Autumn in the Forest

Autumn in the Forest

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Harvest Time

It is black walnut harvest time in the Ozarks again, and I have embarked on the month-and-a-half-long tradition of harvesting this black gold. With temperatures this week in the 90s, I must confess that I am not enjoying this harvest as much as those in seasons past.

It's painful, hot, I injure my foot every year by stepping on a hidden walnut the wrong way, and my hands remain stained for weeks. I usually end up with some manner of creepy-crawly in my hair and on my clothes, and I somehow manage to wind up with bleeding wounds on my arms and hands by the end of each day. And there's no bathroom in sight. Anywhere. Ever.

But however uncomfortable the harvest is for me, this is where the idea for the Evershade series began, so it is a rather special time for me. The spicy, woody aroma of the walnut hulls fills the air, and if you're very lucky, one of those hard little (or big) nuts does not hit you on the head while you work. (One fell RIGHT by my face as I bent over to pick up a nut today.)

I am taking a break from blogging during harvest time to focus on finishing my first draft of "Season of Storms," harvesting hundreds of pounds of black walnuts, and helping my son sell as much Boy Scout popcorn as he possibly can.

Happy Harvest!

 


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Thursday, September 7, 2017

"Summer of Death"

The past year has been difficult for me personally, having been filled with death, health crises, relationship issues, and my latest loss that occurred yesterday--one that will take some time to get over. Sorry, not ready to go into details right now.

The characters of Evershade have experienced their share of losses as well, particularly in "Season of Madness." Now, as I write the third book, "Season of Storms," yet more characters meet their demise. My daughter thinks I'm sick, my son thinks I'm cool.

Besides writing, I am a very negligent gardener and have planted a few strawberries, potatoes, onions, peppers, and tomatoes. This evening was cool, so I decided to water the onions.

We have two rain barrels at the front corners of our house, and we had enough rain to fill them repeatedly this summer. I used the water from one barrel to water the onions and peppers. The other barrel is located beneath a very unruly wisteria vine, and when I approached it to get water for the tomatoes, I noticed the barrel wasn't full. That was hardly a surprise, however, since that barrel had sprung a leak earlier in the summer and was held together by duct tape.

I picked up the watering can and peered into the barrel. Green algae blanketed the top of the water, and right in the middle of the slimy surface floated the very deceased corpse of a bloated opossum. Yeah. No doubt the brother to the opossum that died in our compost barrel a month ago.

So, perhaps I am justified in killing off my characters. After all, I certainly have the inspiration right on my own farm. But I feel guilty about it, too. I cry when I write some of these scenes, because though they may not be "real" to everyone, they are real to me. What the characters feel is real.

But death--in all its forms--is painful, and I for one could stand to have a little less of it in my life right now.









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