Glamour Galore

35 years together and going strong

Iory Allison — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 18:59:13 GMT

photo by Joel Benjamin

Here we are, the two happy husbands Leo and Iory! We are about to celebrate our 35^th anniversary on Valentine's Day February 14, 2012, Ooo-la-la! 35 years of cohabiting and comingling in our jolly fashion and 5 years married this coming April 10! I can hardly believe that all those years have trundled on by bringing us to the verge of venerable chum status. But yes, time has progressed and over the years we have decided to be very old fashioned and stick together through thick and thin, pledging our troth. Actually with a husband like Leo this has not been the least bit difficult, the little darling is a near saint or at least that's how I see him.

We were especially honored by Joel Benjamin who took the above nifty photo. Joel was commissioned by Spirit Magazine for the January/February issue for an article entitled, “Soul Meets Soul” written by John O’Connell celebrating long term relationships and Valentine’s Day. There are six couples included in the article and Joel has done a superb job bringing out all our shining lights and smiling faces. Thank you, Mr. Joel!

Friends have been asking us what we are going to do to celebrate the momentous occasion and I can see in their eyes they are sorta surprised to hear that we will be at the helm of Casa Romero greeting and tending to our loyal clientele at the restaurant. This may sound like work and although, yes we do take our responsibilities as hosts with professional concern, it is actually a great night to be with a whole bunch of other couples who are kicking up their heels and clinking their glasses toasting joy, affection and true love.

Yesterday we meandered over to our Victory Garden in the Fenway where little Snow Bell blossoms rang out sweet ding-a–lings saying, “hello again darling Grandpas.” Of course our hearts melted as we gazed at our first flowers of the year, harbingers of a new year full of life and love and gentle nurturing.

Phoenix and Flame

Iory Allison — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 19:27:54 GMT

Phoenix and Flame

We were talking of phoenix and flame, that day, looking at the crest of a wave.

Haiku for Lourdán, San Francisco, 1973

Winter
“Quest Eternal” bronze sculpture by Donald DeLue, Prudential Center, Boston

Summer
From winter to summer the seasons pass bringing the hope of life renewed.

Today I am back in my protected eerie perched safely inside the top floor reading room of the Boston Athenaeum after a break of seven months. Outside the tall arched window beside my writing table, a thick canopy of oak leaves obscures the moldering graves of the Granary Burial Ground five stories below. Down there, between tipsy gravestones drunk with the weight of time, luminaries of the past are daily resurrected in the imaginations of a constant parade of tourists. Up here in the civil silence of serious writers I am struggling through a birth canal stiff with neglect - trying to find my voice.

I felt like I had been fragmented by the particle accelerator of fate when last December our general manager of ten years at Casa Romero gave two months notice and promptly departed for Mexico leaving Leo and I to tend to the fort at the beginning of March. Since then I have been trying desperately to pull all the component parts of myself and Casa Romero back together into a functioning whole, a formidable task that has left me panting.

Today I have given myself permission to lubricate my struggles with a wee bit of diversity and return to a writing schedule of two days a week (hopefully) with the intention of sustaining my concentration for my business responsibilities at Casa Romero and my writing career over the long haul. In this age of boastful “multi-tasking” I hasten to say I do not presume to that state of competence. In fact it takes all of my slim talents to tick off the items of my “to do” list one step at a time. And here I am taking that step, leap of faith, and foolish plunge.

Several friends have mentioned that their emails addressed to me were bounced back and phone calls to my home “land line” met with that ominous message “number not in service.” Below is my current contact information and by all means, including smoke signals if necessary, please reach out. As you can see from the above illustration I will undoubtedly need a helping hand and possibly a pair of wings.

Iory Allison

Work: 617-536-4341

Email: ioryallison@gmail.com

Web: www.ioryallison.com

Blog: www.ioryallisonblog.com

I am working at Casa Romero Monday through Friday evenings 5:00 – 10:00 PM hosting at the door. So if you would like to stop by for a drink or dinner I am usually able to schmooze at the beginning or end of the evening or at least get you a great table and say hi.

Please click here to see a two and a half minute slide show of my jaunts to the North Shore of Massaachusetts, Gloucester, Crane's Beach, Agassiz Rock and Halibut Point

The Qianlong Emperor's Private Paradise

Iory Allison — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 02:15:00 GMT

There is There is a terrific show of Chinese art and architecture at PEM, The Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. The full name of the exhibition is, The Emperor’s Private Paradise, Treasures from the Forbidden City. The exhibition studies the Qianlong Emperor’s (1736 – 1769) retirement garden intended to be a peaceful retreat from 60 years of his active reign. The show will be there until January 9, 2011 and it is well worth a visit, I have already been twice and I intend to go back again to study and enjoy the collections on loan from the Palace Museum, Beijing, China.

If you don’t know, PEM is one of the great museums of New England. It was founded in 1799 as the East India Marine Society by a group of Salem based captains. It is the oldest continuously operating museum in the United States. Its collections include American decorative art, Asian export art, Japanese art , Korean art ,Chinese art , Native American art ,Oceanic art, African art, Indian contemporary art, and that’s only the beginning!

In 2003 the Museum opened a new wing designed by Moshe Safdie which references the maritime heritage of Salem in the atrium’s soaring glass ceiling shaped like clipper ship sails swollen by trade winds. The supporting brick walls, banded with brownstone, reference the federalist architecture of the merchant captains mansions’ standing proudly around the common a few blocks away. Incorporated in the Safdie wing is Ying Yu Tang, an 18th-century Chinese merchant’s house transported from China. The whole ensemble is stunning inside and out, comfortably accommodating periodic theme festivals attended by festive crowds or equally inviting on a calm afternoon when only a few visitors are present.

The Qianlong Emperor designed and built his garden complex consisting of 4 courtyards and twenty-seven pavilions on a two acre site in the northeastern quarter of the Forbidden City. It is now referred to as the Qianlong Garden. The project took five years to complete (1771-1776) and incorporates a wealth of architectural elaborations densely wrapped around a staggering variety of garden features forming an ideal paradise for the emperor’s intended retirement.

To the western eye the term “garden” may be a bit perplexing for this jam packed environment because the actual plantings are seemingly secondary to the rockeries, and architectural structures that surround and dominate the composition. But there is a reverence in the Qianlong Garden for the natural world that references the viewpoint of the traditional scholar poet of past centuries who eschewed power politics of the warring states and retreated to the more eternal realms of mountain wilderness to contemplate ultimate reality present in nature. It is this region of monumental and indeed magical mountain landscapes that is painstakingly recreated with collections and constructions of “awkward” stones that evoke the vast mountain wilderness of the Chinese sub-continent.

In ancient China a mirror was intended for introspection rather than reflection and likewise the intention of the individual in his encounter with the immense power of “Cold Mountain” was to be absorbed in the veiled space of mist where eternal mountains appeared and retreated from sight, ever changing, always present.

