Williamsburg Wordpecker

Praise (with some embellishment) for Connie Lapallo's Jamestown Trilogy

2018-09-04T15:11:00.002-04:00

At times, when finishing up a chapter of Connie Lapallo’s Jamestown trilogy, I caught myself near breathless, shaking my head with amazement. I’ve studied and loved Virginia history my whole life and I’ve written six books, so I know a thing or two about the effort and hours she’s exerted to craft these tales. I offer her a nod of respect. I hope the work of historical fiction I’m in the midst of researching will be as good.

Okay, so now you know why I bought Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky from Connie at the Williamsburg Book Festival last fall. I wanted to see how she handled a work of “local” historical fiction. Knowing the hard work for little reward that goes into book writing, I also wondered if she’d like to take my research and make it into her fourth book. It seemed to suit too, since my story starts where hers ends, in 1652.

But once into the book, I found it to be a page-turner. I wanted Book 2! And then, I was inspired to hold on to my research and write it “better.” (More on my critique later.) My husband must have heard my thoughts since for Christmas, he gave me the next two books in the trilogy: When the Moon Has No More Silver: The Continuing Story of the Women & Children of Jamestown and The Sun Is But A Morning Star. What a treat.

It took a while for me to read the second book, due to that universal problem: life got in the way of my reading! But when I started the third, I pressed through quickly. Reading the Jamestown trilogy inspired me to dig into my own project every minute I could spare. Research is the fun part. (More on that later too.)

So what did I like and dislike? Well, I am a history buff, especially a Tidewater, Virginia, history buff. Even though I already knew a bit more than the average person about Jamestown, I discovered to my surprise that I’ve digested names and dates that hadn’t stuck before. The slow pace of the book allowed me to make friends with the characters whose names and relationships really have stuck to my few spare neurons. For example, when I read in the local newspaper that there would be a program at Historic Jamestowne led by Edmund Brewster, I knew who he was! The good man came to Jamestown on a mission to manage the estate of my Lord la Ware. Ah ha! This book of historical fiction peopled around my knowledge of dates and events. Now, Jamestown is more personal. I feel like I know the people. In fact, I plan to head out to Jamestown Island tomorrow to visit the Pierce’s house.

At the same time that I love the history that came to life, I also know that I must be careful to double check it before speaking about it around my historian friends. For instance, I had to cheat a bit by stopping to check with Martha McCartney (Virginia Immigrants and Adventurers: A Biographical Dictionary, 1607-1635) and others on the details. Tom Pierce was killed in the 1622 Massacre, so says Martha. Hmm. Connie has Tom outliving his mother. Martha names Joan’s daughter Joan too, not Jane as Connie did. Perhaps Connie did this to prevent confusion?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she took a bit of literary license. As a person who lives in a college town (my alma mater!) with lots of scholarly friends, I know a mere B.A. in history and a genuine interest in Virginia history does not make me a historian. I will say up front that my book is going to be historical fiction.

I have a problem with Connie a) labeling herself as a historian and b) saying that her books are true when they aren’t always. Take for instance the Postscript: In my opinion, the last chapter of the third book was the best of the hundreds that went before. I was about to hoot my approval, run out to tell my husband, when it occurred to me I’d better check the back for her “What’s Fact and What’s Fiction?” section, included in each book with the back matter. The sad news was right there on the second page of the Author’s Note: “While Joan is a real person and did live these events (with a few embellishments),” . . . What!? Oh wait, maybe I better not quote the rest since that will spoil your fun. Suffice to say the Postscript "embellishment" was fiction. Maybe I should check all the back matter to see if there is an apology for letting Tom live so long and naming young Joan Jane. Maybe not. See? This is my big problem with a book that’s touted to be true, yet the author admits is embellished. You can’t have it both ways.

My other problem: I am not a big fan of Western theology and the fact that this book drips with it is off-putting. Luckily, I was quick to put on my “historian” hat and realized she wasn’t proselytizing. Literal faith in deities was just the way the Western world turned in the late Middle Ages.

And it’s my training in mindfulness that takes this to another level too. Joan is a classic example of NOT mindful, as she continually obsesses about the past and the future. Breathe, Joan. You can quickly stop your suffering by realizing that you can’t do anything about it. You can only be at your best right here and right now. Yes, I would have preferred the narrator to be more stoic, like Tempie. Jeez. All the monkey-mind worry added at least a hundred pages to the trilogy, me thinks, and resulted in a slow pace overall.

I thought, before reading her work, I might hand my research off to Connie. Now I think that research is, perhaps, the easy part. Good storytelling - sharp, quick, colorful, and insightful - is the real challenge. Hard work indeed, and you can’t please everyone, but I would rather give book writing another try.

Nevertheless, welladay, Connie Lapallo! If I see you at this year's Williamsburg Book Festival I will cover you up with praise.

Thoughts about War and Warriors on Memorial Day

2018-05-28T15:28:00.001-04:00

While others find it easy to celebrate noble warriors on Memorial Day, I have always found it hard to do so because I couldn't separate the warrior from the war. Innocent people get killed, land gets damaged and, think about it, is the cause really worth fighting for? I am a pacifist.

But why am I this way? Why can't I bring myself to click on the thumbs-up button when my friends post photos of family members who have served? Perhaps there is a clue in that last sentence: family. Perhaps I don't express appropriate Memorial Day emotion because of conditioning experience.

I grew up around a father who was bitter about the military. He joined the Merchant Marine when he was 19, in 1941, because it was the right thing to do. But while some signed up for the Navy and Army, he wore glasses, was "legally blind," so they wouldn't take him. He turned to the natural alternative. In his hometown of Mathews, Virginia, the Merchant Marine suited the seafaring tradition and many Mathews Men chose maritime careers in times of peace. Dad made multiple trips to Europe and one destined for Japan in convoys of hastily constructed Liberty Ships loaded down with munitions, attacked by German U-Boats. Amazingly enough, he survived.

But in the end he felt angry. His buddies came home from service to the GI bill. He would not be able to afford college and of course that affected his career prospects and life trajectory. Even after Reagan granted veteran status to those who served as merchant seaman he wouldn't sign up. It was too late then, he thought. All through his career as a civil servant, an electrician on the Fort Eustis army base, he would make his bitterness know with little asides about military men on the base who acted in entitled ways.

When my son was a Boy Scout and we went to Memorial Day services, I looked at veterans and saw men who thought they were better than my father. For years I couldn't feel a warm place in my heart for veterans or Memorial Day, until the last decade or so.

