In My Own Voice Vol. 5 edited -

Dr. Lant passed away April 16, 2023

In My Own Voice – Reading from My Collected Works Vol. 5 – New England Tales

DEDICATION

For the Honorable Charlie Baker, Governor of Massachusetts… a man who knows and loves New England.

Contents
INTRODUCTION 3
https://youtu.be/ZSsQQ7x8OUk 3
Chapter 1 7
“Autumn comes to New England, September, 2011. And we are glad of it.” 7
https://youtu.be/3fBAxi5QgMg 7
Chapter 2 11
“Of apples, apple cider, cider doughnuts. Edible autumn in New England.” 11
https://youtu.be/ROZmjxOh7xM 11
Chapter 3 “Of plums, their sweetness, politics, and the eternal desire for more.” 15
https://youtu.be/AuvI0aN3olo 15
Chapter 4 “New England’s cottontail rabbits face extinction… if you love them, help save them.” 20
https://youtu.be/z7jmd-JxWRo 20
Chapter 5 “Of pumpkins, enormous, callipygian, stupefying, maddening.” 24
https://youtu.be/bYCXL7b1Uc4 24
About the Author 28
SPECIAL WRITERS SECRETS CATALOG 29

INTRODUCTION
https://youtu.be/ZSsQQ7x8OUk

Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/ZSsQQ7x8OUk

“New England, you ought to be in pictures. You’re wonderful to see.”

Here, see for yourself:

Sung by Rudy Vallee (1901-1986) in 1934, a New Englander himself, from Vermont.

Do you know this line, this famous line, by Daniel Webster (1782-1852), who once traded his New Hampshire Senate seat for what he regarded as a better one in Massachusetts?

In the fullness of his mature oratory, he stood in the Faneuil Hall Marketplace, and said these momentous words: “I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none.” People, good people, too, from Kansas, or Arizona, or even New York cannot offer a grander summary of the place they reside and do business in. And thus, not one of them can produce an encomium that exalts, impresses, and conjures the magic of this place. The encomium was for Massachusetts only, but I think we can safely extend it to all of New England.

And that’s why this introduction is titled, “You ought to be in pictures”. And unsurprisingly, we so often are. Daniel Webster hit the nail on the head when he said “I shall enter on no encomium”. He did not say, “This place is not entitled to one or worthy of one.” He said he would not give one… and that is because any such encomium one could give would be inadequate, even by a
master orator like Webster… yes, inadequate.

And so, I merely say to you now, we not only ought to be in pictures, we are, with a steady stream of stories, and poems, and plays… being our constant tribute to this grand place, so small in mileage, so grand as a place where revolution was born, and taken successfully to the people of the world to shape unto their own purposes.

Welcome to the introduction of five stories about New England. I’m not going to tell you much about these five stories here in the introduction, for each story is instructive and complete in its own right.

The first story is an overview of the whole of the six New England states. It is written from a Massachusetts perspective, with jabs to the other states, who had best not presume around me and mine. Massachusetts, after all, is an opinionated state, a state with more higher education institutions than anywhere else in the entire world. We came from nothing, across a cold grey water… we wanted freedom… we wanted God our way. We got all that, plus riches wrested from rocky soil, and the tenacious citizens that make for good, if stern, government. We have heard every nostrum, every declaration, every opinion, so many so foolish. Unrelenting as we are, we are not a land that abides fools. Avoid the temptation to become one.

The second chapter of this book contains our view of physician’s visits: avoid them at all costs by liberal application of apples. Like Robert Frost, who had an apple farm in New Hampshire, we all love apples, we all hate the growing of apples, the tending of apples, the picking of apples, the storage of apples. We love apples; we detest everything else about them.

I have often wondered on the relationship between Puritans and apples. Though these days many people no longer believe that an apple in Eden seduced Eve, offering a variety of linguistic possibilities. In the high days of the Puritans, the apple was the only culprit. How did a Puritan divine think when he held a loft of delicious, red, red apple. Did he quiver, thinking of Eve’s fall from grace? Or did he eat without fear or embarrassment. What do you think?

On plums

Apples moral standing may be compromised, but there is no compromise possible about plums. They are delicious. Every time I see a basket of plums, I become avaricious; I want them all. Moreover, I am not ashamed of my imperial tendencies. If, as a Puritan, I am among the Elect of God, surely I may eat as such a Puritan may do. Thus, tonight, being that I have a goodly basket of them in the house, I shall, quite alone, to be observed by no one, enjoy the riot of purple as it rolls out. I shall thank my own ingenuity in this matter, and whatever wisdom may have been dispensed on the subject of prunes, I shall share none of it, not a single jot or tittle.

But I will share a story with you.

It is, however, about rabbits, not plums. Or, as I hope I’ve made clear, I do not wish to share any of my vital information about plums, especially my plums, readily available for devouring.

Hippity hoppity

We all know rabbits, both of the garden variety, and those known from high octane books and films. While we are generally aware, or so we think, of the rabbit’s situation, we may not have detailed information on any part of the rabbit’s universe. That is why I have included this chapter on the New England Cottontail.

It is a small version, and cuddly, and as such, has heard every compliment, starting with ooh, ahh… you get the picture. Yes, little girls pointing, saying, “Look at that cute little bunny!” Of course, it makes the cottontails, and any other kind of rabbit, completely nauseous. Max told me this, and Max was adamant. Thus, no one in this household makes this mistake.

Of all the different rabbit varieties, I wish to mention in passing just one: the New England Cottontail. When I wrote my first article on the Cottontails, they were collectively on death’s door. Their territory was minuscule, and dwindling by the day. But the rabbits have gathered friends, and energized the local Homo Sapiens. No one wants to see the rabbits wiped out because we were too busy to help out, in even a small way.

