Chapter Twenty and More: The Case of the Disappearing Pies

     "What in the world is going on down here, girls? All I wanted was a little peace and quiet out in my toolbox until everybody else got back home, but lately this been nothing but hooting and hollering up here every single night!" Argyle jabbed his pipe at Ordealya, sending a flotilla of tiny bubbles up to the ceiling.  "Who the heck is that supposed to be, and where are the rest of those little pies you've been keeping out in the pantry on Thursday nights?"

    "Papa! Flossie burst out, waving her hanky with joy. "Dear Papa!" exclaimed Perle. "Why, you're not Gone!"

    "Of course I'm not Gone, but it looks like all the baked goods are. I'm going to ask you girls one more time, who - or what - is that?" Argyle pointed at Ordealya, who was still rolling around trying to shuck herself out the chair. "And why does it smell like something's burning?"

    "No no no no NO!" Ordealya shrieked. Dozens of tiny socks had appeared out of nowhere, and were climbing Ordealya's frame with the joyous zeal of goats turned loose in an alpine meadow.  One pair of socks kicked off Ordealya's turban and while another tweaked her ears. A half-dozen pairs of stockings had formed a conga line on her head, which we could now see was furred rather sparsely, and getting sparser by the minute as invisible fingers plucked out hairs by the clump. 

        Several of the Bridgettes were standing on chairs by this time. Perle and Flossie were delightedly clinging to their Dear Papa, who was of course no longer Poor Dear Papa, since he was very obviously not Gone and never had been, in spite of what Madame Kravatszky would have had everyone believe. Argyle was still carrying on about all the noise and trying to get Flossie and Perle to tell him what in the name of holy knitwear was going on his stocking studio.  

Gabby and Josephine were standing on a chair, too, presumably to get a better view. Batters and Sparky were already ahead of Clovis and me, wading through the wake of  

Ordealya was moulting veils like a dandelion shedding seeds in a high wind and screeching every time the invisible creamtures

On Tuesday, an Enormous Cabbage Arrived in the Post

Brobdingnagian 

cabbage may result in far 

too much sauerkraut

After some discussion, Victorine and Wit decided to borrow a cross-cut saw. 

Ten-Cent Stories

Dearest Gunilla is issuing a call for writers to send in a Ten-Cent Story!

You can send your stories to Attis Püppendottir, care of myristicafarm@gmail.com.

We'll post a Story-Starter topic for the Ten-Cent Story of the month on the first day, 

challenging writers to write a small story in 10 minutes using the topic, 

with an additional 5 minutes to edit the story.

November Story-Starter

Tell the story of a dog who becomes a

 legend in his own mind.

 And So Jul Season Begins at Myristica

October 21, 2024 to January 14, 2025

Jack-o'-lanterns go

from glow to pie in the blink

of a tinselled eye

Here at Myristica Farm there be 

a host of tiny sheep

wearing their grandmother's bonnets;

 bee-herding wasp-women; 
magic chickens; 
 cranky little sprites 

stirring up moonshine 

from crabapples, pencil shavings, and ink; 
and a not-so-secret society 

devoted to the celebration of 

gloriously hot toast
 with lashings of butter. 

The door at Myristica is always open to any 

who need a place to frolic, frisk or skip; 
it is a place for all of those who hanker 

for a sheltered cozy chair
 in which to sit and sip some small delights 
when all our larger busy world

 is sullen, cold, and indifferent to joy.

This is our invitation to join us this year at Jul and always.

A Breakfast Rhupunt by the Members of Friends of Toast, L'Ordre du Crouton d'Or, Especially for Lonormi

If 'ere your host

serves listless toast

pale as a ghost,

decline to mutter.

Bawl out: "We want

a plump croissant -

with just a haunt

of golden butter!

"For soul doth quail

from pastry pale!

And if it's stale?

Why, heart doth flutter."

Auntie Hank, left, and Millicent, right, having toast and tea at The Conestoga last Jul season. Oh, and COOKIES.  Puppen tradition not only allows but encourages cookies for breakfast  each and every morning from October 21 to January 14 during the 95 days of Puppelachian Yuletide. 

Travel Triolet: The Voyage of Lelja Vezhda

She, fearless, travels on the road of whales
Where kraken cringe beneath her fierce and beady eye.
Swathed against Atlantic gales in rosy knitted scarves, she sails,
She fearless travels on the road of whales,
Across the path of Ahab's brilliant foe and phosphorescent snails
Where new worlds wait beneath the western edge of sky.
She, fearless, travels on the road of whales
Where kraken cringe beneath her fierce and beady eye.

Lelja Vezhda, aka Auntie Eyebrow, reached the inland banks of Puppelachia after a three-week voyage from her homeland in Bulgaria. She is the first Puppelachian settler from the Balkans, and the boys are looking forward to her famous recipe for sour cherry vishnovka. Victorine, with Swanny and the Lillemors, have promised to make a big banitza for her party this weekend: who can resist feta cheese in hot buttered filo? *Note - you can see that Lelja Vezhda has a beautiful felt minaudière (Puppelachian bag-of-holding), so now we are very curious to see what she has brought with her from her homeplace in the Land of Ancient Roses.