Thirty spokes converge on a hub
but it’s the emptiness
that makes a wheel work
pots are fashioned from clay
but it’s the hollow
that makes a pot work
windows and doors are carved for a house
but it’s the spaces
that make a house work
existence makes something useful
but nonexistence makes it work
Daode jing, verse 11 (tr. Bill Porter)

The Qianlong Emperor’s scholarly proclivities blended a through study of classical Chinese literature based in Taoism, Confucianism and esoteric Tibetan Buddhism with European artistic constructs of perspective and volume as well as a flirtation with European technology exhibited in clocks and automatons. This mélange created an international sophistication that is evident throughout the Qianlong Garden.

The thoughtful installation of the exhibit is dispersed in spacious galleries where the walls are painted with silhouettes of the pavilions comprising the Qianlong garden complex. These shadow buildings with their distinctive up curved tiled roof tops are decorated by lines of protective gargoyle-like animals that ride the roof ridges adding whimsy to the architecture.

An aspect of the exhibit that subliminally enhances the atmosphere of the galleries is a faint and drifting recording of different bird songs broadcast in the background of the galleries transporting the visitor inside the Qianlong Garden,. This delightfully subtle enhancement brings a smile to your face if you are sharp enough to notice.

The background colors of the galleries start with imperial golden yellow introducing the Qianlong Emperor, then blending into light blue/green that gives way to rooms painted a bricky red/orange, evolving into other spaces painted a soothing shade of apple green. Throughout the exhibit some of the walls are decorated with reproductions block printed wall papers used inside the actual pavilions of the garden.

Incorporated into the galleries’ interior walls are intricately carved wooden wall screens and window panels selected from a few of the pavilions of the Qianlong Garden. Some of these are decorated with cloisonné plaques depicting auspicious symbols or lacquer pictures depicting wizened sages. There is a section of wall lattice that is inset with glazed porcelain plaques adorned with flowers and good luck symbols set in decorative boarders. The visitor passes through a few of these elaborate door ways of precious tropical hardwoods allowing one to study the details closely. There is one especially charming portal that represents a lotus blossom framing a meditation area used by the Qianlong Emperor. The lotus blossom is a Buddhist symbol indicating the potential of the individual to attain perfection as does the pure white blossom sprouting from a plant rooted underwater in the mud. There are also alcoves with trompe l’oeil illusions of fantasy rooms and gardens enticingly beyond reach in a nether world of perpetual blossoming springtime.

All these structures and transitions are further enhanced by silk screened panels evoking the complex mullion patterns of windows and wall panels that are so integral a part of classical Chinese architecture. Photo panels of actual garden views are arranged behind these “windows and doors” as if one were actually inside a garden building looking out to one of the intended “surprise” vistas.

The intention of this complex installation is to evoke the imperial magnificence of the Qianlong Garden with its wealth of superb architecture set in a labyrinth of garden courtyards in a way that a modern visitor can comprehend and study the garden in comfort and ease. The exhibit design completely succeeds in this intention and goes even further with special areas that add depth to the experience. One corner is given over to a comfortable seating area provided with interesting books including the superb catalogue of the show as well as other titles pertaining to Chinese garden culture, history and art.

My favorite adjunct display is the calligraphy demonstration. You sit on a sturdy porcelain garden stool at a bench that is inset with two large computer screens for a lesson in Chinese brush painting using an actual composition of the Qianlong Emperor. The visitor activates the lesson by touching the screen and selecting a character group. With a bamboo and hair brush, you follow, step by step, the direction of the strokes involved in creating the characters. The brush’s stroke “inks” in the outline of the character and before long you have written a phrase of the composition.

Calligraphy and brush painting are ultimate essences of learned refinement in Chinese culture. The grace and skill of the individual to master the power of the brush is of paramount importance. The master becomes the medium and his hand and his heart are the brush and ink, reflecting the nature of the universe - allowing him to be absorbed into the harmony of oneness.

To be enabled to glimpse the potential of creating a beautiful work of calligraphic art is an opportunity that allows us to enter into the highest aspiration of the Chinese culture and the most essential aspect of the Qianlong Emperor. To me this little aside exhibit is worth the price of admission and although I see it as profound, there is nothing ponderous about it; rather it is a fun puzzle that everyone can enjoy. The calligraphy screens are simply one of the ingenious tools of the exhibit that illuminates the rich material presented.

There are 90 items listed in the catalogue on loan from the Palace Museum in Beijing displayed in the exhibit. These collections are enhanced by art works drawn from the Peabody’s collections and other museums. They range from a small exquisitely carved jade brush pot to immense architectural elements from the palace such as room divider screen that raps around one of the Emperor’s thrones displaying precious objets d’art on a myriad of shelves forming an elaborate display case. The range of materials incorporates rare woods, lacquer, porcelain, embroidered silk, cloisonné enameled plaques, carved marble garden furniture, wooden furniture, gilded bronze sculpture and large calligraphic scrolls of paper as well as huge wall panels of trompe l’oiel paintings on paper.

Of all the treasures in the Emperor’s private paradise one that I particularly enjoyed is a wall panel from the Juanqinzhai pavilion (Studio of Exhaustion from Diligent Service). This 38 X 25 inch panel is composed of sandalwood, jade, lapis lazuli, malachite, zitan wood, kingfisher feathers and glass. It depicts an ancient plum tree in full bloom with birds and butterflies flitting about the black lacquered sky. Inscriptions incised in gold into the deep blue Lapis lazuli “rocks” at the base of the gnarled tree tell how the thousand year-old plum tree located in Yunnan Province still blooms each spring. The ideal represented here is, “The individual keeps on blooming even in old age.”

The most dramatic aspects of this work of art are the rich contrasts of texture, color and luminosity that emanate from the precious materials used. After that, I am attracted to the twisted and convoluted form of the ancient plum tree. Time and the rigorous elements of changing seasons have twisted the path the tree must follow telling the story of its personal history. By yielding to these unavoidable forces with perseverance and purity of purpose the plum tree has survived to be a testament and guide towards the true essence of beauty. In my walks in nature I see this story told again and again etched in the rocks of mountains where trees and bushes cling with tenacity to the rough currents of life.

One of the major components of the whole exhibit is the recently restored wall mural from the garden pavilion, Yucuixuan, (trans.) Bower of Purest Jade. This Mural depicts a domestic scene of a court lady surrounded by children with a couple of attendants in an intimate chamber. The mural utilizes European constructs of perspective and volume by use of shading. At the same time the mural incorporates 17 paintings in traditional Chinese styles and techniques and, of course, the lady, her court attendants and the 10 children are all Chinese in appearance and costume.

Within the galleries where this large (aprox.) 10 X 12 foot mural is exhibited there is a small “theatre” with comfortable seating where a fascinating and informative video is shown about the complex restoration of this work painted on paper some 230 years ago. The restoration of the Qianlong Garden was begun in 2001 after exhaustive preparatory planning and is expected to last about 15 years. The project is headed by the Palace Museum, Beijing, conservation team joined by a group of master craftsman culled from all over China and China’s State Administration of Cultural Heritage. These agencies are collaborating with the World Monuments Fund joined by international conservation institutions and experts, many of whom are from the United States.

