The more things change . . .

MV CUTTYHUNK

FERRY ALERT

the more things change. 

WEST END LIGHT HOUSE  AND COAST GUARD

COAST GUARD HOUSE AT FERRY DOCK

POST OFFICE

POST OFFICE CIRCA 1890'S

CHURCH AT TURN OF CENTURY

CHURCH TODAY

Yes I know that’s not the way the adage goes, but I’m rewriting it.  At least for now.  I’m in the middle of my last week in what used to be my apartment on Cuttyhunk Island.  The building is a rental now but I took the downstairs for the entire summer because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

Now it’s time.  

We brought a few things home in the car after our July visit, (my dad's fishing pole, a couple of pictures, a few mementos) and I have to decide what to leave (besides a couple of boxes of my books) in the blue tote that’s going to stay in my sister’s basement.  One tote.  Mostly filled with books.

There is nothing I can’t leave behind left in the apartment.  Anything I couldn’t bear to never see again has already gone to our new house in Virginia.  All I’m dealing with is the practical; what would I really like to have in whatever place I stay in next year?  

When I rented back my apartment this year I thought I’d be spending the whole season here, spring summer and fall.  I hadn’t planned on suddenly ending up with a house in the middle of Lexington Virginia that needed furniture and fences and decks and porches and so on.  The upshot is, I haven’t spent much time here in the summer.  Not nearly enough.

And yet I’m not taking this place again next year.  I’m not going to tie myself down.  I probably won’t be here more than a few weeks anyway, to do a couple of readings and hawk my new book.

Surprisingly, I’m okay with that.  I think I’ve finally said goodbye to this house, and what living here meant.

  It gets easier, I find.  It took me years to say goodbye to the Allen House.

But things change, and change, and change again. 

the poplars at turn of century

The Allen House, now a private home.

 And you get used to it, hopefully.  And you move on.  Again, hopefully.  Sometimes you even grow a little bit.

When I left Cuttyhunk the first time I didn’t return for eight years.  This time, I’m not looking at it as leaving.

I’m just going to take a little break and try spending a summer in the valley I’ve called home for fifteen years.

What a concept.

So I’ve been reading . . .

a book about the New Bedford docks by Rory Nugent, and it started me thinking about my time on Cuttyhunk Island again.  Nugent’s book is called Down at the Docks, and it’s basically a history of the New Bedford waterfront through the eyes of a number of different people.

Although Cuttyhunk:Life on the Rock was first person anecdotal, many of the things I learned on the island I learned secondhand.  Sometimes third or fourth hand.  Way too many stories to put into one book, and of course there are always stories within the stories.  I’ve often been accused of telling a story by starting with the stories within the stories within the stories, which some people find much too time-consuming to listen to. 

I realize it is difficult to believe people such as these exist.  I have trouble believing it myself.  I mean, if you don’t know the back story and sometimes even the back story’s back story, how can you ever really understand what went on?  Of course, these are probably the same people who skip to the back of the book to see how it ends.  Heathens, I call them.

But I digress.  Astoundingly unusual for me, but it does happen.  

Back to the point – those stories that don’t get told.  What happens to them?

I can’t answer that from a philosophical point of view.  I didn’t take those classes in college.  

In my world the stories that didn’t make it into the book still get told to anyone who asks, some of them in conversation, some in letters or emails.  They used to make their way into poems, often slipping in without my knowledge or permission.  That happens a lot with poems.

But I don’t write poetry anymore.  

So where do the stories slip in?  Right now they’re sliding into my new series of middle readers.  Not the way they are told in my memoir, but pieced together like a quilt; a fragment from this story, a snip of that memory…

THE AVALON

 photo A. Hinson

WINTER HOUSE

 photo A. Hinson

THE ALLEN HOUSE

 (For example, in the book I'm working on now, 2nd in the Summerhood Island series, all three of these buildings have been morphed into one- The Sea Inn.)

A memoir should tell the truth, at least the truth as far as the author can remember it.

But fiction is made of a different cloth.  It can stretch in any direction, start out with a name or a place and weave more names and places from other times and other memories onto the beginning, into the middle, at the end, around the edges until you have something that resembles a place you have known, or a person you have met The end result is not like any place or anyone real.  Sometimes it's a quilt. Sometimes it's just a raggedy mish-mash. This is fiction.  This is what I’m writing now.  And I have to admit that the freedom  to invent, and re-invent - is lovely.

