September 17, 1981 - September's MoonglowSECOND SECTION 'Tbi *Uffolh T SEPTEMBER 17, 1981
September's Moonglow
Friday afternoon I started to think about
writing an article for the coming week but
events of a fall day changed all that. My
wife started to make peach jam out of the
accumulated peaches from our trees.
Each day we'd go out and pick the ripest
fruit and put it in the cooler until it was just
about overflowing. Something had to be
done so jam making took precedent over
all other activities.
There's nothing quite like the aroma of
fresh peaches being cut up and cooked on
the stove. It's enough to make a body get
up and sample those lush juicy yellow
chunks. That was my mistake, and I was
soon coerced into getting involved. First, it
was measuring out the peaches, then
stirring in the sugar, mixing it all up and
heating it over the stove, making sure to
keep it moving with an old wooden spoon.
Then some raspberries were added and
more stirring.
In between, the used pots and utensils
had to be washed. By that time the
ever -more fragrant mixture was ladled
out and put into scalding hot jars. Oh, I
forgot! I had to wash the jars and put them
with the tops in boiling water. Then the last
step was to screw on hot tops just so -- not
too loose, not too tight! I had to admit when
it was all over and those sparkling rows of
jars with their flavor - packed contents
were stacked up on the kitchen counter it
made me feel pretty good. But then that's
one of the tricks of life I guess, getting
involved. He who accomplishes that in-
volvement never finds life uninteresting.
Summer Crab Feast
By the time everything was cleaned up it
was getting near dinner time and tonight it
was something special -- Barbara's folks
had invited us up for crabs. This meant a
real summer feast. Hard crabs have been
very scarce in our waters and no one
seems to know why. There are all kinds of
wild guesses, but there are no real facts.
The south side has had a good season and
it is there that the crabs we were to eat had
come from. My only answer to the riddle,
and it's not an answer that has too much
merit, is that crabs, like scallops, weak-
fish, blowfish, etc., come in cycles. What
causes the cycles I don't know, but if we
haven't tinkered with the world too much,
perhaps this cycle theory will prove true
and next year or the year after we'll all be
getting crabs again.
We biked up to the folks' place and as
usual they were busy preparing for our
arrival. Newspapers were laid out on the
old card tables and the chairs drawn up for
the feast. The old nutcrackers came out,
with knives, forks, melted butter, iced tea,
beer, a roll of paper towels and, of course,
a big pot for the empty shells.
There were other things to eat but I
always feel that when you go to eat crabs
for dinner that's what you eat. So why
worry about the other trimmings. Then
they came in! Two dozen bright red hard
crabs. Believe it or not, at the end of the
meal there wasn't a crab left. And that's
only telling half the story; for I know for a
fact some ate more than others. After
dinner, when the dishes were washed, the
newspapers rolled up, and the card tables
put away, we headed home.
Magic of the Moon
On our way home an almost full moon lit
the roadway as we pedaled our bikes down
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the lane. It was warm and a soft breeze
gave the evening a delightful air. This was
too good an evening to let go. We had
nothing planned and it was only 8:30. How
about going out on the boat? We wouldn't
have to leave the mooring, just go out and
sleep over and soak up the moonlight.
We'd have to watch that, for I've been told
all sorts of things can happen under its
spell.
In a matter of 10 or 15 minutes, we were
packed and headed for the boat. As we
passed out the door the dog looked up at us
with sad eyes that said, "Are you going to
leave me again ?" The evening had started
to work on us already and as we bent down
and unhooked his chain we said, "Get in
the car" and off he sped. After all we were
just going to stay overnight.
What had been a beautiful night now
became a spectacular night of light and
shadows on the bay. Everything was
caught in that dreamy soft light of the
moon. You could see and yet you couldn't
see. Things were like ghosts. A magical
kind of light took over. There was just
enough breeze to ripple the water which
led along its surface in a sparkling path
towards the moon.
We talked in whispers, almost as if we
were in church. We wondered if others
were taking advantage of this show of
shows. The quiet was wonderful. Far
across the bay we could hear the late train
clattering along the tracks, a dog barked
and the head of our dog came up, ears and
nose working.
Occasionally we'd speak, but mostly
we'd talk by looking and listening. "Hear
those ducks talking up above." "Sounds
like black ducks." "Notice the difference
in the lights along the shores." "Summer
folks have gone back." "Can you see the
silhouette of Howie's boat over there ?"
"The wind's dropping off."
By 10 o'clock there were traces of high
clouds, perhaps a cloudy day tomorrow? It
was getting time for bed. The last I
remember was the dog coming down into
the cabin and flopping on the deck below
my bunk. I was off.
Saturday morning was overcast and
foggy. Dew covered everything. We could
hear an occasional drip from the accumu-
lated water on the sail cover. A short row
to the beach with the dog and then back for
breakfast. As the day progressed, the fog
played hide - and -seek with the shore across
the bay but soon gave up to a blue sky
above.
We had to be home early, so we packed
up and rowed ashore. The night had been
truly magical and we had to work to cast
off its spell. It was time to get back to the
real world. Yet there are always those
magical times. The trick is to be able to
recognize them and when you do let the
spell thoroughly engulf you.
PAULSTOUTENBURGH
CHAROS
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MOONLIGHT - -Full moon in September casts nostalgic reflections over
the bay. Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
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