Gardening and Country Life in Glorious Color!

I’ve labored away adding lovely images to Shenandoah Watercolors, my nonfiction book about life on our small family farm in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Given my love of gardening, this includes a strong focus on my gardens and love of nature. The book is already out in print with images, but now that kindle and nook E-Readers support colored photographs, I’ve added heaps more. Shenandoah Watercolors in available in  eBook and print format at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  I will also get it up on Kobo soon. If someone is dying for me to have it somewhere else, let me know.

Book description: Author/farm wife Beth Trissel shares the joys and challenges of rural life on her family’s small farm in the scenic Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Journey with her through the seasons on the farm, owned by the family since the 1930′s, and savor the richness of her cherished gardens and beloved valley. This journal, with images of her farm and valley, is a poignant, often humorous, sometimes sad glimpse into country life. Recommended for anyone who loves the country, and even those who don’t. ***Shenandoah Watercolors is a 2012 EPPIC eBOOK FINALIST.

Excerpt:  The heavy rain has given way to a misting drizzle, but streams of water pour down from the hills and make new ponds and creeks. It’s chilly with that raw wet feel. This spring is awash in moisture and amazing after last summer’s searing drought. I’m struck by the intense beauty around me, and I thought I was already seeing it, but it’s so much more somehow. The grass seems to shimmer, yet there’s no sun out today, and the meadow is so richly green it’s like seeing heaven. Our barnyard geese are enraptured, as much as geese can be, with all the grass. If there’s a lovelier place to revel in spring than the Shenandoah Valley and the mountains, I don’t know it. Narnia, maybe.I’ve been thinking about my favorite places.

The pool I like best lies in the woods near a place called Rip Rap Hollow in the Blue Ridge Mountains. A splendid falls cascades up above, but I like the pool far more. We always meant to go back, but never have. The cold water ripped through me like liquid ice and is as clear as melted crystal. I could see the rocks on the bottom, some slick with moss, others brown-gold in the light where the sun broke through the leafy canopy overhead. Trout hid beneath big rounded stones or ones that formed a cleft, but the men tickled them out to flash over the flat rocks strewn across the bottom like a path. Drifts of hay-scented fern rose around the edges of the pool, warming the air with the fragrance of new mown hay, and made the shady places a rich green.Now, that’s a good place to go in my mind when I’m troubled. The problem with cities is that people don’t learn what really matters. Don’t really feel or know the rhythms of the earth. When we are separated from that vital center place, we grow lost. Sadly, most people will never know what they are lost from, or where they can be found.~

***Images of the Shenandoah Valley in early spring and Dark Hollow Falls in the Blue Ridge.

Christmas is Coming, the Geese are Getting Fat--Beth Trissel

“Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, please to put a penny in an old man’s hat!” 

I’ve been known to burst forth in this traditional English carol whenever it’s near enough to Christmas to warrant it. Many moons ago when my children were small, this was my cue to joyfully anticipate the coming of Christmas. I don’t know why I happened on this particular song, though it’s a favorite from past madrigals and perhaps because we have geese.

I was horrified when my mother-in-law suggested we actually eat one of our abundant flock. I never sang that song in front of her again. She tried to persuade my hubby to catch one for Christmas dinner, but he was reluctant and it didn’t ap­peal to her to scamper after them alone, so that’s how the matter was left. The geese lived to see another Christmas unmolested and we had our usual turkey, not a bird I’m the least bit sentimental about.

Eons ago when our son was in grade school and times were particularly tight, I suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea to give more hand-made gifts because after all, what was Christmas all about? Wasn’t it enough to focus on the wonder and  true meaning of Christmas? To sing carols, pop popcorn, read stories, make paper chains…simplify.  In other words, “We don’t have much money, son.”

He regarded me impassively for a moment, then said, “You could get a job and we’d have more money.”

I was taken aback. “But my job is being here on the farm with you and Daddy and your sister(s).  Who would take care of you and the house and do all I do, if I weren’t here? You’d rather have Mommy here than more money for mere gifts, surely?”

He considered this reasoning, got out the calculator and the Christmas wish book and proceeded to tally up the desired items. He then presented me with his estimated cost. How I wanted to handle it was up to me, but here was his projected budget.

I cast my mind back to when I was a mere nine, sensitive, humble in my expectations and grateful for whatever I received. There was the one moment when an “Is that all?” slipped out of my mouth, but that’s the only ingratitude I can remember.

I’m glad to say my son has grown into a fine young man with a family of his own and is appreciative of all I did as his stay-at-home crazy writer/gardener mom.  All three of my children are, and now the grandbabies are excited to come visit and find me here.  Little faces light up and they toddle to me with outstretched arms or hurl themselves at me for hugs.  Precious little people.

Christmas means being with family and friends, treasuring those times, and shared traditions.   This year, more than ever, I find  comfort in the enduring truth at the heart of the season, best summed up in the ancient words of the Gospel of Luke.  “And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior  which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”

***Goose pic by my mom, our dog Mia under the Christmas tree by daughter Elise and my husband took the one of our daughter-in-law and grandbaby as Mary and baby Jesus in the Christmas program at our church several years ago. That baby is now three. And the next baby is now two.

