Song for Autumn

In the deep fall
   don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
   the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
   freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
   warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come-six, a dozen-to sleep
   inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
   the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
   vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
   its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
   the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

                                         Mary Oliver

Season's End

Summer has come to an end and the garden is just about finished. A few tomatoes are still trying to ripen and there are some squash and herbs making a last noble push in these short days of autumn.  I've frozen three batches of pesto for winter meals and am tired of zucchini.

Also tired of my own cooking, a couple of weeks ago I bought some magazines and chose two new soups to try.  I shopped for the ingredients at the farmers market and set out with high hopes.  The soup above, from Vegetarian Times, has tomatoes, carrots, white beans and kale. Sadly, I am not a fan of this popular wonder-vegetable and I have tried!  I tweaked the recipe and added chicken sausage-it's pretty and healthy and next time I'll use spinach.

To mark the end of summer we had a visit from dear friends Susan and Jay in September.  We lived in Dallas at the same time and have remained in touch through numerous moves on both our parts.  Coming from California they like to eat lobster-in fact, Jay makes a point to have it everyday while in Maine. That suits me just fine and gives us a chance to live it up a bit!  Above, you see Jay working on a lobster risotto.

One of our best inventions was this Lobster Nicoise-we thought we'd made it up but later noticed it on the menu at the Bar Harbor Inn.

What a treat it was to spend time around the dining table with good friends, good conversation, good food and wine.  And now, it feels good to be back to work and in a routine, and that nip in the air is most welcome.

Mother's Visit

In August my mother came to visit for two weeks, the first time in ten years that she’s been able to come to Maine.  For a number of summers she, my dad and aunt came to see us, but as my dad’s health deteriorated they had to stop.  Coming this year alone was no easy thing, starting with the long flight from Dallas which included a frantic change of plane in DC.

My mom is allergic to cats, VERY allergic.  She came to help when Emily was born and ended up in the ER because of a reaction to our cats.  We currently have two beloved cats that spend a lot of time in the house.  Can you imagine the cleaning we had to do?  The rugs and furniture were professionally done, but the rest was grunt work for Bill and me-every surface downstairs-windows, curtains, walls, doors, you name it. Also, our guest room is on the second floor and that was a no go. So we moved furniture, trudging up and down the stairs time and again, and I’m very proud to show you the sunroom transformed for mother.

Our life in Maine is quite different from the life mom lives in Texas.  We did our best to show her the beauties of coastal Maine, introduce her to our friends, and gently expose her to our rather liberal and progressive views.  She had lunch with one of our male friends and his male spouse and I know that was a stretch (handled well).

I saw that she was overwhelmed by the beauty and sense of the spiritual upon entering  St. Saviour’s, much like I was the first time I walked thru the doors.  Of course she went to church services with us as well as to two organ concerts.  People loved her charm and southern accent.

The two weeks that mother was here were exhausting and frustrating and often sobering as I witnessed first-hand her 83 years.  But most of all I felt so very lucky, lucky to have my mom and have her in Maine with me.

Summer Vacation

Late June, the eastern shore of Lake Michigan near Traverse City.  This was my morning walking route.

Jolli Lodge in Leland.  We stayed in a separate cabin on the hill.

Our good friends Mary and Jeff, from Urbana, IL.  They were our neighbors in Dallas over 20 years ago.  Our children went to nursery school together, then we all moved away.

Sleeping Bear Dunes

Bill and Jeff and the giant northern white cedar

Sunset from our cottage

I was captivated by the studio of artist and naturalist Gwen Frostic.

Delicious home-cooked meals with good local wine

Me, relaxed and happy

A New World

In the summers of 1979 and 1981, more years ago than I can wrap my mind around, I worked as Staff Accompanist at the prestigious National Music Camp in Interlochen, Michigan.  Affectionately known simply as Interlochen, it changed my life.

Twenty-fours years old and reeling from a divorce, I needed a fresh start.  I was a sheltered Southern Baptist girl with a long list of do’s and don’ts who had rarely left her home state of Texas, all of which made me question who I was and what I was doing.