In this way the international quality of the Qianlong Garden which was always present, is being perpetuated and the preservation of cultural heritage around the world is further advanced by the shared efforts of a team scholars, scientists and craftsmen devoted to the nurturing of artistic excellence. This is a profoundly important enterprise in our present world state of conflict, war and discord when the creative urge of all people is at jeopardy from over-aggressive competition, distrust and greed.

Whether or not we of the West or East, living in the twenty-first century, see the Qianlong Emperor as entirely just and enlightened in his long prosperous reign, the historic evidence is at hand in places such as the Qianlong Garden that tell us that he had the ambition to rule with high ideals. The traditional Chinese values of family, education and refinement of the individual to perpetuate harmony in society are goals we may all benefit from. The generosity of the Palace Museum and the people of China to share this view of paradise with us is a delight and a joy and I heartily thank them and the Peabody Essex Museum for inviting us to be their guest.

Autumn Foliage in New Hampshire and Dixville Notch

Iory Allison — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 16:02:00 GMT

Autumn Foliage in New Hampshire and Dixville Notch

My husband Leo and I went charging off to Dixville Notch in northern New Hampshire to stay at the venerable Balsams Resort Hotel for several days. As soon as we left Boston, tooteling along I-93, we were amazed by the pageant of glory radiating from the trees lining the interstate highway. Fortunately the weather was glorious and the sunshine smiled on us all the way along our two-day trek. The direct ride to the Balsams is a good six -hour drive, so we like to break it up.

We stopped halfway up in the White Mountains at Woodward’s Resort, a pleasant roadside motel near the “Flume.” The Flume is one of our favorite nature spots where waterfalls spill down steep rock gorges in a spectacular forest. Woodward’s was reasonably priced, comfortable and actually boasted an indoor pool with relaxing Jacuzzi, out door tennis courts and a full dining room, serving good food. In the grounds of the resort there is a delightful duck pond shaded by towering pine trees. On the bank of the pond, near a rustic gazebo a beautiful hydrangea tree was still in bloom with clouds of cream colored blossoms all tinged by pink blush.

Leo and I are easily diverted while driving in New England. We lived in Vermont for ten years creating and running our inn and restaurant, The White House. We are familiar with northern New England and have many favorite places that tug at our memories begging to be revisited. One of these places is Guildhall, Vermont, which is a small town conveniently nestled across the Connecticut River from Northumberland, New Hampshire off Route 3. We bopped over for a look see.

This is a view of the public library and Masonic Temple at Guildhall, Vermont, way up in the Northeast Kingdom. We made a detour to revisit this remote village remembering coming across the place of Brigadoon-like magic many years ago when we lived in Kents’ Corner and loved to go “back roading” and explore the countryside.

This time we were delighted to see that the building had been beautifully restored to its historic intention with a Vermont slate roof, gilded cupola and a sparkling new paint job.

The library and Masonic Hall was built in 1901 by Everett Chamberlin Benton a native of Guildhall and designed by Gay and Proctor of Boston. It is a Neo-Georgian style building with a handsome clock mounted in its cupola. A semicircular Ionic portico with bronze cresting along the roof edge marks the entrance. The entry way has a fanlight above the door which is flanked by Corinthian pilasters. There are several grand stained glass windows upstairs in the Masonic Hall and also in the library on the ground floor.

Unfortunately the building was closed when we visited, but I peeked in the windows and the interior of the library appears to be preserved in its original state and was as neat as a pin. The shelves were full of books with videos and computer stations alongside a cozy looking fireplace. This place is my idea of heaven, a comfortable library in the country. I would love to see the interior of the Masonic Hall upstairs.

The Guildhall United Church (1844) and Essex County Court House (1851) flank another side of the town common contrasting crisply against the vibrant blue sky. After a brief morning visit we recrossed the Connecticut River back to New Hampshire and continued our jaunt towards the Balsams.

This is a view of the Presidential Range of the White Mountains in New Hampshire from Mount Prospect. Leo spotted a stone tower rising from the foliage atop a mountain while we were driving along route 3 in Lancaster. He knows my great love for stone towers and pointed it out. Just around the bend we were surprised and gratified to discover the entrance to the John W. Weeks National Park and Observatory Tower. We entered a field-stone gate and followed the single lane paved road, climbing Mount Prospect to the summit.

John Wingate Weeks was a native of Lancaster and became a leading conservationist, U.S. Congressman, U.S. Senator, and Secretary of War under Presidents Harding and Coolidge. Mr. Weeks built his stone tower and lodge in 1911. The view from the top of the tower enjoys a 360-degree panorama of mountain splendor that includes the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Kilkenny Range, the Percy Peaks and the upper Connecticut River Valley.

Weeks is best known for his efforts in establishing the eastern national forest system. In the early 1900s all the forest lands in the eastern half of the United States were privately owned, and many were in poor condition. There were no national forests in the east, and the government was not empowered to purchase private lands. Congress finally passed the Appalachian-White Mountains Forest Reservation Bill in 1911, largely due to the efforts of Representative Weeks. The "Weeks Law" authorized the federal government to purchase lands to be "permanently reserved, held and administered as national forest lands, for the protection, development and use of their natural resources."

In Colebrook, New Hampshire, you hang a right off of Route 3 onto Route 26 following the Mohawk River as it meanders towards Dixville. Around one more twist in the road, where the mountains begin to crowd around, you come across Lake Gloriette where The Balsams Hotel is nestled at the base of precipitous cliffs that form Abeniki Mountain. The original summer inn opened in 1866 as a 25-room establishment called, The Dix House honoring the town’s American Revolutionary hero, Colonel Timothy Dix. The second owner (1895) was Henry S. Hale, a wealthy Philadelphian. It was Hale who renamed the hotel, The Balsams.

Hale built this impressive addition to his hotel in 1911. At that time it was the first steel framed, concrete building in New Hampshire. The intention of this innovative mode of construction was to prevent fire which was a serious concern in an era of wooden construction. The addition increased the overall size of his hotel to its current 400 rooms. This is one of the “tower” components that crown the new wing officially named, The Hampshire House. In the background the cliffs of Abeniki Mountain rise above the hotel.

The Ballot Room

Since 1960 Dixville Notch, with a population of roughly 26 people, has been the first town in the nation to report the results of its Presidential election balloting. In order to maintain this honorary status, every single registered voter in Dixville Notch must turn out and vote. Just before midnight the day before the election, these voters come to The Balsams and take a headcount to ensure everyone is present. When the polls officially open at the stroke of midnight, each voter heads to a booth in the Ballot Room and casts his or her vote. The entire process takes about a minute. In the far left of the picture you can see an example of one of the voting booths draped with Old Glory.

