Autumn’s New Dimensions

I have begun to watch for the weekly Nature Journal in the Asheville Citizen-Times. George Ellison is the naturalist who writes about our mountain surroundings. He quoted Dr Ross Hutchins on October 14, writing about leaves.* The expert said no two leaves are exactly alike, making me think of fingerprints and snowflakes. His writing was poetical when he talked about the voices of trees as wind blows through them. I first noticed that while walking under a gnarled old pine tree at the boat ramp in Stony Brook. There was a stiff breeze that day, and the resulting sound was a swishy sigh. Wind brought that tree to life. You can imagine the music implied in the title, Wind in the Willows.

Hutchins also wrote about flight patterns. Have you ever thought about flight patterns of leaves? Hutchins claimed he could identify a leaf by the way it fell. Maple leaves have a downward spiral, and oak leaves zigzag from side to side. Willow leaves spin. We have a huge oak in our yard, and I could immediately check out this statement. It is true. The leaves zig this way and zag the other If you see my head shake when I’m looking outside, I’m probably just following a crazy leaf as it falls to the ground.

I took a photo of our tree, so you can see what a future I have in leaf watching.

101516 Oak tree in our yard.jpg

* “Hidden Valley of the Smokies: With a Naturalist in the Great Smoky Mountains” (Dodd, Mead & Company, 1971) by Ross E. Hutchins.

Roasted

Neighbor Connie and I were waiting for Shawn to be mobile after her knee surgery to go out for coffee. I ran across the street for a few minutes last week and was totally shocked at Shawn’s progress. I had seen her gliding across her porch using a walker and had no idea she had switched to a cane. In her house that day, her cane was in the kitchen. She got up from a living room chair and hobbled to retrieve it. Amazing! That was just before the three-week mark after surgery. I’m sure I did not do that well with my best knee.

Connie and her family made a point of checking out coffee places when they moved here. She introduced me to two coffee roasting places in Waynesville. I don’t know if roasting coffee is a national trend or a local one, but it seems to be popular here. I haven’t read food news since we left the New York Times behind two years ago. Back then, the word “artisinal” appeared at least once in every food article. That would have been applied to bread, pastries, cheese, etc. The adjective for specialty beer is “craft”. I want to know what description would be applied to these coffee roasters. Maybe they are simply local. The locations of these two shops have fun names – Dellwood and Frog Level.

The businesses both have big roasters in the front with informal seating in the rear. The walls are brick, the floors concrete, and the spaces cavernous. The only elegant thing about them is the taste of the coffee. The Frog Level store had clunky wooden tables and chairs on the floor, with sofas on a raised area along two walls. Three young women were working on their computers, using the free wi-fi. That certainly beat the crowd and noise of many Starbucks I’ve seen. How I would love to know why they bought one cup of coffee and worked there for hours! When I write at home, I have wi-fi, privacy, and unlimited coffee.

There were four of us enjoying gentle conversation – Shawn, Connie, Connie’s daughter Marla, and me. If I wrote that what was said in the coffeehouse stays in the coffeehouse, you’d think we shared secrets or salacious gossip. Nothing could be further from the truth. Roasting referred only to the brew. For the most part, you would not have been interested in our weather, former homes, neighbors we know only by sight or by dog’s name, and dietary restrictions. For me, though, it was a highly satisfactory, fun-filled afternoon spent with people I love.

I took one photo, which was not good of anyone. Publishing it would imply I don’t love these people as much as I say I do.

Alone! Don’t Move!

Normally when John goes away for a few days to play with trains, I wallow in silence for 24 hours. Not this time. The day after he left, I slid out of bed and landed in a crouched position like Spider Man. Now, ole Spidey would have used that position to leap to someone’s aid. Not me! I just groaned — loud and long. Aaarrrggghhh! When this kind of thing happened in the past, I’d say I threw my back out. Truth is, I didn’t throw anything. Couldn’t throw anything but a hissy fit! Gussy Goodness! This was my vacation, and I couldn’t stand up straight! Umph! Upright at last. That’s better. Don’t move, and you’ll be okay. I moaned with the first step and got it down to a whimper for the second. That’s it. Keep moving before you freeze up.