Well, everyone was not Baptist at Interlochen; in fact many were not even Christian.  And yes, that was a shock.  I quickly made friends with other staff and faculty members and we set about solving the world’s problems in addition to going out for beer and polka-dancing. I heard the f-word from one of these friends…and it was ok.  Only a week or two into the summer session I realized with a start that non-Christians can be good people, too…does my naiveté shock you?

This was the time I first talked to a gay man about life in a heterosexual world, what it’s like to tell your parents, how one has to hide it…remember, this is 1979, decades from where we are now.  I ate my first-ever bagel at the canteen, a Lender’s frozen one, no less, and I loved it.

More than this eye-opening, though, Interlochen was about discovering myself as an artist and committing to making music as my life’s work and passion.  I played the piano all day and every evening there, just about working my fingers to the bone.  Sometimes boring, sometimes incredibly challenging.  But I found I could do it, and do it well.  And it was the life I wanted.

I am writing about this now because last week I was there, visiting for the first time in thirty-two years.  It is hard to describe the feeling that came over me when I stepped onto the campus.  The ladies at the information booth were so excited at this alumni’s visit and peppered me with questions…but I only wanted to be quiet, and to hear the sounds around me.  One hears music everywhere: fingers flying in the Schumann piano concerto coming from a stone practice hut, kids practicing their ‘cellos outdoors, a junior choir doing vocal warm-ups with the doors of the studio thrown wide-open.  As we approached the impressive open air auditorium, Kresge, I fought back tears upon hearing the orchestra rehearsing…all of a sudden I was 24 again.

So many memories, so much time passed…

Thank you, Interlochen, for showing me a new world.

Chamber Music Intro

Earlier this week two of my young piano students, ages 9 and 10, spent a day at a chamber music festival in Blue Hill.  Based on an earlier audition tape, they received music about eight weeks ago which was to be thoroughly learned by festival day. I gulped when I saw what they were to learn-it was quite a challenge!  But we dove in, section by section, week by week, and they were ready.

Lily played two movements of a Mozart Serenade for strings and keyboard, while Mia performed a Purcell Chaconne for 2 violins and keyboard.  Oh my, was I ever a proud teacher.  Each group marched confidently upon the stage and took a professional bow together.  The girls played on a beautiful Steinway grand in one of the best halls for chamber music in Maine.  And afterwards I cheered for them as if I were at a rock concert.

I can never say what music has meant to me other than it is my life, whether performing, teaching or listening.  I see myself as a youngster in these two girls and take seriously my role in guiding them along this path. What a hopeful and inspiring afternoon, to hear them make music with others.

Bravo, Lily and Mia!

Call of the Wild

It’s back…that recurring and sometimes annoying desire to live in the country.  When I really think about it this wish has been ongoing for much of my adult life-it flares up now and then before I kick it under the bed.  You could say that my coming to Maine 20 years ago was the first acknowledgement, leaving Dallas, a city of a million people, to move to Monmouth, population 3,000.  But even then we lived right in the middle of the tiny downtown, across the street from the post office.

What I have dreamed of, all these years, is a 19^th century farmhouse with a barn surrounded by several acres of fields and woods.  A stream bordering the property. A sunny garden space, some berry bushes and a few fruit trees. Chickens.  A cozy house with a woodstove that feels like home.  About half an hour drive to a small city. No mortgage.

Superficially you might think that I’m a city girl.  I love snobby cultural institutions such as art museums, symphonies and lecture series. In the past 20 years, though, I’ve discovered that I can do pretty well making my own culture-a few examples are my Proust group, my project with Bill of listening to all of the Beethoven string quartets, our own foreign movie festivals and many dinner parties with interesting company.  And of course there’s the New York Times.  I find periodic trips to a city gratifying and quite satisfactory, where I soak up all the culture I can muster before happily returning home.

Over the course of our time in Maine we’ve looked at several places just like the above.  Different reasons popped up not to take the plunge-bad timing, lack of courage, or just plain disagreement.

Well, I can dream, can’t I?