Two-step

G.I. and Lover, Hyde Park, London, 1944
Ralph Morse

Come with fiddler's reel,

quiver of leaves;

pull the tangle of branches

back from the sky.

Coax me to kick my shoes,

two-step the finest pine;

collapse in needles

at the base of the trunk.

Bark tastes my fingers

with mossy ridges,

like a green water dog

licking salt and scent.

Frost melts to dew.

I see myself in October eyes,

press the burn of summer

from your hair.

tk/October 2013 

A beautiful and unexpected midweek read by R.A.D. Stainforth...and in color too...

Mark your calendars...

Peeps are buzzing about the cyber event! Every year, Life at Willow Manor celebrates the arrival of autumn, my very favorite season, in classic style. I am pleased to announce the celebration of autumn, and my birthday, with this year's

Sixth Annual Willow Manor Ball

October 20, 2013

R.A.D. Stainforth, yes, the same talented reader of my poetry, has once again agreed to by my date, and co-host.  He assures me his glass eye will stay firmly in place this year. No need to check what might be floating in your drinks. 

A Mr. Linky widget will be provided, here at Willow Manor, on October 20th. You will be able to link up, so others will have the opportunity visit your blog, see who your date might be, or what you'll be wearing to the black tie event. 

So, ladies and gentlemen, please mark your calendars, choose a date, and do some glamorous cyber shopping for that perfect gown or tuxedo. Feel free to take this badge to advertise on your blog:

Ankle Deep

celebrating my second birthday
October 20, 1958, Brown County, Indiana

October is my favorite month.  It also happens to be the month of my birth, and maybe that is why
I consider autumn to be my personal spring, my genesis.  The bite of fresh air, vibrant color, the delicious crunch of leaves, breathe life into my stagnate summer spirit.  And isn't it curious, that autumn is a glorious burst of joy and sorrow, just as I happen to be a quirky mix of funny and melancholy?

The summer chapter of my life is winding down, and with the first small steps into autumn, it should be no surprise, that I find myself quite at home here. I'm snuggling in, making myself comfortable, brewing coffee, expecting a season of great passion, creativity, and happiness.






Ankle Deep

Just beyond

the summer kitchen

down the hall

and to the right

past the prints

of children and roses

is a darker, quiet room

ripe with passion

and woodsmoke

where I bloom 

brighter than fire

in wool socks knit

loose from other years

ankle deep in October 

tk/October 2011

a good omen

Speaking of auspicious, here at the manor, it's considered a good omen to see a deer. This handsome young prince was meandering through the ginkgo leaves this week and I snapped a few shots through the wavy glass panes of the kitchen window. Yes, I know, they do like to nibble young trees and tender plants down to nubs, but I feel a thrill whenever I'm paid a visit; I draw a certain comfort from the otherwordly peace and dignity a buck exudes.

A few weeks ago, I was returning to my favorite corner spot in the leather sectional, which I fondly refer to as "my nest", in the sitting room off the kitchen, when a handsome older buck, king of the forest, a huge eight point rack, like antennae to higher powers, lifted his head from munching near the window, and met my gaze.

He looked at me, through the window, for what seemed to be minutes, with kind, intuitive eyes, and I felt as if we were old, dear friends. This moment of fresh, gentle love will stay tucked in a special cupboard of my mind's eye, a gift not to be forgotten.

I was talking to myself about you the other day, 

we were wondering what became of you. 

Friend Owl, Bambi, 1942

HB #2

Graphite slips pale, shy

around strangers, cold

as a greyhound’s nostril.
I kick off my shoes

under the table, scribble

about feelings of well-being,

glossy, slick, the right

to be afraid, but not to talk

about it. It’s interesting to see

just how bad, bad writing can be,

grayscale, metallic, like old

paper clips and small change.

I go back and cross a ‘T’;

I can always tell
when ‘T’s’ itch a page.
Go ahead, maybe I like it.
Scratch; since some wounds
must bleed for a while and
November is for pencils.

