follow the line to see a whole chestnut at its end. WOW!  I just smashed an eight-year bully to smithereens!  “I did it!  I did it!”

The bell ending recess reverberates through the playground.  I scramble to my feet,  stuffing my best ever conker into my pocket and skip back into school. Now I have something good to write about and a one year bully in my pocket.

©2018 April Hoeller