When a Dream Becomes Reality it can be SCARY!

My "friends" Zenobia and Lark run for a hide-out.

Dear Friends,

Ok, so now I've confessed to you all that turning a dream into a reality is SCARY, really scary. That's exactly what happened to me on November the 11th, 2014. A book I began writing many years ago and that I never dreamed would be published, well, it was, and I am trying to grapple with disbelief and joy, two warring elements in my brain.

First you think to yourself, "I can write a book. If he can do it, then I can do it." Then you may sit at your desk and stare at a keyboard or pen for hours. It happens to us all.

For me the dream began in 1969 when I found an old suitcase filled with family letters that dated back to the late 1700s. I soaked in the cadence of their words, the thoughtfulness, the history, the Quaker dialect, the landscape. I rolled in the old letters the way a kitten tumbles around in a bed of
catnip.

I began copying the letters in 1969...

...and continued in 1974.

Some of the letters were faded, and this particular one had blood spots on the top. I copied the letters every time I visited my Cousin Margaret Macdonald, who is the one who first took me to Quaker meetings at Goose Creek, Lincoln, Virginia. What a life-changing experience.

I made notes, copious notes; I copied every word in the letters; I visited the Virginia and Pennsylvania countryside and fell deeply in love with it and the people. I began to write, but I never really believed that anything other than a heartfelt story would emerge for my family to enjoy.

Enter my husband. "You can do it. Just keep shooting for the stars, and you'll do it." So I began to work on my book (which I still didn't believe would ever be a book), and I began to carry pages to my Cambria Writers' Workshop and Kiddie Writers, two critique groups that proved to be invaluable to my process.

Every day I wrote a few pages. Every Wednesday in Cambria I received critiques, drove home, and worked for five to six hours to remedy anything that needed to be remedied. Over and over, hour after hour. My friend, screenwriter Janet Brownell, once advised me to always walk away from my writing when I knew that I had more story inside me to tell. So every night I would get to a point that felt like the story was ready to flow, and I would close the lid to my computer, lock the studio door, and head back into my home and life.

Sometimes, because I spent so many hours working on the book, I actually dreamed out parts of the plot. Those dreams were an amazing gift. I'd get up in the morning and sprint into the studio to make note of them.

So now the book is out there in the world. It is like walking your son to his first day of kindergarten. How can I let this precious part of me face the world alone? It is as though you slice open your chest and fillet your heart into thin, thin pieces. Some critics will gobble up the pieces and spit them out as though they are spoiled, others may treasure their pieces and share them with their loved ones. I can't choose what happens, but I know that some will care for their book, others will toss it aside. I did my best and that is all I can do.

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I HAD MY BOOK LAUNCH PARTY?

You were all invited to the party, but I was so out of it (yes, I am still in the wheelchair) that I relied on word-of-mouth and Dr. Dan Krieger's wonderful Tribune newspaper story to alert my friends about the event held at The Steynberg Gallery in San Luis Obispo, California.

My sister Laurie, my dear friend Ginny, and Jeff start working the day of the party.

I am supervising!

Is this outdoor table fabulous? YES! My friends Susie Bassetti (Bassetti Vineyards), Cindy Steidel, Penny, Carol, Ginny, and my sis and brother-in-law, and Jeff worked hard to ready the area. Pomegranates, sunflowers, pine cones, Grenache grape vines cut by Ellis Bassette, my dear ones pitched in.

Jeff rolls me through the garden as we leave for The Steynberg Gallery. "Nobody will come," I tell Jeff. He says, "We will have a heck of a lot of cake to eat then." That does NOT reassure me.

"See," I said, "nobody is coming. Get out the cake knife."

When he wheeled me through the door, I wanted to kiss everyone there.

My friend Dee Dee Osborne drove down from Carmel. Dee Dee and I knew each other many years ago in Santa Barbara. Talk about an amazing reconnection. We "found" each other because she wrote me after watching an episode of Central Texas Gardener, on which I appeared. Imagine, Central Texas Gardener has such outreach. (Linda Lehmusvirta, Tom Spencer and staff, amazing).

I looked out into the audience and saw so many who are my beloved, long-time friends.

Throughout the event my friends, musicians, composers, singer extraordinare, Mary Anne and Ames Anderson of Simple Pleasures, performed music of the 1850s. They were superb!

Back at my home Cindy, Susie, Ginny, Carol, and Penny (who was outside finishing bouquets) slaved in my little kitchen.