Captain Frank Doudera owner of the Balsams from 1927 – 1942

Captain Doudera was a fashionable sportsman with a passion for hunting, fishing and he was also an avid polo player. During his management, the Balsams was in its “hay-day.” There are many nostalgic photos and news articles about the Hotel and Captain Doudera hanging in all the long hallways of the hotel making the place a museum of Balsams Hotel history. This painting of 1932 is by Scott Carbee.

Here is an iconic pose of the 1930’s depicting Captain Doudera with one of the Great Danes that he bred. This photograph is part of the collection that hangs in the seemingly endless hallways of the Balsams adding immensely to the atmosphere of the gracious old hotel.

As soon as I arrived at the Balsams I was itching to strike out on my own and explore some the trails that access the 8,000 acres of nature conservancy land belonging to and surrounding the resort. On our first morning we were fortunate enough to have a superb clear and crisp autumn day. I bundled up in a sweater and my woolen jacket from Patzcuaro, Mexico, and set off to visit the compelling Abeniki Mountain towering behind the hotel.

There is a reservoir above the Balsams and feeding down from that placid lake is an old iron conduit pipe half buried in the forest floor with trees tumbling over it and crowding around the incongruous rusting iron. The pipe follows along a broad trail that climbs the mountain and at one place a pin hole leak had sprung spraying a fine mist, creating a mystic rainbow that drenched all before it in a grip of ice glaze.

My walks in nature consist of strolling slowly for about ten minutes and then sitting down for a spell to examine the minutia of the scene or contemplate a view across the landscape. Whereas I do enjoy the tops of mountains, I am after all a double Aries (the goat who loves to look down from a safe distance at the comedy of life) I am not compelled to get to the top of the mountain or even to reach any goal or destination. Once I am in the quiet forest I am already where I want to be.

And here is Lake Abeniki with the mountain wind blowing across its rippling surface staining the water a royal blue as if shivering with anticipation of the winter freeze so soon to lock it in deep ice.

In the carpet of emerald green moss a foot print of the bed rock pokes through. The woods of the Dixville Notch area have an abundance of thick, luxuriant moss beds covering everything with soft green.

A brave pair of Indian Paintbrush blossoms remind me of the glow of summer with their cheery orange faces framed by neck ruffles of grass tufts.

Another view of Abeniki Lake shows a gentle shallow cove where the balsam pines frame a gateway into the near distance.

I was at first startled to come across this moose skull half buried in the loamy tangle of a fallen silver birch tree. I made a brush of balsam branches and dusted it off and posed the bleached bones on the stump of the tree that had probably felled the animal. I have no idea why my wonderings led me to this obscure place off the path in the deep forest.

This is the green roadway that forms the cross country ski trail that I followed up Abeniki Mountain; here the altitude allows a view of the surrounding mountains. At this height most of the foliage had already been swept away by northern winds leaving the closely entwined bare branches a deep mauvy gray where clouds momentarily cast purple shadows as they dash across the sky.

Here we are at the top of Abeniki Mountain. Straight on is the famous Dixville Notch cutting a passage through Gloriette Mountain (2,780 feet.) Beyond the notch you can see the “Purple Mountain’s Majesty” fading as distance thins the color. Lake Gloriette created by Henry S. Hale, the expansive second owner of the Balsams, fills in the high pasture naturally formed at the base of the notch and the grand resort can be glimpsed thorough the balsam tree tops that lend their name to the Hotel.

After my long hike I am greeted by warm sun streaming in our delightful bedroom in the Hampshire House wing of the hotel, and I think I’ll take a snooze before dinner. The wall paper in this room would have put a smile on my mother’s face – she loved cabbage rose chintz prints. The crown molding picks up one of the lavender hues of the roses and the furniture is painted a shade of pale apple green. On the headboards are carved medallions with the distinctive Balsams logo depicting three stylized pine trees in a deco styling.

The dining rooms at the Balsams are grand affairs stretching off in several directions supported by graceful columns crowned by gilded Corinthian capitals. The beamed ceilings are lit by chandeliers reminiscent of Venetian glass flower work. In the evenings Greg Goodwin entertains the guests with an easy flow of beautiful tunes on his grand piano. The competent staff cheerfully take orders and promptly deliver delicious five course dinners.

The elegant tables are set with sparkling silver engraved with Balsams initials and the china proudly features the distinctive three Balsams tree logo all set off by crisp damask table cloths woven with a design of maple leaves. The men are asked to wear jackets in the hotel and dining room after 6: PM adding dignity to the proceedings.

The grand staircase lands you just outside the dining room. To the right is an inviting fireplace flanked by comfortable seating arrangements and an antique clock ticking away in the corner.

One corner of the spacious living rooms beyond the stair hall boasts this towering Chinese what-not shelf. In the corner is an antique square piano and old oil lamp. These furnishings have been in the hotel since the 1800’s.

Trust me to show you this detail. This is the domed cover to a desk incorporated in the Chinese behemoth I just showed you. The lid rolls back revealing a neat little writing desk fitted out with lots of cubby holes for letters and papers. In Chinese iconography the turtle symbolizes longevity and this baby has been hanging out at the Balsams for the better part of century so I guess the turtles are a good thing.

This is one end of the “Sun Room” which is outfitted with comfortable wicker furniture and tastefully colored prints of birds and foliage. This room has been created by enclosing a length of veranda that wraps around the old hotel. In the morning coffee, tea, juice and muffins are generously arranged on a side board at one end of the Sun Room for early risers. The room faces a putting green with a dozen holes ever reminding us that the Balsams is a sporting resort.

This is a view of the lawns outside the Sun Room. Note the pretty gazebo in the middle distance. It has a lantern finial that is lit at night and we strolled over there, admiring the night sky and the twinkling stars after our dinner in the formal dining room.

When I mention golf and the Balsams did I say they have two courses? This is the 18 hole golf course designed in 1912 by Donald Ross, “the father of American golf course architecture.”

Now, I know nothing about golf and I have always been rather suspect of the whole affair… but I can tell you, after seeing this spread I am ready to become a Republican and traipse off across the green if only they’ll let me into the joint. If this does happen I will insist on wearing bloused knickerbockers and fancy wing-tipped two-tone shoes. Upon deeper reflection, I will probably not join the GOP even if they allow me to zip around the course in one of those nifty golf carts. I will just order a Knob Creek Manhattan straight up and gaze at this slice of heaven from the safety of the terrace.

Here is an old post card view of the Club House. The broad terrace encircling it, commands a 360-degree view encompassing New Hampshire, Vermont and distant La Belle Province, Quebec. The whole building is constructed with river stone. Inside, old wood paneling and a towering river stone fireplace keep the bar area cozy and redolent with the pleasant scent of burning wood. There is a sunny dining room looking out onto the course where lunch is offered until mid-afternoon.

This peaceful pond is situated along the private road that meanders through the extensive Balsams property connecting the Hotel with the main 18-hole golf course.

The second day of our visit I went to Huntington Cascade. Dixville Notch forms a divide, water draining from the east of the area flows into Clear Stream and then to the Androscoquin River on its way to the Atlantic Ocean. Water from the west side of the notch flows into the Mohawk and then Connecticut Rivers on its way to Long Island Sound.

