Maine Musing: Music & Books

MUSIC MEMORIES

The Chief Penguin and I went to a lovely organ concert recently. The occasion was the dedication of a new digital organ at All Saints by-the-Sea with a recital by noted local organist Sean Fleming. While listening to the swell of sound (quite marvelous really when you realize there are no pipes!), I reflected on my years in church choir, our various choir directors and organists, and what it was like to sit in the choir loft high above the congregation.

My childhood church was founded in 1811 and its first building was white frame and erected in 1817. When the congregation grew too large, the original building was moved up the street (it’s still standing and is today home to a food pantry) and a new stone Gothic edifice was built in 1869. This imposing building had a huge sanctuary with a long center aisle, balcony seating along the sides, and a choir loft and massive pipe organ in the back. It was where my family worshipped and where the Chief Penguin and I were married. Unfortunately, in 1973, the steeple fell and destroyed much of the building. Rather than trying to repair this expensive-to-heat church, the congregation built a new modern church across town.

I sang in one choir or another from first grade through high school. The church leadership valued good music and, thanks in part to that organ, was able to attract talent greater than our small town probably warranted. Frank Pethel, organist and choir director (officially titled Minister of Music), was the most memorable choir director I’ve ever known. Warm and engaging and extremely talented, he was great at coaxing eager young choristers to produce tuneful results.

Choir rehearsal was after school on Thursdays at 4:00 pm. My friend Linda and I would walk from our elementary school to the church. It seemed like a very long walk. Probably not as long as I thought and we certainly dawdled a bit on the way. In any case, smart man that he was, Frank, with his ever ready smile, would meet us on the lawn in front of the church and lead us in a fast and lively game like “Steal the Bacon.” After 15 or 20 minutes of this, we had used up enough excess energy to be ready to go inside, sit and sing.

In church, I always enjoyed watching Frank’s feet fly on the organ petals as he rose and gyrated from his seat and his hands reached and pulled out and pushed in one stop after another. His teaching made me a better singer and gave me an appreciation for sacred music. He also had a sense of humor; to make it easier for us kids to remember how to pronounce, “in excelsis…,” he said think of it as “eggshell Sis.”

Other choir directors followed Frank who was lured back home to the south and a larger church in North Carolina.  Mr. K. was an adequate choir director, but with a very serious demeanor and seemingly no sense of humor, not a favorite.

Dave Caddis was a German professor at the community college and also parttime at the church. Tall and rangy with a head of thick brown hair, he always moved briskly and was somewhat irreverent.  I was a teenager during his tenure and he seemed hip and kept our attention. I can never hear Schubert’s  “Heilig, heilig, heilig” without singing it to myself and remembering Mr. Caddis introducing it to us.

My choir days pretty much ended when I went off to college, but I’m fond of hymns and very much enjoy hearing and singing them.

MAINE LIFE

The Stars are Fire by Anita Shreve

For this novel, Shreve has taken as her jumping off point a disastrous fire on the coast of Maine in 1947 that destroyed several towns. The opening chapters are a mood piece chronicling the daily life of Grace, a wife with two young children and a difficult husband, in the weeks leading up to event. All the mundane chores of running a house on a limited income, feeding a family, and minding the children, interspersed with bright chatter with next door neighbor and close friend Rosie. When the fire hits, Grace retreats with her children to the beach and they survive; her husband’s fate is unknown.

As usual, Shreve’s characters are believable and her story pulls the reader in. I read this book quickly and it engaged my emotions, but I found the ending fanciful. Perhaps Shreve thought her readers needed a happy ending to offset the devastation of the fire. (~ JW Farrington)

Note:  All photos ©JWFarrington (some rights reserved).

 

Musings from Maine

GOOD TIMES WITH GRANDDAUGHTERS.

We were delighted to have our son and family with us for several days. With our lively granddaughters, 5 and not quite 1 ½, in residence, reading, writing, and other activities were shelved. E and I made blueberry pancakes (a tradition and each year she is more capable and engaged in the enterprise); we drew and colored with the markers I acquired (she’s good at art), and together (mostly her) we invented and played out innumerable scenarios with her growing collection of Calico Critters (her imagination goes into overdrive). F was somewhat engaged with our colorful oversized Lego-like blocks—could snap them together and smiled as she knocked down every tower—and also wandered about exploring and observing, always keeping one or both parents in view. These were just the inside activities.  