I don’t know what your philosophy is, but I’m of the opinion that when you stop walking, you die. I was determined to go for my morning walk if it killed me. First, with John away, I fell in the chair and turned the computer on to get the weather forecast. There wasn’t a rain cloud in sight except for the swirling green and yellow blob of the hurricane off the Florida coast. I could make it to the creek and back by the time it moved 10 miles. Another groan, and I’d levered myself out of my dad’s office chair, thanks to its sturdy arms.

“Are you sure you should walk?”

“Hush! I’m going, no matter what you say.”

I managed to get dressed, although my feet were about 11 inches further away than they were the day before. Getting sneakers tied stretched my arms and my credulity. I staggered to the front door, whined at the first step, and opened my eyes wide when rain hit my glasses. What? As defined by the computer monitor, this was not rain. The effect was the same, whether you called it invisible rain or solid mist. By shuffling my feet carefully, I turned around in slow motion on that step and lurched back for a wind breaker.

The second me in the conversation above won the argument, and I set off. As often as I can, I use Marla as an excuse to catch my breath after climbing the steep hill. Marla is often taking dog Albert for his first walk of the day. They were already at the stop sign. I took it as a sign to stop. We humans had a nice chat, and I headed home after a quarter of my usual walk. I went out to the porch, determined to ride the exercise bike to make up for it.

“Are you crazy?”

“No, but it helps.”

I should have been more careful, taking into consideration my body’s refusal to move without discomfort. Somehow I climbed onto the seat and began to pedal. Not too bad! The argument from my artificial knees masked the pain in the back. After five minutes I felt virtuous enough to quit. I got one foot on the deck, the other still on a pedal, and the pointy seat poked my back like a dull spear. Aaarrgghhh! I couldn’t stay that way until John got home two days later. One shift, and the handlebars moved to pin me further back. Instead of looking like Spider Man, I resembled Gumby, bent at impossible angles. I might have been turning green, as well. I don’t know how I extricated myself, but I certainly knew better than to kick the bike.

Son John $ arrived mid-morning, and I was looking half human after a warm shower. When we headed out to lunch, I couldn’t stop a moan going down the two garage steps. Another escaped when I fell into the car. Nobody heard me when I got out at the Mexican restaurant in Maggie Valley. The pleasure of the spicy food made me forget my woes until I had to stand up again. Thankfully the place was full of people enjoying themselves, and the noise covered the now-familiar groan of Anne’s changing altitude.

The most painful part of the day was getting on the bed. It took five minutes for me to realize I wasn’t hurting, and then I went to sleep. It was after 3 in the morning when I woke and moaned myself out of bed. If I wrote about the past day, I could postpone having to get back in bed. That worked well. There was an added bonus. Audible rain began to fall. Marvelous! I would not check the forecast, but I would assume the hurricane had arrived in the mountains. I don’t walk in real rain, and I am determined this will last until walk time is over. Now for a cup of tea, the press of a button to cancel the alarm, and I’ll brave the bed for a long autumn’s nap. Yes! I’m on vacation, and I won’t have to move, no matter what I say.

Below is what I have to look forward to when the rain is over:

100616 Dogwood color.jpg

Ready for Autumn?

One woman asked a question of a small group in Asheville, “Are you ready for autumn?”

Nobody admitted to being ready. Normally I would have replied enthusiastically, but I kept quiet. The only answer was from someone whose favorite season is summer. She had more hot-weather things she wanted to do. I’ll bet she didn’t grow up in the South when the only air conditioning was in movie theaters and ritzy department stores. I’m sure that is what cured me forever. Given the chance, I’d vote for a three-season year and relegate summer to the hottest place of all. Then why was I not speaking up for fall? The rest of the nation had one of the hottest summers on record. Our son, also in the mountains, said Hot Springs became unbearable. Sizzling air pressed down on the little town that the Appalachian Trail runs through. He thought his mountains kept cool breezes up in the sky. The sad truth is I hadn’t filled my quota of complaining about the heat.

