From Father Justin’s blog on the treasures and scenes of St Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai, I am sharing a link to his post from last year featuring a very old mosaic icon of the Prophet Hosea, from the sixth century. He writes in the comments:
“Roberto Nardi and his team of conservators recently carried out a major program to consolidate and clean and conserve the mosaic. From their detailed study, they became convinced that it is the work of artisans from Constantinople. The portrait medallions of the apostles around the arch, and the prophets around the base, are each very striking and individualized. An examination of the mosaic up close reveals surprising colour juxtapositions, that the artisans knew would blend together when the mosaic was seen from a distance. Every detail is a source of wonder.”
You can see Fr Justin’s close-up photo of the brilliant icon here: “The Prophet Hosea.” He says of the prophet that, “He recalled the sojourn in the wilderness with longing,” because during that period the Israelites were close to God, whereas in the time during which Hosea lived, their faith was weak.
This fresco below is not that mosaic icon, and is very different from it; I like its energy. It is featured in another article on the prophet here, which gives more of his story from the Bible: The Orthodox Times.
I hope you will take a look at Fr. Justin’s photo of the sixth century mosaic: Prophet Hosea.
The sun was hot on my back as I reached up on the trellis to gather the dried Painted Lady runner beans. I separated the beans from the vines and carried loads of still vigorous leafy matter to the green bin. After a while the sun went behind the pine tree, but the balminess hung on.
Reading ideas for how to use a heavy crop, I learned that people do eat the skins. So I tried a few with their skins on and they are nice that way. The skins are a little more tart than the flesh, but they add another layer of complexity to the overall flavor, and a little crunch. The neighbor’s redwood tree looms over my pineapple guava, so that the dried and prickly twigs that fall are always interspersed with the fruit, and usually tangled in my hair when I come inside from picking.
The king was in the counting house,
I’ve had several house guests in the last week, for anywhere from three hours to one night’s stay. First, son Pathfinder came down for work, and this time we had dinner here. It included polenta, which I hadn’t made for a long time, and I cooked up a big batch; then later in the week I served some of it to Maggie and Wil with a meatloaf that I also hadn’t made in years.
The next guests were three young children and their mother whom I’d invited over for an afternoon of play plus a snack. The snack I decided to serve was mochi. I baked my old standby that I adapted from one of the recipes in this book that a friend brought me from Maui a long time ago. I’m not going to show you another one of my messy and annotated recipes, but will just say that this one uses lime Jello, sweet rice flour (mochiko) and coconut milk. The sweet cubes cut from the slab of baked and cooled mochi are dusted with potato starch. Everyone loved it. But next time I’m going to try making a version without Jello’s artificial color and flavor — even if the color is pretty!