It all started to change during a speech-language pathology practicum when I worked at the VA Polytrauma Center at Hunter Holmes Hospital in Richmond. I saw young boys whose lives were forever changed by an IED . . . or an attempt to commit suicide to get out of the service. Warrior. War. Two different things.

And then, while working on family genealogy, I came across a photo of my grandfather when he was 22, the same age as my son at that time. Sent from Maine, it simply said, "Dear Aunt, I expect to go to France in a few days. Love to all, Cpl. Frank Lewis." He enlisted 101 years ago, in May 1917, and was discharged in March 1919. He came home to a career with the US Lighthouse Service, serving out the rest of his life in lonely stints on Chesapeake Bay lighthouses. He died when I was 4-years old, in 1959. Warrior. War. Two different things.

Recently I watched with utter sadness and dismay the The Vietnam War film by Ken Burns. As if I hadn't know, it called out the fact that wars are the product of politics and leadership. And the warriors . . . are swept along. The Looming Tower brought it closer. Today we have a president who could recklessly spark yet another war.

Wars. Warriors. So many are sacrificed in body and spirit. Our lands and monuments are scared and destroyed. Why? Have we, has anyone, ever won? What did they win for the warriors? Yes, yes, some wars are about animals like Hitler, but many are not.

Memorial Day isn't about celebrating noble warriors. It is about opening our hearts to those who have seen terrible things, who have done the unspeakable. It is about embracing a world tired of war and focusing our next moves along a peaceful path with arms linked across nations. May we feel our common humanity and be weapons of war no more.

The Blood Moon and the Night

2014-04-15T12:11:00.000-04:00

I woke up at 3:30, so why not? I had set up my camera earlier in the evening just in case. I took only half the amount of medication that I usually take at night; that way there was a possibility the aches and pains would wake me. My plan worked

I leashed Cici and gathered up the camera on its tripod. Out we traipsed into the quiet street, me in my pajamas and my Wonder Dog, a Jack Russell/Shih Tzu hybrid I'd rescued in the fall, growling at the shadows and the wind.

About halfway down our street, as though just for us, the clouds thinned long enough for me to plant my tripod and capture a dozen blurry photos of the historic Blood Moon. Other celestial objects, I learned from this mornings news, are Mars (at the closest point to the earth it will be in our lifetime), Saturn, and Spica (the 15th brightest star and the brightest star in the constellation Virgo).

At a little after 4 am, the clouds thickened. I waited, but that appeared to be my last look for the night. Cici was ready to go in. One last stop at the end of the driveway. No moon. A tug on the leash and we sneaked back inside. I took the other half of my medication and went back to bed.

Thoughts about "God Revised: How Religion Must Evolve in a Scientific Age"

2013-12-14T15:54:00.002-05:00

In 1995 I found Unitarian Universalism. I've been an infrequent Sunday service attendee, but it feels right when I go and I'm always glad I joined the Williamsburg Unitarian Universalist community. Lately though, events have conspired to make me a more regular service-goer. As I grow older I feel my mortality, I think about my reasons for living, and a faith community supports looking inward in the presence of others who share my world view.

By coincidence, I've wanted to join a book discussion group, so when the minister invited us to join her for a discussion of God Revised: How Religion Must Evolve in a Scientific Age I jumped on it and placed my Amazon order right away.

There is no doubt in my mind that this book came along at just the right time for me. The author put into much more eloquent words than I could some facts I've felt for a long time. Like him, I left a more rigid religious background. Like him, I couldn't accept paying allegiance to a supernatural being, a form of religious focus more suitable to an earlier age. I couldn't accept the Bible as anything other than history, in which many stories relayed messages of universal truth and goodness. No, I couldn't go to a Christian church and pretend to believe 100% in stories that were written for a pre-scientific age. Although it felt good to go to church from time to time due to aspects of the community and ambiance that are transcendent, it became harder to do so because I knew the dogma was irrational.

The Unitarian Universalist Church offered me a community similar to the church community I knew as a child, but there was no kidding ourselves about an anthropomorphic God or belief that one had to think like us or else. Unfortunately, though, in the Unitarian Universalist Church it is often easier to say what we don't believe than what we do believe. Yes, beliefs are stated in the creed and such, but I suppose that my lack of regular attendance attests to the fact that I hadn't studied our belief system in more depth.

God Revised has helped me along this path and I look forward to further discussion of the book with the minister later this month. The author, Galen Guengerich, moves through what we don't believe to what we do believe in prose that I know I'll want to go back and reread again and again. Yes, traditional church is losing us slowly but surely because it is not evolving. Civilization settled on the truth that humans are not at the center of the universe centuries ago, yet some still cling to traditional religious language as the Gospel (pardon the pun) even though it rings decided weird in the ears of modern people. Let's move on. Why community? What is faith? How do we show it?

Guengerich gave me more. We have faith in the belief that the world is a wonderful mystery. We are part of the flow, both physically and as a result of our experiences or interrelationships with one another and all things in the universe. This is God: the movement of all things in relation to one another, both physical and experiential, from the past and into the future. Our religion is our faith in being part of the whole and we seek community in which to express our gratitude for this connection. We express gratitude by recognizing that as part of the whole, we are ultimately responsible for the well being of one another and for the well being of the environment that sustains us.

Each year as Christmas grows close, I think about the gathering that runs from fundamental Christians to atheists around our table. Each year the default is to let one of the Christians say the prayer. Each year I wish one of the non-traditional sorts would take the lead and offer up pre-meal thanksgiving. This year, though, I have found the words to give that thanks myself.

"As we gather here in the quiet moments before dinner, let's close our eyes and think about our faith. Yes, we all have faith that the world is a wonderfully mysterious place. We believe that love is divine. We acknowledge that our past has made us who we are today and for that we must be grateful. Let us show our gratitude by taking responsibility for the well-being of each other and the earth that sustains us as these give us hope for the future. May it be so."

I watch the sunrise in my rearview window

2013-10-21T11:18:00.001-04:00

Every morning as I drive to Richmond, I have the most pleasing opportunity to watch the sun rise, in all its glory, tinged with the metaphor of new beginnings. My chest feels full as I grab the air in and my throat tightens because a sunrise can have that effect on you if you believe you have been given another chance.

In a few weeks, with any luck, I will graduate from JMU's MS DLVE-SLP program. Currently I am driving to the VA hospital in Richmond where I am finishing up my fifth practicum experience, this one at the VA Polytrauma Center. The experience has been awesome albeit challenging. Therapy requires a great depth of knowledge along with a quickness that doesn't always come easy for me. I work under a younger clinician who is mightly self-assured. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, especially when the old dog's brain is a little compromised. I struggle with chronic pain from neuropathy, auditory processing deficits, and a jumble of executive function-related residual issues. In sum, I'm slow . . . but sure I need to work with the brain injured in some way so that I can share what I've learned and help others avoid the pitfalls I've experienced. I think I can, I think I can.

