Apples

 

Chop the apples into small, bite-sized pieces. In a heavy pan, melt ½ stick of butter. Add the chopped apples and sprinkle with cinnamon, cloves, and a little salt. Cover and cook for 10 minutes.

Remove the cover. The apples will have released quite a bit of liquid. At this point, add sugar or another sweetener. I use date sugar or date syrup.

Cook for another 10 minutes, then remove from the heat.

Serve hot over ice cream or apple pie. It can also be eaten hot or cold.

Simple, delicious, and good all year long.

Georgia

"Friends"

 

One of them was carrying books. The other was holding tea. The afternoon hush was gentle enough to trust. A hello passed between them. They knew, without saying much, that they belonged in each other's company.

Georgia

"Memoir"

 The worst job I ever had was a very long time ago, and I felt it in my bones every morning. I’d wake up with that familiar, gnawing dread of the day ahead.  

One morning, right before leaving for that atrocious job, I picked up a tiny piece of watercolor paper. I stood at the kitchen sink with my half‑wet paints and made a quick little pumpkin — nothing fancy, just a small sketch to steady myself. 

But something remarkable happened. My whole body softened.  moved in. It was in that quiet moment; I realized that art — painting, making, creating was something my routine needed, something my spirit needed, something I needed. 

I never looked back. Every day since I make something small and new, a gentle promise to myself that creativity will always have a place at my table. 

Georgia

The Night I Met the Irish Elk

 

            THE NIGHT WAS BLACK, LIKE A CAT IN A COAL BIN AT MIDNIGHT. A SLICE OF ORANGE MOONLIGHT FILTERED DOWN FEEBLY, RADIATING AN ORANGE GLOW BEFORE AN ENDLESS BEAUTIFUL BLANKET OF STARS. QUEEN CASSIOPEIA REIGNED IN THE NORTHEAST AS MY FRIEND TIM AND I SPED ALONG THE MOUNTAIN ROAD ETCHED INTO THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN. THE ROAD WAS TOO NARROW FOR A TWO-WAY ROAD AND OUTFITTED WITH A LOW 2 FOOT RAILING TO KEEP CARS FROM PLUNGING INTO THE RAVINE BELOW.

SUDDENLY, ON A SHARP CURVE, TIM SLAMMED ON THE BRAKES, GRINDING THE CAR TO A QUICK STOP A FEW FEET IN FRONT OF WHAT LOOKED LIKE AN IRISH ELK MEGALOCEROS GIGANTEUS WHICH WAS IMPOSSIBLE SINCE THE PREHISTORIC BEAST WAS EXTINCT. THE IRISH ELK WAS A MISNOMER SINCE IT HAD RANGED FROM IRELAND TO SIBERIA, ALTHOUGH MANY SPECIMENS OF THE CREATURE HAD BEEN PULLED FROM THE BOGS OF IRELAND. IT ALSO WAS NOT AN ELK, BUT THE LARGEST DEER THAT HAD EVER LIVED. THE HUGE DEER WAS AT LEAST 800 POUNDS WITH A RACK OF ANTLERS 3 METERS ACROSS AND A BODY LENGTH OF 12 FEET FROM NOSE TO TAIL. HE WAS STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD SO THAT THERE WAS NO ROOM TO GET AROUND HIM BY HUGGING THE MOUNTAIN OR BY VENTURING INTO THE OPPOSITE LANE OF TRAFFIC. IF ANOTHER CAR OR TRUCK CAME ALONG IN EITHER DIRECTION, WE WERE DEAD SINCE NOBODY WOULD SEE US UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE.

TIM TRIED BLINKING THE LIGHTS AND BLOWING THE HORN AND REVVING THE ENGINE WITHOUT SUCCESS. THE MONSTER DID NOT MOVE.  MY MIND WANDERED AS I REVIEWED MY 17 YEARS OF LIFE, FEELING THAT IT WAS MUCH TOO SOON FOR IT TO END. WE TRIED SLAMMING THE DOORS AND MOVING THE CAR BACK-AND-FORTH TO NO AVAIL. SOONER OR LATER, OUR LUCK WOULD RUN OUT AS ANOTHER VEHICLE HAD TO COME ALONG THE ROAD. FINALLY, AND AT A LEISURELY PACE, THE HUGE DEER DECIDED TO MOVE OFF THE ROAD, AND HE SQUATTED BACK ON HIS HIND LEGS AND SPRUNG UP INTO THE WOODS AND WAS GONE! WE TOOK OFF RIGHT AWAY, THRILLED TO BE ALIVE AND NOT FAR DOWN THE ROAD, WE PASSED A LARGE LUMBER TRUCK THAT WAS BARRELING ALONG OUR WAY, AND IT WOULD NOT HAVE HAD TIME TO STOP BEFORE HITTING US. LIFE TASTED SWEET THAT NIGHT.

JIM – SEPTEMBER 26’

Looking Up

 

It was so cold I could see my breath up on the roof, each exhale drifting out as a small fog that lingered before thinning into the night. I’d come up there for one reason—I wanted to see the stars. 

The sky was clear, crisp, and impossibly bright. Every star shone sharp and unforgettable, as if someone had etched them into the dark by hand. For a moment, the cold slipped away. Their light didn’t just glow; it rang, a thin silver shimmer threading through the deep blue sky. 

Georgia

Free

 

He wanted to catch the beautiful butterfly

It was not to be caught

Tickled by the breeze

Fluttering, Flitting, Floating

Spreading joyous sunshine with sprinkles of love

Carefree, Peaceful, Happy

Free

Laura M.

The Geese in the Cemetery

 

I live very close to a very old cemetery. Geese live there year-round. Geese are migratory birds, and they’re supposed to fly north in the summer. Not these geese. 

They’ve adapted to life in the cemetery. The manicured lawns provide plenty of grass, and between the old tombstones there are bugs, worms, and everything else a goose could want. They seem quite content there. 

Geese are surprisingly large birds—some can stand nearly four feet tall and weigh around thirty pounds. When you see them walking across the cemetery lawn, they look almost prehistoric. 

Almost every evening at dusk, I see a group of adult geese heading west in a perfect V formation. I don’t know where they go. I don’t know when they return. 

But I do know they have made this quiet cemetery their home. Among the old stones, the grass, and the fading light, they seem to have found a place where they can simply be geese—and live their best life.

 - - Georgia