And so, unlike so many threatened species, this one has a shot to see tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. Take a minute and help them out… it is not so very much to help achieve life itself for the much loved rabbits, who now again have a chance to live, and isn’t that what we all want? Don’t be left on the side, like our old gentleman who is late for a very important date. And remember: there is no greater good than saving life and enhancing it.

Fifty dollars per seed

Does the name Ron Wallace ring any bells? Well it certainly does for pumpkin growers.

Wallace is a phenom. His pumpkins reach over 2,000 lbs each. He eats, sleeps, and breathes pumpkins; yes, think of him as the Johnny Appleseed of pumpkins. Pumpkins have truly monopolized his entire existence. And no wonder; pumpkins are interesting. There are cute little ones, and giant ones that are larger than anyone has ever seen before. They are colorful. They can be turned into sinister faces, as if we don’t see enough of those in any given place.

Pumpkins say to the gardening world, “You are small, and have no impact.”, while other pumpkins say, with spirit and determination, “My pumpkins display the very latest in scary countenance.” In short, whatever size the pumpkin is, it has a sharp retort.

There’s also the matter of pumpkin conspiracies. Who did smash the pumpkin on the front porch last year? And should he be caught? Or she, these sexually equal days? What should be done with the culprit? I have an answer to that, as anyone who adores pumpkin pie as I do does… we’d have that certifiable culprit clean out all the pumpkins for what must make the pies. And, we should forbid them to eat a single morsel, whilst sitting at the head of the table. Hands tied. Eyes pleading.

However, before we do that this year, I would like to inform you that I, too, am a member of the vast army of pumpkin growers. Mine were planted over 50 years ago in the rich soil of Illinois, but because I didn’t follow the directions (not uncommon), my pumpkins did not grow to the gigantic size I had hoped and prophesied. No matter.

I did a benevolent deed with my pumpkins. I went to the door of each of my neighbors and gave them a pumpkin. Perhaps, as a result, they were more lenient with me when I dammed the crik, full speed ahead. I cannot say, for I never admitted to any possible distress that my beaver instincts may have occasioned.

Now it is time to turn this marvelous book over to you. It is all about New England, which is to say, it’s all about the heart of America. I am a concerted admirer of New England, and all its very many manifestations. I give ground to no man or woman about the blessings and benefits of this small parcel of six states. And so, thanks to Senator Webster, I end this chapter with his immortal words, and the necessary truculence to deliver them.

Now listen to me, and follow: “I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none.” And this applies to all her sisters… Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. We stand together in full glory, able to do every necessary thing to keep our cadre of states together and productive… and suitable for all pumpkins, whatever their size or condition

Chapter 1
“Autumn comes to New England, September, 2011. And we are glad of it.”
https://youtu.be/3fBAxi5QgMg

“Hildene”, the estate of Robert Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s only surviving son. It is one of the most glorious vistas, not just in Vermont, but in the world.

Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/3fBAxi5QgMg

Author’s program note. Our first travelers to Massachusetts arrived at Plymouth just in time for Winter, too late for Autumn, specifically trodding on terra firma, December 26, 1620… and were they ever irritated, taking the opportunity to lambast the luckless captain who delivered them so late after a most disagreeable voyage, my dear, anxious for something new and exciting, but not (so they all later agreed) so new and exciting as the standard walloping, punishing New England Winter they came to know so well.

And so the mystique of Autumn, as something worth having and decidedly superior to what follows, was planted at once… and has never waned. And for good reason.

Autumn in New England is not merely a season. It is a mood, evocative, sacerdotal, an essential experience for the sensitive and anyone with the soul of a poet. It is a season that forces us to deal with transition, decay, transient beauty, and history scattered around and through the hamlets, towns, and occasional city. Indeed there is a feeling, never shared with outsiders and casual visitors, that each and every citizen of New England is merely history that hasn’t quite happened yet. History in New England is not merely vestiges of things past; it is present reality, no ghost, but events of long ago, our neighbors still, as fresh today as at inception. This view of ancestors puzzles casual travelers who have no ancestors. They come from places without History… and are, of course, of no consequence whatever. They naturally take umbrage and as many pictures of dying foliage as the traffic allows. We are glad to see the back of them.

States that more (or less) make up New England.

It is well known to even the least educated that New England is comprised of six states: Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine, and Connecticut. The least educated, however, know nothing more than that and are not, therefore, in a position to inform you of sundry facts which if left untold to you will create problems for life and submerge your social standing. Here are the facts:

* Massachusetts is the largest New England state and offers a dizzying array of important events, people, ideas, institutions, etc. I don’t have either the time or inclination to share these significant details… for that you must visit any one of our dwindling number of bookstores and buy something. We need the money.

Autumn in Massachusetts is most about students arriving at pluperfect academies and institutions of higher learning graced by Corinthian columns and departments of humanities beset by troubles and the budget axe at every side. Such institutions attract the brightest students of the world. Sadly, even these are less educated than their parents, though they pay substantially more for what no one anymore considers a “good” education. Future students enrolled in such places in what is known as the Bay State will come for only a few weeks or even a few days, the prime objective being to say they “went” to (whatever institution they may claim) and to have their pictures taken in front of those venerable columns. Of course, it goes without saying that tuition and fees will not decline; rather the reverse. You will remember: we need the money.

Rhode Island, minute state, longest name.

Rhode Island, the littlest state, suffers from an indelible inferiority complex which has produced in once nick-named “Little Rhody” the insistent temerity of the “mouse that roared.” Rhode Islanders take no guff, and with that chip on the shoulder, defy you to knock it off. Even the boldest think twice before they try…

Rhode Island and Providence Plantations was founded by zealous brethen who grew appalled and aggravated with the sanctimonies and regulations of their former colleagues in Massachusetts and walked to a new destiny, one in which their truth was The Truth. So busy with the business of God, they had no time for the wistful vistas and God-delivered splendors of Autumn.