I am 58 years old and this will be my third master's degree. I'm about to start something new because I want to help others who live with brain injury and because I can't go back to museums or marketing. Wish me luck . . . and the ability to compensate more effectively with the residuals confounded now by the affects of aging.

Now I let go and meditate on things that are higher. The great, explosive, gaseous, buring sun will come up tomorrow and I will breathe in from it a reserve of strength that comes from knowing that the world, the universe that holds me in its force field is mighty. I go forth humbly, a mere mortal speck, putting one foot in front of the other. I will do my best. I cannot alter the ancient and powerful forces that swirl around me with so much surety. I can only strive to be at one with the force.

Ever Heard of Waitt's Mount? Me Neither.

2012-10-30T14:20:00.002-04:00

Never a dull moment in the life of a freelance writer. This morning I received a request from a Tony little design agency in Cambridge, MA. Could they use my photograph of poison ivy on a sign they were designing for a park?

As a poison ivy hater and park lover, I said sure, go ahead.

"It's called Waitt's Mount and it's in Malden MA.," the designer told me. "The park has been derelict for a long time and they are making it usable again. The panels will be near the parking area and tell the natural and historical story of the site. I can send you a picture when it is installed (not until next fall, I think)." You can see the proposed panel site about 20 to 25 seconds into this YouTube video, somewhere between the trash can and the gate.

Just think! A photo of poison ivy taken in my front yard (with my name in the credit line, of course! See those tiny white blobs along the upper left edge of the second photo?) is on a sign that will be located in the parking lot of the tiny geologic-outcropping-turned-park. According to the landscape planners, Waitt's Mountain was used by spectators to watch the Battle of Bunker Hill. Today the park boasts spectacular views of the Boston skyline. You can read more about the refurbished park on the architectural firm's website.

Cool, huh? Maybe I'll have to search it out some day. Or if any of my Fifes and Drums friends get to Middlesex County, MA, before I do, would you take a picture for me?

My blog post about "How to Identify Poison Ivy" seems to rise to the top in a lot of search engines, especially if you're searching for images. So far it's gotten more hits than any other blog post by the Williamsburg Wordpecker. I also wrote a post for Suite 101 about how to get rid of poison ivy that's been popular on that site too. Well, being a freelance writer isn't making me rich, but what the hey. Actually, if enough of you click over on my Suite 101 post, I might make fifty cents on this deal! Get clicking, folks.

Left Neglected

2012-08-09T11:30:00.001-04:00

Did you think this was going to be about politics? Nope. I just want to tell you about a book I read. It attracted and appealed to me on several levels.

Left Neglected is a novel about traumatic brain injury and a condition I absolutely empathize with (more about that in a minute). Author Lisa Genova presents the main character, Sarah Nickerson, as a hard-charging businesswoman who is distracting by cell phone use and runs off of the Massachusetts Turnpike. After the crash and during the months of recovery that follow, she has an epiphany about quality of life and embraces awareness and change.

As a result of the insult to the right hemisphere of her brain, Sarah suffers left neglect, a neurological condition where she doesn't understand that there is a left side to any view. This is not a vision problem (the occipital lobe is at the back of the brain), but a consciousness problem. The left side of her body and the left side of everything she's observing just doesn't exist in her thinking. Of course, this derails Sarah's life. In addition to her former 80-hour-a-week consultant agency career, she has a beautiful family: she is happily married with three young children. Their lifestyle - home in a Tony Boston suburb, second home in a Vermont ski area, kids in private schools - is unsustainable without her sizable income. The first-person story follows Sarah's denial and coming to terms with her disability as well as the lifestyle changes she must make.

If the brain trauma had been to the left hemisphere of her brain, she would have lost her ability to speak. I was attracted to this book, of course, because I am a speech-language pathology student and will be taking a course in traumatic brain injury this fall.

I'm also interested in this book because I'm a traumatic brain injury survivor. I also had a hemorrhage in the right parietal lobe, but this and other sub-cortical brain damage left me with hemiparesis and hemisensory loss. My left side tingles and twitches and experiences no sensation: the left side of my scalp, tongue, ear, neck; my left shoulder, wrist, fingers, breast, ovary, hip, knee, toes. It's so weird. You could draw a line down the middle of my body from head to two and mark the left side as weak and neglected of sensory awareness of hot, cold, pain, or pleasure. I have a condition known as spasticity, where the muscles of the left side are constantly in a state of contraction. So, while I am painfully aware of my left side, I can empathize with Sarah as she copes with the life-altering circumstances and comes to terms with disability. My life was altered a little over 35 years ago, though, and I am still coping and coming to terms.

Finally, I have to mention that this book is of interest to me on another level. The main character is a lot like mine in Waterfront Property. My Laura Callahan is a b-school grad who's wearing high heels and working 80-hour weeks. In her case, a visit from a lawyer is life altering. The information he relates takes her back to her family's land and history, and then, her epiphany is of an environmental sort. I wonder if Lisa Genova's literary agent will be interested? There's no way to know but to query. When I told my husband about this bright idea last night he queried me on what I'd do if she's interested. He knows I'm slammed right now with teaching and with grad school, not to mention a few dangling consulting jobs. We'll see. It's my TBI-related frontal lobe syndrome - impulsivity and lack of reasoning skill - that sends me tumbling forward.

What is the Purpose of Life? What is Karma?

2012-07-31T11:42:00.000-04:00

I listened to a piece about Choprawell this morning on Morning Joe. Apparently, Deepak Chopra and his children are making the rounds of the news and talk shows to promote their new YouTube endeavor. Of course, I spent the next couple of hours listening to a dozen of the Choprawell video postings.

Many are worth talking about here, but the piece on the purpose of life and living your karma was of particular interest to me because of my late-in-life career change. I continually feel that I have to justify it to myself, especially when many of my friends, including my husband, are retiring. I am having trouble with the concept of retiring because I am following my karma.

What am I talking about? What is all of this karma nonsense? I've excerpted from Chopra's purpose of life YouTube, below.

What is the Purpose of Life? What is Karma?

