So I'm working . . .

on a new website that will encompass all of my books and allow me to feature each new book as it comes out.

Ok, full disclosure- Rebecca Caldwell is doing all the difficult tech work. Me, I am writing little pieces of things and sending them to her so she can fit them in the appropriate space. But that is beside the point. A digression, if you can believe that.

Here's the point.
Deborah (my partner, you should all know Deborah by now if you've been following long) told me I needed a longer, more complete biography to put in the downloadable handout we are compiling for teachers.

Fine, I thought, completely ignoring the fact that it was already 2 in the afternoon and thereby well past my "sell by date" otherwise known as the time I stop making sense. 
Fine 
I shall write an amusing little bio that will reveal far more of me that the simply factual 50 words in the back of the book.

So I did. And Deborah told me to take a nap. Apparently she meant a bio for teachers to hand to the children. 

But I like this bio. So I am making it today's blog.

And I am not even going to run this idea by Deborah first.

Margo Solod was born in East Tennessee, and fled her hometown high school at 16, conveniently forgetting to graduate before applying to the University of Tennessee. Four and a half years later she was reminded of that fact when she went to the dean’s office to make sure she had the proper credits to obtain her degree. 

There she discovered that the University had never actually admitted her. This problem was solved after some discussion by allowing her to graduate with a B.A. in theater arts but denying her a high school diploma. 

Neither her degree or lack of a diploma appear to have made the slightest difference in her career path.

Her high school jobs of grooming dogs and working in a pet shop naturally led to years of work as a lighting technician and designer for theater and dance. These skills allowed her to effortlessly slide into restaurant work, leading to careers as a chef and innkeeper, with an occasional backslide into carpentry.

 Her early restaurant experience was on an island eerily similar to the one occupied by the fictional Jessie Silva, in an inn that remarkably resembles the Sea Inn portrayed in the second Summerhood Island novel. 

Winters on islands can be long and quiet, which led to serious contemplation and lots of long walks, and eventually to several books of poetry.

After that there was nothing to do but get in her truck(s) and drive circuitous routes around the country until she ended up in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where, having learned nothing from the last 20 years, she proceeded to open (and close) two more restaurants and write a memoir.

All of these life experiences have finally prepared her for the offering laid before you now: the first Summerhood Island novel Coyote Summer.

There. Now you know everything.

Well it’s fall…

More importantly, it’s fall here in town.  I’m trying to remember the last time I spent fall in a city or town, and I’m coming up with somewhere around nineteen eighty.  Autumn is different in town that it was on the mountain, and different again from autumn on the island.

On the island seasons were subtle, especially the turns from summer into fall.  A few leaves drop, but the trees that are still standing don’t really turn colors like in the rest of New England.  The temperature change is more subtle there, as the water slows down the cold drops like a blanket over the rest of the East Coast.

What is missing from this picture? People.

Notice the absence of boats in the harbor

Down here in Virginia the mountains flame as brightly as any in New England.

 But when the leaves drop upon House Mountain they stay where they fall until the wind blows them somewhere else.  Here in town I see piles of leaves in yards, bagged on sidewalks, huge piles blown into gutters for the city to come by and pick up.

The whine of leaf blowers is gradually replacing the clatter and whir of lawnmowers and weedwackers, and I am still not used either sound.  Autumn on House Mountain was the ping of acorns dropping on a tin roof, the rustle of deer sheltering from hunters among the oaks, the sound of wind whistling through bare branches.

I miss the silence.  I miss being able to notice a full moon without having to look up.  I miss the stars.  I really miss being able to just let the dogs out to poop in the woods, without having to worry about picking up after them.

On the other hand, I can walk to the library, my drugstore, the movies, a coffee shop.  We ordered a gluten-free pizza from Domino’s and had it delivered.  If I forget something at the store it’s only three minutes away.  This tiny plot of land is a constant source of wonder.  I don’t know what’s planted here and new surprises keep popping up.

And although I don’t see this on my walk every morning –

I’m never going to see anything like this on House Mountain –

Oh my God.  For the first time in my adult life I’m going to have to buy Halloween candy.

Finally . . .

A recipe blog post.

That’s right, you read correctly. The post you have been waiting so patiently for.

Oh, the pressure, the pressure. I hope I don’t disappoint.

So, I’m going through Allen house memorabilia, looking for pictures to scan for this blog; pictures that didn’t make it into Life On The rock. 

 I’m taking this little walk down memory lane, and I come across an old Allen House menu.  I can sort of date it by some of the items, but I’m surprised at what is and what isn’t there.  Mostly, I’m surprised by my memory, or lack thereof.