In due course, after their relationship with God was well and truly cemented and its manifestations — money — began to pour in… Rhode Islanders of means (and there were many) had no time for Autumn… they were busily spending their millions on sad copies of European culture and so nicking their fortunes and ensuring the sniggers of more enlightened, less respectful generations.

Later, in recent years, Rhode Islanders still had no time for Autumn. Gambling, lurid sex, and corrupt politics held sway… and to those who indulged the only season that mattered was the season in which their nocturnal activities waxed.

As a result of all these episodes Rhode Island came to know nothing at all of Autumn… something the more enlightened amongst them should regret, but probably do not.

New Hampshire.

There was no “Massachusetts” in the Old Country; there was no “Rhode Island.” But there was a peaceful place, a verdant place… called Hampshire. It is no wonder new citizens of the new land wished to memorialize it and pass a nostalgic hour reliving the place they would always remember as “home.” Such a place is a good place to see and to reflect upon the verities of Autumn, its beauty, its sadness that such beauty must be fleeting.

Go, then, to New Hampshire where their by-word is “Live free, or die.” It is a silly motto and would be better rendered “Live free, or fight,” something feisty, bold, gutsy, uplifting. But at least the folks in New Hampshire mean well, though that isn’t always enough. After all, at a time of fiscal austerity, they have wasted millions promoting that foolish motto of theirs.

Vermont.

Now we come to the Holy of Autumnal Holies, a place as sanctified and revered as Delphi. It’s everything that every Sunday travel supplement says it is… villages rendered and revered by Currier and Ives, places so quaint and tidy you are sure they are imaginary. I confess. I love Vermont in Autumn, and so that is when I scheduled my classes at the University of Vermont. One bows low before such a riot of glorious colors and swiftly dying verdure. Still, I have a pet concern… Vermont is not a name of Old England; rather it is a name of Ancien France, for Vermont (“Green mountain”) was an outpost of the Bourbons and reminds us they dreamed imperially, too, if less successfully than England. Perhaps locals kept the name which concerns me because it was tangible evidence that they had pulverized those Frenchies… even to the extent of annexing these words from their language for eternity… an insult to the people most conscious of the outrage of insult. En garde!

Maine… Connecticut.

As far as Autumn in New England is concerned, after the “in your face” exuberance of Vermont, the rest is dross. Maine, after all, was just a hunk of Massachusetts ripped off the Commonwealth in 1820 and established as a “free state,” to balance the “slave state” of Missouri then entering the Union. But we canny folk of Massachusetts are glad; Mainers are poor and exigent. They really need the money.

And as for Connecticut, the less said the better. Connecticut looks today as it has looked for eons south to New York and Pennsylvania. The folks in Hartford and environs condescend to the rest of New England. We hate them cordially and have made sure to sell them everything we can at inflated prices. You see, they have the money.

At the end…

Now you know about Autumn in New England. Book your tickets at once. Bring the family; the more the merrier. And, remember, bring all your credit cards and instruments of credit. Keep in mind at all times, we need the money.

Oh, and by the way, should you like a little light music to accompany this article, I recommend Edith Piaf singing “Autumn Leaves”, in both Johnny Mercer’s English and Jacques Prevert’s French. It is superbe. Do it now before the falling leaves have all drifted past your window…

Chapter 2
“Of apples, apple cider, cider doughnuts. Edible autumn in New England.”
https://youtu.be/ROZmjxOh7xM

Kimball’s Fruit Farm booth

Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/ROZmjxOh7xM

Author’s program note. The bounty of New England’s small family farms is now available at road stands throughout the region. The weather, despite the wallop of Hurricane Irene, has been beneficial and the crops are ample. There is, therefore, enough for all.

I love this time of the year, and my neighbors do, too. We, though we abide in the region’s cities, make a point of leaving our urban condominiums and walk-up apartments, glad for the opportunity to taste autumn. This is a yearly ritual which none of us wants to miss, for it calls us, if only for a moment, back to the land which is a part of all of us and which recalls us to a past which is for all of us at some point agrarian.

We are all of the land… and the farms and gardens, so picturesque in October, remind us where we have been… and of our forefathers… who kept faith with this land… tending it… nurturing it… protecting it… so that the land and their descendants might prosper together. Each rock that they used to build the fences that make good neighbors reminds us of our own families and the constant work that the land necessitates. The land demands… and we obey the land… for this is the way of the immemorial land and richness that comes forth if we but do our part. Apples are part of this land and this richness… and now is the high season of these apples.

Apples must be picked.

Each apple that you see has been picked. It’s something we urban dwellers never think about and which industrious apple growers must never forget… for apples on a tree are useless to all but the birds which well know how to get their sweet juices.

In his poem “After Apple-Picking” (published in 1915) Robert Frost reminds us just how laborious it is to pick the apples. On his tiny New Hampshire farm, Frost tells us that in apple-picking time the farm and the needs of the crop determine all. Everything else must be put aside for now; this is the way of the insistent land, the demanding land, the land that dictates that which humans who desire the bounty of this land must do:

“And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.”

Apples must be packed and promptly moved.

Apples, like every fruit of the farm, must be moved, for we buyers and eaters of apples are slothful and must be waited on. We will go on a yearly ritual of pilgrimage to the apples… praising farmer, land and crop… but we demand on all other occasions that the apples we so desire be brought close to us.

The apples I buy, for instance, come from Kimball Fruit Farm in Pepperell, Massachusetts. It is a far trek from Cambridge and so Carl and his helpers bring the apples to me in a local farmers’ market, held each Sunday in Harvard Square until Thanksgiving. There after 10 a.m. (the strict opening time, not a minute earlier permitted)… I can fuss over the multitude of varieties, rejecting most, selecting just the most attractive, aromatic, and (I trust) delicious.