Tess Kincaid

November 12, 2010

Yesterday's "November is for pencils" from my ramblings begged for a poem, so I obliged.  The photo is November ginkgo and locust leaves on the manor drive. Have a lovely weekend, my friends.

airy inclinations

I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. 

I thought, "This is what it is to be happy."  

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

As a Libra, I'm one of the air signs. I know, I know. You're thinking astrology is a bunch of bunk. But, it's actually been around since ancient times, a common link between the patterns in the heavens and life on earth. Much can be garnered by understanding nature and the reflections it has on us as individuals. Anyway, I'm happy to finally throw open a window and breath glorious fresh, cool air.  There's nothing I adore more than air in my face, in my hair and wafting through an open window, that thin, cool air, that lets me hear the melancholy whistle of the 3:30 a.m. train in Linworth. Summer is like purgatory for me. I loathe claustrophobic, humid air and actually have to sleep with a fan pointed directly at my face on summer nights.

Air signs are said to be flexible, like the breeze. It's true, I like a fresh perspective on just about anything, and am forever changing things, including my mind. After shopping at a certain grocery store for six months, I switch. Nearly every month, four days before the new moon, I spin off into rearranging mode at the manor. Next time you visit, I promise, nothing will be in the same spot. I thrive on reading new poets, trying new recipes and meeting new people. As you well know, rearranging my blog template and header is a favorite pastime.

Speaking of blogging, the blog community has certainly been a great conduit for airy inclinations, since air signs are said to be communicators, story tellers, and link people socially.  There's nothing I enjoy more than hopping aboard my magic little cyberspace carpet and breezing around the bloggyhood, sharing a manor ghost story or a new  willow poem, or two, with my friends.

Could this be the reason I dreamed of flying as a child, and why my worst nightmares are of tornadoes, now that I'm grown?

delicious dichotomy

Delicious autumn!  
My very soul is wedded to it, 
and if I were a bird 
I would fly about the earth 

seeking the successive autumns.  

George Eliot, in a letter to Miss Lewis, October 1, 1841

Yesterday, when we were preparing the patio for winter, bringing the plants inside and packing away the patio umbrellas, I found this bird's nest, with two eggs, tucked in a corner of the screened porch. Last spring, for some reason or another, a mother bird was prevented from returning to her nest. The juxtaposition of new life against a backdrop of fall leaves was a striking dichotomy, and personally symbolic, since I consider autumn to be my season of new beginnings.  Maybe this little bird flew off, like me, in search of autumn.

tradition

This is one of my traditional seasonal favorites. I only make this one between October and December. It doesn't feel right eating it in any other time of year. I'm sure the reason I love this rich nuttiness so much, is because it makes my DNA tingle. Yadda-yadda, you say. What doesn't make my DNA tingle? The pecan has been used in our cooking since the Colonists met the Native Americans.  Not only was my maternal great-great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, but my paternal ancestors had, and their descendants still own, a pecan orchard on the Gulf Coast.

Bourbon Pecan Pie

3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups dark corn syrup
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp four
3 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
2 Tbsp bourbon
1 1/2 Tbsp melted butter
1 3/4 cups pecans

Roll out your favorite pie crust and fill a 9 inch pie pan, crimping the edges.

Combine sugar, syrup, salt, flour, and eggs and mix on medium speed until well blended.  Stir in remaining ingredients and pour into shell.   Bake 350 for one hour and 15 minutes, or until toothpick tester comes clean.

sunday drive

Since today was a perfectly perfect fall day, we hopped aboard the old green Land Rover and took off for a Sunday drive. We took in a little antiquing, a bit of ice cream, and meandered through a rural cemetery. It's been so incredibly dry here, there wasn't as big a display of autumnal colors as I had hoped. Most of the leaves on the trees were a dry, drab, gray-brown.

The countryside in my neck of the woods is flat as a pancake.  The corn has all been harvested and there's nothing left but the dry flax colored bits of remaining stalks.

There's not much to see, except for the occasional farm house, water tower or abandoned barn which I snapped through the passenger side window. I'm sure if this old place could speak, it would certainly spin some fine old Americana.