I got . . .

into a slightly “argumentative“ discussion about coyotes at dinner the other night. Since one of the gentlemen I was having this discussion with had supplied the lovely crab appetizer I was consuming at that very moment and the other gentleman in the discussion was my host, I decided it would perhaps be polite or at least politic  to drop the subject. 

Those of you who know me well might be shocked at this, but then, I am getting older, and perhaps a tad wiser. Instead, I decided to write a blog. Perhaps they won’t read it. In any case, dinner is over.

My new book comes out this fall, as most of you know by now. It’s called Coyote Summer, and the coyotes, if not the good guys, are at least sympathetic and misunderstood. Here are some facts about coyotes most people don’t know: 

Coyotes are also called America’s song dogs. They are extremely adaptable, and as we move into their territory with our cities and suburbs, they continue to survive and thrive on our trash and vermin. Coyotes are found in almost every major city in America.

coyote on Portland's metro system

 It is common for a coyote in winter to take more interest in your canine companion.  From the coyote's perspective, the territory is like a singles bar - "I wonder if that German shepherd would make a nice boyfriend? ... Nah, not my type". 

A coyote is also a curious animal, so just because it stares at you is no cause for alarm.  Chances are excellent, that after curiosity is satiated, the coyote will continue about its business of performing free pest control in your community.

city coyote

Love is their bond. Coyotes often mate for life and "never divorce" - according to the largest urban coyote study in America.

project coyote picture

Coyotes rarely attack humans. Between 1960 and 2006 there were only 159 reported cases of bites across North America. By comparison in 2012 there were 5,000 reported bites by domestic dogs in Cook County, which contains Chicago, alone. 

Nonetheless, in 2009 a young woman was killed by coyotes while hiking in Nova Scotia; scientists do not understand why. One suggestion is that the animals found in eastern America are a coyote-wolf hybrid that hunt more frequently in packs and can take down larger prey.

In America’s cities the key to the coyote’s success is its virtual invisibility, and sightings of the animal during the recent mating season were unusual enough to have been the subject of news reports. This is no accident. Those who watch the beasts say that the coyote is more nocturnal when it lives in cities than when it is in the wild, which has undoubtedly helped its quiet conquest of parts of metropolitan America. Most people do not actually know they have coyotes living in their neighborhood, and conflicts only arise when an individual becomes a problem—perhaps having developed a taste for kitchen scraps. 

Once known as the “ghosts of the plains” coyotes are increasingly known as the “ghosts of the cities”. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=NQzA_ENM9Xo&t=28

For tons of coyote information go to www.projectcoyote.org

Here I am . . .

.

Back on “the Rock” again, after a hiatus of less than a month.

3 ½ weeks of decision making about the new house, leaving others to do the actual physical work. 

Deborah to install curtain rods and shades, hang said curtains, install my spice rack, unpack and set up numerous and assorted fans, portable air conditioners, dehumidifiers, bookshelves, Orlando and Jack and their assorted sons in laws to rebuild and enlarge the back deck, Everette and his crew to screen in the front porch, Deborah to sand and stain old pieces and turn them into amazing furniture.  

Actually, Deborah supervised most of the work she jobbed out, as well. So what did I do?

Hmm.

A little pruning, garden and yard reclamation, some mulching – oh, yes, and I picked berries and hunted mushrooms and went to farmers markets and walked dogs around town. 

Wow. 

No wonder I am so tired. 

Whew.

Oh, and I spray-painted a table and some chairs, and Higgins and Jim made the seat covers out of foam and material Deborah ordered.

I have an amazing wife.

She’s home getting ready to teach again after a year’s sabbatical.  I went blueberry picking this morning.

Blueberry cobbler.

5 quarts frozen blueberries

½ cup sugar

¼ cup lemon juice

1 tablespoon cornstarch

4 cups white cake mix

2 cups water

Pour blueberries in a 2 inch deep hotel sized pan.  Mix together sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch.  Add mixture to blueberries, mixing in well.  In separate bowl, mix cake mix and water.  Pour over blueberry mixture, spreading evenly.  Bake at 350° for about one hour or until browned evenly.

And this afternoon I went clamming.

 Clams Casino

Stuffing for 3 dozen Littleneck clams

1 cup minced bacon

1 ½ cups onion, finely diced

¼ pound butter

1/3 cup green pepper, diced

¼ cup red pepper, diced

¼ cup seasoned bread crumbs

Sauté bacon and onion until onion is transparent. Add peppers and sauté till soft.

Add butter and melt, then stir breadcrumbs into the mixture. Remove from heat and chill.

Mound stuffing over the top of each raw clam and bake at 350° until warm throughout.

