Tag Archives: autumn

Mellowness and kindly wisdom.

books, culture, quotes, , , , , ,

This post that is very fallish in more than one way, I am sharing again nine years later. It is about Lin Yutang, whose writings my late husband and I were reading aloud together, during the illness that was to end his earthly life only a few months later. Much of what I read during that period is very foggy in my mind at this point, and many of those and other books from the past keep calling me back, especially when I read my own reviews.

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If you like thought-provoking quotes as much as I do, you might sometime run across one by the eloquent Lin Yutang. I find that I did have a quote by him about autumn in my files, so that is probably how he came under my radar recently, long enough for me to decide to borrow his book The Importance of Living from the library. It was in the closed stacks, and looks old and Chinese. But as Samuel Butler said, “The oldest books are only just out to those who have not read them,” and for me, Lin Yutang is definitely a new and exciting discovery.

I expected a small book of proverbs, perhaps, but The Importance of Living is a large conversational and philosophical treatise that I won’t be ableLin Yutang - Living to read in bed. I may have to buy a copy, because in the very first paragraph of the preface I found beautifully written lines that drew me in to his mind and his ruminations:

“Very much contented am I to lie low, to cling to the soil, to be of kin to the sod. My soul squirms comfortably in the soil and sand and is happy. Sometimes when one is drunk with this earth, one’s spirit seems so light that he thinks he is in heaven. But actually he seldom rises six feet above the ground.”

I opened the book randomly in the middle and there, also, his words were worth thinking about as poetry or motivational talk. Did someone very gifted translate the works of this Chinese man? No, he wrote in English in such a graceful way that it is pure joy to read him aloud.

Lin Yutang was born in China in 1895 of Chinese Christian parents. His father was a pastor and a very progressive, forward-thinking man who made sure that Lin learned his Bible stories and went to the schools that produced the best speakers of English. He eventually got a degree from Harvard and another from Leipzig University.

I began to read The Importance of Living aloud with Mr. Glad. I usually do the reading because I enjoy it more than he does, and I immediately noticed the easy flow of Lin’s prose and the equally smooth progression of ideas. Everything he says makes perfect sense given his worldview in 1937, and at that time he was no longer a Christian.

What happened? Mr. Glad and I were very curious, because we had information Lin didn’t have at the time; we knew that later in life he would return to the faith and live to write about it, in his book From Pagan to Christian. So we stopped reading Importance and started in on the book about his spiritual journey that he wrote about 20 years later.

Putting together what he says in the relatively little we have read of him so far, I can tell you this about Lin’s first change of mind: As soon as he came of age to notice, he realized that he had not received the usual Chinese philosophical or literary heritage, much of which was typically learned through the theater; the theater was forbidden to Lin and his siblings who were in some ways raised as Puritans. He hadn’t taken the time to learn to write beautiful calligraphy, either, so he found that he was by Chinese standards completely uncivilized. At this point the one very Chinese thing he did know was intense shame.

He felt he had to go back and learn to be an authentic Chinese man, and having learned as a child the diligence and study habits of a Puritan, he did a very thorough job of learning Chinese philosophy and literature, not to mention a stunningly broad understanding of Western culture. This knowledge base combined with the ability to think and write about all that he has figured out — or is figuring out, as the story evolves — makes him fascinating to me.

We haven’t progressed very far in either of these books, but having this articulate author “friend” to explain Chinese culture and history to me from the inside has given me an interest in that part of the world that I have always lacked. So I hope to read more, and I expect to have more to share. But for now, I’ll close with his quote from My Country and My People about the lin_yutangseasons of the year.

“I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its tone is mellower, its colours are richer, and it is tinged with a little sorrow. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring,nor the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and is content.”

This meditation seems to me an expression of a perspective that could be both Chinese, as he felt at the time, and truly Christian. I’m looking forward to reading more of the kindly wisdom of Lin Yutang.