Outside, the rocky coastline and flat pebbly sand were a draw for both girls. E focused on collecting sea glass, pretty shells and a variety of colored rocks and engaged with some neighbor kids. F discovered this new world by running her fingers through the sand, picking up and examining small bits, and even putting her face down into a wee tide pool. The other highlight of their visit (“the best day ever!” said E) was our trip to the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. We go every year and E was anticipating it before she arrived.

Their children’s garden is fabulous! The little playhouse with child-size table and chairs along with wooden appliances stocked with kitchen equipment and play food is always a hit as was the story barn. In the barn, E made a beeline for the puppet theater and F located a broom and swept the floor and swept again. Dad also read several stories from the well-chosen selection of garden-related pictture books while Grandpa and Grandma gazed on fondly! I think it’s fair to say, “a good time was had by all.”

 

COLOR AT THE FARMERS’ MARKET

I like making the rounds at the weekly farmers’ market. The vendors are arrayed in a big circle on the town green, and while mostly it’s produce and flowers, there are also a basket maker, cheese mongers, a coffee purveyor, several pastry and bread stands, seafood and sausage vendors, an Asian prepared food booth, and an artist who sells her notecards.

I’ve been noting how colorful some of the produce is and one vendor in particular who pays meticulous attention to how his vegetables are arranged. There’s artistry in the results. Here’s a sampling of some of these colors.

    

Memories from the Past

Adventures in Food

Cooking in America and culinary consciousness changed in 1970. Among the notables and celebrities of the food world, there was a sea change. Veneration of and obeisance to French cooking as the gold standard was replaced by respect for a more liberated, less formal way of dining. Americans were stepping away from the casseroles and canned and frozen foods of the 1950’s and 60’s and celebrating fresh produce and local ingredients.

(www.arabchurch.com)

Leading this charge were Julia Child, cookbook author and TV personality (The French Chef), James Beard, teacher, consultant and author, and M.F.K. Fisher, food writer whose past had been all about France. Playing lesser, but equally important roles were Judith Jones, editor extraordinaire responsible for bringing Julia Child’s books to the public, but also those of Diane Kennedy (Mexican cuisine) and Madhur Jaffrey (Indian); and Richard Olney, a purist whose first book, Paris Menu Cookbook, was a mix of good ingredients with a bohemian twist. He was the only one in this group who lived fulltime in France. The others all visited, some for weeks or months; in 1970, they all, plus Simca Beck, Child’s co-author, overlapped in Provence and shared cooking and conversation.

Luke Barr’s sort-of-memoir, Provence, 1970: M. F.K Fisher, Julia Child, James Beard and the Reinvention of American Taste, is a wonderfully engaging account of this shift with all of the underlying tensions between strong-willed, opinionated individuals. The grandnephew of Fisher, Barr draws on published biographies and memoirs as well as the letters and journals of his great aunt and the others. I knew quite a bit about most of these people from my own earlier reading so his premise was not new to me.

While in graduate schooI, I bought both volumes of Mastering the Art of French Cooking when volume 2 was published (a special deal). Then my grandmother, a plain, but good cook, gave us another copy of volume 2. I think she got it for supporting her local PBS station and she probably watched The French Chef. Over the years, I’ve made onion soup, beef bourguignon, and a lovely tomato rice saffron soup (Potage Magli) from these tomes too many times to count.

In 1970, Beard was finishing up writing American Cookery. Apparently, many critics thought it tried to cover too much material and didn’t support American cuisine as a distinct one. I, however, have found it a useful compendium, and my paperback copy is yellowed and stained. I still consult it for his recipes for chicken fricassee and veal Marengo. Later the C.P. and I acquired Beard on Bread and Beard on Food, each containing several favorite recipes.