Angels Among Us--Beth Trissel

When my friend, Liz, was a child and very ill she says she awoke from a fevered sleep to find an angel seated at the edge of her bed.  Its face was human-like but the features were more angular than ours and silvery.  The rest of its body was luminous and seemed neither male nor female, but she remembers the eyes, green, and the reassuring feeling of being watched over.

You may think this divine visitation was the figment of a child’s fevered mind, or you may believe that she saw an angel.  I believe.  Once when I was asleep I heard a beloved voice call my name, a voice as familiar as my mother’s or husband's and yet it was neither of them.  I think this was an angel and someday I will see and instantly recognize this being as though meeting with an old friend, and understand that he has always been with me.

Angels are messengers of God and bearers of his comfort in a hurting world.  Sometimes they even intervene in our lives and lead us to safety, though not always.  When my 16-year-old niece Kristy was killed in a car accident some people at the scene said they saw a great ray of sunshine stream down from the sky and spill over the mangled car in a kind of holy benediction.  As though God wanted us to know that he saw and was winging Kristy’s spirit up to heaven in that wonderful light, enveloped in peace that passes anything we can imagine.

Were there angels with her?  I have no doubt of it.  Still we ask why God didn’t send an angel to prevent this tragedy, and so many others.  But it seems that why is not for us to know on this side of heaven.  Anymore than we can know why our first grandbaby,  Adam, so infinitely precious, was not somehow saved, but stillborn. Though I trust with all my heart that Adam is in heaven and we will see him again.

I have no answers to these tragedies, only the promise of God’s eternal love and presence.  And I am watching for angels, tuned to the whispery touch of unseen wings and those in human form.  God uses people, particularly those who have known grief, to minister to others.  If your heart seeks the light, you are never really alone.  If you yearn for comfort, keep watch, angels will come to you.  Remember, they can look like anybody, be anybody, young or old, can even be you, as you minister to others.

Hebrews 13:2, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

Don't Trust Just Anyone With Your Ducks

Years ago, I raised ducks for our farm pond–a story in itself–and then decided to take on several ducklings offered to me by a kindergarten teacher who hatched them in the classroom incubator and needed a home for the little quackers. I housed them safely in an unused dog kennel and decided to raise them for friends who have a smaller pond on their farm. One was a white Peking duck and the other two were white with markings, probably some mixed up kind of ducks.

Oh, the care and effort I put into those ducklings and the pride to see them thrive and grow into bright-eyed, trusting souls who greeted me eagerly. Ducks have lots to say and these were especially friendly. And handsome. But after generously gifting my feathered friends to human friends, I later learned they hadn’t received the care I assumed they would, nor were they checked on regularly.  No food was forthcoming, or water provided when the pond dwindled from drought. That hadn’t occurred to anyone. In fact, I was casually informed the ducks were nowhere to be found. Their disappearance wasn’t even noted at any particular time. Not that anyone was concerned, of course. Except me. Why had I let them go to such a negligent home?

Earlier this summer, my 2011 art major graduate daughter Elise was entrusted with a tiny aloe vera plant that was on its last leg, or leaf, by a college friend of hers. Between the two of us, this pathetic specimen has made an amazing comeback, and we both revel in its progress. Now, my conscientious daughter is making noises about giving it back. ‘What?’ I say. ‘To the negligent plant person?’ It’s gonna be the duck thing all over again.

To those of you without much fondness for ducks or plants, this lesson can be cross-applied to anything you’ve put time and effort into nurturing.  Don’t entrust what you care about to just anybody. This also includes your kids.

Out in Print with Lovely Images--Shenandoah Watercolors!

At long last Shenandoah Watercolors is out in print!   My talented daughter Elise labored hours and hours to design the layout and incorporate her and my mom, Pat Churchman, and husband Dennis's beautiful photographs of the Shenandoah Valley and mountains.  Also a few vintage images from times past.  

A lovely coffee table sized book, Shenandoah Watercolors should be a joy to those who want to savor the images and linger with me in my beloved valley.

The book is available at Amazon, and I authorized other outlets for it as well but am not sure where it many show up for sale.  The cost is as inexpensive as we could possibly make it for a book of this size with so many colored images.  We won't get rich, that's for sure, but hope to share our love of the country, of our valley and the mountains, of family and all that's good.  And God bless those who join us.

For Those Who Love the Country and Even Those Who Don't

 

Written in a month by month journal style, Shenandoah Watercolors features rural life in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.  I  enrolled the book in the kindle lending program where you can borrow it for free at this Amazon link.

Shenandoah Watercolors is a 2012 finalist in the nonfiction category of the EPIC Ebook Awards, ‘Kind of a big deal’ in the publishing world.  Winners to be announced in March.  My American romance Red Bird’s Song is a finalist in the historical romance category.  Fingers crossed for a win!

Back to Shenandoah Watercolors:

“This is perhaps the most beautifully written memoir I’ve ever read. Its lovely and languid descriptions of the picturesque valley, the farm and gardens are equaled only by the charming and funny descriptions of the antics (and conversations!) of the farm animals. What a joy this is to read.”

