"And the rains came..."

Summer is ending at last, possibly the hottest summer I can remember in South Carolina. Part of that feeling is the fact I did not go to Switzerland this September, the first time in 13 years. Certainly many changes have come about in this country which straddles the Alps for most of its course. Prosperity is booming, and thanks to the Japanese, the tourist trade is as active as possible. The Japanese have it all down to a system. I had a charming Japanese student who shared with me his travel book, published in Japan for the benefit of its citizens heading to the wonders of Europe. It was timed to the minute, including rail, bus and plane schedules. For instance, he was only in Milan for one morning, long enough to see "The Last Supper" and have a quick meal at the rail station. The "Leaning Tower of Pisa" was also fitted into a half day slot, but a full day was allowed in Firenze, and two days in Rome. He saw everything listed for Italy at breathtaking speed. Zermatt is the end of the Glacier Express that takes tourists from San Moritz to Zermatt at a snail's pace, so Japanese usually stay at least two nights in Zermatt. I use to wake up very early and step onto my balcony. I would time the interval before I saw a Japanese tourist come around the corner by the church. It was always less that a minute.

SO, no Switzerland this year, but lots of home and hearth. The garden looks beauriful, and the house is spotless. It doesn't stay that way long, but its nice to admire one's efforts. The leaves will fall early this year, a month with no rain will assure that. The nut crop was meager, and the squirrels are still digging up last years crop. Perhaps they will have to migrate towards more food.

The best part of the summer was being able to work undisturbed on a wide variety of repertoire. Certainly I learn more slowly now, but far more carefully. Everything is about economy...economy of energy, gesture, and even emotion. I was once told as a young man that I should learn to practice unemotionally. I thought the professor was mad. Now I realize he was right. Nadia Boulanger, that great teacher of so many of our best composers of the last century, said it the right way. "You have no right to appeal to the emotions until the intellect has been throughly satisfied." Think of the one million applications one could find for this gem.

So now it is finally raining, lots of gentle rain that soaks into the soil. In just a day everything is transformed. Looking at the woods this afternoon I relaxed 100 degrees, knowing I would not have to worry about fire dangers for a while, and thankful all the trees were having a big drink. Hopefully it will be a kind winter season.

Pears are Falling, Peaches are Finished.

My neighbor has a Kieffer pear tree that is getting old like me. This year the pears are small, but have a lot of sugar content. Picking a few today, I felt that special tug that Autumn presents, an age old instinct of gathering, preserving and feeling thankful for the small things in life. Not that food gathering is a small thing. Imagine how in times past the preservation and storing of food was a thing of life or death.

My mother was raised on a wheat farm in Oklahoma, and she had a no nonsense approach to food. Our table was not laden, but it was lovingly prepared food that always had a careful hand behind it. She often spoke of the harvest lunches she helped prepare for the horde of men working to get the grain cut and stored. Homemade rolls and bread, many kinds of pies, and several types of meat. They had a spring house, which I once saw when very young, cut into the hillside where the spring flowed. It was so cool inside, and ice could be stored, as well as butter, milk, and cream. I wish I could have sat at that table, but I did experience great meals when we went to visit our grandparents. My grandmother baked bread every other day, and the smell was intoxicating. Death to anyone trying to bounce on the kitchen floor when it was in the oven. As kids we learned to avoid the kitchen unless invited in. Mother never learned how to bake bread, as her mother didn't want her to learn, expecting her to work on being a professional lady. She really was raised almost as a princess, and so Southern girls are not the only ones so anointed. She studied singing and posed for a local photographer who took art studies. I have one of her standing with her back to the camera, an oriental shawl draped over her shoulder. In another she is done up as an Oriental girl, hold a vase up to admire. In another, she could pass for Zelda. Willa Cather spoke alot of truth about art and growing up in Oklahoma, Nebraska and Kansas. "The Song of the Lark" catches shades of my mother is a riveting way.

Getting back to the pears. I made two pints of preserves, one for me, and one for a brother-in-law who always asks every year for some. As I reached up in the branches today, having to stretch to reach the best ones....(the best are always hard to get)...I caught a glimpse of the golden fruit against the brilliant blue of the September sky. Blue and gold..always a satisfying mix.