A steep and mysterious path climbs beside Cascade Brook that has, over the eons, cut a deep fissure into of the bed rock so that the constant rush of white water is far below, tumbling over boulders of fantastic shape. From precipitous heights, over grown with thick emerald-green moss and graceful fern fronds, one can glimpse water falling into crystalline pools. Everywhere in the deep forest twisted and towering balsams grab the rocks with knotted roots allowing the trees to lean out over the cascade cliffs and spread green skirts of pine bows dripping with mist from the falling water.

The tree roots follows the broken shapes in the rock as does the abundant water loudly splashing down the mountain - or is it the rocks that follow the determined force of water and the muscle of the tree roots?

Thick green blankets of moss strive to soften the sharp rock outcroppings. Time is told by moldering loam piling in a crevasse of stone. There a tiny balsam sprout takes hold, confident of eventually reaching into the enveloping canopy that holds twilight at mid day.

Sitting still amongst the river stones, water songs stream over my thoughts, washing clear the memory of tomorrow.

Awakening from dreams in the red chamber

A quartz boulder, jewel of the mountain, half hidden by brown curling leaves - leftover by the Goddess building the dome of heaven. The white stone struggles to the surface. Hearing the chatter of hikers on the path, the crystal yearns to know the way human feet will travel. I stop to pick up a fragment of the stone. In my hand I gaze at the ancient gem, enchanted by time beyond age and I long to know the way the stone has come.

Listening to the geese fly high above the forest, I look beyond the tees and see cloud wisps caught in convoluted branches that gather mist that falls with a surprising thump on my forehead and I awake from my musings with a smile.

The path is so steep in some places that kindly balsams have spread a web of root stairs leading to the summit.

The ferocious roar of waterfalls have been drained of their bravado by mountains reaching into the sky. Here the spring has a gentle voice whispering seductive enticements, and I wander off the path to find the source.

At the summit of Mount Gloriette the far distance comes sweeping towards me making my eyes water in the chilly wind and the amazement of it all.

The Balsams intrudes its formidable presence into the surrounding forest. From Table Rock I spy a peregrine falcon gliding on the brisk winds of autumn traveling south. This feathered hunter travels light, needing no roof for shelter. She has visited for thousands of years, knowing the way without maps. Her high pitched scream warns the hiker to take heed and mind the way home or risk being absorbed in limitless space.

Sunset gilds Sanguinary Mountain reflecting in Lake Gloriette. Night envelops the forest. The vast mountain ranges of Northern New Hampshire are dwarfed by the infinite heavens sparkling with millions of stars.

Shalin Liu Performance Center Rockport Masaachusetts

Iory Allison — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 15:26:18 GMT

A watercolor rendering of the projected interior of the concert hall was displayed in the window of the Rockport Music Society’s office next door to the theater.

Have you been to a classical or jazz concert or Met Opera simulcast at the new Shalin Liu Performance Center in Rockport, Massachusetts? A short time ago it was the long time dream resonating in the hearts of the extended “family” of the Rockport Music Society The Society had the intelligence and good taste to employ the Architectural firm of Deborah Epstein and Alan Joslin to design their new concert hall. Epstein and Joslin is the firm that also designed the incomparable Seiji Ozawa Hall at Tanglewood. The efforts of Rockport Music over the decades in providing top quality chamber music to the community at large inspired Ms. Shalin Liu, a Taiwanese-born philanthropist living in Boston with interests in educational, humanitarian and cultural causes, to generously support the project. The hall is, therefore, named after her.

The theater seats 330 people and its most spectacular feature is an enormous glass window that forms the back wall of the stage. This portal looks out onto the picturesque coast line of Rockport with views out to the Atlantic Ocean. The interior space has a kind of Noah’s Ark feeling creating sanctuary and buoyancy, floating beyond the distractions of everyday concerns. When the music begins one half expects to be launched out to a mythic sea where journeys of the spirit are powered by harmonious trade winds of beautiful music.

The Architects in concert with the acoustician R. Lawrence Kirkegaard Lawrence Kirkegaard have created an intimate warm space that has a mellow clean sound as if you are sitting inside a well crafted cello. The use of Douglas fir and American walnut around the hall, combined with the textured stone covering the lower walls creates a natural esthetic that speaks of the surrounding woods and stony shores of Cape Ann. As dusk dims the brightness of day, tall screens of woven wood are drawn across the glass wall behind the musicians. This emphasizes the intimate proportions of the hall, drawing the audience into close proximity with the performers. In the lofty spaces above the auditorium wooden beams and steel rods support the wooden ceiling creating an uplifting draw that allows the music to soar and the imagination to fly.

The timber frame of the hall was pre -milled from Douglas fir and hoisted into place by an enormous crane. I was fortunate enough to be passing by on my bicycle at the end of October, 2009 and came to a screeching halt to witness the spectacle.

The honey colored wood contrasting against the polished blue sky is joined by the use of mortise and tenons and held in place with stout pegs in traditional building techniques of old New England.

The seeming simplicity of the framing belies the complexity of the over all structure.

The Victorian mansard styling of the façade references the original Haskins building on the site . The colors inside and out also have a Victorian palette. The architectural details are of fine quality, using slate for the roof with copper flashing and drain spouts. Wrought iron fencing decorates the crown of the roof completing the thoughtful historicity of the music hall.

The balcony follows suit and uses the same woven wood motif as the stage screens. Architect, Deborah Epstein, describes this detail as an “architectural seascape” with light coming through the weave creating scalloping shapes as you see on the surface of water.

Here the Douglas fir stage screens are beginning to be drawn across the glass “sail” behind the piano as “shadows of the evening steal across the sky.”

My husband Leo and I have a tradition of attending the June Rockport Chamber Music Festival. This year we were lucky enough to get tickets to the premier season at the Shalin Liu Performance Center. We heard a spirited concert preformed by the Boston Trio playing piano trios of Mozart, Ives and Mendelssohn. We were thrilled by the spectacular new concert hall and even more by the accomplished trio of lovely women who played with great emotional panache.

From the water side of the Rockport Music concert hall the building stands proud, harmonizing well with the surrounding village.

At entr’acte I skipped across the street to snap this picture of the warm glow emanating from the pristine building as the sunset staining the horizon faded, allowing diamond stars to vibrate with the music of the spheres celebrating the fine achievement of Rockport Music

Mermaid and the Sailor Launch Party

Iory Allison — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 15:15:00 GMT

On Sunday September 12, 2010 at 4:00 pm The Gorgeous Glamourites and I preformed a dramatic reading of the first two chapters of my new novel, The Mermaid and the Sailor. Mermaid is the third and concluding book of the Glamour Galore Trilogy and you can read all about it on my new website

An invited audience of over fifty friends gathered at Casa Romero Restaurant for the launch party and imbibed Merrita cocktails and wolfed down delicious Mexican Antojitos. After the reading I sold and signed copies of the book which can now be purchased at all major on line book sellers, accessed by the order page on my website

You can also pick up a copy of Mermaid at Calamus Books 92-B South St. Boston, near South Station. I will be reading from Mermaid and the Sailor at Calamus on October 22, 2010 at 7:00 pm

Our reading got off to a roaring start with a grand fanfare created by Maestro Emeritus Ricardo Giglio running up and down the keyboard with scintillating technique reminiscent of his finest hours at Fenway Park where for eight years he amused the fans.