At the antique center, I simply must try on every interesting hat I see. This particular one rivals Orson Welles' coffee table-ish hat in Macbeth, don't you think?  It definitely has a Shakespearian thing going on. This vendor offered both hats and books. My kinda guy.

We took the back roads home and stumbled upon the Somerford Cemetery, in Madison County, Ohio. Every year, I like to take at least one lovely autumnal walk through a cemetery. I enjoy the history, as well as all the various forms of funerary art. There is something very compelling, full of human truths, that draws me to these places of solace and beauty.

Somerford has a section of very old graves, most of which are covered with fuzzy moss, which is wonderfully atmospheric, but makes reading the inscriptions almost impossible. As you can see from the photo, many are sadly in need of repair. This one is accompanied by an unusual metal stand holding a stone orb. Last year, I posted a list of symbols in tombstone art, but I'm not sure the meaning of this separate orb. Is it somehow connected to Mormonism?

This smiling spider felt obliged to pose for me on one of the mossy grave stones.

the ambiguous realm

Guardian Spirit of the Waters, Odilon Redon, 1878, charcoal
Art Institute of Chicago

The Smiling Spider, Odilon Redon, 1881, charcoal
Musee du Louvre, Paris

Laura Zindel's wonderful ceramics bring to mind another I associate with the dark beauty of autumn, the mysterious and evocative art of Odilon Redon, pronounced "o dee lawn r'dawn", by the way, 1840-1916.

The following quote is how Redon described his own work, which is how I think we should look at most art forms, including poetry, since the meanings of works are not limited to what their artists intended. A good piece will have an impact on more than one level, and is best enjoyed by simply absorbing the layers, allowing it to inspire, not by solving it, like some kind of mathematical equation. I could go on at length on this subject, but will save it for another day, another post.

Self-Portrait, 1880, Musée d'Orsay

My drawings inspire, 

and are not to be defined. 

They place us, as does music, 

in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.

Spirit of the Forest, Odilon Redon, 1880, charcoal and chalk
The Woodner Family collection, New York

Laura Zindel

Another aspect I love about fall, is that it's the season of dark and quirky beauty. I recently discovered the wonderful art of Laura Zindel, a Vermont ceramist, whose fabulous naturalist drawings are silkscreened and printed as enamel transwares onto her homewares. She does all manner of flora and fauna, but her favorites are beetles, snakes and spiders. Her spider dinnerware might not be everyone's cup of tea, but maybe a lovely fiddlehead  fern platter?  I think her work is amazing.

la crème de la crème

By now, you know autumn is my favorite season of the year, so it's no surprise that many of my favorite films happen to be leaf strewn or just exude that delicious autumnal mood. So, I've comprised a little list of fifteen of my personal fall faves, so get out those woolly socks, my friends.

A few school flicks, all heavy on the foliage:

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, 1969 

Maggie Smith is fabulous as a headstrong school teacher in 1930's Edinburgh, who ignores the curriculum, preferring her over romantic view. She won an Oscar for this role.

Dead Poet's Society, 1989

Robin Williams is an English teacher who inspires his students to love poetry and seize the day. He's the kind of teacher everyone should have, at least once.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, 1962 

Tom Courtenay plays a rebellious youth sentenced to a reform school for robbing a bakery and rises through the ranks through his love of running.

That magical Autumn-in-New-York thing:

Hannah and Her Sisters, 1986 

Between two Thanksgivings, Hannah's husband falls in love with her sister Lee, while her hypochondriac ex-husband (you guessed it, Woody Allen) rekindles his relationship with her sister Holly. Did you know much of this movie was filmed in Mia Farrow's New York apartment?

You've Got Mail, 1998 

Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, business rivals, fall in love over the internet. Actually, this is a modern version of The Shop Around the Corner, 1940, starring Jimmy Steward and Margaret Sullavan. Nora Ephron's screenplay pops.