Moons and hearts rise and fall.

calendar, poetry, , , ,

George MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul is a long poem with seven lines for each day of the year. You can find the whole thing at Project Gutenberg. Here are just the first five days/stanzas of “November,” in which MacDonald so richly describes the situation we often find ourselves in, our hearts weary and plodding, and our thoughts dull. He prays for strength to face the darkness, and to find Christ in it.  

1.
THOU art of this world, Christ. Thou know’st it all;
Thou know’st our evens, our morns, our red and gray;
How moons, and hearts, and seasons rise and fall;
How we grow weary plodding on the way;
Of future joy how present pain bereaves,
Rounding us with a dark of mere decay,
Tossed with a drift Of summer-fallen leaves.

2.
Thou knowest all our weeping, fainting, striving;
Thou know’st how very hard it is to be;
How hard to rouse faint will not yet reviving;
To do the pure thing, trusting all to thee;
To hold thou art there, for all no face we see;
How hard to think, through cold and dark and dearth,
That thou art nearer now than when eye-seen on earth.

3.
Have pity on us for the look of things,
When blank denial stares us in the face.
Although the serpent mask have lied before,
It fascinates the bird that darkling sings,
And numbs the little prayer-bird’s beating wings.
For how believe thee somewhere in blank space,
If through the darkness come no knocking to our door?

4.
If we might sit until the darkness go,
Possess our souls in patience perhaps we might;
But there is always something to be done,
And no heart left to do it. To and fro
The dull thought surges, as the driven waves fight
In gulfy channels. Oh! victorious one,
Give strength to rise, go out, and meet thee in the night.

5.
“Wake, thou that sleepest; rise up from the dead,
And Christ will give thee light.” I do not know
What sleep is, what is death, or what is light;
But I am waked enough to feel a woe,
To rise and leave death. Stumbling through the night,
To my dim lattice, O calling Christ! I go,
And out into the dark look for thy star-crowned head.

–George MacDonald

Moroccan lamb pie warms and charms.

food and cooking, poetry, , , , ,

In the first autumn of Gladsome Lights, I shared this old recipe for a lamb stew served as a shepherd’s pie. I haven’t had occasion to make it for a long time, but this evening when my mind turned to the kind of dishes that warm both body and soul, this one appeared.

Mutton is the meat I love.
On the dresser, see it lie;
Oh, the charming white and red;
Finer meat ne’er met the eye.

Roasting lamb is one of those aromas that reminds me of my grandmother. Combine it with Moroccan spices, and it makes for one of my favorite dishes:

Moroccan Lamb and Sweet Potato Pie

2 tsp. ground cinnamon
4 tsp. ground cumin
3 tsp. ground coriander
2 T. freshly grated ginger
1 T. all-purpose flour (or arrowroot)
1 ½ tsp. salt, plus more to taste
¼ tsp. freshly ground pepper, plus more to taste
2 lb. lean leg of lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 T. olive oil
4 T. unsalted butter
2 large onions, thinly sliced
1 T. sugar
3 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced (about 1 ½ T.)
3 c. beef stock
1 28-oz. can whole Italian plum tomatoes
2 pieces star anise
2 cinnamon sticks, about 3 inches long
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into ½-inch rounds
2 lb. sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed
12 oz. fresh spinach (optional) washed
½ c. dried tart cherries
½ c. dried pitted prunes, cut in half freshly grated nutmeg, for sprinkling

1. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the ground cinnamon, 2 tsp. cumin, 1 tsp. coriander, flour, ½ tsp. salt, and ¼ tsp. pepper. Toss the lamb pieces with the spice mixture to coat.

2. In a Dutch oven or a large saucepan, heat 2 T. olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the lamb in two to three batches, in a single layer, and sear until dark brown on all sides, about six minutes per batch. Add the remaining T. olive oil during searing if pan becomes dry. Remove the lamb pieces and set aside.

3. Reduce heat to medium; add I T. butter. Add onions and sugar; cook 10 minutes, stirring frequently, scraping up brown bits on bottom of pan while stirring the onion.