Your Karma is your higher purpose

The higher purpose of all life is
     to reach enlightenment and total freedom from conditioning

To reach our Karma
    we exist to fulfill our unique talents and abilities

By fulfilling our unique talents
     we fit into the unique ecosystem
     like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle
     where no pieces are missing

When we fit into the ecosystem
     we feel joy
     and lose track of time

When we fulfill our unique purpose in life
     we serve

Our purpose is
     to feel an alignment with our Karma
     serve the ecosystem
     and experience wholeness

Our larger purpose is
     to reach enlightenment
     which is unity consciousness
     our true identity

When we learn how
     to be
     to love
     to create
     to serve
     and ultimately to exercise subtle intention
          in choices
          and awareness
     we become the evolutionary parts of the universe
     and find our true mortality

from Deepak Chopra

Because I grew up in the Baptist tradition and because many in my family and many of my friends find similar wholeness through their Christian beliefs, I also found Chopra's piece on beliefs worth mentioning and linking here: What is Belief and How Does It Shape Reality? Even before I was aware of Chopra and Eastern philosophy, I felt this way about beliefs: that they are limiting. This piece reiterates and speaks more eloquently about beliefs as limiting one's reality.

Reality is the whole realm of possibilities. When we decide to believe in any one concept as reality, we limit or cut off so many possibilities for awareness and achieving happiness, our karma, and enlightenment.

Ground bees?

2012-07-26T15:25:00.000-04:00

Ground bees? Nope. Yellow jackets.

I hadn't thought about the little buggers I called ground bees in quite a while. A neighbor who cut my grass back in 1995 got stung and I've been careful about that spot in the backyard ever since. We've seen the bees from time to time, but not the hole. I guess they moved their entrance to someplace a little more out of the way.

Through the loop

But Ken found it yesterday. Ouch. He came indoors, followed closely by three more bees, which we quickly swatted down. He got the ice and I got my magnifying loop for a better look. I Googled on ground bees and quickly found a lot of contradictory information. I could deduce from the mishmash of sites that our nemesis probably wasn't a ground bee and may be a yellow jacket.

About that time I spied Ken marching back toward the hole with a gas can. I jumped up to stop him just in the nick of time, just after reading that one should NOT POUR GASOLINE into the hole. Kerosene maybe, but BY ALL MEANS not gas. AND not during the day when they are active. Although several sites shouted back at me to not pour gas into the nest, none explained why. Research for another day. But never mind. I came back to the computer to Google up yellow jackets .edu, with the .edu added so that my results would provide some more credible information than just any old blog.

Herewith I provide you that more credible information so that you don't have to believe this humble blogger. How about a fact sheet posted by Mark Moran of Island Creek Elementary School in Alexandria? At his site I learned that "Eastern Yellow Jackets are probably the best-known wasps in Virginia, as well as the least-liked. This is most likely because yellow jackets are responsible for about one half of all insect stings." Of course! Visitors to Colonial Williamsburg encounter these babies around trash cans on Duke of Gloucester Street all the time. Everybody around here has a story about being stung by a wasp in Colonial Williamsburg. I wince every time I remember my sweet little 3-year-old daughter sitting out on Market Square drinking her Sprite when, . . . Her Dad raced around looking for someone with a cigar or cigarette because he'd heard that tobacco drew out the sting. Anyway, you can download a coloring page or an up-close view of a yellow jack on the Fairfax County school's web page. Good job, Mark!

I found a page on the Penn State site with information about management. I was glad to find out what the Extension Service had to say about pouring down the wasp hole after reading about everything from kerosene to hot water with Dawn dish washing detergent to lit tiki torches. At night, of course. So here's what Penn State Extension has to say:

"Eastern yellowjackets can be considered a beneficial insect because they reduce populations of unwanted insects such as earwigs and caterpillars. Therefore, unless the nests are located close [off] an entrance to a building, in the ground of a lawn that is mowed, or in any area where the public is likely to encounter them, the nests can be ignored."

Okay, well here's where it's a problem for me, you know. They said what I felt in my heart. I'm a card-carrying treehugger. And as an admirer of Eastern philosophy I know that yellow jackets are sentient beings. All life is interconnected. So can we just leave them alone? Maybe not. I forgot to tell you that the reason my husband found the nest has to do with a leak in our basement. Funny, but we hear the water trickling down the basement wall during rainstorms just about where the wasps are nesting and that's why we looked there. We really have to fix the leak, especially after 5.5 inches of rain the other day flooded the garage and my husband's man cave again.

So, let's read on. What else, Penn State Extension?


Vespula maculifrons (Duke.edu)

"Those individuals without medical concerns and with a degree of daring can kill the colony by dusting the nest opening with an insecticide during the nighttime. The nest should be scouted during daylight to determine the best approach that will not disturb the yellowjackets prior to introduction of the insecticide. DO NOT stand away from the nest and dust only the exterior of the entrance as this will anger the colony and increase the risk of stings during the next several days. Effective control can only be achieved by stealthy approach and then liberally dusting the material directly down into the nest opening. It is advisable to wear long sleeved clothing, long rubber gloves, goggles and a dust mask to protect yourself from any insecticide that blows back out of the opening . . . launder clothes and take a shower immediately after application. Products containing 5% carbaryl dust such as Apicide® [are] currently labeled for this type of application."

One more reference, this one from Duke with some cool close-up photos, as above.

I think we're going to try the hot water down the hole method tonight. You know, insecticide.

On Awareness

2012-07-24T10:31:00.002-04:00

I have just returned from 6 weeks of summer school and practicum experience at James Madison University, as required by their master's program in speech-language pathology. In readings and in practice, I have thought about the dictum of Rhea Paul and others to create in the child an awareness of their language.

Between the demanding summer now past and what I sense will be a demanding fall, I have 4 weeks to adjust and realign. I am reading Coming to Our Senses: Healing Ourselves and the World through Mindfulness, by Jon Kabat-Zinn. Mindfulness meditation is a skill I plan to hone as I acknowledge what is (climate change, species decline, politics, over consumption, etc.) and live in the learning and doing moment.

And so, awareness. I live in awareness and I help children become more aware. Kabat-Zinn includes a chapter on awareness and I quote from it some pieces I want to remember:

"Awareness is immanent . . . but it is camouflaged, like a shy animal. It usually requires some degree of effort and stillness if not stealth even to catch a glimpse of it . . . You have to be alert, curious, motivated to see it. With awareness, you have to be willing to let the knowing of it come to you, to invite it in, silently and skillfully in the midst of whatever you are thinking or experiencing. . .

". . . This willingness to embrace what is and then work with it takes great courage, and presence of mind."

Mission Accomplished: Strawberries

2012-05-06T16:41:00.001-04:00

Ken with our 8 quarts of berries!