  Stuffed mushrooms.

 I remember those, and they were excellent.  Mary Beth Ryan created that appetizer, so I can roughly date this menu as printed after she arrived. But there are other items under the appetizer portion of the menu that completely throw me. 

Shrimp scampi?  I have absolutely no recollection of ever cooking shrimp scampi as an appetizer.  None.  Of course, scampi is a sauté item, and I almost always worked the broiler and ovens.  But Brie and vegetables in puff pastry with a tomato shallot sauce?  No memory.  And I’d have done that one in the oven.

Years ago, when I pulled this menu to save, I must’ve recognized it, must have felt that it was a good indicator of a menu that I myself had cooked, or I would have looked for an earlier one to keep.  The entrées looked familiar; I remember cooking all of them thousands and thousands of times.

 But shrimp scampi? 

Where are the potato skins so dear to my heart, the ones deep fried then covered with a generous amount of real bacon and cheddar cheese and thrown into the oven to melt into a delicious greasy mess?  How could I ever have replaced those with brie and vegetables and pastry?  

This must be someone else’s menu.  I shall have to go back into my box of memories and find one of mine.

In the meantime:

SPINACH MUSHROOM STUFFING

Hot sausage skinned     1 ½ lbs.

Chopped garlic        2T

Scallions chopped    3T   

Shallots        3T

Oil            ½ c

Chopped red pepper    1/3 cup

Frozen spinach        4 cups

Grated mozzarella    1 ½ cups   

  (Or mix provolone & mozzarella)

Parmesan cheese    ½ cup

Sauté and cool sausage, garlic, scallions, shallots, oil. In mixing bowl, add remaining ingredients to sausage. Add egg to bind as needed just before stuffing mushrooms. Roll into balls and place into cleaned mushroom caps. Bake about 5 minutes at 350 until mushroom caps are cooked but not limp.

none of these are the mushrooms you would stuff.
they are just random mushroom pictures. but white mushrooms are so boring.
besides, i didn't have any pictures of white mushrooms. we don't hunt those.
the season is too short and they only let you use bows and arrows.
that's a rockbridge county virginia joke..

Makes about 24 medium sized mushrooms.

Well, my friends . . .

I know it’s been a while, but we’ve been moving from the country into town. It has been hard leaving my beloved cabin, but I know it is in good hands with our caretakers, and we still have the little guest cabin to get away from it all. 

“It all” being the booming metropolis of Lexington, VA, population 6000.

I know, but I haven’t lived in a town since 1981. It’s hard. 

There are people everywhere. 

Oh, and curtains. I need curtains. Ugh.

But we put up a fence for the dogs, and that helps. 

Actually, Jake Wilson put it up. Board by hand cut board. The old-fashioned way. 

It’s a beautiful fence.

And the property has afforded some much appreciated surprises. 

Like a strawberry patch -

Mature blueberry bushes -

2 asian pear trees –

Gooseberries –

A fig tree –

This is a pie cherry tree.

It was loaded with half ripe fruit when we arrived, I watched as we unpacked the first day after the move as a dozen birds and two hungry squirrels stripped t bare. You can still see many of the dried seeds hanging.

And -

A wonderful old apple tree that must have been on this corner for ages -

Oh, and there’s a grapevine on the back wall,

 and some asparagus, which we missed.

The house is about half in order, although there’s nothing on the walls yet. It’s hot, and noisy, and we need a dog door.

But when I get a bit overwhelmed I go outside and look at my mini-garden and orchard.

It helps.

Thank you, Phil and Daphne. We’ll take good care of your house for you.

If you give a dog a walk . . .

Spring returned this morning after three crazy days of heat, and I was actually able to wait till after 8 a.m. to walk the dogs. Took the camera this time, so this shall be a rather pictorial blog. And yes, spellcheck thinks that’s a word, so it is.

what are we waiting for?

The dogs are extremely happy to be walking, after a day of rain and no walk. An acre and a half of yard and woods invisibly fenced off for them to run in, and they want to walk with a human. I think we’ve taken this domestication thing too far.

 lets go!

mandy shows off her new hair growing back. (it is, i insist it is.)

the stream is running full

 chance inspects the storm damage

we are #247 on the list for cleanup. or maybe 237. it's hard to keep track.

 the pink guy shows up every year down by the creek. i just love him.

some bird planted this. haven't seen it before on the road. birdscaping. nice touch.

now this is a happy dog.

 the first mayapples

i swear, there is something exciting here!

brave bug needs a drink. walking is hard work.

come on, i know it's steep. but at the end is breakfast!

the end. (with pansies)