I naturally took the part of narrator employing a schmaltzy style of declamation that would have put a blush on any proper Bostonian but because my story is set in Ptown where every thing goes, I went over the top. You can verify the validity of this statement by checking out the video clip.

The Gorgeous Glamourites had puzzled over and studied my script throughout the summer until they all had perfected the last nuance of characterization required for the full realization of the complex cast and I gotta hand it to them, this bunch really put on a show!

Photo curtesy of Clint Hamblin From let to Right the culprits are

Maestro Emeritus Ricardo Giglio, Musical Accompaniment

Cameron Lash reading, Rosalind Worthely — high society beauty, Al’s wife, investment angel for Glamour Galore Productions, mother of Janey and Georgie

Kilian Melloy reading, Val, Lilly’s “daughter” — Yellow Ducky pedi-cab operator, dancer in Glamour Galore Productions, Gyles lover

Craig Houk reading, Sergeant Stanisloff — officer of Provincetown’s Police Force, a Ptown native who thinks he has seen everything until Lilly is thrown in the clink.

Fred Atherton reading, Butch — Monique’s muscle man boyfriend and chauffeur, Betty the Bounder’s A A sponsor, always appears in one uniform or another

Iory Allison, Narrator — the author himself

Linda Markarian reading, Betty the Bounder — Lilly’s dresser and side kick, senior citizen of drag and hopeless slosh head.

Daniel Kimmel reading, Lilly Linda Le Strange — Diva Extraordinaire, producer, director and star of Glamour Galore Productions. AKA Albert Mellenoffsky, Al — Rosalind’s adoring husband, Marine combat nurse in Viet Nam, son of a pig farmer from Bumble Bee Arkansas.

If anyone who was in attendance took any photos or videos, please rush them as attachments to my email iory@rcn.com for immediate publication on this blog. Please include your first and last names and all pertinent personal links, blog address, web site, twitter, face book, etc.

Spring Bouquet

Iory Allison — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 16:46:00 GMT

Flower Bouquet

Quickly, oh so quickly the spring flowers burst into blossom. Brisk winds buffet flower laden crabapple branches sending dancing petals on a mad caper around the garden. Invisible currents weave intoxicating lilac perfume, pulling my attention away from the weeds. I am compelled to breathe in deeply the fleeting moment of flower scents that were refined from a winter of dreams formed deep within the earth.

At home, the flowers chatter loudly giving voice to the carefully choreographed patterns set in brass and carpet. Together for a moment, the morning sun winks at the purple tulip.

For a stroll along the Emerald Necklace green space and surrounding neighborhoods, click here

running time 2 &1/2 minutes

Springtime in Boston

Iory Allison — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 14:50:00 GMT

Magnolia Liliiflora

Springtime in Boston

In the Back Bay gardens along Commonwealth Avenue, especially on the sunny or river side of the Avenue, voluptuous Magnolia Liliiflora trees burst into blossom every April. Although these exotic beauties are native to southern China they were first brought to Boston from Japan by sailing ships across the Pacific Ocean and around the tip of South America. This year the profusion of spicy scented flowers blossomed a good ten days early, around the fourth, making the Easter holiday especially festive and glorious.

The elusive tangy perfume trailing from the sparkling pink Magnolia petals takes me back a half a century to Mead Memorial Park in New Canaan, Connecticut, where my childhood friends Antoinette and Elise and I enjoyed timeless afternoons. In that idyllic landscaped park the extravagant Magnolia trees were clothed for the moment in billowing clouds of seductive flowers, dancing gracefully with the brisk winds of springtime. These flirting coquettes cavorted along the green lawns circling the duck pond where mallards dipped yellow bills into weedy shallows and damsel flies buzzed transparent wings refracting light with a snap of iridescent sparkle.

As I idle along Commonwealth Avenue reveling in the smiling promise of spring a vague trail of pink perfume lures me, and I am compelled to follow this lead gazing up into the flowery world of Magnolia blossoms. There I spy three chubby putti emerging from brownstone masonry playing amongst rinceau garlands where exuberant birds chirp, claiming their space in time and celebrating the pretty joy of returning life.

My Friend, Mother Anne, related in her Easter sermon at Trinity Church that, “Easter is not the return of what was lost; it is the discovery of those things that Death cannot touch." This idea speaks to me of the continuum of abundance, waves of circling time filling up with life.

The walls of the grand old mansion are made from skilfully finished blocks of stone subtly textured with “mason’s marks,” the nameless signature engraved by rhythmic labour of hammer and chisel. These carefully chosen mauve coloured stones, formed beyond the time of growing things, are a pleasant shade harmonizing with the blush of the Magnolia blossoms; in the balance of time and space age complements the beauty of youth. Morning sun bathes the opening buds, awakening them to their brief but glorious moment, casting elongated shadows on the textured stone. Being very still, I can almost see the flowers opening and their shadows move - revealing the eternal progress of our planet orbiting around its exploding star.

This environment of cultivated rarity reminds me of elegant Chinese calligraphy having only hints of meaning seen in the periphery of my understanding, encouraging me to read my own story in the trails left behind as I go forward.

For a stroll In the Fenway and Backbay neighborhoods click here

Running time 3 &1/2 Minutes

Star Magnolia

Boyfriend Ducks

Iory Allison — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 18:45:00 GMT

Now back in Boston I stopped on one of the bridges over the Muddy River in the Fenway to say hi to my friends the ducks. I could hardly believe my eyes when two boyfriend ducks posed so beautifully, swimming in liquid color reflecting on the ringed surface of the water.

Fall Foliage Tour of Vermont

Iory Allison — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 23:22:00 GMT

Double rainbow Prospect Hill, Brownington Village, the North-East Kingdom, Vermont

As you may know my husband, Leo and I are Vermonters at heart. We renovated a historic property at Kents’ Corner, Calais Vermont, creating a fine dining restaurant and Inn called, The White House where we lived and worked from 1980 until 1990. Much of my heart and soul lingers up there in the mountains where the haunting cry of the loon claims the mountain lake as wild space.

One of the great miracles of Vermont and New England in general is, of course, the autumn season when all the latent colors of the rainbow pour down upon the landscape drenching the mountains with infinite color. In the Northeast Kingdom there is urgency in the short growing season which comes to a climax in that brief moment of enchantment we know as autumn. This glorious pageant ends all too quickly with the days of dancing leaves. Then, the clear air is filled with colored scraps of summer’s waning moments, torn by chilly winds from high tree branches.