4. Reduce heat to medium low, add the minced garlic, and cook until brown and well caramelized, about 15 minutes.

5. Stir in the stock, tomatoes, star anise, cinnamon sticks, carrots, remaining 2 tsp. cumin, 2 tsp. coriander, the fresh ginger, remaining 1 tsp. salt, and reserved lamb. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer, stirring occasionally, uncovered, for about 1 hour, until lamb is tender and sauce is thick.


6. Meanwhile, place sweet potatoes in a large saucepan; cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes, until very tender when pierced with a fork. Drain potatoes, and return to saucepan. Dry potatoes, over medium heat, for 1 minutes. Pass potatoes through a food mill into a medium bowl. Stir in remaining 3 T. butter; add salt to taste. Set aside, loosely covered.

7. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. If using spinach, place in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Season to taste with salt and pepper, cover, and cook until wilted, about 1 ½ minutes. Drain, and rinse under cold water to stop the cooking. Set aside.

8. Remove the star anise and cinnamon sticks from the stew. Stir in the cherries and prunes. Transfer mixture to a deep 2-qt. Casserole, and place a layer of spinach, if using, over the stew. Spoon the sweet potato mixture onto the stew. Place on a baking sheet, and bake for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with freshly grated nutmeg.

Notes: I have always used a whole boneless leg of lamb for this recipe, which usually is about 5 lb., not 2 lb., so I end up with more than 2 times the quantity. You can see  I have two pots of the stew simmering.

This gives me plenty to put in the freezer for another day, which raises the question of how to prepare the yams. If I purée all the yams, they end up getting  mushed up into the stew by the time I have reheated it, especially if it spends time in the freezer.

The stew tastes especially nice if the flavors have blended overnight, so I try to cook it a day ahead. Also this time I baked ahead of time the sort of monster yams, not very sweet, that are in the discount supermarket around Thanksgiving, not knowing yet how I would arrange everything the next day. Sometimes I have baked smaller sweet potatoes and served them to the side of the stew…

…but on this occasion, I ended up slicing them on top, brushed with butter and sprinkled with parsley and cinnamon, to take to a potluck. Sorry, the photo shows the dish before it had its final heating in the oven, and the butter is still solidifying on the cold yams. That evening the yam slices were gone before the stew itself.

In this season of my life, I don’t have a crowd to feed every day, but I think if I made a big pan of this stew I might be able to find enough friends to eat with me, and fortify ourselves against the coming winter. Next I’ll consider what other fallish items would fill out the menu… How about a dessert pie?

 

 

What the deer and I notice.

family, nature, other gardens, , , , , , , , ,

When Ivy shook the crabapple tree, dozens of fruits thumped down on the grass, alerting the deer across the street. Right away one mama hurried over with her two fawns to  accept the offering.

I’m at daughter Pippin’s for a few days, having many literary, outdoorsy and even poetic adventures. Five hours farther north in California than I live, and at higher elevations, I’m enjoying the more dramatically aromatic and visual signs of fall.

In their back yard, dozens of mushrooms have sprouted: these are Western Black Elfin Saddle, and Spectacular Rustgill — plus one I didn’t identify.

Higher up where we played at the edges of a lake, various plants drew our attention to them because of their beautiful colors, and even Pippin learned a new species: Dwarf Bilberry. In our sightings it was often set off by azaleas turning color in a wide range of tones.

At the lake we discovered schools of baby trout, minnow sized, in a sunlit pool making for a natural fish nursery.

The most surprising thing close to home was a Monarch butterfly in Pippin’s garden, seemingly having wandered way off course; they are never seen in this part of the country, and this is the wrong time of year, as well. It was fluttering among the extravagant dahlia flowers, and we encouraged it to light on a white one, or any color more complementary. But it preferred the red one.

Just below is a picture of this year’s most startling bloom, maybe 9-10 inches across, “Belle of Barmera.” I never get bored looking at these beauties, which are planted inside a high-fenced garden to keep them from the deer. This was one of the years that the deer poked their heads through and ate some anyway.


It’s been quite a rich visit as far as natural wonders go.
I hope to tell about other sorts of fun I’ve had, very soon.