Triolet Tuesday, Or: You Don't Have to Drink It Just Because It's Bubbly; But If You Do, Get the Good Stuff and Serve it With a Nice Gruyère

A good shampoo evokes the best champagne.

Each iridescent bubble scrubs the grit from grubby hopes;

Its golden glow lifts up the soul and clarifies the brain.

A good shampoo evokes the best; champagne,

While sweetly effervescent, can’t sustain

The lasting joys of lathering in blossom-sillaged soaps.

A good shampoo evokes the best champagne;

Each iridescent bubble scrubs the grit from grubby hopes.

-Geordie du Bain-Moussant

So today at Geordie's audition we asked him how he feels about hair care products, because we were, well, let's just say we were curious, and here's what he said: "I don't usually drink shampoo, but when I DO I make sure it's Mane and Tail. Okay, every now and then I'll order a shot of Suave Strawberry Crème rinse, but that's like on date night or something. SSC on the rocks with a splash of Mr. Bubble? Now, THAT'S special."

Shadorma Wednesday: Never Never Never Say No to Free Hot Bread

Breadsticks with
hot butter; take that,
pale paleo!
The joys
of crusty bread and a new
red hat surpass all. 

Ozzie is a fan of Victorine's plain baguette with lashings of butter. And he's stoked about his hat.

Shadorma Wednesday: Penny Candy Uprising

marshmallow

orange fluff, congealed

to sweetened

vanity:

circus peanuts shouldn't roam

where mammoths prevail

-clovis defleury

Lascaux, one of the mammoths on The Farm, sneaking up on an unsuspecting circus peanut. 

Haiku Monday: Muesli Moon Musings

Sweet October moon:
golden astral apricot
hangs just out of reach

Auntie Swanny making her special-blend Golden Apricot Moon Muesli for Mr : 4 cups of rolled oats, 1/2 cup oat bran, 1 cup of slivered almonds, 1/4 cup sunflower seeds, 1/4 cup pumpkin seed, 1/4 cup broken walnuts, 1/2 cup raisins, 1/2 cup slivered dried apricots, 1/4 cup tart dried cherries, 1/4 cup currants, 1/4 cup dried blueberries, 1 teaspoon Vietnamese cinnamon, 1 teaspoon dried orange peel, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg. Mix in large roasting pan and spray with canola oil. Bake in 350 oven for 10 minutes, mix and spray lightly again. Return to oven for 10 more minutes, mix and spray, and return for last 10 minutes. Cool and put up in clean glass jars or in airtight tins.  

Trickertreat Blues Y'All

From "The Trickertreat Blues" by Reverend Zeno M. Shellbark

Taterhead Junior describing the size of the Zagnut bar he got last year to a rapt audience.

I ain't got nothin',
Ain't got nothin'
Nothin' but The Trickertreat Blues

I ain't got nothin',
I got nothin' in my bucket
Nothin' but the Trickertreat Blues

Taterheads come a knockin'
and the candy corn is rockin' kind of blues

Oh, I ain't got nothin'
I ain't got nothin'
But sugar, sweet sweet sugar, on my brain

So I'm askin' you right now, mama, 

I'm tellin' you right now
I just want to be your sweet lovin' Malted Milk Ball and chain

And I'll say it again

Oh, yeah, I ain't got nothin,
But a bucket full of money

Got nothin' but the Trickertreat Blues

'Cause without my Bit O Honey
I got nothin' for my money 

Nothin' at all

And I need me my honey

Sweet and warm on my bones

Yeah, the ghosties come on a knockin' and the Tootsie Rolls are rockin'
All night long
I got the Trickertreat Blues

Wrap me in your Red Vines, mama, 

Say yeah, oh yeah, 

and
I'll be your Sugar Daddy

Your Sugar Daddy all night long
Chase away

Chase away those Trickertreat Blues

When my baby comes a knockin' 

we get those jellybeans a-rockin'
No more blues
No more Trickertreat Blues

Another Hat Haiku

A truly fabulous 

hat bedazzles the eye and

glorifies the soul

Clovis deFleury modeling a floral specimen of Catalpa speciosa collected in the College Park area of Winchester, KY. Although regarded as an ungainly and messy tree in the formal landscape, the indigenous Northern catalpa nevertheless provides a cheerful and extravagant beauty on many a vacant lot and abandoned homestead in southern Appalachia. And, apparently, makes a lovely hat if your skull is less than an inch in diameter.

A Little Hat Haiku

accept the bees in 

your bonnet for they may yield

honey in your cup 

Mme. Onriette "Hank" deFleury with a bee in her bonnet but no tea in her cup.