Several times I’ve read that women have a biological need to use a huge number of words per day, and the requirement for men is much, much lower. In like manner, it is evidently in my genes to complain bitterly about hot weather. I’m guessing I used to spend 21 hours a year fussing about summer heat. That’s an elastic estimate based on an hour a day for each unbearable day of horrific heat and horrid humidity on Long Island. We moved from living at sea level to thriving at 2,600 feet above it. That’s living the high life! Although Hot Springs was a grand spa town back in the day, it is quite a bit lower. Son John $ had reason to feel depressed under that heat.

The newspaper was full of dire statements about the awful heat across the nation. We didn’t feel it in Jonathan Creek. We ran the air conditioner a few hours on the hottest days, and the rest of the time we kept windows and doors open for the cool breezes. About two weeks ago the temperatures began to go into the 60s and then the 50s at night. What was there to complain about? Nothing! And that was my problem.

There was an article about leaf season in the local newspaper. The writer claimed trees were changing, and we were in the prime area to view it. John and I noticed several trees with yellowed leaves up on the mountain behind our house. Wanting to take advantage of the season, we drove on the Blue Ridge Parkway. There should be no better way to get in the mood for fall than to see leaves changing. We commented that all we saw was green. Just then we rounded a bend and found trees with clusters of bright red-orange berries. What a lovely sight! I knew they had to be mountain ash trees. There were lots of them at that elevation and none anywhere else. Yes! I’m through with complaining and ready for autumn!

100116 Mountain ash.jpg

What about you? Are you ready for a change of season?

Home Alone

John was enjoying train-steeped days in Tennessee, leaving me (by choice) home alone. I’m not counting the day son John $ was here. He treated me to lunch at a Mexican restaurant, and we chatted, watched documentaries on TV, and laughed without restraint. After that I had four days, four whole days and nights, hugging an unmarked calendar.

You wouldn’t think a retiree would generate much excitement, but I had more than I bargained for.

092416 Barbecued.jpg

I was taking one item out of the refrigerator, and I swear the little containers of barbecue sauce jumped out at me. I’m sure I didn’t touch them. Four big splotches of sticky sauce were plastered on my black jeans. The spots didn’t really show, but I reeked of hot, red sauce until I went to bed.

There was implied excitement at the firehouse. On my daily walk to the creek, I saw one empty bay through the mist. Two vehicles were parked in spaces reserved for first responders. Someone was dealing with a situation he would not have chosen, helped by two volunteers.

092216 Silent emergency in mist.jpg

There is no video of me almost falling near the creek, not once, but twice! I stepped off the concrete parking lot right onto a fallen walnut. The ground was coming up to meet me. In only a second or so, I thought to myself, “I’m going to fall. Can I catch myself on the guard rail? No. This is bad. John isn’t here to rescue me. Golly Pete! My old knees moved enough to catch me! Glory be!”

The very next day I was watching out for those lethal walnuts, but I stepped on one, anyway, maybe just for the fun of it. A video would have shown me with one knee lowered, doing a wobbly curtsy. That wasn’t as heart-stopping as the first roll.

One creepy thing happened. I was trying to move MP3 files using a computer and a tablet at my desk. There was a funny little sound that came every once in a while, and I thought it was generated by one of the devices under my fingertips. I woke around 3 am and heard it again. Something or someone was trying to get my attention. The four-toned sound was tiny, like a mere whisper of a steam engine whistle in the far distance. Surely John wasn’t trying to reach me from another world! I got up and walked into his office. Oh! There it was again! With that, his old flip phone screen began to glow in the dark. It wasn’t John, after all. I was being haunted by young Logan. One of the days he was here, I saw him pick up that phone and open it. John told him to put it down, which he did. I’m guessing the phone was turned on and losing power from that moment on. What I heard in the middle of the night must have been the last gasp of the dying phone.

I responded to an inquiry about my vacation doings to SIL Barbara. I wrote, “I went out with neighbor Connie for coffee this afternoon. We shortened it this time. Instead of staying at the coffee place 6 hours, we stayed only 4. We went to the Lake Junaluska conference center and sipped iced coffee on the porch in comfortable rocking chairs. This is the place that Rus and Elizabeth go to once a year. Next time we hope Shawn is mobile and can go with us. The day is gone! I finished looking at blogging emails before we went out, and I hope to get a few music files transferred before bedtime. This was the big project I wanted to do while John was gone. I began last night and could not get the systems to talk to each other. It worked well two nights, but last night nothing worked. My brain is not the sharpest now, either. I could use another day or so of vacation! Hmmm. I’m hearing shots being fired. The sound seems to be coming over the next hill. It’s too rapid to be hunters and not fast enough to be target practice. The sun is going down, so maybe they will stop soon.”