~Amazon Reviewer C. G.  King

January Excerpt from Shenandoah Watercolors:

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.” ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pale streaks of mauve feather the western sky above the frozen pond and the golden glow of the sun illuminates the ice as it sinks below the ridges.

The hardcore group of hockey players who’ve been here for hours still whack the puck around the smooth space cleared of snow and a lone couple circle together in one corner, reluctant to leave.

The frigid twilight breeze rustles the dry leaves that cling to the bare branches of the maple and I caught my breath as I trotted Mia past the wintry scene of skaters, timeless in its way. It seems as though the ice will last on and on, but we rarely have more than a week when the pond is frozen hard enough for skating. Weather in the Shenandoah Valley swings back and forth between north and south as though it can’t quite decide which we are.

Considering that my brother John said it was twenty degrees below zero in Vermont, I’d say we qualify as the South, just on the Northern fringes. Our sentiments are decidedly Southern.

Unlike the dedicated skaters, I scurried back inside. If it weren’t for the need to exercise my plump little dog and idle self I’d just lie on the couch like a slug. I’m well into my winter hibernation mode. Every fall I swear this lethargy won’t overcome me, but inevitably it does. Ernest Miggleton remains immune. He’s one pesky kitten since we took the tree down and climbs into the cabinets, raids the trash, steals Elise’s new fuzzy socks, her fluffy dog toy, and annoys the heck out of the big kitties. But all this sport pales in comparison to the daily assaults he launched on that enticing pine, resplendent with baubles hung just for his amusement.

Elise pointed out how seriously bored Ernest was yesterday as he perched eagerly beside her printer waiting for it to whir and buzz magically to life. She’d just finished printing a paper for ninth grade English lit and he was enthralled. Every time she gathered him up he wriggled to get back into position, not wanting to miss anything. So she printed another page, but that only feeds his fetish.

We’re endeavoring to find the little fellow a hobby. He has expressed interest in bird watching, the nurture of mice, and collecting kewl stuff.~

*Our latest kitten rescue is our Siamese mix, Pavel, picture by daughter Elise. *Snow covered Nandina berries photograph by my mom Pat Churchman. *Sunset over the frozen lake I bought from istock because I don’t have a good one on hand and out pond isn’t currently frozen.

*My brother John Churchman is an amazing photographer gaining much long overdo recognition.  For his scenic, artistic images visit: Brickhouse Studios

Hark the Harry Angels Sing

Back when my all grown up with children of his own son was ‘wee little,’ as the country folk around here say, he thought we were singing about ‘Harry’ angels.      Another child assumed the angel’s name was Harold.  Perfectly understandable.   The lyrics are rather unfathomable to children.  Even for some adults. I’ve also heard of a child who mistook ‘sleep in heavenly peace’ for ‘sleep in heavenly peas,’  which makes sense with the emphasis on eating your vegetables.

Last Christmas, my then three-yr-old grandson Colin  freaked out and was hiding his toys because he was afraid Santa Claus snuck into your house on Christmas Eve and took all of your stuff.  We think this misapprehension came about as a result of watching the cartoon version of ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’    Colin also didn’t like the idea of some strange dude who ‘sees you when you’re sleeping and knows when you’re awake’ watching him.  Like Santa was a creepy stalker.  His weary parents in their efforts to reassure him (and get any sleep) said they would  post a note on the mailbox advising Santa to leave the goods in the driveway.   Colin accepted this but was still rather leery.

He was also really put out when told that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday and insisted ‘that’s not fair!’  When asked why, he said because Jesus gets the best birthday of all.   I’ve never heard  this take before.  But Colin is the same kid who tried to boost his one-yr-old baby sister up onto the picnic table on their deck with the ultimate aim of giving her an even higher boost onto the roof of the house so she could retrieve the action figure toy he’d flung up there.  After all, the baby couldn’t boost him up there, and his mother had warned him if he threw the toy on the roof, it was gone.  So he schemed a way but was intercepted.  Drats, foiled again.

Recently Colin was overhead singing Away in the Mangerto himself with an alteration.  Instead of ‘The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay’ he subbed in ‘batman asleep in the hay.’  He loves action heroes, but this version may come as a surprise during the Children’s Christmas Program next week at church.

Also, at the top of his Christmas list is a ‘real Spiderman’ action figure who shoots out ‘real webs.’  None of that fake silly string stuff like last year.   And his little four-yr-old cousin, my granddaughter Emma, asked me some time ago for a ‘real’ baby dinosaur.   I hate to squash dreams, but pointed out the possible difficulty I foresaw in locating one.  In a dramatic gesture, she threw her hands up and said I had all the way ’til Christmas to find one–that she wasn’t expecting it right away.

Well, Christmas is almost upon us and I’m still short one newly hatched dinosaur and a Spiderman who shoots out real webs.  I suspect this request of Colin’s stems from his desire to swing from them and ‘fwy’ as he pronounces it.  An impossibility for small boys that we’ve failed to persuade him of.  He suggested his mother make him some wings so he could soar off the deck.   I think Santa needs to bring him a large net.

If you know of any real baby dinosaurs, let me know.  I haven’t given up.