August in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia

An excerpt from my nonfiction book about gardening and country life,  Shenandoah Watercolors, a 2012 Epic eBook finalist. Available in Amazon Kindle and in print.

We’ve had many misty starts to the day this August. Haze hugs the pond, parting just enough to reveal the long-legged blue heron fishing for his breakfast. There’s a country saying about the number of foggy mornings in August being an indicator for the amount of snows we’ll have this winter––a heap, at this rate.

Dozens of swallows skim over the pond as the sun sinks below the Alleghenies. If I were standing on a distant ridge, would it sink behind me, or the ridge beyond that one?

The water is calm now but was awash with waves during the storm that hit a short time ago. The grassy hill and maple tree are reflected on the surface, silvery and streaked with rose from the western sky. All is peaceful as a soft twilight settles over the valley. Utterly idyllic, until I pause to consider what all of those swallows are after. There must be clouds of mosquitoes.

Here’s another thought, where do all the birds spend the night? Are the woods up on the hill lined with birds perched wing to wing jostling for space on the branches? I’ll bet they make room for the big red-tailed hawk. He gets the whole tree––as many as he wants. It’s good to be king.

Dennis, Elise, and I once saw a magnificent rainbow arching across the sky over the meadow. The magical multihued light streamed down into the pond and gilded the back end of a cow as she stood in the water. It startled us to discover that this was where we must seek our pot of gold. Though it’s apt, I suppose, for dairy farmers.

This is the day, sprinkled with fairy dust and frosted with gold. Go forth and find treasure, or seek it deep inside your heart, at true rainbow’s end.~

**Image of our pond taken by my mom, Pat Churchman

**Image of Hawk by daughter Elise taken up in the meadow behind our house

**Rainbow by Elise

 

August in the Shenandoah Valley–Country Life–Beth Trissel

Another late summer excerpt from my nonfiction book,  Shenandoah Watercolors, a 2012 Epic eBook finalist. Free in Amazon Kindle from August 19th through the 23rd.

We’ve had many misty starts to the day this August. Haze hugs the pond, parting just enough to reveal the long-legged blue heron fishing for his breakfast. There’s a country saying about the number of foggy mornings in August being an indicator for the amount of snows we’ll have this winter––a heap, at this rate.

Dozens of swallows skim over the pond as the sun sinks below the Alleghenies. If I were standing on a distant ridge, would it sink behind me, or the ridge beyond that one?

The water is calm now but was awash with waves during the storm that hit a short time ago. The grassy hill and maple tree are reflected on the surface, silvery and streaked with rose from the western sky. All is peaceful as a soft twilight settles over the valley. Utterly idyllic, until I pause to consider what all of those swallows are after. There must be clouds of mosquitoes.

Here’s another thought, where do all the birds spend the night? Are the woods up on the hill lined with birds perched wing to wing jostling for space on the branches? I’ll bet they make room for the big red-tailed hawk. He gets the whole tree––as many as he wants. It’s good to be king.

**Image of our pond taken by my mom, Pat Churchman

**Image of Hawk by daughter Elise taken up in the meadow behind our house

August in the Garden–Beth Trissel

I’m sharing an excerpt from my nonfiction book, Shenandoah Watercolors, a 2012 Epic eBook finalist. Free in Amazon Kindle from August 19th through the 23rd.

“It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know.”

~Henry David Thoreau

Rain, rain, rain, heavy pewter skies and more rain, days on end. Unusual for high summer in the valley, although sometimes we experience monsoon like spells of weather. But for one long glorious moment this afternoon the billowing tiers of white clouds parted and the sun broke through to reveal blue sky. Wow. It’s still there.

Silky, pink ‘naked ladies’ are abloom in the back garden. Some folks call them Resurrection Lilies. The flowers shoot up from the bare earth long after the robust foliage dies down. Masses of blooms emerged this year and they smell so sweet. Feisty little hummingbirds have discovered the enormous buddleia and all sorts of butterflies flutter over its wine-colored flowers.

I was surprised to find an extremely healthy pokeberry bush thriving among its all-encompassing branches. Actually, I like poke with its deep purple berries, if I don’t think about it being a noxious weed and reseeding everywhere. The juice from these berries was one of the first inks of the New World. They have narcotic properties, as do the roots. Every part of the plant is poisonous except for the tender green shoots that are harvested in the spring.

Even so, the medicinal value of poke was highly valued and used by Indians and colonists alike, but with much care. A little bit of cut up root steeped in several cups of boiling water made a concoction to be sipped sparingly. Poke, more than any other plant, was regarded as having the power to dramatically alter the course of an ailment.

Death is also a dramatic altering and could occur if too much was administered. I suppose the healer then made a mental note to use less next time. If self-medicating, the patient didn’t have to worry about next time.  And if some poor soul was on his (or her) way out to begin with, at least they could comfort themselves with the knowledge that they’d tried their best to save them. Sometimes that’s all we can do, and leave the rest to God.

*Royalty Free Images