Gathering the Summer Fruits

Edge of a cornfield, central New York.

It hasn't been a normal summer for any of us, but it's been a whole lot better than last year, and for that I'm grateful. Vaccination proofs and passports in hand, we crossed the Canadian -U.S. border in July, for the first time in 18 months, to visit my father. My sister-in-law also drove over from Massachusetts to see us for two days, which was a special and unexpected pleasure. Dad and I were so happy to see each other again, and even though he's having trouble with his legs and back -- very difficult for someone who was always so athletic -- he's still doing remarkably well for his age. I wish I could say the same for the United States. I was shocked to see and hear the polarization expressed so vehemently, and often crudely, on lawn signs and in conversation even in the small rural towns we visited. The vaccination levels are nowhere near what they are in Canada, (but far better than the U.S. South) and with Delta the cases are rising fast, but people were acting as if the pandemic were over. It was, to say the least, pretty disturbing to witness what seem to be two distinct realities between our countries. Nevertheless, finally being able to see family and friends in person, both there and here at home, has made a big difference in my emotional equilibrium.

A corner of G.'s garden.

Last week we went out to the Eastern Townships to visit our friend G., which is usually an annual pilgrimage, but one that we missed last year. We enjoyed his gorgeous perennial garden, in the last flush of summer bloom, and shared a memorable meal of fresh sweet corn, tomato and basil salad, duck confit, and blueberries. While there, the three of us picked the black currants that the squirrels and deer had left on G.'s bush, and later that weekend I managed to eek out four jars of intense, deep purple jam, to be shared with G.

Picking black currants, photo by J. - my new favorite photograph of myself.

A few days after that we hosted a tiny candlelit terrace dinner party for our friend V., with just four of us; Julia Child's butter spongecake (French Cooking Vol 1) was the hit of that evening, filled with mascarpone cream and sliced Ontario nectarines and topped with whipped cream and more nectarines and raspberries.

Our terrace garden is mostly flowers and leafy plants, heavy on the begonias, but it's also yielded a bumper crop of grape tomatoes and non-stop herbs, of which I've especially enjoyed the Thai basil and regular Genovese basil and its small-leaved Greek cousin.

Of course some of these summer scenes and bounty have made their way into my artwork. I spent several hours one afternoon sketching the hemlock trees on my father's front lawn, above the lake:

And on the non-edible side of things, yesterday I did a painting of a branch of monkshood, Aconitum, from G.'s garden, and found myself struggling to find the patience to do that sort of detailed botanical painting after a long hiatus.

But I'd wanted to capture its fantastic shape - those dark blossoms that are so evocative of the monk's hoods for which they're named, and because it feels somewhat connected to G. himself, who lives an intentionally contemplative life. Monkshood has quite a history. The botanical genus name Aconitum (there are 250 species) is most likely from the Greek word for "dart," because it was used in antiquity and throughout history as a poison on arrow-tips for hunts and in battle. A couple of grisly anecdotes: in 1524, Pope Clement VII decided to test an antidote for this plant -- also known as the "Queen of Poisons" -- by deliberately giving aconite-tainted marzipan to two prisoners; the one who received the antidote lived but the other died horribly. And in 2020, the president of Kyrgyzstan touted aconite root as a treatment for COVID; four people were hospitalized before his suggestion was debunked.

So in the middle of the summer harvest, it felt rather exotic to learn all of that about a common plant of northern gardens -- in fact, there's quite a bit of it in one of the city's gardens in a park near my home.

I think the limitations of the pandemic have created greater pleasure in these small things; I find myself paying closer attention, and appreciating the first ear of corn, the succulent strawberries, the succession of bloom and the phases of the moon. I dreamt the other night that I had awakened at my father's house at the lake, and looked up through the bedroom window to see the sky glittering more brilliantly than I'd ever seen it, with millions of stars.

People here are still being very prudent, and not gathering in large groups; masks are required indoors, and everyone is bracing for the fall as cases due to the variants begin to rise, even though 84% of the population has had at least one dose, and over 70% have had two. As elsewhere, almost all the hospitalized people are unvaccinated, but there are breakthrough infections and we can all transmit the virus. Please get your shots and be careful, wherever you are.

Comments

[Liz Nestler]

I enjoyed your photos, drawings and essay. We recently returned from a 2 month road trip to Florida. For the most part we only interacted with people when we were outside. But since we stayed in hotels on the way down and back (and stopped at rest areas) we were in places where very few others wore masks, especially in the south. As you say, people acted like the pandemic was over with. Even though we were very careful and fully vaccinated, a day or so after getting home we started having Covid-like symptoms -- sore throat, cough, fatigue, but thankfully mild, and now over with.

[Edward Yankie]

I really appreciate these reflections, your sketches, and this particularly sublime watercolour.

[Martine]

It's also my new favorite photo of you!

[Amanda Muir]

So good to hear from you and to see the loving portrait of you by J.

Beautiful drawing of the hemlock trees on your father's front lawn.

The situation with unvaccinated people, August heat and increasingly unhealthy air from fires is a present reality here in Northwest Washington State. British Columbia has 72% with one dose and 63% fully vaccinated. Washington State has 65% with one dose and 58% fully vaccinated. In the county where I live, it is 7!% and 64%.

[Marilyn McCabe]

I enjoy your thoughts and sketches. Inspiring.