The dirt roads of hard packed clay rise and fall over the landscape following the ambitions of men. Even as we pass by, bright colored leaves cover our tracks, jealously guarding the secrets of the mountain. Now that I am here, what need have I for roads? Where would they take me? I have woken up and already arrived at the journey’s end.

The turkeys have returned. I see them all over the country and they seem to be thriving. One day I came across a fearless flock in my own Fenway neighborhood. Yes, half a dozen gobblers were progressing at a leisurely and dignified pace over by the Rose Garden between Fenway Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. They were softly mumbling in a high pitched patois and I wondered if they, like everyone else in the Fenway, were mulling over the Red sox game.

These two country cousins were foraging at the edge of a field in Danville. The flock numbered about two dozen. Unlike their city brethren they were modestly cautious, quickly ducking into the forest at the edge of the field when they sensed my unwarranted attentions.

We stayed at Injun Joe’s Court on Joe’s Pond in West Danville. The pond used to be called 'Sozap Nebees' - Sozap means Joseph, Nebees means pond or stream - in the language of the Abnaki, a branch of the Algonquin Indians who lived in the local area. Joe's Pond, and neighboring Molly's Pond, were officially named after members of the Micmac Indian tribe, Joe and his wife, Molly, by the Vermont state legislature on June 11, 1785 in recognition of their service in teaching necessary survival skills to the area's early settlers.

The ever charming Mr. Leo on the front porch of number five, Injun Joe’s Court

The interior of our cabin featured a lot of knotty pine paneling with two diminutive bedrooms each with comfortable double beds, separated by an equally diminutive bathroom.

The tree in the left of the photo was ladened with heavy clusters of red-orange berries that had attracted an abundance of robins who were chowing down from dawn to dusk. Unlike the dilatory Robins of urban ease these guys have to move on before the snow flies so they have a healthy appetite. In the depth of winter in the North-East Kingdom cold snaps drop the temperature to 20° to 30° below zero.

(added Oct. 20, 09) My friend Dale Linder emails me to say that the tree in question is a Mountain Ash or Rowan tree, thanks Dale

The View of Joe’s Pond from the front porch of cabin number

The central bandstand on the Danville green is surrounded with simple benches constructed with sturdy planks supported by upturned maple sugar buckets. In the center of the photo big sister is introducing a snuggly puppy with a wee tike.

“Autumn on the Green” is the aptly named fall foliage festival in Danville. This harvest celebration is a perennial delight, filling the spacious town green with a jumble of tented booths offering a great variety of merchandise. Arriving at 9:AM, our first concern was to find the donuts and coffee booth where we were easily seduced by raspberry scones and warm slices of pumpkin bread as well as a half dozen fresh donuts all wash down with piping hot coffee from Green Mountain Roasters.

Next we perused several booths offering farm made jams and jellies along with heaps of pies and cakes, muffins and scones and, of course, Vermont maple syrup. We stocked up on Carol’s Blueberry and Strawberry-rhubarb jams from this year’s garden harvest. Then we strolled the aisles, inspecting booths filled with fancy woven baskets, hand throne ceramic pots, country antiques, soft knitted hats, gloves and scarves as well as handsome pine and oak furniture and cabinets. We marveled at colorful blown glassware and an abundance of other art works ranging from original paintings and photography to jewelry.

Above the hub-bub of the crowd we heard the lilting music of a country fiddle band coming from the central band stand so we saunter over to have a look. Four squares of dancers were performing traditional country dances with stately dignity as their dance master called the steps with a rhythmic patter.

Photo credit, www.tirnadesigns.com http: href?>

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One half of a great couple, Tom Beattie posing in his shop, Diamond Hill

A visit to Danville would not be complete without a visit to our friends, Tom Beattie and John Dauteuil at their spectacular emporium of delight, Diamond Hill Store. If you want true sophistication in a delightful country setting stop by Tommy and John’s either in person or on line. They will be glad to make up gift baskets of Vermont artisan cheeses and other local products and ship them out to you or your friends for a great holiday gift or stocking your own larder.

Tom hails from the prominent Beattie clan who have been a fixture of Danville for generations. He and his eleven siblings permeate the town from Mom’s dairy farm to the Creamery Restaurant and Diamond Hill Shop. The Beattie’s are the real and yet rare thing, an American generational family who stick together while giving each other enough space to flourish in the wide open country of the Northeast Kingdom.

The simple and handsome windows in United Methodist Church on Danville Green are bordered by scarlet maple leaves, a perpetual autumn celebration speaking of the presence of the divine in nature.

The town of Peacham is a favorite place for us so we dashed off from Joe’s Pond to the foliage festival at Peacham which is the next town over from Danville. Upon our arrival we were greeted by this dapper gentleman who was acting as a one man welcoming committee for the festival. His name is James Engel and he told me that that his handsome costume was made for him on the occasion of his graduation from Oxford University in 1950. He was married soon thereafter wearing in the same outfit so it had happy associations for him. Mr. Engel’s topper is of fine beaver and his vest of pail yellow suede is sewn with mother of pearl buttons. Note his immaculately polished boots.

Here is a neat row of handsome homes lining the main street of Peacham. I especially like the red brick house, front and center, which is located across the street from where Mr. Engel was greeting the leaf peepers, as tourists are affectionately termed. Behind these houses the land falls off allowing spacious views of the surrounding countryside and distant mountains.

Fall crocuses are always a surprise and these little darlings are a bright smile in an otherwise fading garden of one of Peacham’s well tended homes.

Down the street from the pretty lavender crocuses stands this temple of domestic bliss with its impressive Ionic columns. The beautifully proportioned simplicity of the architecture of this home makes it a distinguished example of the Greek revival style. The early ideals of our Republic were then expressed with sophisticated confidence even in this remote village of the North-Eastern Kingdom

The traditional wooden barns of Vermont are fast fading from the landscape as their maintenance is considerable and costly. The need for large cow barns with vast hay lofts is waning with the demise of dairy farming in the state. This midsized barn is nestled in a thicket behind the Civil war monument at the crest of cemetery hill, high atop Peacham Village.

The Fall Foliage Festival of the Northeast Kingdom ran from September 27 until October 3 this year. On the 2^nd we went to Barnet, a short hop skip and a jump from Peacham and Danville, for the Pancake breakfast in the vestry at Barnet center. Above is the small meeting house church next door to the vestry. Both of these severely simple buildings are perched atop a steep hill overlooking the golden hills shimmering with autumn glory.

Leo and I are great fans of the church breakfasts of Vermont. We became addicted to these hearty feasts in the 80’s when we lived in Calais where our Inn, The White house, was located. In Calais the volunteer fireman host a red flannel hash breakfast that we remember with wistful delight.

The Pancake breakfast at Barnet Center lived up to, if not surpassed, the rigorous standards of past memories. Generous servings of fluffy and steaming pancakes were heaped on our plates along with farm made sausage patties. Small pitchers of warm local maple syrup were at the communal tables. We lost no opportunity to douse our pile with plenty of Vermont Gold, that sweet distilled essence which rises in awakening trees, announcing the hope of another summer in the sun.