Even after his many other customers purchase (for Carl and Kimball have a following), the piles of apples are still heaping; each and every one must be re-packed, taken back to Pepperell, to be packed again tomorrow, moved again, scrutinized again, and so on until at last all the apples are gone. Carl, like Frost, gets overtired, too.

But apples are the pride of Kimball Fruit Farm… and their website boasts of over 40 varieties…. how many could you name? Baldwin, Blushing Golden, Brock, Burgundy, Cameo, Chesnut, Crab Cortland, Elstar… the list goes on an on, each one a pledge by Proprietor Carl that the land will be so cherished so that each of these apples will flourish in years to come, including one of the most beautiful apples of all: the Spencers which I crave. And so it has been going on for the thousands of years apples have been amongst us, starting in Western Asia, where the apple’s wild ancestor, the Alma, can still be found today.

There are more than 7,500 known cultivars, resulting in a wide range of desired characteristics. So desirable are these characteristics that 55 million tonnes of apples were grown in 2005, with a value of about $10 billion. China produced some 35 percent of this total; the United States was second with more than 7.5 percent of world production. Iran is third, followed by Turkey, Russia, Italy, and India.

Many of these apples are eaten raw… but many are also transformed into that silky mixture called apple cider. I buy mine from Allen’s Cider Mill in West Brookfield, Mass. The reason I initially bought from this stand at the farmers’ market was that the fellow tending it looked so sad. I felt glad to lift his load just a smidgeon, but in truth I liked the product… and got in the habit of buying from him, though he is laconic to a degree and has never smiled in my presence or ever said a friendly greeting. I notice such things. A teen-aged boy of 15 or so helps the man out; it’s probably his father. They look alike. I notice he never smiles either and that makes me wonder at the ways of genetics and family farms.

The label makes it clear that this cider must be refrigerated at below 40 degrees Farenheit and wants you to know, too, that it has been ultra light treated for my safety… no preservatives… no additives… and is made of “washed sound ripe apples.” I have never bothered with such cider labels before, but I am grateful for their care and practical concern, though I’d still like a friendly greeting, a smile, and a chipper query asking me how I like the cider, since I keep returning for it… and for the cider doughnuts, too, which I first sampled at this stand…

I was in a relaxed and friendly disposition the day I saw the hand-written sign about cider doughnuts and asked what they were. The answer was worthy of Silent Cal, Vermont’s only president. “Made with cider, instead of water,” he said, as if each word was a treasure to be hoarded, not shared even for commercial gain. They were 50 cents each; I got one, the minimum risk… The next week I got 4… and devoured them at record speed, a new taste of fall… topped off with cinnamon and sugar. It is a delicacy indeed, and I can bear even the lack of amiability so long as there are cider doughnuts near at hand… and great, grand Spencer apples, too… and the smoothness of apple cider. For all of these together, and each distinct, is truly the apple of my eye… deserving of high praise, no waiting, please, for I have no patience, none at all.

But I do have a song to accompany so many delicacies. It’s by the Four Lovers, “You’re the apple of my eye.” (released 1956).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bgteu0I9fSY

For you are “done with apple-picking now” and must take a moment to eat, savor, and thank. For apples and everything about them are a great joy and benediction. As you and I have known for a lifetime, haven’t we?

Chapter 3 “Of plums, their sweetness, politics, and the eternal desire for more.”
https://youtu.be/AuvI0aN3olo

A drawing of the sugar plum fairy costume from the 1881 production of “The Nutcracker”
Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/AuvI0aN3olo

Author’s program note. I decided to walk to the Farmer’s Market yesterday; usually I ask Mister Joseph to drive me, the better to bring home the excessive armloads of produce I need to feel I have enough. But the weather, on the cusp between a summer exiting and a fall arriving, was perfect for something ambulatory and good for you.

Yes, it was a perfect day to be out and about…. and the way to the market hard by the Charles Hotel was packed with everyone and his brother, folks who had the same idea as I did: to prepare squirrel-like for the rigorous winter ahead… never mind that every morsel I purchased this day would be long gone before the first flake of snow hits the pavement. It’s the thought that counts, that there would be enough, that I would have enough, and that this winter there should be, for me and mine at least, an ample sufficiency.

It is most curious to me how this process works. One minute it is a hot, stifling New England summer day… then, as if by magic, there is a whiff of the New England autumn ahead with its preview of gusts and dismay about the return of the winter that tests us all so sorely, the more so if Social Security is your metier. This touch of autumn is Nature’s wake-up call… and, unless you are clueless on such matters, you get the point and do the necessary. Thus I was walking to the Market with a friend who said, “I knew I should have worn my sweater.” He really didn’t need it… but Nature’s clues resonate more with some than others. Moreover since he is not of hardy stock, he needs a call more clarion than I do. And he got it.

“Done for the season, sir.”

Last week there were white peaches, blueberries and a few blackberries, too. I asked how long the fabulous whites, an exquisite liquor in a soft skin, would last. The young woman behind the counter, overly plump and too young to catch her breath as often as she does, was cavalier. “We’ll have them for another month at least.” But today, just a few days after her confident pronouncement, there were no whites to be had, no more to come, and so I was disgruntled. The only white peaches now were in my head with many a long day to pine for them and wish them sooner here….

