THE DREAM OF THE TOAD

I well remember the time this year when I first heard the dream of the toads.  I was laying out house-lots on Little River in Haverhill.  We had had some raw, cold and wet weather.  But this day was remarkably warm and pleasant, and I had thrown off my outside coat.  I was going home to dinner, past a shallow pool, which was green with springing grass, and where a new house was about being erected, when it occurred to me that I heard the dream of the toad.  It rang through and filled all the air, though I had not heard it once.  And I turned my companion's attention to it, but he did not appear to perceive it as a new sound in the air.  Loud and prevailing as it is, most men do not notice it at all.  It is to them, perchance, a sort of simmering or seething of all nature.  That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it…How watchful we must be to keep the crystal well that we were made, clear!

Henry David Thoreau

October 26, 1853

Listen to "Dream of the Toad" 
by The Miracle of Nature on 
this site:   http://vimeo.com/92742812.
Copy and paste in your browser.

THE GLORY OF THE GARDEN, A POEM

THE GLORY OF THE GARDEN

By Rudyard Kipling

OUR England is a garden that is full of stately views,

Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,

With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;

But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,

You’ll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all,

The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks,

The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you’ll see the gardeners, the men and ‘prentice boys

Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;

For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,

The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,

And some are hardly fit to truth with anything that grows; But 

they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,

For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made

By singing:--”Oh, how beautiful!” and sitting in the shade,

While better men than we go out and start their working lives 

At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

There’s not a pair of legs so thin, there’s not a head so thick,

There’s not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick,

But it can find some needful job that’s crying to be done,

For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,

If it’s only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;

And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,

You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.

Oh, Adam was a gardner, and God who made him sees

That half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees,

So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray

For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!

And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!

In remembrance of all the gardens we’ve created together.

May we come to the end of them never!

CHRIST IS RISEN! TRULY HE IS RISEN!

"Now after the Sabbath, as the first day of the week began to dawn, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb.

And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat on it.

His countenance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow.

And the guards shook for fear of him, and became like dead men.

But the angel answered and said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.  Come, see the place where the Lord lay.  And go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him.  Behold, I have told you.'

So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples word."

Matthew 28:1-8

May you be blessed this day as you 

experience our Lord's Resurrection by faith,

and enter into true worship

with the heavenly host,

the Body of Christ,

and the "cloud of witnesses"

that surround us during our earthly sojourn.

NANA'S VIEW

Our dear granddaughter is growing up.

She recently had a special party,

with an amazing cake made 

by her mother, AND another poppy

dress for Poppy Joy.

Your Nana is beginning to see

the lovely woman 

you're now growing up to be!

Happy Birthday Poppy!

We love you!

IN ABSENTIA

But only for a short time...

until the weather changes.

The same goes for my blog.

Maybe you'll join me there!
But beware:

EASTER POTATO PIE

POTATO PIE

One of my favorite recipe memories is the Potato Pie made by my Mother for each Easter meal.  Her crusts were sublime, perfectly flaky, holding within them finely sliced potatoes, onions and parsley, moistened with  full-on heavy cream.  This made a perfect paring with a fine ham, and was really best eaten the day after making, which fits into a busy lifestyle.  This potato pie recipe came from the French side of the family, stamped with the earmarks of a simple, delicious, yet elegant, dish. 

PASTRY

I would recommend you use two of the crusts from my previous Julia Child pie crust recipe, OR your favorite two-crust recipe.  Chill before rolling out.

FILLING

7 cups pared POTATOES (6 medium), thinly sliced, using a mandolin or food processor, or if you like to cut and chop like me, a nice sharp knife

2 tsp SALT

1/8 tsp PEPPER (black or white, I prefer the white for this dish)

1 large ONION, thinly sliced

1 Tbsp snipped fresh PARSLEY

2 Tbsp BUTTER

EGG YOLK and 1 Tbsp WATER, mixed, for brushing top crust

1 cup HEAVY CREAM

HEAT OVEN to 375 degrees F.

1.  Toss sliced potatoes with the salt, pepper, onion, and parsley.  Hold in bowl until ready to pour into pie crust.

2.   Roll out one chilled pastry crust so that it is 1 1/2" larger and same shape as a shallow baking dish or 9" pie plate. Fit pastry gently into dish, fill with potato mixture and dot with the butter, sliced into 4 pieces; then trim pastry to edge of dish/pie plate.