It's that time of year and the strawberry fields were calling me. Ken and I caught the Surry Ferry after lunch and headed to College Run Farms to pick our own. Between picking them in the field and washing and sorting them at home and taste-testing along the way, I think I've gotten more than my daily recommended allowance of vitamin C for today. Yum. Oh, and we had some homemade strawberry ice cream at the farm too, of course. Extra yum.

Gulls at the Ferry dock

Of course, I miss Hidden Brook Farm in Toano. As far as I can tell, it was the last pick-your-own strawberry farm in James City County. Farmer Hunt died this past year and his family decided to discontinue farming. The thing about going to Mr. Hunt's was that you could always come back with honey and eggs and whatever else he might be selling that day. He will be missed. His farm and his love of farming have slipped away.

The 1st strawberry from my garden

Now it's back to the strawberries. I'll consult some of my old recipes. Ken has gone to the store for pound cake (instead of shortcake) and other dinner ingredients. Two of our boys will be here for dinner to enjoy them with us. And I'll take some strawberries and cake to Mom and Dad when I visit them tomorrow.

P.S. The strawberries in my garden are ripening too. I picked and ate the first one (pictured above!) this morning. Delicious.

Good Karma

2012-04-29T10:50:00.000-04:00

Good Karma filled our home when Ken's friend, Frank, a Buddhist monk, spent Saturday evening and Sunday morning with us. Frank and Ken were high school friends and they and their Northern Virginia track team buddies have started to get together from time to time to remember their youth. Their get-togethers usually coincide with Frank's trips home from Thailand.

On this trip, Ken brought Frank and his mother here to spend the night before proceeding to Wilmington, North Carolina, where Frank's mother is moving to be closer to her other son. On their way south, Ken will take them to a Thai monestary in Carrollton for a visit. Ken is earning merit, Frank says, due to his kindness.

I have been intrigued by Buddhism since becoming friends with a Buddhist man in 1995. I learned from Xavier and have read a bit, but fresh conversations with a monk have nudged my curiosity and understanding along. I cherry-pick concepts that appeal to me. Multiple lives. Selflessness. Simple living. Community. Good Karma. Frank is a forest monk. As a Master Naturalist, this appeals to me. Yes, the forest, nature, does have a calming and mind-clearing effect. In the words of John Burroughs, "I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order."

March Blooms on Our Wedding Week

2012-03-31T10:19:00.002-04:00

Wedding Day Morning

When my daughter announced that March 24 would be her wedding day, I never imagined what a beautiful day it would be. Oh, of course the day was beautiful inside! But it was unexpectedly beautiful outside as well. Redbud and dogwood lined the Colonial Parkway for those traveling from Gloucester to Williamsburg. New leaves painted the sky bright green -- an appropriate tone since the wedding colors were navy blue and Granny Smith apple green.

Wild Columbine

On Tuesday before the wedding, on my way home from teaching school in Gloucester, I stopped at Green Planters and discovered that many new perennials were in stock. I bought blooming Jacob's Ladder to intersperse with my early-blooming Golden Ragwort. The owner told me that many more native plants were expected on Thursday, so I stopped there again. I bought Virginia Bluebells, Creeping Wood Phlox, and Cinnamon Ferns. They fit nicely with the blooming Wild Columbine and, of course, Daffodils that have been blooming since late February. I planted through the twilight, until dark fell and the first guests arrived.


Our family gathers around

My husband found the perfect quote for me in a comic strip that appeared in the Washington Post that Thursday: "In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt" (Margaret Atwood). A little bit of it was still under my nails, freshly manicured on Friday in a opaque shade of buff pink.

On Saturday it rained midday, hard enough to wash the church parking lot. Streams yellow with pollen carried it away just in time. The bride was told that rain on your wedding day is a sign of good luck. As the guests began to arrive, so did the late afternoon sunshine.

Southern Toad

2012-03-13T21:07:00.000-04:00

It's 9 p.m. and still 70 degrees outside on this unseasonably warm night. Through the screen door I hear the call of a lone Southern Toad. According to eNature they emerge from their burrows after twilight to forage for insects. They breed from March to October in temporary water pools. It's been raining a lot lately and the yard is full of soft spots, so this must be an excellent time for mating. Ah yes. I believe I hear more than one now.

Early March Blooms

2012-03-03T16:00:00.000-05:00


Golden Ragwort - first blooms

On March 28, 2011, I took photos of the flowers, shrubs, and trees in my yard and wrote about them in a blog post so that I would have a record of botanical progress to have for year-to-year comparison. Well, as I said in last weekend's post about a Mourning Cloak Butterfly, 2012 has been a year for the record books. Today, when I looked around the yard, I saw Golden Ragwort beginning to bloom and it is pictured here. (The photo of Golden Ragwort in full bloom that I inserted in another post last year was taken on April 19, 2011!) So, yes indeed, things are blooming earlier.

Pulmonaria (Lungwort)

Another plant that I mentioned was blooming on March 28, 2011 in last year's post was Pulmonaria, or Lungwort. Like daffodils, which have been blooming for several weeks now, the Lungwort is native to Europe and Asia. I've watched these plants with interest, of course, (my yard was appropriately full of blooming Daffodils on St. David's Day) but they are not native to North America and I've really been paying closer attention to my native plants. I want to see how they are reacting to climate change. (In which, the polls say, more people now believe.)

Wild Columbine

Another native plant that I saw sending up shoots and preparing to bloom on March 28 last year was Wild Columbine. Yes, the same plant in my yard is just about at the same point in its preparation to bloom this year, but more than 3 weeks earlier. In another post from last year, I noted that I was enjoying watching Wild Columbine bloom in April.

The botanical progress that I documented last year showed trees leafing at the same time that the native plants were blooming. I'm not seeing that this year, but the buds are fat. Any day now.

My daughter is getting married in 3 weeks. Will the Dogwoods and other trees be leafing out by then? I do remember that on my first wedding day, 28 years ago on Derby Day in early May, the Dogwoods were beautiful in Williamsburg!

Mourning Cloak Butterfly

2012-02-25T18:04:00.000-05:00


Mourning Cloak Butterfly

The temperature in this part of Virginia set a record yesterday. I saw 84 degrees on my computer's Google gadget, but the paper says it only made it to 82. Anyway, that's still about 30 degrees warmer than the average temperature in February should be.

So, you can imagine my surprise when a butterfly swooped by and landed in my garden. And wouldn't you know I had my camera in my hand? I snapped a quick shot of the phenomena and downloaded it today. But a little research proved that this was not, however, unusual. Did you know that the Mourning Cloak is the state butterfly of Montana?