But when God, they say, closes a door, He opens a window. And that was nothing but the truth this day… for there before me was a deep purpled fruit I had, in my lamentation for the whites, forgotten. But the fruit had not forgotten me. “Try the plums, sir. They’re oozing and ready to pop in your mouth. No waiting!” Thus the young woman, who any 18th century English novelist would have correctly described as a “saucy wench”, thereby in some measure regained the good opinion of Yours Truly… and so, by the merest touch, I confirmed her evaluation… eyes engaged for color… fingers to test for perfect readiness… only mouth yet to call into action… and that, once accomplished, lead to a dozen ready to take home and devour without ceremony.

And so with the plum I had regained my equanimity and good cheer. I knew exactly how Little Jack Horner must have felt when he, plumless one minute and chagrined, had by deft digital movement extracted a beauty from his Christmas pie. Plums have been coming to the rescue just like this for centuries and so boys like Jack “Sitting in the Chimney-corner” know that a single plum at just the right moment can make a world of difference and that old grannies should be reminded of this whenever the world is too much with us, late and soon.

Facts about plums.

A plum or gage is a stone fruit tree in the genus Prunus. It is a diverse group of species including peaches, cherries and bird cherries, amongst others. Prunus is distinguished from its relations because its shoots have a terminal bud and solitary side buds (not clustered), with flowers in groups of one to five together on short stems, and the fruit having a groove running down one side and a smooth stone (or pit.)

Mature plum fruit may have a dusty-white coating that gives them a glaucous appearance; this is easily rubbed off. This is an epicuticular wax coating and is known as “wax bloom”. Dried plum fruits are called dried plums or prunes, although prunes are a distinct type of plum and may have antedated the fruits now commonly known as plums… but universally regarded as the best.

Plum: the best part of anything.

You have only to eat a plum to understand why they are regarded as “good”. But you need to know something of its long history and association with mankind to understand why the very word itself has passed into our language meaning “the best part of anything,” for to call a thing “plum” is to call it the very best it can be. The question is, how to put this “bestness” to work for our greatest pleasures.

Uses for plums.

Plum fruit tastes sweet and/or tart. The skin, for instance, may be particularly tart. It is juicy and can be eaten fresh or used in jam-making. Plum juice can be fermented into plum wine; when distilled this produces a brandy known in Eastern Europe as Rakia. In the English Midlands, a cider-like alcoholic beverage known as plum jerkum is prized.

In considering how plums are used you must remember that refrigeration is a very recent development in human history. One feature very much in the plums favor is that it dries well and keeps its flavor. Dried plums (called prunes) are sweet, juicy, and contain several antioxidants. They’re widely known for their laxative effect, particularly with elderly people suffering from constipation. How to handle this aspect of what the prune can do has produced sharp disagreement among plums, all of whom have an opinion on the matter.

On the one hand, plums are glad to be helpful, especially to old folks who have eaten plums and been loyal to them for a lifetime. On the other hand, plums wish to develop their reputation for being a celebrity fruit, edgy, cool, the favorite of trend-setters and calorie conscious fashionistas. This split, so distressing to plum lovers everywhere, after many acrimonious years now seems on the road to reconciliation thanks to recent developments in a thing which initially wasn’t a plum at all… sugar plums.

“Visions of sugar plums danced in their heads”.

A sugar plum is a piece of drage’e candy that is made of dried fruits and shaped in a small round or oval shape. But “plums” here mean any dried fruit, such as dried figs, dried apricots, dried dates, dried cherries, etc.

The dried fruit is chopped fine and combined with chopped almonds, honey and aromatic spices, such as anise seed, fennel seed, cardamom etc.; then rolled into balls, to be coated in sugar or shredded coconut, thence to go into expectant mouths and such gems of our culture as
“‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” (1822) ; Eugene Field’s poem “The Sugar Plum Tree” (from “Poems of Childhood”, 1904) and, of course, Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece “The Nutcracker” (1892) where the Sugar Plum fairies and their brilliant theme still enchant despite being egregiously overplayed every Christmas. (Even some plums concur).

As for the plums, every time they hear it, they get angry… for their name and flavorful renown have been usurped to sell… apricots! And cherries! And that will never do.

Check your sugar plums… make sure there are plums there. Accept no substitutions.

Since launching this campaign, plum sales have soared… and plums, gathering to extol themselves upon this success, have forwarded any number of additional ideas to keep the ball rolling. The best is to rework Jack Horner’s presentation. Abercrombie and Fitch has been approached for one of their comely lads to hold a strategically placed plum… and nothing more. Kinky.

The Plum Book.

No story on the plums and their great reputation would be complete without a reference to what automatically becomes the most popular book in Washington, D.C. the minute the television networks project the next President. Its actual name is “United States Government Policy and Supporting Positions”; it is, however, universally called “The Plum Book.” It contains over 9,000 civil service leadership and support positions (filled and vacant) in the Legislative and Executive branches of the Federal Government that may be subject to noncompetitive appointments, in other words political appointments.

Are you of an upwardly mobile and competitive disposition? Then imagine this: whilst scanning The Plum Book for something geared to your genius, you nibble an authentic sugar plum whilst listening to the great melodies of the sugar plum fairies. If you’re a plum lover it gets no better than this… Click the link below, and, with Tchaikovsky’s help and an appointment from the president turn today into Christmas, the plum itself in all its manifestations the best present of all.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rapf3g_XvCc

Chapter 4 “New England’s cottontail rabbits face extinction… if you love them, help save them.”
https://youtu.be/z7jmd-JxWRo

Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/z7jmd-JxWRo

I had the most extraordinary experience recently when I took my nephew Kyle out to see the Old Manse in Concord, Massachusetts. Built in 1770 for patriot minister William Emerson, the residents of this handsome clapboard house literally heard the shot heard round the world on April 19, 1775.

Later, that revolution won, residents welcomed one celebrated guest after another… Bronson Alcott, Henry David Thoreau and Margaret Fuller. Two of the most celebrated of all — Ralph Waldo Emerson and Nathaniel Hawthorne both lived there for a time and both were fertile with the seminal ideas that shaped the new nation.

