by
Jean Hughes
November 6, 1995
This morning I awake to white frost. The children and I have spent the night camped out in the middle of the big field across from my house. Dew has settled on our sleeping bags and they are frozen stiff. A bright moon shines in the before-dawn sky.

Last night we had a wood fire and a picnic. Then, we snuggled into our sleeping bags to watch for falling stars and to listen to the wind songs in the woods' edge trees. Chris wished that a raccoon would come near, but with seven dogs guarding us there was little chance of that.

When we were dragging all our paraphernalia over to the field, the children's mother asked if I thought it was worth it. I assured her it was no sacrifice. I like to sleep out as much as the children do. Maybe more!

In the middle of the night, when the bucket moon came up, it woke us all. I sang to the children a medley of "When The Moon Comes Over The Mountain" and "Carolina Moon" before we fell back to sleep.

There is no way to know what children will remember. But the memory of a song, even sung in a squeaky voice, in the middle of a field on a cold, moonlight night, might come in handy some day when one of them needs a remembrance of childhood fun. If not, I enjoyed the singing, and that is enough reason for any song.

On my walk this morning, tag ends of color shiver in the sunshine. A brisk breeze works through the trees, and leaves take flight. What I think is a bevy of whirling leaves turns out to be cedar waxwings. The birds settle so close to me that I can see their soft-yellow underfeathers and the bright yellow stripes across the ends of their tails. Their fawn backs and topknots, and their black masks shine like satin-velvet. Over and over, they spray up and then drop back into the tree top, the sun making them into a kaleidoscope of colors.


When I was a child, aunts came by the dozen, and almost everybody had an Aunt Minnie. If not, you could borrow one from a friend. This recipe came from a friend's Aunt Minnie. It is at least 125 years old.

Aunt Min's Filled Cookies
Filling - Cook over low heat until very thick: 1 3/4 cups chopped, 
dried fruit, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup water and 1 T. flour. 
Cool completely.

Dough - Blend: 1 cup sugar and 1/4 cup shortening.
Stir in: 1 beaten egg, 1/2 t. vanilla and 1/2 cup milk.
Sift in and mix well: 2 1/2 cups flour, 2 t. cream of tartar and 
1 t. baking soda. Chill dough at least 2 hours.

Working with 1/4 of dough at a time, on a generously floured board, roll dough to 1/4 inch thickness.
Cut rounds with a biscuit cutter.
Place rounds of dough well apart on a generously greased cookie sheet.
Place a rounded teaspoonful of filling on each cookie. 
Cover with another round of dough, pinching edges down with 
index fingers.
Sprinkle cookies with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar.
Prick with a fork.
Bake at 375o for about 15 minutes.
Makes 2 dozen cookies.

This evening I walk into the end of a sunset that has lasted for almost an hour. The horizon clouds are thick and low. Their color began with a lemon pearl and traveled through every shade of orange, red, purple and gray. Shooting up through the center was the beam of a spotlight sun.

Just before dark, there is always that magic few moments when, for no obvious reason, the twilight turns on. As I watch, it lights a big field of corn stubble. How this happens when the sun has already set, I do not understand. At twilight time, the dusky world comes alive and gives the earth a big, quick smile!

* * *
Late in the evening, I stand watching the mules. They are pastured across the road, and although they are in lush grass, they stand by the gate, longing for the barn. I tell them to be happy that the horse flies are gone until next year.

It is a perfect night -- not too cold, not too breezy. It is easy to be content. From year to year, I forget the beauty of November. I kick-walk through the leaves in my yard and relinquish the sorcery of falling leaves, milkweed blow and robust stars to the quiet creatures who roam my hills in the dark.

Copyright 1995, Jean Hughes.

Jean's book of ramblings and recipes "A Country Mile of Winter" and her book of poetry "The Earth's My Home" are available for $4.95 each plus $1.30 for postage and handling. Ten of Jean's favorite recipes will be included free with each book ordered. Order from...

Country Mile Publications
616 E. Monroe St.
Delphi, Indiana 46923

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