Two things surprised me. I made my bed every day and twice a day if I took a nap. Normally my genie of the kitchen (John) does clean-up in the kitchen. What would I do on my own? Dishes were loaded in the dishwasher and pans washed and put away after every meal. I can’t stand starting a meal with the remains of the previous one staring me in the face., and I made sure that didn’t happen.

My final vacation breakfast was a surprise. I’d left half a bagel on the counter for a day or so and found mold had grown on it. If John had been here, we would probably have had cereal as a substitute. That wouldn’t do for a vacation meal! I had a Southern breakfast with a TexMex twist. What might have been cheese grits with eggs and sausage turned into corn tortilla tacos. The extra special ingredient was gift eggs from Logan’s chickens.

092616 TexMex twist to Southern breakfast.jpg

What might you do with four days all on your own?

Tree ID

With John away, I drove to Waynesville and took the walk that we thought we would take when we moved to this area. Strolling beside a stream near the rec center seemed ideal. We didn’t know that we’d be close enough to walk to a creek from our home. We haven’t walked in Waynesville often, and usually when we did, the light was dim. A number of trees and shrubs have signs labeled with the name of the plant. I took time to read a few. Some proved I knew what I was looking at, and others were new to me. Carolina Silverbell was one I hadn’t noticed before. I correctly identified the flowering dogwood, then I came to one that said Barney. I never heard of a Barney tree before, have you?. The sign looked like all the others in that area. Walking closer, I read it. The words were something like, “Barney was my faithful companion. We walked here regularly. I miss you, Barney. I’ll see you again in heaven.”

Is Toilet Paper Worth It?

I thought I was losing my mind, and it was all the fault of four rolls of toilet paper.

We found out as soon as we moved to this house that toilet paper from Costco was way too fat for the holders in our bathrooms. We slimmed down to Dollar General size. Of course, the result was that the tiny rolls had to be replaced with alarming frequency. Consider that we are moving into the forgetful stage of our lives, and you can see the problem. The bathroom I restock has a tower that holds four rolls, which is not overly generous. John replenishes the guest bath, stashing rolls under the sinks and in the linen closet.

John left for several days to play with big model trains that you ride on. I knew toilet paper was my sole responsibility, that if I were stuck, no one would respond to my frantic SOS. Truth to tell, his is the only help I would have wanted. I used the final roll in my bathroom and made a mental note to fetch more from the laundry room ,way on the other side of the house. I don’t know how many days one final roll would last, but I suspect it should have been measured in hours. I forget how many times I forgot, but I did finally get four rolls from the laundry room and put them on the kitchen counter. That would be safe. I’d see the little white columns and tote them to the bathroom. There would be no need for mental reminders, since they were out in the open.

092216 Toilet paper stacks.jpg — Recreated scene

A few hours later I looked at the empty counter. I didn’t remember taking anything from there to the bathroom. I’m quite sure I didn’t. Meanwhile, son John $ was packing his gear. He had come here after a hike in the mountains and made several trips out to his car. When he came in again, I asked, “Did you see any toilet paper on the counter? or am I losing my mind?”

My loving son reassured me, “You ARE losing your mind.”

I thought he might have taken them, thinking I was giving them away for the fun of it. That’s the kind of thing I would do if I thought he needed something we had.

“No, Mom,” he said. “I knew there were no extras in the guest bathroom and thought you’d left them out for me to restock.”

Taking no further chances, I took another four rolls and made a direct run to the far bathroom.

I ask you, is toilet paper the signature item you’d use to measure your brain health?

Heartstrings

Here is a story to tug at your heartstrings.

