ALMANAC
Almanac January
By Ashley Walshe
January is a flickering candle, a blanket of starlight, a question blurted in the dark.
Before the day breaks, the quiet morning lures you into its luscious chamber. Outside, whispers of ancient myths illuminate the inky sky. You light a candle, watch the flame perform its sacred dance.
Quivering in perceived stillness, the fire speaks in a language raw and primal. What but the ecstasy of darkness could make the light act as a howling
dervish? What but the silent tongue can taste the
succulence of nothing?
Deep in the forest, a barred owl dances like a candle, wings raised as he bobs and sways in naked branches.
Who cooks for you? he cries into the silken void. Who cooks for you-all?
The quiet cradles every note.
Who cooks for you? he blurts again, urgent and steady.
The candle shivers. The silence deepens. The mystery bellows back.
Soon, the brightest stars will fade into the tender blush of dawn. Flickers of a hidden world will vanish. The everything of silence will be gone.
Sop up the rapturous blackness of this pregnant morning. Be as the trembling candle — danced by an unseen song. Let the silence deepen, let the darkness sweeten, let the mystery make itself known.
Winter Bloomers
Bless what blooms in this barren season: Christmas roses, early crocus, daffodils, snowdrops, clematis and — what heavenly fragrance! — aromatic wintersweet.
Translucent yellow flowers adorn the bare branches of this deciduous shrub, perfuming the air with lemony sweetness. Native to China, this woody ornamental thrives in full sun and moist, well-drained soil. Nothing like a dainty olfactory delight to greet us at the dawn of this bright new year. What’s best? The deer can’t stand it.
Out With the Old
Nothing lasts forever. But the mail-order fruitcake comes pretty darn close.
Dig into the history of this notable loaf and you may find yourself down the nut-studded rabbit hole. Ancient Egyptians buried their pharaohs with it. In ancient Rome, the dense cake sustained soldiers in battle. And in the early 18th century, “plum cake” was outlawed throughout Continental Europe on account of its “sinfully rich” ingredients.
What was once a symbol of grand indulgence became a cheap-and-easy Christmas gift when department stores began stocking their shelves with the commercially made wonders we all know and, well, know. Some love it, some loathe it, and — on January 3 — some hurl this Yuletide offering into the great blue yonder.
National Fruitcake Toss Day started in Manitou Springs, Colorado, in the 1990s. Their annual event, called the Great Fruitcake Toss, features various competitions in which participants launch the brick-like loaves by hand, slingshot or cannon. Fruitcake remains are donated to local farms for animal feed or compost. A gift that keeps giving indeed.