I would guess this has to do with the fact that the Mourning Cloak is a sign of summer that our northwestern friends cherish on a snowy day. Ahh! A butterfly in the snow. I recommend an article in Nature North to those who wish to learn a little more about this bug. The long-lived butterfly overwinters and hibernates. When it emerges, it mates and dies soon after.

I hope my little Mourning Cloak finds a friend.

Savoring the Smell

2012-01-04T15:34:00.000-05:00

My nephew's wife wrote a melancholy blog post this morning that would, I suppose, make any mother teary-eyed (Savoring the Smell of Baby For This Too Shall Pass). Those quiet moments with your baby. Rocking, nursing, knowing that it's cold outside but feeling safe inside. You're so close to that little one.

Leigh Ann is smitten by her baby and joyfully dotes on him. Mark, Leigh Ann, and baby Sam have recently returned to their home in Tennessee after spending time with my sister and her family for the holidays, which included a celebration of the baby's first birthday.

Funny. Before reading her post I'd just come downstairs from savoring the smell of my son's room. Actually, I hadn't thought of it as savoring at the time, but I guess that it was. Leigh Ann is right. The baby room smell and feeling did pass. My 22-year-old son left this morning after spending his Christmas break with us, home from graduate school, a 12-hours drive away. His room had been a mess for two weeks. But when I opened the door and stepped into it this morning I was met with the sight of clean floors and tabletops. The only mess was his rumpled bed . . . that I can't stand to launder just yet. It holds the impression and the smell of him. I want to hold on to the feeling of his being here just a little bit longer, to savor it.

I tried not to cry or over-do my goodbyes this morning because, after all, isn't this why we raise them so carefully? So that when they go, we feel they are ready and able. We let them go because this too shall pass and there will be a next chapter and a next.

We took his crib out of the attic for our first grandchild to use this Christmas.We've left it up in the guest room, formerly my daughter's room, and look forward to a visit again soon.

Savor on, Leigh Ann. It's the wonderful purview of motherhood. Hold your children close in body and hold on to the memories. The rooms will change, but you can close your eyes and take those memories out to savor again as needed.

My Prius Turns 100,000 Miles

2011-10-22T16:17:00.002-04:00

99,995 Miles

Today we celebrated eight years and 100,000 miles together! Me and my Prius. Woo-hoo! I love, love, love my Prius. There is absolutely no doubt about it. Unless there is an even more energy-efficient car by then, my next car will be a Prius too. I love my Prius!

99.996 Miles

And what's not to love about a car that's gotten 50 miles per gallon, plus or minus 5, for 8 years! Now that I'm commuting 57 miles (round trip) 3 days a week, my mileage is averaging about 53 to 57 MPG, probably because the speed limit on the Colonial Parkway third of the trip is 45 miles per hour. (Okay, you noticed the 40 in that last shot. I had to slow down to take this photo. Good thing there wasn't much traffic today!)

99,997 Miles

By commuting to Gloucester, however, my car has reached the 100,000 mile milestone a tad sooner than she might have. Nevertheless, I celebrated and captured the moment in pictures. Fittingly, we were traveling down the Colonial Parkway on the way home to Williamsburg from Gloucester when we hit the mileage milestone.

99,998 Miles

In 2003, when my daughter started to drive, Toyota was beginning to promote it's new bullet-shaped 2004 Prius model. The Prius hybrid was a new idea, but the sleek design was a great little lagniappe. As a M.B.A.-Turned-Vegetarian-Environmentalist, the fuel efficiency had me anyway. But as someone who loves great design, I just had to have it. So, I went to my local Toyota dealer and plunked down my $5,000 deposit in August of 2003. I was the second person on their waiting list. My daughter was excited too. I waited for the Prius and she waited for the Prius so that she would get my Honda, which I had thought was the best car on the road until I'd driven the Prius for about a week! My Prius arrived the week of Thanksgiving 2003. I was the second person in Williamsburg to own a Prius.

99,999 Miles

Bigger and roomier than my Honda, the Prius had lots of room for groceries, vacation stuff, moving kids in and out of college, and toting stuff back and forth to New Quarter Park. There is even enough room in the Prius to haul my 14.5 ft. kayak, seats down and tailgate secured with bungee cords. I've been to my local dealership faithfully, every 5,000 miles, for scheduled maintenance. I have not had a single problem with my Prius outside of recall notices, which were taken care of during scheduled maintenance trips. All that hoo-ha about brakes and stuff. Bah! Toyota took an undeserved bad-publicity hit on that, in my humble opinion.

100.000 at the Cheatham Exit!

Here we are at 100,000 miles and just under 8 years later. I don't anticipate trading her in anytime soon, but the Kelley Blue Book trade-in value is $6,550 and the sale value is $8,570. Hmmm. So that means that my Prius has cost me about $2,000 per year. Gas? Let's see ... at an average price of $2.50 per gallon since late 2003 and 50 MPG, I've spent $5,000 or $625 per year. Not bad, I suppose, to pay $2,625 a year for transportation in the good ole US of A these days. Like I said, I love my Prius!

Changes and a Brave New Blog

2011-10-19T13:54:00.000-04:00

Jamestown Rd. to Rt. 199

Blogging on Williamsburg Wordpecker has slacked off this summer and fall as a career move is taking up more of my time. You may remember that I wrote a blog post a year and a half ago about my change of direction and what prompted me to take it. Since then I've posted random thoughts about this new work I'm pursuing in speech-language pathology.

7:30 a.m. on the Colonial Parkway

To bring you up to date, I've been accepted to a graduate program offered by James Madison University. What fun! Really! I love the course information and my colleagues. The work is sometimes a pain in the butt, but I don't get too stressed. Thank heavens for my love of education and maturity. I know that life's a journey and I'm probably over the hump, enjoying the downhill ride. To me, the courses and the work in speech-language pathology are so much more exhilarating and fulfilling than the options: more engaging than early retirement and far less stressful than business!


8:00 a.m. - Crossing the York River

So far, I've enjoyed the people I've met as a volunteer at CDR and substitute speech teacher in Williamsburg-James City County schools while taking undergrad prerequisite courses. I am now in my second semester of grad school and have already found employment in this high-need field. A small elementary school in Gloucester was having trouble filling a speech position and offered me a part-time, provisional teaching position. Granted, there probably aren't too many young people who want a part-time teaching position in a rural community, but it's just about perfect for me. Part-time is all I want and my aging parents live in Gloucester.

5:30 p.m. - Coming home

So here I am. On the road again. Three days a week I hang a right on Jamestown Road and head to the Colonial Parkway and Gloucester. These days, instead of random thoughts about my yard, I'll probably be posting more often to my other blog. It's one I maintain through the school to communicate with parents about speech and language development.

