applefall

Here's what's up this weekend:

I know, exciting. Other people are going to parties or out to dinner. We're peeling apples.

This tidy haul represents less than half the bounty from three small backyard trees, which were planted a few years ago and until now only produced a handful of fruit. Apparently this is a good year for apples. I feel like I've been peeling and cutting for weeks--sometimes with helpers, sometimes not, often late at night--but actually the work happens in fits and starts, when time permits. It should be done by now. So far we've made pies, tarts, apple cake (twice, trying to cut excess sugar in an older recipe), and applesauce (both canned and frozen). I'm planning to dry apples in the oven and perhaps try this cider recipe from Chef Brian Henry's blog. And then hard cider? Yes, I think so.

One of our younger cooks yelped and left the kitchen when she discovered a worm: supple and wriggling, curious about life beyond its snow-white habitat. She's done. Most of the apples are relatively unblemished, however--tart and crisp, if not perfectly shaped as in the supermarket.

But now the pressure's on. It wasn't possible to deal with all this fruit before our trip, so we stashed two big buckets in the fridge and two more in the cool basement, hoping they'd keep. Which they mostly did. And then more buckets arrived.

applefall--n., 1. a sub-season of fall; 2. sudden, unearned abundance; 3. a state of panic induced by rotting fruit; also v., to swoon while stirring a large, boiling pot.

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How to Expect What You're Not Expecting

The books are finally here! Real books, lovingly designed objects with heft and that new-print smell of paper and ink--yes, I inhaled them, so what? It was quite the thrill. And if you like your books more ephemeral, an e-version is available.

So much experience is contained in this collection of essays about hard subjects, with a beautiful foreword by Kim Jernigan. I'm proud to have had a small part in this project, the joint brainstorm of co-editors Lisa Martin-DeMoor and Jessica Hiemstra. Tribute must be paid to the heart, skill and insight they brought to the editing process. More than that, I can't wait to meet them *IRL*, because although ours was a virtual collaboration, after many months it feels like friendship. I have the sense that I already know some of the other contributors--totally wrong, of course, but that's the power of an essay.

I can't describe the book better than Lisa does on her Writer in Residence website--check it out. Note also that a Toronto launch will be held October 10th at Type Books (they of the wondrous videos) on Queen Street West, with events in other cities to come.
 
You can order How to Expect What You're Not Expecting directly from the publisher (TouchWood Editions) here, or from your favourite local bookstore or Amazon or Chapters.  

* Is In Real Life's moment already over? I hope not. There's a new film out with that title, so I embrace IRL for now, whatever real may mean when we're all done tossing it around.*

The Long Goodbye Tour

Tomorrow marks two weeks since we left our daughter in a distant city to begin university, and I'm still not used to her absence.

Here she is.

School started for the younger kids the day after our return, providing much busywork to distract me from the missing person problem. And then there was scurrying related to my return to work and our eldest settling into the local university after being in Toronto for two years. Then last weekend: New York! Writing conference! (more on that soon), so there hasn't been time to grapple with our shifting family math.

Close readers will have realized that since one daughter left and one returned, the household actually has experienced zero net change in the #kH calculation (kids living at home), but it doesn't feel that way. Unsettled is how it feels. Transient. We have no routines established for this strange new configuration of people.

The thing is, I'm used to our old numbers--counting one-two-three-four heads at the beach when the children were small, routinely fudging hotel reservations because no one accepts six in a room, six bodies nearly filling the van. I need time to adjust.

So after the drop-off in Halifax we're back in the car (a little roomier without Sarah and her possessions, which made some passengers happy, but I wasn't one of them), headed home. Deep into New Brunswick we stopped at an odious fast-food joint (starts with M) packed with people. Labour Day weekend, everyone on the road to somewhere, and bonus, the world's slowest service. Customers massed five-deep waiting for orders. A guy in a tank top rifled bags on the counter, checking other people's meals. His naked armpit hovered over our partially-filled bags, which was, frankly, distressing.

When I picked up our order, I had a little fit--it was incomplete, and would take forever to fix given the crowd. I told the teenager behind the counter that an error had been made--we needed six meals, not five. She (reasonably) asked what was missing, but I couldn't tell her. I tried to match family members to items and kept messing it up. She remained pleasant, considering how busy they were--unfailingly polite, as we went back and forth repeating the same lines. Eventually, one of my kids sidled up to whisper, "Mom, Sarah's not here." Oh. Facts already known finally landed. Not their mistake, mine. I apologized, of course, and pretended all was well. At least I provided some entertainment. The kids shrieked with laughter for miles and miles, every time I wailed "Only five!" A text or two may have been sent to the absent one.

Our travel plan was to have a little holiday before the separation. We took the long way, spending a few nights in PEI (in a lighthouse! Okay, faux lighthouse, kind of sketchy but clean) with a final detour to Cape Breton Island before circling back to Halifax. While I can't recommend an extended drive with dorm-room furnishings--we were jammed--I can recommend my kids as traveling companions, should you be in need of some. Good travelers, they are. Gems.

A final note: since surrendering our girl to Dalhousie, I've sent her a pair of rubber boots, exchanged messages, talked on the phone and booked her flights for the holidays. Absence isn't what it used to be.

Hopewell Rocks, Bay of Fundy

 

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