One of Julia’s co-authors on the Mastering series was Simone Beck. By the end of their collaboration, Julia and Simca’s friendship was frayed and almost at the breaking point. Simca was French and a zealot in her adherence to the French way of cooking. She preferred to guess at measurements, for example, while Julia wanted to be precise to ensure that their readers got good results. After those two parted professional company, Judith Jones persuaded Simca to do her own cookbook. The result, Simca’s Cuisine, which I also own, includes a set of suggested menus by season or occasion. None is for the kitchen novice. I enjoyed reading Simca’s commentary about the recipes, but there is only one I consistently made for guests. It’s Paupiettes de Veau, a fussy, but tasty, preparation of thin veal cutlets spread with sautéed onions and then a slice of gruyere, rolled up, tied, and then pan fried. There was some sort of saucing as a final step.

For each one in its own way, the time in Provence in 1970 allowed Child, Beard, Fisher, and Olney, to move beyond seeing French cooking as the “sacred way.” Julia Child felt liberated to explore American cuisine, but also the ethnic influences on it from the wider world. She wrote several more cookbooks that espoused her more free-flowing approach.  

I added these volumes to our growing cookbook collection and was delighted in 1990 when Philadelphia’s annual celebration of chefs, The Book and the Cook, invited Julia Child to be the featured guest at the Fountain Restaurant in the Four Seasons Hotel. It was a lunchtime affair and we went with good friends Ellen and Bob. General practice was that you brought that chef’s featured book to your table and, at some point in the meal, the chef made the rounds and autographed everyone’s copy. Ever the gracious host, Julia stood at the entrance to this elegant dining room and greeted and shook hands with each one of us. While lunch was in progress, she then went from table to table conversing briefly and signing our books. She was one classy lady and this the most memorable meal of The Book and the Cook we ever attended! Reading Barr’s book brought to mind memories and meals.

On a final note, I also read Judith Jones’ memoir, The Tenth Muse:  My Life in Food, when it came out in 2007. (Essay by JW Farrington)

Gardens

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the lovely time we had on our return visit to the Coastal Maine Botanic Gardens with Margaret and Fred. This time, the magnificent lemony lilies were in full bloom as seen in the header photo and I admired red and wavy grasses.

Photos (except J. Child) ©JWFarrington (some rights reserved)

Maine Coast: Reflections

GENTLE PACE OF LIFE

One of the most appealing aspects about being here is the relaxed, slower pace of daily life.  I indulge in reading in bed before arising, we spend as much time as we like over the newspapers at breakfast, then perhaps head into town to re-stock the larder before lunch, followed by an afternoon of reading, reviewing photos or transcribing.

In my head, I’m currently re-living the events of 1990 (a family reunion we hosted in Swarthmore; our son’s first visit to his orthodontist; visits from out-of-town friends; adjusting to living with a dean), and simultaneously recalling where we were in 1970 as I explore the food revolution in the book, Provence, 1970.  Evenings we often gather with friends, be it for the annual oyster or lobster fest, drinks before dinner at the island inn, or a trip into town to explore the shops and galleries, then dinner at Ports of Italy or The Thistle Inn.  I am not keeping up my usual regime of exercise, but life is good.  There is much for which to be thankful!

PARISIAN MYSTERIES

If you like mysteries and are familiar with the streets of Paris, you might enjoy the Aimee Leduc series written by Cara Black. I just read the first one, Murder in the Marais, published in 1998 and set in 1993. Detective Leduc supposedly specializes in crimes related to corporate security and the internet, but she gets pulled into investigating a woman’s death related to the neo-Nazi movement and former Nazis.

I found it took me a little to get into the book, but then I got hooked. Aimee reminds me a little of Lisbeth in The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo given her unconventional clothing, many disguises, and physical daring (into the sewers of Paris, e.g.). But she is a more social person than Lisbeth and works with her partner, Rene, a double amputee and whiz computer hacker. The city is a character in its own right too. I enjoyed this neighborhood in particular since years ago we stayed in the grand Pavilion de la Reine in Place des Vosges. (~JW Farrington)

IN WITHDRAWAL

We finished bingeing on The Americans with the completion of season 5. Now we have to wait for what I believe will be the last season. They tied up a number of loose ends this year so I hope there really is a season 6. The focus on teenager Paige as well as on Philip and Elizabeth’s increasing doubts about how much longer they can do what they do made for a fascinating season.

And we watched the last episode of Grantchester. Another superior series that managed to bring love and harmony or at least the promise of rapprochement to everyone except Sidney.   With so many knots tied up, it’s possible this is the end, but, I want more.

Note:  All photos ©JWFarrington (some rights reserved)