The “vestry” is the building on the left it is also known as “Green Mountain Retreat” because it hosts a kid’s summer camp. The dining room is at the back of the building and because of the steep topography the room seems to float in space providing a view of the surrounding hills pulsating with rich colors beneath a dappled sky.

The rolling hills surrounding the burial ground of the United Presbyterian Church in Barnet Center are in contrast to the white marble standing stones marking the graves of sturdy farmers. These ancestors speak to us of their time and the rigors of country life.

The graceful sweep of the road leads us north to Brownington in search of the Old Stone house museum, a place we remember from years ago and could hardly believe as real because it seemed so remote and pristine.

The Old Stone House was built in 1836 as a dormitory for the Orleans County Grammar School by Alexander Lucius Twilight (1795-1857) Headmaster of the school. The Brownington Historic District now comprises only nine buildings of what was once a thriving community in the early nineteenth century. In The Stone house there are historic displays called the town rooms because they were created by local historical societies with artifacts from Orleans County towns. These rooms are drenched in the atmosphere of bygone eras so that you feel almost an intruder in a place of precious memory.

Looking out from the Old Stone House the light peeking through moody clouds changes every minute, highlighting various aspects of the landscape and animating the distant mountains so they appear to dance with a legato rhythm of timeless tectonic majesty.

Along the back roads we come across someone’s pretty little swimming pond decorating the high fields surrounded by rolling mountains.

This is the beautiful Lake Willoughby. We are looking at Mount Hor on the western shore of the lake. Its shear granite cliffs were carved 12,000 years ago by glacial scouring. The depth of the lake is 300 feet making Willoughby the deepest lake entirely within the state borders. On the opposite shore rises Mount Pisgah and between these two precipitous cliff faces soar Peregrine falcons.

Here is Mount Pisgah with a few lake cottages at the base. The afternoon shadow of Mount Hor, across the lake, seems to follow the shape of the shear cliff. While I was watching the sun sliced through sullen clouds animating the rock face so that it appears to me as a giant duck or wild goose dipping its bill into the lake water.

The southern trail up Mount Pisgah passes by a beaver pond bridged by wooden walkways and then cuts through the deep forest with many sections formed by primitive stone steps.

A fellow pilgrim along the path, Mr. Toad’s textured coat blended into the surrounding rocks and leaves so well that I was startled when he hopped out of my way.

I can’t resist showing you what to me is the most beautiful step in one of the flights of rustic stairs that aid the hiker on this picturesque trail.

Along the way spectacular vistas open up through the veil of forest revealing the wealth of autumn gold cloaking Mount Hor on the opposite shore.

The first real open vista along the trail is Pulpit Rock. From that precipitous outcropping of rock we are looking down on the sandy beach at the southern shore of Lake Willoughby with a sudden outburst of sunlight igniting the foliage to its highest intensity of color

As the sun sets the last rays of light are torn asunder by dragon clouds reclaiming the wild spaces of the lake for the spirits of the night.

And so with the beginning is the end. The golden treasure of rainbow is the smile of the goddess. She holds us to her bosom and sings a lullaby of pure contentment. Be still and you will hear her singing the music of the spheres.

Boston Gay Pride 2,009

Iory Allison — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 00:49:00 GMT

Boston Gay Pride 2,009

Pride Queen, Gay Pride Boston, 2,009

I went to the Gay Pride March last Saturday here in Boston and found the pot of gold at the beginning of the rainbow, and here she is.

I arrived at Tremont Street where the parade was forming and boom, I was immediately drawn into the festivities by the above celebrant’s shimmering auras and I started snapping pictures. I was so excited I forgot to ask her/his name, drag or otherwise, so if anyone can solve the mystery please contact me via ‘comments’ on this blog.

When I came-out in San Francisco in 1969 just a month after Stonewall, my ambition was to grow my hair long, smoke dope and kiss boys. I hadn’t a political bone in my body and even if I had, there was no organized Gay movement that I was aware of and certainly no parade. Pride was the bravado cry of a few outraged drag queens and nothing more.

Our Lady of Perpetual Giggles, Gay Pride, San Francisco, 2,000

Over the years I have marched in or screamed on the side lines of many Gay Pride parades in; San Francisco, New York, Boston and Montpelier Vermont. The passing of the millennium found me back in S F where in the spirit of a never to be repeated holiday I donned a nifty wedding dress and a feathered fan.

In the seventies we used to reefer to drag or the mask as “gender bending” and we had a dishy disregard for sexual role playing. We were advocates of pansexual freedom, feeling that each individual had the sexual, emotional and spiritual potential to be male, female and all the rainbow hues in-between. It was this intoxicating ambiguity that sent us singing and dancing into the streets.

I think of Gay Pride as our birthday party. We have been given the gift of true love by our fairy Godmothers’ who are having such a great time they absolutely refused to stay at home and cry.

In The Province Lands

Iory Allison — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 22:26:00 GMT

In The Province Lands

The near border of far away

On the near border of far away, down secret paths through leafy woods leading to hidden water lily ponds, I sit on the bank eavesdropping on the conversation of the leaves as the wind makes the trees dance.

In the boggy shallows of the pond shore wild azalea bushes grow with zigzagy arms and cascades of shiny green leaves. Sticky white azalea blossoms pour waves of sweet scent onto the hot wind blowing in from the desert dry dunes surrounding the woods.

A path screened by thickets of blueberry bushes twists through the cattail marsh, penetrating an invisible barrier into an unknown place.

All is silence and watchfulness in the woods surrounding the lily pond. I have entered the other side of reflection, a lost distance, passing through my phantom face floating on the surface of the water. I feel the eyes of shy creatures peering from behind veils of greenery.

For a little while a capricious sea mist blurs the sun bringing cooler wind from the ocean, gently ruffling the leaves of the maple and oak trees. A soft whispering hiss of voices passes along the treetops and then the wind spills on to the pond, ruffling a soggy carpet of water lily pads.

Slender reeds provide a perch for dragonflies, fluttering transparent wings of blue green iridescence.

The silence is broken by a rhythmic twittering, chick-a-dee-a-dee-a-dee volleying back and forth. The tiny birds send out a scout and this curious fellow follows along beside me. I am happy for his company and I whistle a reply. Coming closer we inspect each other and I, tasting tangy blueberries wonder what my companion is thinking.

A brood of young black ducks dip and dive into blue-purple shadows, water reflecting black blades of green grass. They feed on weed roots while softly mumbling to each other the satisfied pleasantries of their day. At a slight distance the mother duck, poised and alert, keeps a watchful eye. She guards with pride and vigilance while her brood huddles in a knot feasting. Finding my attentions too presumptuous she leads a waddling march onto the bank and away, seeking the seclusion of their own company

On the bank above the pond, a grove of pitch pines reach for the sun providing a canopy of cool shadows, a place where emptiness has presence. There I am slowly absorbed into the stillness.