I celebrated, signed books, saw old friends I hadn't seen in years.

Oh, and we all ate cake, glorious chocolate fudge and carrot cake. Whatever was left over was sent (with the cover intact) on to Hawthorne School.

My stepson Jim efficiently handles book sales. This one is to my dear friend Elizabeth Spurr who has many, many children's books to her credit. She is a fabulous writer. All net proceeds from the sale are to benefit the historic Dallidet Adobe and Garden in San Luis Obispo, California.

I especially loved talking to children who are also interested in becoming writers. We need more programs for young writers. 

Jeff watches over me and everything going on. Since I couldn't walk around and visit, he did it for me. What a partner he is. Thank you, Jeffrey! 

Great friends begin to arrive at my home. Jeanie Greensfelder (left, who recently had her poem read on Writer's Almanac), Connie Higdon Gannon, who is the new director of Greenspace in Cambria, Annie, a wonderful photographer and ceramist, and Thomas, who writes beautifully. 

The farm table is slowly being filled with foods for fabulous friends.

Dear friends Matt Spurr, Ginny Holihan, Susan Branch, Diana, Lee, and Penny (who finally sat down for a moment of rest).

More friends (fainter of heart and not so wild about the cooling weather outdoors) moved inside.

The candles lit, the food available, and some brave souls ventured outdoors to eat and talk.

Writer/photographer Lorin Cary shoots some photos. Check out his Facebook page.

My adopted daughter Skydrea serenaded me with her newly written song and her amazing, thrush-like voice. Thank you dear, Skye.

The day was a looooong one, but one of the most wonderful of my life. Thank you to all my dear friends and readers who helped me celebrate the birth of my book. You make my life richer and fuller.  A million thanks to my brother-in-law Jeff Prather and my sis Laurie. Jeff took most of these photos.

Love across the miles and thank you for joining me. I think I posted too many photos, but I wanted to share the experiences. I know that I am not posting blogs very often. Sometimes it seems like days are not even 24 hours long now.  

Sharon

P.S. The winner of the book An Ocean Garden by Josie Iselin was chosen by the random number generator. Congratulations to Cathi Lamoreux. Cathi, I don't have your address. Please send it along to me and we'll ship the book to you.

September Blessings

September and October are my favorite months. The 'Heavenly Blue' morning glories claim their glory. The basil thrives; the bumblebees visit every tiny blossom. On the porch, the Argiope spiders spin their doilies of lace. The loons move from the inland lakes and ponds and take up life in John's Bay. During the night, I wake to their haunting calls. In the morning, we watch as the male and female, never far apart, dive for fish and nuzzle into the sea, eyes just above the water line. 

The hummingbirds left early this year. Normally they leave mid-September, but by the 2nd of September, the group of 4 who fought over the feeder had already left. I still keep the feeder filled with fresh sugar water (4 parts water to one part sugar) to help those hummers migrating south. First they're lured to the porch by the brilliant blooms of morning glories, cypress vines, and Verbena bonariensis. Once they're near they realize that a hummingbird feeder awaits.

This is half of my pitiful, yet incredibly tasty "crop" (I use that word loosely) of tomatoes.

The feeders are a blur of wings, chattering, comings and goings of visitors and migrants.

The goldfinches give me so much joy–their plaintive callings, their lilting songs, the way the young beg, ruffle their feathers, and beg their parents for food. They'll probably leave us this week, and I will so miss them. I wish them safe passage south.

The chickadees are always here. Their eastern call of "feeeeed me, feeeeed, me" and their chittering conversations are a comfort to me. 

Oops, well, I'm not a good photographer, but this profile is of the red-breasted nuthatch. I love the nuthatches and the way they travel down the tree branches and search the bark for insects. Their "yank, yank, yank" call is unmistakable. Last week one of the nuthatches would land on the feeder, extract a black oil sunflower seed, then fly to the porch rockers. I watched as he secreted sunflower seeds in the loops of the woven seats and in the cracks of an old basket. He would no sooner tuck away the seeds than the red squirrel would hop onto the chair and steal them.

Jeff's morning chore.

The mourning dove is grateful.

You can barely see the vociferous and demanding family of two adult crows and three babies who keep us in laughter. I talk to them and call them, and they all fly to the red oak, ride the branches, and set up the loudest cacophony. I talk to them; they answer. They love the treats I carry in my pockets. I think they're spoiled.