3.  Roll out second chilled pastry crust large enough to lay over potato mixture and a little larger.  You can either fold the top crust into the bottom and make a nice edge, OR you can cut it to the size of the dish, using the left-over dough from the two crusts for a rope or fluted edge.  Cut several short slits in the middle of top crust to let the steam out--you will spoon or baste the cream into the potato mixture later.  Brush crust with the egg yolk/water mixture.

4.   Bake pie on rack middle of oven for 1 to 1 1/4 hour, until potatoes are tender (insert knife into slits to test).

5.   Remove pie from oven and gently enlarge slits a little, pour in cream either with a spoon or use a baster (which works well).  Let stand a few minutes, then serve, or serve the pie the next day (giving time for the flavors to 'marry').

Makes 8 servings, more or less, depending on how you slice the pie.

This is definitely a keeper,

like you, my friend!

CHOOSING TO BOW, WE ARE LIFTED

"THOU ART WRAPPED IN MYSTERY

AS IN A CLOUD"

Michael Schennum/Arizona Republic

While living in Arizona in 2011, there was a plane crash on the Superstition Mountain killing all aboard.  This mountain played a huge part in our lives in the desert, for it was in our view constantly, and we watched it's moods change with the light.  There were strange stories of men who braved the wilds of this mountain to find gold, and never returned.  But we desert-dwellers had never heard anything like this sad story of the mountain claiming multiple lives that summer night, leaving mysterious details unexplained.  This was a time when our faith was put to the test. This story, although written at the time of the crash, is for a time when there are many things happening in our world that we do not understand.

I have been surprised at how deeply the recent plane crash on our mountain has affected me.  Careful preparation by three adult males--the co-pilot and father of the children, the pilot and co-owner of the twin-engine prop plane with a wife and child of his own at home, and an airplane mechanic who was to be married next month--did not keep them safe and from "disappearing" into the craggy top of this monolith.  The mother sent her three children flying off with their father and friends to spend Thanksgiving in Safford, and I am haunted by the specter of a scene showing a lack of evidence that these six souls ever existed.  They took off from Mesa's Falcon Field with the light fading--what happened that they were not able to clear the top of the mountain, flying straight into it at 200 mph, may forever remain a mystery.  How painful can be the unexplained tragedies of life, when the WHY cries for an answer.

That night we actually did hear their crash, a muffled sound, unexplained.  I got up the next morning and saw in the dim morning light two bright lights hovering over the Flat Iron portion of the Superstition Mountain, thinking it a strange sight, only to learn later they were looking for survivors.  We  heard on the radio of this tragedy, and that there would be no survivors in such a crash...

Today I awoke with a heart still sore for these victims, and those who mourn them, and found the mountain shrouded with vapor as if softening the scene and hiding the reality of their deaths.  Our God is often "wrapped in mystery", and this is one of those times when I must bow low to His Omnipotence, trusting He remains a loving and merciful God no matter the brutal deaths that the mountain hides.  I choose to renew my mind with this eternal yet time-sensitive fact that He watches over each of His creatures, His eye even on the lovely doves and little sparrows, which often fall to the ground here, victims of mirror-like windows.

Superstition Mountain Enfolded In Cloud

Thou art indeed wrapped in mystery, O Lord, and I choose to worship Thee in a world that has fallen from the perfection and beauty of Paradise.  What a wonder, that by taking the way of deep humility, You descended that we might ascend with You through the narrow way found in following that same pattern.  In finding and following, we will be established on the Rock which is Christ. He does not move; He Who provides shade from the noonday sun, and the gift of Life everlasting, watches closely, giving us the grace to trust Him in the shadows cast upon this world's landscape. 

"And the Lord descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the LORD.  And the LORD passed by before him, and proclaimed, The LORD, The LORD God, merciful and gracious, long suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth... And Moses made haste, and bowed his head toward the earth, and worshipped."  (Exodus 34: 5-6, 8) 

FATHER, HEAR US...

FOR OUR CHILDREN

Amy Carmichael

                Father, hear us, we are praying,

                Hear the words our hearts are saying,

                We are praying for our children.

                Keep them from the powers of evil,

                From the secret, hidden peril,

                From the whirlpool that would suck them,

                From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them.

                From the worldling's hollow gladness

                From the sting of faithless sadness

                Holy Father, save our children.

                Through life's troubled waters steer them,

                Through life's bitter battle cheer them,

                Father, Father, be Thou near them.

                Read the language of our longing,

                Read the wordless pleadings thronging,

                Holy Father, for our children. 

And wherever they may bide,

Lead them Home at eventide.

"His windows were open in his 

chamber toward Jerusalem.

I, Daniel, rose up, and did

the King's business."