Tomorrow I’ll get back to work. Honest.

In really exciting news, I got first cover proofs for my middle reader Coyote Summer!. More on that whole writing thing later.

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.

Yes, it’s been a while . . .

But much has been happening.  I traveled up to New England, saw practically all my relations, got married (incidentally).

 But I’m back south now, with a head full of lovely memories.

Like the Fourth of July on a small island. It hasn’t changed much in almost 2 decades.

My foster daughter walked in the Cuttyhunk Fourth of July parade when she was ten years old and spending the summer with me. Decorated from head to toe in red, white and blue, holding the leash of my dog Jesse, who was similarly decorated by the two of us.

This was back when airline attendants would actually accompany a child from gate to gate, and make sure they were delivered safely from one place to another. That has certainly changed.  Imagine sending a ten year old girl from Kentucky to Rhode Island by herself nowdays.

Sixteen years later my daughter drove up with her four year old daughter, 

so that she could have the same experiences her mother did.

There are few constants in this world. But for one morning in July on Cuttyhunk Island the only thing that had changed was the passing of Jesse the dog, long gone now. 

There’s a new generation in the parade now.  That’s about all.

Yes, it’s true . . .

 We are way overdue for a recipe blog.

 But until a couple of days ago my recipes had been kidnapped and were being held hostage. And the worst part is the kidnapper wouldn’t even contact me about a ransom.  

And yes, it was irresponsible of me to send my only copy of my recipe file out into the world alone, a print copy at that, so faded and old as to be impossible to scan.  Mea culpa.

But who could know? And anyway, the crisis is over, and they are back safe and sound, with a backup file to boot. And you still aren’t going to get a recipe blog.

 At least not this time.

 Because I promised on Facebook that I’d write a quick book review. Even though Geoff Herbach’s  I’m with Stupid is a YA novel, and if I am going to put book reviews instead of recipes or anything else  on my blog I should be writing reviews about middle readers since my first one (Coyote Summer, remember) comes out this fall. Although I guess this is not really what you’d call a review.  So maybe that’s ok.

I’m reading YA novels lately because I happened upon one (Beautiful Music For Ugly Children) in the library and it stunned me. So I wrote Kirstin Cronn-Mills (the author), and during our brief correspondence she’s given me several other author’s names. And they have all been wonderful and truly amazing.  Amazing in that they speak to such universal truths, to the real problems you face growing up and the even realer problems you encounter trying to deal with them, that I found myself saying yes, yes! (sometimes even aloud) as I read.

Because up until lately, you see, it’s only been Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And now you are really beginning to wonder. Buffy? Where on earth is she going with this?

You know how some comics, like Ellen Degeneres, start out with a topic and seem to wander all over and then suddenly Bam! - there they are back where they started having tied everything up neatly?

Yeah.

 Well, that’s probably not going to happen here. But bear with me.

Buffy. The show that used vampires and demons and witches and odd reptilian creatures to tell great stories that just happened to touch on all of the problems high school kids face, sometimes providing solutions but even when there wasn’t an easy solution you came away from the show feeling ok about being different, or liking girls instead of boys, or not having a parent around, or having scales and a tail because that one made you a natural for the swim team?

Until recently, it seemed to me that with a few notable exceptions, Buffy was it. And when YA literature started to become popular again, it was full of dragons and vampires or it took place in the distant past or future or on another world.

These people, though, this latest crop of writers, the Kirstin Cronn-Mills’s and Geoff Herbachs and A.S. Hyatts and David Levithans, just to name a few, they write these raw, powerful stories with problems like the ones you had growing up, or people you knew had, and the endings aren’t always all happy but there’s usually at least a few answers and a lot of hope because that’s what you need when you are a teenager.  These are the stories I read and my heart tightens and then opens and oh, I wish I’d had these books when I was a teenager because they are my life.

That’s what I’m With Stupid did for me.

Take a kid who was bullied when younger, give him a terrible early memory he hasn't dealt with and a parent who's not really there for him. Throw in the fact that now he's a popular jock and a heck of a football player, partially because he's got this anger inside that he deals with by crushing the competition. How does he cope? Where is his life going? What happens when he decides to use his power for good instead of evil (sort of) ?

What happens is a piece of your life. Somewhere in this book, and others by the writers I've mentioned above, is a piece of your life. Doesn't matter who you are or what you were in high school. You're going to go - ""Wow. Yes." at some point. 

Guaranteed.

So, no. not really a book review. But what I wanted to say. 

And thank you, all of you YA writers out there.

Keep going.