In Praise of Wildflowers by Eden Monroe

 

 

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In Just Before Sunset, Susanne Briggs is a talented watercolourist whose paintings of New Brunswick wildflowers are always in demand at a popular Saint John art gallery.

Some of the wildflowers mentioned in this romantic suspense novel are found in abundance throughout New Brunswick, but are not exclusive to the province. Wildflowers such as red clover, white clover (both members of the legume family of plants), jewelweed, pearly everlasting and the majestic blue flag iris also grow wild elsewhere. Nature does not recognize manmade boundaries and borders.

Growing up we had lots of fun bursting the seedpods of the delicately beautiful jewelweed. It’s also called the spotted touch-me-not, among its several other names, and is actually a member of the Impatiens family. And we loved to pick bouquets of blue flag iris, or just blue flag as we called them although it too has several other names, not knowing that parts of it (leaves and roots) are actually poisonous. And who doesn’t love summer clover … of any colour? Nature’s perfect dried flower is the pearly everlasting (also western pearly everlasting), and host to the caterpillars of the painted lady butterfly and the American painted lady butterfly. Also something interesting about this pretty flower is that it’s dioecious, and that means the pollen-producing (male) and the seed-producing (female) flowers are borne on separate plants. The ultimate date night.

Among our many wildflowers here in New Brunswick, perhaps the first flowers of spring are the most welcome after a long season of ice and snow. Finding them was always a special thrill for me as a kid. The queen of the New Brunswick spring forests, at least as far as I was concerned, was the purple violet, our province’s official floral emblem since 1936. It was selected at the request of our provincial Women’s Institute, as well as the Lieutenant Governor and the school children of New Brunswick.

If I’d been around I would have voted for it too because I have a long personal history with the purple violet. Growing up I always wanted to give my mother a bouquet of them for Mother’s Day or failing that, her birthday on May 17^th. Of course in the area where I lived they didn’t bloom in time for either occasion, and I think in all those years only once were they ready that early. I even made my own little boxed-in garden and transplanted purple violets there in hopes of earlier arrivals, but to no avail. They bloomed, as always, when they were good and ready, and never in time for the special occasions aforementioned except for that one time. For some reason though, I never gave up hope….

As a kid I spent a great deal of my time alone in the woods, loving the peace and quiet I found there – the opportunity to surround myself with nature. I loved to see the first white violets too, much more heavily perfumed than their purple cousins. They were so tiny they didn’t really lend themselves well to a bouquet, but I picked plenty of them anyway for my mother. A real find was a painted trillium and on really special occasions I’d find a red trillium. Simply gorgeous! I knew not to touch them because they were said to be poisonous, so I just admired them and left them alone. That’s good because it takes those plants something like ten years to produce a blossom.

 

Painted Trillium

         Another spring flower that was not present in the woodlands I was most familiar with was the yellow trout lily. A showy spring flower, I saw them for the first time in the woods around my grandmother’s farm. They grew in profusion down by the brook on the way to the back pasture.

And the amazing pink lady’s slipper is one of our wild orchids. Coming across a patch of these flowers in late June was a very special treat, and again we were always told not to pick them. Like the trillium they are slow flowering and can take upwards of sixteen years to produce a first flower. I would sit for hours and just enjoy these exquisite wildflowers … their elegant beauty.

And then of course as the season mellows into summer and fall in New Brunswick there are wildflowers aplenty in both woodland and meadow, and that love of everything natural found its way into Just Before Sunset. The profusion of wildflowers in the province offers a smorgasbord of artistic possibilities for our watercolourist, Suzanne:

“Peony was now curled up on Suzanne’s office chair sound asleep, so she decided to forego the music she had intended to paint to this afternoon. The cat looked so peaceful it just wouldn’t be right to jar her out of sleep with a rousing Beethoven arrangement. But then she thought, Peony, today is going to be different. We’re having music, baby, hang on, and she slipped in her favourite CD. Peony never budged, and the afternoon passed quickly. Suzanne allowing herself to be transported by the music, the flow of the paint on her soft, flexible brushes and the sumptuous blending of shades as the final wildflower continued to come to life on the canvas.

Each brush stroke seemed to coexist with the exquisite musical notes, the sultry strains of Moonlight Sonata caressing her as she painted, tears streaming down her face. It was not unusual for her to be caught up in the enchanting fusion of art and music; to go to another plane.

She thought of her life, it couldn’t help but overflow into this artistic odyssey, the symbiotic melding of art and life, and she remembered when she and Aiden had created this space for her. Her very own studio, with its profusion of pastels: a symphony of muted yellow, soft blue, powder pink, mint green, lilac, and peach. That’s probably why she loved wildflowers, she mused to herself as she worked, because while nature’s palette also included vibrant greens, reds, purples and sunshine yellows, the gentle side to creation was a rendering of iridescent elegance, like sun-splashed rainbows and the coral blush of sunrise.

