Bookish Gardener

Autumn's crocus

The season's first hard frost arrived last night without much warning  other than the fact that it's been weeks overdue (no thanks to inaccuweather.com and my daily, if not hourly, checking thereof). Everything green was covered in shimmering hoarfrost this morning, but as for the tender annuals—I believe they just got the goodbye look.

The Crocus speciosus that I planted last month in the hundreds (yay, online bulb specials) are rising out of the ground this week like the will-o'-the-wisp. It seems an improbable feat of engineering for their long and delicate stems to have pushed their way out of clay soil crusted solid after months of drought. Some of the blue-purple blooms have been open for a few days already in the sunnier spots in the garden. One of them lies on the ground in front of its neatly broken stem, yet continues to close as the sun goes down and opens in full bloom as the sun shines on it, a botanical Lavoisier.

Cleaned up, real good

Forest for the trees

The weather outside is...delightful. First frost hasn't hit yet, so I'm enjoying fresh blooms on all the zinnias and cosmos that I didn't get around to sowing until late July (hmm, better not make that a habit), and the fat-faced fluorescent orange rose begonia that greets visitors at the front door is flowering as if it were July. It's nippy in the mornings, but warms to high 60's and low 70's under clear bright skies most days. Yes, I realize that we won't see the likes of this run of weather this time of year anytime again soon. And yes, this weather should have me doing grandes jetés across the yard, strewing petals about, but...I find myself examining the molars on this gift horse with deep suspicion. Eh, probably nothing more than the effects of the descending cone of seasonal affective disorientation as daylight wanes ever shorter.

But I am enjoying the trees without ambivalence. Foliage changes have been slow and gradual this fall. Some burning bushes are already dancing in full regalia at the ball, while others are still working on getting their cheeks rouged as they rush out the door. The trees seem to be holding onto their leaves longer, leading to extended juxtaposed foliage contrasts. The red maples are justly flaunting their jewels, and I'm especially enamored of the maples that turn the same yellow-orange-red as the spot on the just-right ripe peach which you mark for your first bite. But it's not just the flamers that draw notice. Under the soft-lit spotlight of the autumn sun, there's a presentational aspect to all the trees now, the evergreen next to deciduous khaki-green, the beech's russet next to the willow's still-green hula skirt, and, best of all, rich yellow next to nothing but blue skies. 

Fall.

Happy Hangul Day

King Sejong.

Today is Hangul Day in Korea, which commemorates King Sejong's creation of the Korean phonetic alphabet. This terrific post from Language Log tells us why this is a big deal. During his thirty-two year reign and before his death at age fifty-two, Sejong (one of my political heroes) also composed epic poetry, invented the pluviometer (rain gauge), and created a musical notation system for Korean court music. This 얌전한 아주머니 can't quite bring herself to put her lips to a glass of 막걸리 (makkeolli) in honor of the occasion, but the makkeolli-McCawley association suggested by Language Log is apt and brilliant.

Groove is in the hearth

"With Bach, every note counts." So our 12-year-old and I say to each other, as she draws ready her bow to practice "March in G" (that is, the Suzuki Cello School volume 2 version of it) and I prepare to play along on the piano. (We'd heard those words of wisdom last Friday as we sat in the audience for Angela Hewitt's masterclass at the UW School of Music.) She begins the piece stately and measured, swoops in dramatically at the "hook", and brings it in for a smooth landing. I lift my hands dramatically to release the final chords all at once (another performance tip from the masterclass), then clap wildly. She grins. "I love Bach."

In the car, she wants to hear The Shins' "Saint Simon" again and again. I consider this a personal triumph: a 12-year-old getting recommendations for 21st century popular music from her (as of tomorrow) 46-year-old mother.  She wants to know how I know about The Shins; I say, "Oh, I heard about them from a cool mom."

At the end of one Friday night's channel surfing (800 channels and nothing on), we settle on a cable digital music audio channel, which is playing an aria from a Handel opera. Our 8-year-old son comes over and snuggles next to me. "I like that beautiful music, Mom."

Our 6-year-old practices her beginning piano chords. Starting with C major, she plays the notes painstakingly (C-E-G-E-C), then carefully arranges her fingers for the chord. She works her way through her repertoire: G major and A minor, and now D minor, added for this week's homework. I sit next to her on the piano bench to watch, waiting to get to our duet of "Cowboy Joe". She practices the D minor (D-F-A-F-D; chord). She looks at me and says: "I think that is the saddest one."

Year two thank you

It snuck up on me, but today was the second anniversary of this blog. There's no grand scheme as to what this blog should be or might become. I don't always know when I'll next sit down in front of the loom, or the length or color of the thread that's next added to the skein, or the pattern or weave of the fabric that accretes inch by fitful inch. But I suppose my one goal, if there is one, is to keep at it.

To you who give your time to read this blog, I'm (still!) incredulous, and grateful.

The well-tempered pianist

Angela Hewitt performed here in Madison over the weekend, playing Book One of Bach's "The Well-Tempered Clavier", three Chopin mazurkas (Op. 50) and Ravel's "Le Tombeau de Couperin" with astonishing and impeccable technique and insightful interpretations.

The concert's lucid program notes helpfully explained what the well-tempered scale is and how it came to be. Could it be that I might finally understand the "Pythagorean comma"? But there I was, getting all comfy, and now I learn that well temperament ≠ even temperament, with implications for authenticity rivalling the debate on Bach on harpsichord vs. piano. (As to which, by the way: Not Going There.)

I'll admit that I was drawn to the program for the Bach (and when I go to school on Bach, it will be via Miss Hewitt's justly renowned recordings of Bach's keyboard works), but the Ravel was a show-stopper, and the Chopin was meaty and profound, a revelation possible only with a performer that chooses to say "Listen to this" over "Look at me".

Angela Hewitt's web site mentions that her first recording of Beethoven sonatas is set for release next year (Op. 7, 10/3 and the "Appassionata"). I can't wait.