Emerson wrote his famous essay “Nature” in a stuffy upstairs bedroom. Hawthorne wrote a tribute to the house itself, “Mosses from an Old Manse.” Both he and his wife Sophia chiseled poems for each other on the window glass using a diamond that surely symbolized a love so great it could take in its stride the massive discomfort of their chamber on the second floor, frigid in winter, insufferable in summer.

One more guest came, or rather a stream of them… and it is these guests who so startled us the other day. The Old Manse was closing for the day and the sun was dipping in the western sky.

I was walking away from the house when I turned for a last look and saw an overpowering luminescence… a spectrum of colors bathed in a light that could only be called celestial. It was a benediction… overwhelming… perplexing…

… until I realized that the epicenter of this luminescence was the heirloom vegetable garden originally planted by Thoreau in honor of the Hawthornes’ wedding. Kyle and I were being ushered off the property in high style, grandly so… by the rabbits who entered the garden as its visitors left; their ears catching the light to produce this astonishing effect… It was unexpected but no less welcome for that. It was good to see so many of them…. and so well, though I can imagine the gardeners felt quite differently. Sadly, this brave show may well have been a swan song… especially if these rabbits were of the New England cottontail variety.

New England cottontails and their plight.

The New England cottontail (Sylvilagus transitionalis) is a species of cottontail rabbit represented by fragmented populations in areas of New England, specifically from southern Maine to southern New York. This species bears a close resemblance (so close you must analyze their fecal droppings to tell the difference) to the Eastern cottontail. It is important to know that the Eastern cottontail has done the better job of adapting to its often harsh environment; the New England cottontail, for instance, retains its brown color during the winter, the better to be seen and enjoyed by hungry coyotes and owls. This is but one of the several pressing reasons which together may presage the end of these uniquely New England residents. Here is the full litany of the woes which assail them…

Item: Its population is in sharp decline. As recently as 1960, New England cottontails were found east of the Hudson River in New York, across all of Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts, north to southern Vermont and New Hampshire, and into southern Maine.

Today, this rabbit’s range has shrunk by more than 75 percent. Its numbers are so greatly diminished that it cannot be found in Vermont and has been reduced, according to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, to only five smaller populations throughout its historic range.

Item: Drastically reduced habitat. The New England cottontail prefers early successional forests, often called thickets, with thick and tangled vegetation. These young forests are generally less than 25 years old. Once large trees grow in a stand, the shrub layer tends to shrink, creating habitat that the cottontails no longer find suitable.

New England cottontails need a certain amount of territory to flourish. They do best on patches of habitat larger than 12 acres. Rabbits on smaller patches of habitat deplete their food supply sooner and have to eat lower quality food, or may need to search for food in areas where there is more risk (especially in winter) of being killed by a predator.

Item: The introduction of exotic invasive species, such as multiflora rose, honeysuckle bush and autumn olive, in the last century has changed the type of habitat available to New England cottontails. These plants form the major component of many patches where cottontails can be found, and the rabbits don’t like them at all.

Item: Today white-tailed deer are found in extremely high densities throughout the range of New England cottontails. Deer not only eat many of the same plants but may affect the density of many understory plants that provide thicket habitat for New England cottontails.

And so the woes pile up, one on top of the other until catastrophe looms… and swiftly so. Even their well-known prolific breeding habits, known to all, cannot save them… without our immediate assistance. Thankfully a measure of that assistance is now at hand…

Under an agreement announced in April, 2011, the New Hampshire Fish and Game Department will work with private landowners in Cheshire, Hillsborough, Merrimack, Rockingham and Strafford counties to help restore the thickets during the next 50 years. The goal is to enroll 3,000 to 5,000 acres to be managed as cottontail habitat.

The agreement in New Hampshire allows the Fish and Game Department to provide assurance to volunteering landowners that their conservation work “won’t jeopardize the future use or value of the land if the species is eventually federally listed,” said Steve Weber, chief of the department’s wildlife division. Such federal listing as an endangered species is probable since the cottontail was listed in 2006 as a candidate under the Endangered Species Act.

Now the good people of New Hampshire can make a start at preserving the cottontails by cutting vegetation to promote shrub development, planting seeds, controlling invasive plants, and transferring some rabbits to the newly created habitats. It is good… but is it enough… and in time?

A candid conclusion.

For thousands of years, New England cottontails were self-sufficient, thank you very much. Then we, homo sapiens, descended, spreading dislocation, disaster, death. Now the future of these silky creatures is in our hands. Surely a great nation that can put members of our species on the moon can make a few bucks available to save them and give them the little they need to survive. But will we? That is the open question that demands the right answer, for really what do a few rabbits matter in the scheme of things?

Here is the righteous answer: if we will not protect the small and meek like the cottontails, how can we be expected to do what’s necessary to protect ourselves and the planet? We are all, you see, endangered together. When will we finally come to understand?

Musical note

We all know the White Rabbit and his unavailing attempts to be on time. He tries, he cannot, so he does not succeed. And so, this rabbit, first seen in the 1951 film “Alice in Wonderland”, needs our help. Won’t you help the old gentleman on his way?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOLpCWlsCjw

Chapter 5 “Of pumpkins, enormous, callipygian, stupefying, maddening.”
https://youtu.be/bYCXL7b1Uc4

Special reading by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://youtu.be/bYCXL7b1Uc4

Author’s program note. It is exactly 2 a.m. It is as dark as it ever gets in Cambridge and that is very dark indeed. The air is chill and so thick with the promise of rain that I feel sure I could squeeze water from it like a wet towel. But I cannot take time for that now; I have an important matter to consider; the matter of pumpkins, for yesterday was the first day pumpkins were available at the Farmer’s Market.