Fortunately, about half of my 56-mile round-trip commute takes me along the Colonial Parkway where that part of me that yearns to be on the waterfront is satisfied. This October, the peaceful views are tinged red-orange. For now my photos are fuzzy and through the car window, but I may be stopping from time to time in the future to capture a more perfect shot.

Good Night Irene

2011-09-13T20:07:00.000-04:00


Irene visits my neighborhood

Since I got environmental religion about 10 years ago, I've watched in disbelief as the deniers denied and as most other people didn't think too much about it. Our recent post-Hurricane Irene week without electricity made me start thinking about the climate again. I watched an interesting NOVA show, "Secrets Beneath the Ice." It was a good refresher with new information on advances in the science behind global warming.

I just read an article in Nature with some news about tying climate and weather together in a more accurate manner. That will be useful. Here's an excerpt:

Heavy weather

Severe storms make the public think of climate change. Scientists must work to evaluate the link.

Extreme weather makes news, as was demonstrated last month by the blanket coverage of the devastation caused to the east coast of the United States by Hurricane Irene. But was the prominence of the story a feature of modern media hype in a rolling-news world? Hardly. According to a New York Times analysis, when Hurricane Andrew made landfall in Florida in 1992 and killed 22 people, it received twice the traditional news coverage that Irene did.

What is new is that coverage of extreme weather is now often accompanied by a question: is this a consequence of climate change? This question was raised frequently after Hurricane Katrina smashed through New Orleans in 2005. Most climate scientists responded equivocally, as scientists do: climate is not weather, and although all extreme weather events are now subject to human influence, global warming driven by greenhouse gases cannot be said to 'cause' any specific manifestation of weather in a simple deterministic sense.

Is that response enough? The question, after all, seems fair, given the dire warnings of worsening weather that are offered to the public as reasons to care about global warming. It may irritate some scientists, but in fact the question can be seen as a vindication of their efforts to spread the message that the climate problem is a clear and present danger. Most people associate the climate with the weather that they experience, even if they aren't supposed to. And they are right to wonder how and why that experience can, on occasion, leave their homes in pieces.

Given the growing interest, it is a good sign that scientists plan to launch a coordinated effort to quickly and routinely assess the extent to which extreme weather events should be attributed to climate change (see page 148). The ambitious idea is in the early stages, and its feasibility is yet to be demonstrated. It will require funding, access to climate data from around the world and considerable computer time. Funding agencies and climate centres must provide the necessary support. [More]

Nature 477, 131–13, (08 September 2011), doi:10.1038/477131b. Published online 07 September 2011.

I look forward to reading more about progress on the ability to attribute storms to climate change.

Holly with red bark?

2011-08-13T18:57:00.005-04:00

Red-blotched Holly

On a recent trip to Nags Head, we took a walk along the Sweet Gum Trail at Nags Head Woods Preserve, a Nature Conservancy property on the North Carolina Outer Banks. It was a jewel of a find on that overcrowded barrier island, which always leaves this environmentalist a little sick in the stomach and depressed. Too many beach houses and tourists crowded on a narrow sand dune. Too much water use and waste. But that's a discussion I've had with myself too many times. Back to the trail.

Lichens thrive in harsh environments

We found the maritime forest to be just as advertised, quite biologically diverse. I was particularly intrigued by the holly tree with red-blotched bark. What was that tree? It looked like your typical Ilex opaca (American holly), but could it be something else? The red stuff was on holly trees everywhere, making the mixed forest look somewhat eerie, as if the forest home of the Sir Walter Raleigh's claim were harboring natives in war paint, quietly waiting for the moment to turn the tables on modern invaders who came in SUVs.

I asked my naturalist friends about the unusual trees at today's bird walk, but no one knew of a holly with red blotches on its bark. Finally, I made it home to do a little Googling. Seems that this wonderful red rash is a growth of that ethereal composite life form called lichen, which is mostly fungus and requires a cooperative arrangement with algae and cyanobacteria in order to survive.

Lichenization is a survival strategy for fungus and it is often found in harsh environments, like the sandy Outer Banks with soil low in nutrition. Most lichens are gray or green, but the red color of this variety is due to light exposure and dry climate. For more about lichens, check out the book Lichens of North America.

fMRI connects city living with mental health

2011-07-09T11:43:00.000-04:00


This is you brain on city living

I'm studying neuroimaging this week in my neurology course so clicked on a link that struck me in my Nature.com news feed. The authors of City living and urban upbringing affect neural social stress processing in humans conducted a study that showed functional magnetic resonance images (fMRI) to prove that stress affects the brains of city folk differently. This sort of stress leads to physical and mental health disorders. In their words: "Our results identify distinct neural mechanisms for an established environmental risk factor, link the urban environment for the first time to social stress processing, suggest that brain regions differ in vulnerability to this risk factor across the lifespan, and indicate that experimental interrogation of epidemiological associations is a promising strategy in social neuroscience."

Areas of the brain that are involved here include the perigenual anterior cingulate cortex (pACC) and the amygdala. The pACC region is involved in experiencing emotions and regulating behavioral as well as reacting to psychosocial stress. It may be the neuroanatomical structure that perceives social standing and thereby contributes to our mental and physical health. The amygdala is a part of the limbic system, which has been called the brain's emotional center. The amygdala is famously associated with fear and anxiety. It is connected to pathways responsible for defensive behaviors and it is the part of the brain that is responsible for emotional processing. In the city, these areas are always on alert. There, people are continually subject to the Shakespearean "slings and arrows" from bossy people and bad bosses. Saber-tooth tigers (cars, alarms, airplanes, and other such menacing noises) jump at them from every direction.

While the authors don't point to the flip side -- the physical and mental health benefits of one's proximity to a natural environment -- I'll do it here. Richard Louv might agree. As one who has personally benefited from re-establishing a healthy relationship with nature, I think I am physically and mentally better for it. I feel some sort of calming sense in my brain and body every time I get lost in examining the details of nature or get my hands, fingernails, and nostrils full of rich, fragrant soil. I would be in the portion of the study group that grew up in a rural environment and now lives in an urban area (population over 100,000). The study group that grew up and currently lived in an urban environment was of greater interest to the authors of the Nature article.

The authors conclude, "Our data reveal neural effects of urban upbringing and habitation on social stress processing in humans. These findings contribute to our understanding of urban environmental risk for mental disorders and health in general. Further, they point to a new empirical approach for integrating social sciences, neurosciences and public policy to respond to the major health challenge of urbanization." Ah, the far-reaching implications of brain research empowered by new neuroimaging technology.

Happy 4th of July!

