Welcome friends...thanks for coming by. We're seeking beauty in all of creation... in our faith and our families; our art and our music; our crafts and kitchens, and even in our own backyard. We'll share a poem or a recipe, a picture or a memory; maybe a dream of how we wish our life could be. And though we acknowledge that the world can be harsh, we're keeping it pleasant in our little corner; endeavoring to keep the words from the Book of all Books: ...Whatsoever things are lovely; think on these things.

I so enjoy hearing from you...so leave me a comment; it'll make my day!

Photo: Bee and thistle: Taken high in the Cascade Mountains where there is a bee buzzing on every thistle. by Debora Rorvig

Showing posts with label Americana. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Americana. Show all posts

Sunday, October 6, 2013

A Sunny October Day in the Country

What a glorious October day in the country!
Just the day for a stroll around the old Hovander Farm.
The sun was warm on our backs, the air pungent with the smell of fallen leaves,
 and the sky so very blue!
 
Sunshine in October is a luxurious, lavish gift from Mother Nature here in the Pacific Northwest.
 
I hope your weekend was filled to the brim with Autumn!
 



 
 
 
 
 
 




October's Bright Blue Weather

O SUNS and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather;
  When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And Golden-Rod is dying fast , And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
When Gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning,
  And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning;
  When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
  And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting,
  Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour, October's bright blue weather.
  O suns and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together,
  Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather.

Helen Hunt Jackson (1831-1885)

Sunday, September 22, 2013

A Rainy Sunday at Bellewood

It's been a quiet first-day-of-Autumn Sunday here in the Rorvig household. Hubby rose early and took Baron to the woods for a run...Lazy me...I snoozed until 10. Pure luxury!

The rainy, blustery weather here was a reminder that we indeed have turned the page to fall; time for galoshes and knitted sweaters--steamy cups of herbal tea and toast slathered in jam.

When Hubby and Baron returned from the woods I suggested that we drive over to Bellewood Acres for lunch. I had a hankering for one of their turkey and Swiss sandwiches...besides, it seemed such a waste to ruin my leisurely Sunday with any kind of work!

 Bellewood is...well...it's many things. It's an apple farm, a bakery, a market,  a distillery, a place to take the kids to pick out pumpkins from the patch, and the perfect place to slip away on a drizzly day for lunch. I took my camera today because I had a hunch that the colors at Bellewood would be as scrumptious as their apple-cider sugar donuts. I was right about the donuts AND the colors...


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
You can read more about Bellewood Acres at their website: www.bellewoodfarms.com
 
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Sunday, August 25, 2013

Silver Threads Among the Gold

I woke up this morning with a song running through my mind. Mom and Dad used to sing it to one another. I don't think I've heard it, for well, since dad passed away when I was a teenager, it must be close to 50 years. I guess it came to me because of all of this talk about going gray. Mom, did you hum this song to me as I slept? However it came, I'm glad it did. Keep some tissues nearby as you listen.


Sunday, August 11, 2013

Hole in the Sky

There is a place, a peaceful place beneath the maples.
 
A place of wild roses, berries and rosehips. Of statice and eagles and painted daisies. Of goldenrod and Queen Ann's lace.
 
 
And if you choose to leave the  main path and follow a little, almost indistinguishable trail through the maples, birch, and salmonberries, you will come to a beach. A wild, Northwestern beach strewn with driftwood and seaweed. You will be alone here, except for the gulls and heron...and your thoughts.
 





 

 
This is a place where things live. A primitive place teeming with the stuff of creation. Mud, slime and clamshells; barnacles, rocks and all things beautiful and elemental. 



There are buried treasures here. Like sunsets emblazoned in shells on the sand.




                                                                It's a place of pure joy;




 






of contemplation, 





where earth and sea and sky gather together in one place.