Another September blessing is my dear pal Lynn Karlin, one of the best photographers I know.  Lynn did the books Maine Farm, Gardens Maine Style, and Gardens Maine Style Act ll. They're gorgeous books. This shot was taken in Lynn's tiny (and honest) kitchen in her camp "Three Bears." The camp was built in about 1906 and sits on the edge of a large, quiet, and magical pond.

This is the dock. Can you see the big wheels?? Lynn and Barry roll it out of the water at the end of the season.

Where we shared a fabulous and simple supper of fresh Maine fare.

My favorite place to sit when I am inside Lynn's cabin.

The apples are ripe at Clark Cove Farm. I printed out the apple crisp recipe from one of my favorite blogs, Mennonite Girls Can Cook, and used it twice in the past week. I ran out of oats for this one and topped the crisp with the walnuts, etc., but in place of oats, I used ginger snaps. Just crushed them with a rolling pin and added them to the nut, flour, brown sugar mixture. This was fabulous and enjoyed by all.

Last night some friends from Los Osos, California, came for dinner. Mother Nature decided to put on a show for us. What could be a better September blessing? 

Thanks for your visits and wonderful e-mails. I loved learning about the student from Tokyo who took my books home with him. I loved seeing photos of your gardens and photos of children who once attended my faerie festivals and are now all grown up and gorgeous. 

Please stop by my newest blog posting at Lowe's Garden Grow Along. It is titled "Can Plants be Happy." One of the photos is of my ever busy potting bench. The two wash tubs beside my bench were purchased at an antique shop in Illinois. Nothing is ever easy. Jeff had to take it all apart to fit it into our already crammed car. When he reassembled it in California, he ran water to both sides of the tubs so I can pot plants, soak them, and work on them with water handy. 

Sending love from Maine,

Sharon

P.S. Jeff and I finished Comfort Found Literary Lodging at 11:15 the night before our first guests checked in. We promise to post photos, but I left my camera at a friend's house, and it is being mailed back to me today.  It was a true labor of love, but phew, what happened to summer?????

Picnic on the Porch

Some of the best summer evenings are spent with dear friends on our tiny screened porch. It never matters that we're crammed together around the table, elbows bumping, feet tangling, as we pass food and drink. Laughter comes more easily outside. The waves thunder against the ledges, rainbows arch across the cloudy sky, and later, when the candles sputter, and the last of the food disappears, the fireflies begin their dance.

Yesterday I woke early and began the preparations for a picnic on the porch. I trimmed 6 artichokes and blended herbs and lemons for their topping. I popped red quinoa, then cooked it with herbs, shallots, and fresh ginger, mixed with  a spoonful of curry. Three pounds of freshly filleted haddock were cleaned, spread atop a mound of spinach, doused with lemon juice and Pinot Grigio, dotted with butter, and readied for the oven. Jeff sliced Maine sweet Italian sausage and I skewered them with onions and red bell peppers. I baked bread chips, dished out goat cheeses, sliced cucumbers and avocados, garlic scapes, and tomatoes for a salad, and set the table. My pal Marilyn, who makes one of the best Caesar salads in the universe, volunteered to bring that part of our meal.

A storm hit us in the afternoon, misty sea spray drifted through the screens and wet the glasses, and the tablecloth threatened to kite out the window. "Dress warmly," I cautioned our friends, "it is raining and breezy, but we're NOT eating indoors." I wondered if anyone would opt to bow out of the party, but all the hearty souls arrived and the celebration began.

Jeff took this photo of us feasting. Herb Schaal, the designer of the new children's garden at the Coastal Maine Botanical garden (I'll have a post on that garden in a few days) sits beside his wife Cindy, my pal Marilyn, and Heather and Doug.

Tarts devoured, fireflies dancing, stories told, and all prepare to leave.

Thanks for stopping by. I love hearing from you and will try to answer your comments and letters.

All joys,

Sharon

P.S. Last week my dear friend Elizabeth Murray, author and photographer of Monet's Passion (a newly released anniversary edition by Pomegranate Press) stopped by for a visit and supper. I am including an audio of Lizzie on NPR. Liz is the first female allowed to work in Monet's gardens at Giverny. She is  remarkable. I know you'll be inspired by her words and her work, oh, and let's not forget her TENACITY. I admire that ability to stick to it just about more than anything.

Elizabeth Murray and Toolie