Logan (6) stayed with us two nights while his parents were in the hospital for Shawn’s knee replacement. I woke up at 5, and as usual when waking in the night, turned on a lamp and opened the devotional booklet. There was a slight noise which sounded quite close. Maybe I was hearing a cow in the pasture, but when I turned, I saw a small body in the recliner.

092116 Logan asleep in my room.jpg

My first instinct was to scoop him up and put him in bed with me, but I knew I couldn’t lift him. I covered him with a down throw and went to consult with John. We decided to leave him there, thinking he needed the sleep. I went back to bed and don’t remember sleeping. At 6:20 there was a thump. By the time I sat up, Logan was talking cheerfully with John in the next room. He claimed he wasn’t asleep when I covered him and proved it by saying I went to the bathroom. My question is, did he sleep between 5 and 6:20? Surely he did. For his teacher’s sake, I hope he did.

As for the photo, the little toy camera lives on the bedside table at night, where my pockets are unloaded. I never expected to need a camera in the middle of the night, but it was eager to be involved.

Homework

Who knew first grade homework could be such a challenge? John was going to oversee the reading.

091916 Logan and John doing homework.jpg

I thought I could figure out what to do with a printed sheet. We failed. I wrote the following explanation in Logan’s notebook for the teacher to read:

We’re the neighbors and definitely feeling like subs. Logan read silently, so we don’t know how many pages he covered. He said he did a chapter. It has been 68 and 69 years since we were in first grade, and we didn’t know what to do with the paper. Logan said, *sigh* “I have to do the parent’s homework for you.” *sigh* He cut up the pictures, arranged them perfectly under the three columns by “o” sound, and put them in the plastic bag. Hope we do a better job next time. Teachers have our utmost admiration.

The next day started off early. Logan got up at 6:15 and found John in front of his computer.

“I thought you’d be out walking,” Logan said.

John reassured him, “No, we would never leave you alone in the house.”

“Don’t you always go walking early?” Logan asked.

John replied, “When you aren’t here, we do. We’ll walk later after you’ve gone to school.”

He must have been a bit worried about being here with us. We think it remarkable that this was the first instance of his showing it. He is only six years old!

After school, Logan’s notebook was open on the kitchen table. Guess what! WE GOT A STICKER!!! “Well done,” it said.

The teacher wrote, “A sticker for all your help and support for Logan and his parents. We all appreciate you.”

092016 Our sticker!!.jpg

Grandparent subbing doesn’t get much better than that.

The Presidents’ Ladies

We went walking with Abigail Adams and Dolly Madison this morning. Yes, for real! They let us call them Abbie and Dolly. There wasn’t a hitch, although there were two leashes involved.

091916 John Abbie Dolly.jpg

Neighbor Shawn had her second knee replaced this morning. Bob brought Logan over as they left for the hospital, and we had about an hour before taking the boy to the school bus. It was a lively hour. We had breakfast with son $, who was using our place as his base for a camping trip near Purchase Knob. That is one of the mountains we see from our house. After breakfast we did a half-morning walk with the dogs, almost to the stop sign.

We knew years ago that the way to meet people in the neighborhood was to have a dog or children. Today we had the dogs, and we met a neighbor while we were out on the road. The red van stopped, and the people inside said they didn’t know we had dogs, having never seen us with any.

“They aren’t ours,” I explained. “They belong to the neighbors across the street.”

At that point, my Southern manners failed. I knew who the passenger was, but I failed to introduce us. Rats! Undoubtedly, Angie knows our names from the good old Southern grapevine, just as we knew hers. When she heard why we were walking the dogs, she said, “Please tell Shawn that Angie hopes everything goes well for her.”

As soon as the car stopped this afternoon, Logan jumped out and streaked home to let the dogs out. He went right to their food, put some in each bowl, and added just the right amount of water. He walked the dishes carefully back to the crate without spilling a drop.

091916 Logan feeds dogs.jpg

Logan said he got pink at school, meaning he was well-behaved. I was relieved. The other day he was over here asking for a snack, and he said he would love a cupcake with chocolate icing. We never have cupcakes on hand, but I made a dozen today. They were up high where he couldn’t see them, along with the square cake from the leftover batter. If he had been naughty, he wouldn’t have gotten one.

091916 Logan's snack.jpg