This place is called Semiahmoo. (Se-mee-Ah-moo).  Chief James Charles, chief of the Semiahmoo tribe from 1909 to 1952, claimed that the word Semiahmoo means “half-moon,” and describes the shape of Semiahmoo Bay. Historian Lorraine Ellenwood wrote in "Years of Promise"  that “it translates, in one sense, as ‘water all around’ or ‘hole in the sky".
 
Semiahmoo is a spit. And as such, there is water on the east side of the spit, and on the west. Half of the land is protected as a county park and historical site. The other half has some condominiums, a hotel, and a marina. The glorious thing about it is, that one can sit on the beach in the morning and watch the sun rise over Mt. Baker in the east. And from the same beach in the evening you can simply turn and watch the sun set over the water in the west.
 
If I could live anywhere, it would be here.
 
 

I came here as a child. Waded. Collected shells and agates. Dug for clams. I cannot imagine not coming here.


 




Perhaps Semiahmoo is a hole in the sky.
 
***



Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Shiftless

I love writers who take ordinary things and make homely vignettes with words. That's what
Raymond Carver did in his poems. His poems remind me so much of my own Raymond...Raymond Miller, my dad.  He and I used to drive along River Road in Ferndale; him with a beer between his knees, and me sipping on a bottle of Orange Crush. We'd stop now and then to see if guys with names like 'Lucky', or 'Shorty', had caught anything out of the river. Then we'd drive out to the reservation and sit with one of his Native friends on the porch. His friend whittled. Few words; only the sound of a knife scraping wood and the cap popping off another beer, and an Orange Crush for me. 

Dad would've liked this poem.



 Shiftless                      by Raymond Carver

The people who were better than us were comfortable.
They lived in painted houses with flush toilets.
Drove cars whose year and make were recognizable.
The ones worse off were sorry and didn't work.
Their strange cars sat on blocks in dusty yards.
The years go by and everything and everyone gets replaced.
But this much is still true-I never liked work.
My goal was always to be shiftless.
I saw the merit in that.
I liked the idea of sitting in a chair in front of your house
for hours,
doing nothing but wearing a hat and drinking cola.
What's wrong with that?
Drawing on a cigarette from time to time.
Spitting.
Making things out of wood with a knife.
Where's the harm there?
Now and then calling the dogs to hunt rabbits.
Try it sometime. Once in a while hailing a fat, blond kid like me and saying, "Don't I know you?" Not, "What are you going to be when you grow up?"

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Berry Nice...Sugar Free Jam


If you're anything like me, you love to make jam; but when it comes time to dump a bucket-load of sugar all over your beautiful, already sweet berries, you feel guilty. Like you just drew a mustache on the Mona Lisa. It's just wrong. So this year I searched around and found, what I think is the perfect answer to the problem. Pomona Pectin. Now, I'll admit, I haven't actually tried the stuff yet; but I rushed out and bought the last remaining box at our local health food co-op. I've checked their site and their reviews out pretty carefully. This stuff looks like the real deal! Not like that 'reduced' sugar pectin where you only have to dump half a bucket into the pot. And oh my goodness, their site has the tastiest recipes for jams. I will definitely be making Blueberry-Lavender jam this year! Here's the link; http://www.pomonapectin.com/. And here's the link to the aforementioned jam recipe http://www.pomonapectin.com/recipes/blueberry-lavender-jam/

Speaking of berries...last Saturday my friend Demetree and I headed out to Deborah Lubbe's organic farm to pick some strawberries. Her berries are the sweetest thing this side of heaven.

I learned something about strawberries from Deborah. She has 3 varieties of berries on her property. The orangey-red variety was by far the sweetest. The red-red ones were tangier. And the deep ruby-red ones were juiciest, but less sweet. So you can't judge your berries by color. Deborah's Nooksack Valley farm is nestled in the foothills. It's a down-home, earthy place with roosters wandering about, a Shetland pony pastured nearby, and field-flowers growing amid the grasses. A place to breathe.


Demetree


You're never too young to go berry pickin!

Taste testers

Talkin' organic, berries, and farmin'

Deborah Lubbe is as organic as her berries


 
 
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