Finally, just before five she laid down her brush and stood back. Pearly Everlasting was finished, and while she had left this particular painting until last because she thought it would require less detail, she knew she’d been deceived, as are many who dismiss this hardy yet dainty New Brunswick wildflower. Its subtle, pale shading and exquisitely fine petals did in fact demand an artist’s passion to fully capture its delicate essence on canvas.

And now all five wildflower paintings were complete and she would deliver them to Saint John tomorrow. And she wouldn’t just drop her work off at the gallery as she usually did. No, she would make a day of it in the old port city.”

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Chicken Tragedy

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Happy January Birthdays to 

Alexander Hamilton, January 11

&

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, January 27

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     Just opened an old vegetarian cookbook my mother-in-law gave me in 1990, back when she was still alive and kicking. I re-read the dedication she'd written, and found myself remembering this important relationship. 

    

    Carol was a strong New England Woman, a true life version of that stern, hardy archtype. She had been a valedictorian of her city highschool, and entered college to study chemistry. After she married in the middle of her sophomore year, she swallowed her pride and abandoned her dreams and scrubbed floors and cleaned houses to support her husband who would eventually earn a Doctorate in Physics from MIT. As was customary, back in the 40's, their relatives on both sides left them to struggle through however they could.

    When her son and I married, we were both feckless teens, and there was not much genuine hope expressed by relatives on either side that our union would last, although support for continued education did arrive. I had married, knowing how to boil water, fry a burger, make fudge, but not much else other than English Literature, European History and how to set a table for a cream tea. 

    Now, I had to get serious about the gigantic undertaking that is marriage, and to prove the doubters wrong. I set about seriously studying the basics of what I believed a "proper" wife needed to know. This began with the venerable Joy of Cooking, a gift from my husband's maternal grandmother, which I dutifully studied, just like a textbook, from beginning to end. When cooking today, I still hear words of culinary wisdom from that old cookbook coming to mind.

    Several years later, my husband had graduated and was working his first job. While he was building programs for mainframes, I'd learned cooking, cleaning and baby care. One winter, I hosted a dinner for my in-laws, who came down from Lexington, MA to our ramshackle farmhouse. I was, as you might imagine, anxious about this, especially when the guests would be my scary, erudite father-in-law, my super home-maker mother-in-law, and my husband's three teen siblings. The kids-in-law knew I could make great cookies ("just like Mom's") but I'd never had to cook so much for so many, and do it on our household's supremely tight budget. 

    I settled on a recipe from The Joy, called "Hunter's Chicken." For so many guests, however, I'd need to get a larger chicken than the three pound version in the recipe, so I searched in my largest local grocery store, the one which had the most variety. The chicken was to be served over boiled spaghetti, but this was the Sixties, so I used cooked brown rice for the base. The chicken was browned, then simmered for 45 minutes in white wine, stock, fresh mushrooms, thyme, bay leaves, marjoram, salt, pepper, and tomato sauce. Afterward, it was placed on the rice and then baked. 

    The guests arrived, and the main dish smelled mouth-watering. I'd baked bread and made salad. For dessert, Carol's famous "Cowboy Cookies" and ice cream. I set the table with a cloth and linen napkins, and with all the silverware we possessed. My father-in-law, seated at the head of the table, volunteered to cut up the chicken, now sitting before him in an enormous cassarole dish. 

    After all that time cooking, I couldn't believe my eyes when his knife could barely penetrate the flesh. All this time and effort, and I'd produced a Rubber Chicken! The youngest child in the family giggled. My face burned with the shame of failure. 

    My father-in-law and mother-in-law leaned over to inspect the chicken, and Carol said, "You bought a fowl, not a roasting chicken. Fowl--old hen--has to be cooked for hours and then you cut it up for soup." 

    They were sufficiently good-hearted to be amused, although they were let down. The aromas in the house remained, full of that false promise.  This, it seemed, was a classic new cook's mistake. I thought I was going to die on the spot, but instead I said, while gesturing at the dish, "The recipe is called "Hunter's Chicken," but instead it's Chicken Tragedy."  Everyone burst out laughing, including--much to my relief--the stern in-laws. We dined on brown rice with the tasty mushroom/tomato sauce and lots of homemade bread and butter and finished with cookies and ice cream and coffee.  

    Twenty years later, I received the vegetarian cookbook, the one which began this reminiscence. 

    It is dedicated to "Juliet, who sure has come a long way from her 'Chicken Tragedy.'"

~~Juliet Waldron

Valentine's Day and February Flowers By Connie Vines

 With Valentine's Day at the forefront of everyone's mind in February, it may come as a surprise that the red rose is not February's birth month flower.

Those born in the second month of the year are linked to violet and primrose.

Whether they're your birth flowers or not, I find discovering the meaning, symbolism, and history behind flowers and scents fascinating.