The World of Henry Orient, 1964

Two adventurous 14 year old girls chase a mediocre concert pianist, hilariously played by Peter Sellers, around Manhattan. This is an under-rated gem.

Breathtaking autumn epics:  

Days of Heaven, 1978 

Richard Gere is a farm laborer who convinces his girlfriend to marry the rich, but dying farm owner, to claim his fortune. Lush, dreamy photography. I need to buy myself a copy this fall.

Legends of the Fall, 1994 

An Epic story of how nature, war, history and love effect a father and his three sons in the remote west of the early 1900s. Anthony Hopkins, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn, and Julia Ormond. Gorgeous movie.

Dark, rich and romantic:  

(woolly socks are mandatory here)

Brief Encounter, 1945

David Lean's dark love story. Quite possibly the most romantic movie of all time, starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson. By the way, these two delightfully pair up again 35 years later in Staying On, 1980.

Un homme et une femme, 1966 

A Man and a Woman. Sexy and hip. I adore this movie, lots of fun 60s cars and clothes. You know the song. Dabadabada-dabadabada...

I Know Where I'm Going, 1945

Wendy Hiller plays an ambitious English woman, who while traveling to marry a wealthy industrialist on the Island of Kiloan, Scotland, is trapped on the Island of Mull in bad weather, and falls in love with a young naval officer.  I watch this one in EVERY season, woolly socks, or not.

Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, 1992 

Although I love the 1939 Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon version, this one starring Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche is my favorite. Binoche's soliloquy, at the open window, looking out across the moors, is brilliant.

The End of the Affair, 1999 

Ralph Fiennes and Julianne Moore play doomed lovers in a war torn London. This is the second steamy film adaptation of Graham Greene's great novel. It was made into a movie earlier, starring Deborah Kerr and Van Johnson in 1955.

Lots of leafy fun:
(put on the popcorn)

The Trouble With Harry, 1955

Hitchock's kooky macabre comedy, set in an autumnal village in Vermont. This is Shirley MacLaine's film debut. I also adore Edmund Gwenn and the wonderful Mildred Natwick.

Sleepy Hollow, 1999 

Johnny Depp as Icabod Crane, ala Tim Burton. Lots of great prosthetic heads rolling here and a whole Burtonesque forest with truck loads of crunchy leaves.

fall-licious

Yesterday, I savored one of my favorite fall treats, a crisp, luscious caramel apple. It's a variation of the candy apple, or toffee apple. While the toppings vary from place to place, there is always a stick inserted in the core, for easy eating. My personal preference, is a firm, tart apple, like Granny Smith or Fuji, dipped in caramel and coated in chopped peanuts. The orchard where we like to buy apples sold the world's best homemade caramel apples, made by a local farm woman. She passed away several years ago, and I've never found one quite so delicious as hers, until yesterday. Where did I find it? My little Aldi store, of all places. Three in a pack for $1.29.

Toffee apples are a common treat at autumn festivals in Western culture in the Northern Hemisphere, such as Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night because they happen to fall in the center of the annual apple harvest. In Germany and Latin American countries, they are most often associated with the Christmas season, and in China, a similar treat called Tanghulu is made by coating small fruits, traditionally hawthorns, with hard sugar syrup.

The most common coating is a hard layer of cooled sugar syrup, usually tinted red and sometimes flavored with cinnamon. The sugar syrup is heated to the "hard crack" stage before coating the apple to make a hard coating when the syrup cools. Other variations include caramel or taffy apples, and chocolate apples, rolled in assorted goodies, like sprinkles or coconut.

I'm not sure we Americans can claim the first candy apple, but this is what the Newark Evening News had to say in 1964:

William W. Kolb invented the red candy apple. Kolb, a veteran Newark candy-maker, produced his first batch of candied apples in 1908. While experimenting in his candy shop with red cinnamon candy for the Christmas trade, he dipped some apples into the mixture and put them in the windows for display. He sold the whole first batch for 5 cents each and later sold thousands yearly. Soon candied apples were being sold along the Jersey Shore, at the circus and in candy shops across the country, according to the Newark News in 1948.