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March of the Pumpkins

October 19, 2009

In these last beautiful days of autumn, I came upon a conference of pumpkins, orange, pink,jefferies-pumpkins yellow-striped, gray, and even a green snake [languishing on the bench, left] at the Jefferies’ Farms outside of Athens, Illinois.  Two sisters have worked their farmlands all their lives. Beginning in April they harvest acres of asparagus. In summer, it’s plums and peaches, and in fall, they sell apples, red and green peppers, apple cider, pumpkins, and wonderful, wonderful squash. All varieties.

For a writer, fall is a time when we harvest our memories during twilight’s golden hours . . . whilst munching on a crisp Snow apple.  [Sorry for the “whilst” – I’m watching Sense and Sensibility starring Emma Thompson.  Under the influence of the Brits, “whilst,” and “felicity,”  come tumbling out, though I try to stop, but for naught. ]

Indeed.

Uh-hum. My own fall produce is to draft a new chapter of a memoir I’m writing, and revise the draft of my ten-minute play.  That’s what I am about these days.  [Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.]  The new chapter begins with meeting poet William S. Burroughs in 1983 at the Caravan of Dreams in Fort Worth, Texas.  The Caravan of Dreams is a venue where Roxy Gordon and I gave several readings from our fiction and poetry, and we once gave a reading from Big PowWow, a play we co-authored.  At the Caravan of Dreams I also met Johnny Dolphin, aka John Allen, author of the Me and the Biospheres: A Memoir by the Inventor of Biosphere 2, and other books. Allen worked there as playwright, and creative director.   He is an Okie from Minco, Oklahoma.  Small world, no?  Whether spelled Minco, or Miko, the word means, “leader,” in Choctaw.

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