2011-07-04T10:09:00.003-04:00


July 4, 1996

Because it's been an emotional weekend and I'm feeling a touch of empty nest melancholy today, I looked for old photos of a favorite 4th of July memory. The one I've scanned for this blog post is from a "trip" to Colonial Williamsburg with my children to celebrate the 4th in 1996, an incredible 15 years ago. The years go by so fast, don't they?

On this day we took our picnic to Market Square and settled in for a reading of the Declaration of Independence. Afterwards, we roamed Colonial Williamsburg, making stops at all of the kid-friendly exhibits. We brought food from the kitchen and set the table for an 18th-century dinner at the Powell House. We sloshed in the brick-making pit. We drilled at the encampment. Finally, we watched the Colonial Williamsburg Fifes and Drums and stopped to take a picture with a friend from our old neighborhood.

As we called it a day, the kids begged, "Mom, can we do this again every year." I stifled a laugh and said sure, I thought that could be arranged. My daughter was already a junior interpreter, so she did indeed spend more holidays there. In three years, my son would join the Fifes and Drums and spend the next 8 Fourth there.

How fortunate we've been to live in Williamsburg where we've been able to participate in the many opportunities that Colonial Williamsburg affords its employees and neighbors. What a lovely growing-up experience my kids have had here.

My daughter announced her engagement on Friday and my son left for graduate school in Tennessee yesterday. They're off on their own now. To them and others, my generation passes on the rights and responsibilities that are their heritage.

Waterfront Property

2011-07-03T15:58:00.000-04:00

My 2003 book has been revised and republished as a Kindle ebook. From the preface:

"Waterfront Property was written in 2003, soon after my late twentieth-century environmental epiphany. A couple of years earlier, I’d bought my first kayak and, at a drifty kind of paddling speed, I had time to consider my murky Chesapeake Bay heritage. In the years around the millennium, I read many books and articles to better understand what was happening to the natural world. At the same time, I was writing business copy. Outside of the work day, I honed my skills by writing articles and attending writers’ conferences. I thought I’d write a novel about the environment someday, but the story wasn't coming to me.

"It took awhile for the idea to take shape. It wasn't until I interviewed a frustrated economic development executive in Newport News that this book popped into my brain. The guy I’d interviewed was dismayed by development and political winds that ruined the environment for short term growth gains. There you go. On the ride home to Williamsburg along Interstate 64 the plot thickened. A little bit of my life, a little bit of environmental development wisdom. A story jelled about somebody who suddenly asked, 'What the hell am I doing?'

"Like a lot of first books, Waterfront Property is a tad autobiographical: I worked in business but gave it up after my epiphany. I'm from a small town, Gloucester, not Mathews, but live a comfortable distance away from my old hometown in a nearby city. I worked in economic development for a short while. And like any work of fiction, this book is inspired by real experiences that are both consciously and unconsciously expressed. Although real people, places, and events stimulated me, they were just the seeds from which this fiction grew in my mind.

"In the 2003 version of this book, I used fictional names for the towns. In this revision, I am using local area names. But it's still fiction. My intention is not to paint any person, place, or activity as good or bad. I have willfully manipulated the facts in order to make fiction. But I did not invent the Gulf Oil Spill or Hurricane Isabella, so their absence dates the book."

Blueberries!

2011-07-02T20:51:00.004-04:00

Blueberries at Bush Neck Farms

My stepson and his wife are quite the cooks. One of her specialties is all sorts of interesting jams. The family loves to go berry picking for blueberries, cherries, strawberries, and more. My husband doesn't have that same joie de vivre about the berry-picking experience, but because his son had just corresponded with us about their latest adventures with cherries, I decided to coax him along on a trip to Bush Neck Farms in James City County yesterday (about 10 miles west of Williamsburg on the Chickahominy River). We picked nearly 10 pounds and visited a farm stand to boot! Even though there were a few unripe berries, twigs, and leaves in the batch (I blame him, he blames me . . . ), I was glad to have him along because I wouldn't have picked as many without him.

I was anxious for the blueberries to come in because I wanted to give Helen and Scott Nearing's fruit juice recipe a try. (Regular readers will remember that I recently finished their book and wrote about it in this blog at the end of May. That was just after the local strawberries were done for the season but before blueberries were ripe.) The Nearings raised most of their food and the book included several of her simple recipes. One was for juice and because we are big on 100% fruit juice, the recipe below sounded good. Here's their description of the process:

Juice a la Nearing

"The glass jars were sterilized on the stove. A kettle or two of boiling water was at hand. We poured an inch of water into a jar on which the rubber had already been put, stirred in a cup of sugar until it had dissolved (we used brown or maple sugar, or hot maple syrup), poured in a cup and a half of fruit, filled the jar to brimming with boiling water, screwed on the cap and that was all. No boiling and no processing. The raspberries, for example, retained their rich, red color. When the jars were opened their flavor and fragrance were like the raw fruit in season. The grape juice made thus was as delicious and tasty as that produced by the time-honored, laborious method of cooking, hanging in a jelly bag, draining, and boiling the juice before bottling. Our only losses in keeping these juices came from imperfect jars, caps, or rubber. We found that two people could put up fifteen quart jars in twenty minutes."

Cooking blueberries with honey
and lemon

In addition, I made a blueberry cobbler and took it to my parents today. You'll find the recipe via this link to allrecipes.com. We had some warm with ice cream and it was delicious! Finally, I made blueberry honey jam. My daughter-in-law gave us some that she made last year and it was perfect. My husband likes his all-fruit jam not too sweet. I found this recipe and just finished making 8 cups of it.

Best ever blueberry honey jam
(makes about 8 cups of jam)

4 lbs. (roughly 11 cups) fresh blueberries
2 1/2 cups honey
1 Tablespoon fresh-squeezed lemon juice

1. Wash and pick through blueberries.

2. Mix berries with honey, let sit 2 hours.

3. Put honey-berry mixture and lemon juice in pot. Boil on medium heat for 30 minutes, scraping sides of pot and stirring bottom as you go. Once the jam "sheets" it is done.

4. Sterilize 8 cups worth of canning jars, lids, and rings. (Boil for 10 minutes.)

5. Ladle jam into jars, leaving at least 1/2 inch of space. Put the top and ring on the jars and close, tight but not too tight.

6. Place closed jars in pot of boiling water until covered and boil for 10 minutes.

7. When done, place on counter, each jar should make an airtight seal.

We have another 8 cups of fresh berries left, I estimate. My husband will make blueberry muffins in the morning and the rest will last us a week as we eat them with yogurt or cereal or just a handle full at a time!