Christmas Morning in the Cove

We slept in late, till 7:30, and the sky was bright though rain announced its presence through percussion on the modern but traditional tin roof. The bedroom was cool because we chose not to light the wood stove last evening after our hike. Instead we watched a rented Under the Tuscan Sun in the basement.

This morning the fire was lit. The Cove was soggy. The dogs were anxious for their breakfast and then wanted a walk down to the stable. I thought about that, but looking at the pools in the pasture and hearing the sound of pouring rain elected instead to drive there.

The horses too were ready for their oats. A bit of hay remained from an extra bale, the Christmas Eve bale, which we left for them upon our return to the Cove last evening. The horses were wet. They probably spent the night among the hemlocks rather than under the roof. They have their reasons. I watched them for a minute, wished them a good day and returned damp to the car.

Our holiday breakfast included pancakes with our wild picked blueberries, sausage, and Anne’s standard favorite, hazelnut flavored coffee.

The essentials out of the way, we gathered our small pile of presents next to the wood stove and opened them. Gifts included T-shirts, a couple of small books, a CD of Jackson County music, a few DVDs including a Prairie Home Companion, a pair of Cherokee necklaces (for Chuck), and a small painting that should fit in our motor home. We played the CD as Anne worked on a quilt, her new hobby, and Chuck wrote this piece.

Lunchtime

Anne is on the phone to Schenectady. Cell phones seem to encourage calling, and we have spoken more than once this holiday to Schenectady, Princeton, and York. I am still a reluctant caller and had the three-minute rule drummed into my youth. That is, all telephone conversations should be completed in what was once the period of the initial charge. This encouraged efficient communication and good economics.

One visitor stopped by briefly on her way to a distant port. She left and we are snacking on crackers and Brie. Our dinner guest has not yet arrived. The sirloin is ready for the grill. Anne has sliced the mushrooms and I have picked and cleaned spinach and leeks from the garden. I picked enough spinach that I could nibble as I cleaned it.

I commented to Anne that frosted spinach is a strange but delectable food. Put in the mouth it is stiff and almost tasteless with the consistency of crumpled newsprint, but it has a slight and pleasing aroma. As the mouth opens wide and begins to chew it seems it might turn into a mass of tasteless goo, but then a nutlike fragrance fills the sinuses and the texture becomes chunky and fluid. A soft almond or avocado sweet mustiness pervades the olfactory and taste senses. One can imagine this as the flavor of heaven. Fresh spinach in December makes gardening worthwhile, and we dined on spinach when the rest of America was throwing theirs away.

The rain has stopped. A patch of blue appeared briefly earlier but now small gray clouds below a bright white layer of stratus partly conceal and slip among the Cowee peaks. The day will become no warmer, but a walk up the Cove with the pups may be possible after dinner. Our guest will bring one more, and that will make the walk an adventure.

I started a loaf of (Cappiello’s) Parmesan and pepper bread in the bread machine. The baking bread and sautéing mushrooms will add to our Christmas ambiance. But now, the room is cooling and I am called to replenish the stove.

Evening

Our guest has left. Dinner was holiday fare. Crackers, Brie, and local brewed beer, spinach salad, sirloin, mashed sweet potatoes, green beans, and Chianti, and tea and carrot cake. All of us, our pups, and our guest’s pup walked up the Cove between the main course and dessert. The dogs earned bits of sirloin and the horses received apples for the holiday.

I have begun reading a book gift, a biography of Will Thomas, the white chief of the Okanaluftee Cherokee, and Anne is back at her quilt. She must finish the machine work before we return to the road. We may pause to check the TV later, but Fox is rumored to be showing a football game and, if so, we will just continue to work on projects or read. Tomorrow will be a workday. We are here for only another two weeks. Lots of things to wrap up.

The motor home was serviced last week. I made one trip to the storage locker early this month. More projects on the list. Anne has scheduled hours at clinic through this week. We will have next week to pack. Then we will depart.

We’ll miss this fine log house with its porch all around, skylights, and open ground floor. We’ll miss the pups, the farm, the Cove, and the pleasant and prosperous but unpretentious little town of Sylva. We’ll miss the dramatic countryside, huge green mountains, and swift streams.

I’ll miss the photo of Macronectes giganteus (giant big sea dweller) here in the study. That I could take with us. This bird, also known as the southern giant petrel, is a creature so ugly it is elegant in its irregularity, much as a bison or a tiger; an animal you might like to see, but only if there is some distance, water, or a wall between you and it. A creature that reminds you that nature is really not kind.

We have chosen a life of change, at least for now, and it changes again shortly. We still find this a pleasant novelty. We’ll see if we tire of this constancy of change as time goes on.

Now I’m off to continue enjoying this special Carolina evening.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.