I gave them a look that was too brief, inadequate, cursory; some pumpkin advocates would even say insulting, but the plain fact was I was in hot pursuit of pumpkin muffins. The proprietor of the bakery stand never has too many (though I have on divers occasions urged them, and sharply too, to prepare greater numbers). They neither hear nor heed. Thus when this morning I presented myself just moments after the 10 a.m. opening bell, there were just two left! I took both, no hesitancy; for he who hesitates in the face of such paucity, such flavor is lost, muffinless, chagrined.

However, as the crumbs on this satisfied face could confirm, I was not that poor soul, at least this week. Pumpkins had done their work well, again, and I was content, ready to tell you a story of fanaticism, obsession, the delirium of total victory… and of the despair that torments every living second of every single day; the despair of losing, acknowledging another your undeniable superior

You will see — right here — good people do wicked things; you will see the meek and mild turned into card-carrying intemperates determined to do you a mischief… just as you are determined to do one to them.

You will see once amiable neighbors turned into spies, conspirators, stealthy commandos wrecking havoc in ordered patches where great pumpkins grow, the greatest pumpkins on Earth.

Not for sissies.

Welcome to the world of giant pumpkins, where the matter is urgent, demanding, and where sissies are never welcome. It is here that champions are forged, champions who live, sleep, breathe pumpkins and whose dreams always feature the greatest of pumpkins, the ones that make you proud and your competitors despair. Yes, these are the sweetest dreams of all, not least because you can make them real.

Not for eating, not for carving, not for decorating, just for weighing.

Every year in the waning days of September and the waxing days of October, a group of fanatics prepares for the difficult, grueling day ahead, Weighing Day. They ready themselves mentally… walking out into the crisp early morning air, a moment at once poetic, lyric and apprehensive.

The great Midwestern poet James Whitcomb Riley (1853-1916) knew this moment which he rendered thus in his beloved poem “When the Frost is on the punkin”:

“When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then the time a feller is a-feelin’ at his best…”

You know this feeling. You are feeling it now, now as you undertake each and every task that cumulatively turn you from one of life’s unsung pedestrians into awe, wonder, high jubilation and the stuff of legend. You know that treating pumpkins right can take you to this place of profound satisfaction. And so…

You check the pumpkin one last time to make sure its umbilical chord still is doing its essential task. Check the weight one last time. It is bigger than the last time you checked, for giant pumpkins add 1-2 pounds per hour, growing greater and greater right before your eyes.

Now you stand before this giant of its kind, the joint creation of God and you, and before you snip it lose from the only home it has ever known, you pause and consider the matter of how from a single seed lighter than a feather this great thing took root, grew, and grew more, now ready to meet its fate, dazzle or disappoint. How had it all happened?

The necessary steps for producing giant pumpkins.

Do you wish to be great? Then you must know and accomplish the necessary steps.

1) Test the soil.

Collect a sample of the soil you wish to use. Have it carefully tested to see what nutrients are currently in the soil and what nutrients need to be added. Then select a fertilizer with the correct amounts of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium to counter deficiencies in the soil.

2) Select proper seeds for planting.

Giant pumpkins beget giant pumpkin seeds which then produce giant pumpkins.

Purchase seeds from a farmer who raised giant competition pumpkins. Expect to pay up to $50 per seed.

3) Begin the germination process within.

Plant your seeds towards the end of April on wet paper towels or in peat pots.

4) Look for the seeds that sprouted the fastest.

These will be the strongest growers. Sprouting begins 4-7 days from planting.

5) Transplant your sprouting seeds to the ground as soon as the first leaves appear.

Each seed will need approximately 2,500 square feet of space for vine growth.

6) Pollinate the pumpkin blossoms by hand.

7) Identify the male and female plants.

The female has a small pumpkin at the base and no pollen inside the flower. The stamen will be covered in pollen. In July, pull the petal from the male blossom and expose the pollen. Rub the pollen stamen on the blossom of the female. You’re Cupid’s little helper.

8) Pick your prize pumpkin.

You must select your best shot and eliminate all competition.

9) Prune your vines to the proper length for growth.

The main vines should be about 10 to 15 feet from the fruit.

10) Use a potassium fertilizer beginning in late July.

11) Measure your pumpkin’s circumference each week.

12) Track down fellow giant pumpkin growers on the ‘net, groups with names like “Rhode Island mafia” and the “New Hampshire secret-keepers.”

The sharing of essential growing details online is one key reason that winning giant pumpkins have grown from 1000 pounds in 2000 to 2000+ pounds today. The other reason is a guy named Ron Wallace, Mr. Giant Pumpkin whose pumpkin set the world record at the Topsfield Fair September 28, 2012.

People use lots of adjectives to describe Wallace, words like fanatic, zealot, rude, abrupt, secretive, bombastic, self-glorifying… but absolutely no one doubts he’s anything but all giant pumpkin all the time. There has probably never been in human history anyone closer to pumpkins than Wallace, certainly no one who knows more how to turn the prosaic into the awesome. It’s his metier.

To beat the record, you must beat Ron Wallace, who constantly strives to outdo himself. Click the link below to listen to Michael Jackson’s 1982 gangbuster “Beat It”. Turn it on, turn it up and remember: “You’re playin’ with your life, this ain’t no truth or dare.” Ron Wallace is in to the death. You must be, too.