Only a few flowers bloom in February. However, the woodland plants of February dot the landscape like purple slippers. Wild violets show off purple-blue petals and heart-shaped leaves in one of the year's coldest months. Primeroses, a small perennial plant, also boom in wintertime.

Violet Meanings and Symbolism

Violets symbolize modesty, faithfulness, everlasting love, innocence, and remembrance.

In the Victorian age, a gift of violets was a declaration always to be true.

Most violets are edible and have specific medicinal properties. Violets contain salicylic acid, which is a chief ingredient in aspirin.

Primrose Meanings and Symbolism

The ancient Celts were thought to believe large patches of primrose flowers were the gateway to the fairy realm.

Although the primrose is toxic to dogs, cats, and horses, it is edible for humans. The leaves and flowers can be eaten cooked or raw or used as an herb or garnish.

Shakespeare's writing included several references to the primrose.

For me, it's always about the scent/fragrance.

Violets: a sweet, powdery perfume with a slightly fruity, floral scent. Violet leaves have a fresh aquatic hint.

Primrose: a sweet but slightly tangy (like an orange lollipop) fragrance. 

💝🍫

By all means, gift your sweetheart a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day. Select a perfume or bath oil with one of February's floral scents for a unique gift. Share the story about the fairy realm or recite a passage from Shakespeare; what could be more romantic?

I hope you enjoyed this month's post :).

It's warm in the SoCal burbs today, but more wind and rain are expected next week. 

Happy Reading,

Connie

For my books/ebooks and social links, visit the links below 😀🕮📘📱

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Space adventure needs a hint of romance - by Vijaya Schartz

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My love of science fiction started early, when I read DUNE by Frank Herbert. But I always found that these books were written by men and for men. They relied heavily on the technical aspect, and they portrayed male protagonists, with very few female characters. Even the new movie versions of Star Trek are still men-oriented. Star Wars made progress with the last trilogy with Rey as a female Jedi, and more females in the new Disney series. It's about time.

   

As an avid reader, I scoured the library for sci-fi and fantasy novels by female writers, like Ann McCaffrey (Dragon of Pern series), and Marion Zimmer Bradley. Then, I discovered the Dock 5 series, by Linnea Sinclair, the undisputed queen of Sci-fi with romantic elements. Linnea’s books even had cat-like animals called furzells. Her stories contained plenty of action, strong women characters as ship captains, and they navigated the stars, making no apologies. I had found my niche.

This kind of science fiction written by women does not focus on the engineering of the spaceship, or the weapons, nor does it explain how people traverse intergalactic distances. It is set in a future where space travel technology exists and is commonplace, where man has met alien cultures and spread throughout the universe... like in Star Wars or Star Trek.

So, when I decided to write, I wrote what I love, space adventure with strong women as protagonists. Of course, there are brave heroes, and often cats in my stories as well. Write what you know, right?

As for the angels in my books, they are a select group of gifted people with supernatural talents, in charge of keeping the balance of good and evil in the universe. This said, they are still people, with a body and a heart.

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The Blue Phantom glows like a beacon in black space, appears and vanishes, and never registers on scanners. Rumors say it will save the righteous, the oppressed, and the downtrodden… and slay the unworthy without mercy. The space pirates fear it. Their victims pray for it… but its help comes at a price…

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author
Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, cats
http://www.vijayaschartz.com
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Time to get my brain into gear—Tricia McGill

 

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Sadly, the old brain is not so much letting me down but it seems more as if the silly old codger is not sure which direction to take. I have spent the past week procrastinating. Not something I enjoy. Have I simply run out of ideas for my next story? Second to historical I have always loved reading and writing time-travel, and always relished the research entailed in writing both genres. During this period of indecisiveness, I came upon one unfinished, unedited manuscript sitting on my computer that has been put aside over the years waiting for attention. Right, I decided, perhaps turn that contemporary romance into a time-travel. But no, not sure that would work. As it happens it was one of the first books I ever penned and subsequently has lain unworked on for a long time. Should I spend time resurrecting that, or should I start something new? There I go, procrastinating all over again. It was written so long ago that at one stage I had to scan the whole typed thing onto my computer. As you see, it was written in the days when manuscripts were typed up and a paper copy was then sent off to prospective publishers. Thank goodness for the internet.

I have the story line all set up, already have names for my main, and secondary characters, so what is holding me up. Perhaps it is awareness of how everything has changed since those far off days.  When I began writing in earnest, social media as we know it today—and at times hate it—was unheard of. There were few outside distractions. Perhaps I am showing my age, but I long for those far off days when life was so much simpler. Days when I spent many happy hours at the local library poring over research tomes for my facts.

In writing my current problem down I hoped for inspiration but I am no closer to making a decision. It is lunch time so I will go off and do some more procrastinating while munching on my sandwich and hope that something clicks in the old grey matter to send me off in the right (write) direction.