A Bagette and Some Red Wine

Just a Hint of French

We spent the Christmas holiday on Cedar Key, where homes are built on the second floor. The first floor is left empty to minimize damage if and when tides come rushing in at the front of a hurricane.

There was no storm during our stay. Just a few days of blessed peace and quiet, and some retired snowbirds taking their winter residence far from Ontario, Quebec and other cold, dark places.

Speaking to such neighbors put me in a Frenchie sort of mood when I saw the woman above from "our" second-story porch. "Madame et la Petite" (A Ladie and the Little One).

All that was missing was the panier, the bread basket, on her bike. That would set the stage for a trip to town and the purchase of groceries for the evening meal. Something flavorful.

The dog would poke along, sniffing at all the usual spots and marking as many as time and fluid would allow, then run to catch up with Madame.

In town, Madame would select some choice cuts of meat and eye the butcher's thumb as he weighed them. That bagette, a bottle of wine and some fresh-cut flowers would round out the purchase.

The trip home would involve the usual sharp calls to the dog, who would chase the same cat, bark back at that same big spotted hound, and wander down the same trail she always does.

Madame might even use some of those rougher French phrases that slip out when la petite isn't as charming as she is at home.

Back at home, the evening meal would be prepared. The small house would fill with the aroma of things to come. The dog would curl up in the pool of fading sunlight at the base of the storm door. The wine would be airing out on the table by the new flowers in the vase.

The winter sun would set beyond the bayou across the street.

But, of course, that didn't happen. It was just a neighbor taking an afternoon ride.

Art is the spice that adds flavor to an ordinary meal.

A Little Color

Goes a Long Way

This entry is filed under Mattie Walks.

The girl does get bored with the same left-or-right decision to our walks on our one-street neighborhood. I try other sites to break up the daily grind. She likes the cemetery. I like the lake.

That's a view of the lake above. "Fall, Lake Hall". The lake is part of Maclay Gardens State Park, a former estate of wealthy New York snowbirds who wintered in Tallahassee while most grandees chose to roost on Jekyll Island off the coast of Georgia. The estate was ceded to Florida and attracts many visitors during the camellia and azalea seasons. Locals enjoy the park all year around.

Mattie doesn't care as much for it as I do. The trails creep her out a bit. I think she's a suburban girl at heart. Then again, she may be getting scent of a bear or other threatening critter. What do I know?

Lake hall winds around, creating little coves here and there, and the shore is heavily wooded with the region's collection of pines, oaks, sweetgum and magnolia trees. A nice place to be during every season.

And the truth is that the scene above was one of a pretty hot summer. Everything about it is true to the moment except the color of the leaves indicating temperature and season.

The problem I have in seeing so many enticing moments and events in the nature of my environment is ... that those moments stack up. Getting to a painting in its time is difficult. So many impressions amass on the sketch pile that it's often winter before I finish summer paintings, spring before the fall art gets easel time, and so forth.

A counter-pressure comes from galleries asking for works denoting a current season. It's understandable, of course. Patrons are as susceptible to the seasons as I am.

I hadn't yet gotten to this Lake Hall painting and wanted to do it, so what the heck -- it became a fall painting. And the stripe of wind-whipped ripples on the water (which were there in summer) add a touch of chill to the air.

The original moment indicated a cooling breeze.

I'll catch up with other summer lake views soon because the temperature and the leaves are falling.