About the Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four university degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities and is quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 50 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …drjeffreylant.com

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” has garnered nine literary prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a success. Be sure to sign up now at www.drjeffreylant.com

More can be found on Dr. Lant on his author page at: http://www.amazon.com/author/jeffreylant/

SPECIAL WRITERS SECRETS CATALOG
“A Connoisseur’s Journey: Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy”
A multi-awards winning, gloriously written and unique memoir by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.
Awarded FIRST in Class at Southern California Book Festival.
FIRST in Class Great Southwest Book Festival
FIRST in Class Great Southeast Book Festival
SECOND in Class at the Great Midwest Book Festival.
SECOND in Class Great Northwest Book Festival
THIRD in Class at the London (England) Book Festival.
THIRD in Class at the New England Book Fare.
THIRD in Class at the Paris France Book Festival

Dr. Lant also was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award with a focus on “A Connoisseur’s Journey” with this citation.
“Dr. Jeffrey Lant. On behalf of the citizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I congratulate you on the release of your Memoir, ‘A Connoisseur’s Journey’. Your work is a groundbreaking experiment into the use of musical citations in literature, adding depth and nuance to the reading experience.”
(signed) Charles D. Baker, Governor and Karyn E.Polito, Lieutenant Governor
“A Connoisseur’s Journey” available at: http://writerssecrets.co/products/a-connoisseurs-journey-being-the-artful-memoirs-of-a-man-of-wit-discernment-pluck-and-joy

Treasures From The Lant Collection Series
– One of the most personal book ever written on art, artifacts,
auctions, conservators, and the great yarns that constitute the better part of provenance.
– Written by a man who has been privileged to visit many of the world’s great museums.
– A man who has had an interested in arts, its attributions, conservations, and sheer beauties since he was a young boy.
– What was written here is the result of constant exploration, research, gut hunches, and downright blind luck.
Dr. Lant can honestly say he has enjoyed every
moment in his quest to find not just objects of beauty, but objects of history, often fleshed out by himself, who is, after all, a history Ph.D. from Harvard.

What follows will sure to delight you.
Found in the Kindle Store at Amazon.com

Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
269 pages
Both Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Charles read and liked “Insubstantial Pageant” and found it to be a very interesting book indeed especially since it was written by an American.
The author Dr. Jeffrey Lant was given unique access to the Royal Archive at Windsor Castle for his research of the material contained in this book.
A book that has always been and remains to be the most detailed book about the British Royal Events.
Throughout the reign of Queen Victoria, confusion and uncertainty marked the great ceremonials of the English Court. The young sovereign was, at her Coronation, recalled from refreshments to complete the service because a significant part of the ritual had been left out.
During her wedding, her bridegroom, Prince Albert, was wracked by nervous embarrassment about what he was supposed to do, while at the marriage of sir son the Prince of Wales troopers with drawn sabres charged into milling crowds and titled guests elbowed each other for a place.
As the Court’s at first limited ceremonies grew during the nineteenth century into great national pageants matters did not improve, exacerbating the situation after the Prince consort’s death was the Queen’s rooted position to display and royal pomp which gave her officials no chance to gain efficiency in organizing ceremonial. Matters came to a head in 1887, at the greatest royal pageant since the Coronation: the Queen’s Golden Jubilee had to be pulled together from scratch, in circumstances of the utmost dedication.
The next great royal event, the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee ten years later, had precedents to draw on and things went so much better that optimists thought the additional muddle had been laid to rest forever. Their expectations were confounded at the arrangement of Queen Victoria’s funeral, an event which in many respects converted to the traditional disorder.
In this remarkable book, Jeffrey L. Lant sees behind the scenes to set out in rich detail how great Victorian royal events developed. Drawn from a wide range of previously unpublished sources, the final result is a perceptive and rollicking piece of crucial history, which many of those involved might have hoped would go unrecorded, authoritative and thorough, this book will fascinate all who have ever marveled at the impressive discretion of Court officials.
Available at: http://writerssecrets.co/products/insubstantial-pageant-ceremony-confusion-at-queen-victorias-court

CASH COPY – This isn’t just a book.

It’s a cash machine that will put money in your pocket
every time you use it
for the rest of your life.

Welcome to

CASH COPY

How To Offer Your Products And Services
So Your Prospects Buy Them… NOW!

The money-making blockbuster by America’s
master wordsmith

DR. JEFFREY LANT.

EVERY page of this unparalleled unique resource will produce money….
and has been doing so for tens of thousands already. CASH COPY is the
real deal, and you will bless the day you got it and USED IT.
Go to: http://writerssecrets.co/products/cash-copy

Don’t copy writers. Become a copywriter.

Order from Writerssecrets.com NOW!

The Writers Secrets VIP Silver Package. Just $29.95.

Includes One Year Membership

50 one-hour interactive lectures by Dr. Jeffrey Lant on how to profit online.
Included are unique details on copy writing, creating your e-book empire,
and everything you need to know to profit online… and we do mean everything!
You may attend the live program and/or listen to the video recordings… or both.

Available at: http://writerssecrets.co/products/writers-secrets-silver-package

The Gold Package $49.95.

Includes everything in the Silver Package PLUS

Your digitized copy of ”CASH COPY: How to offer your products and services
so your prospects buy them NOW!” 480 pages. The most important book on
copywriting ever written. $9.95 retail value. If you can’t make a million dollars
plus with this book, YOU DIDN’T READ IT!

Your copy of Dr.Lant’s autobiography. 396 pages. $29.95 retail value. “A
Connoisseur’s Journey: Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment,
pluck, and joy”). The most detailed book on becoming a multi-millionaire and
living like one! Already has earned 8 literary prizes for excellence!
Available at: http://writerssecrets.co/products/writers-secrets-gold-package

MONEY MAKING MARKETING COURSE with Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Back by Popular Demand…

The Original Money Making Marketing Course!

The FIRST LIVE satellite marketing program!

In My Own Voice Vol. 5 edited

Leave a Comment Cancel Reply

©2025. Dano Enterprises. All Rights Reserved.