‘So you did it twice,” said a very young Beatrice when she was reckoning up the presence of herself and her brother and checking her new information of where babies came from. I kept a pretty straight face as I replied, “Yes. We did. Twice.” This was not the time to elaborate, as I was driving the thirteen turns stretch of Highway One on our way home and, again, we were late for something. “Yes we did it twice.”

Another thing that we have done twice is Walter directing me in a production reading. Many years ago I booked an evening studio session at KPFA Pacifica for the recording of Herman Hesse’s story “Old Music”. I was somehow committed and compelled to read this story. In hind-sight it was more suited to a male voice, but I so loved the story of Hesse’s journey from his cottage in the forest to the cathedral in the city that I was determined to do it and, for the first time, asked Walter to guide me thought the reading. I was nervous, hoping that we did not dissolve into an altercation in public. I need not have worried, Walter was professional and kind, gentle but firm and I relaxed as he led me through the story. We added some Bach, such as Hesse might have heard in the cathedral to the end of it and – even if I say so myself – it aired well. 

This summer we did it again. Mostly here in London, as Walter held my less-than-best microphone while correcting my still hopeless dyslexic stumbles over long words and names. My voice and I are old, and with no true acting training we worked in short bursts. Granny Smith apples or big juicy grapes are said to help with such sessions but for me it was to be hard apple cider and honey which got me through, and was more than appropriate given that we were recording my book ‘Harvesting History While Farming the Flats.’  I took two editorial passes though each chapter before handing the tracks over to beloved Jim Mckee who cleaned me up some more. The result is a 9 hour and 6 minute book on audible.com. There is a little teaser – in the video.

The video clip on my website is a little taste tease. 

After my husband delivered a lecture to a group of Danish Film makers and students Philip calls out, “The last question please,” and a young man stands up.

“Mr. Murch, with your work schedule and the traveling how do you manage a home life?” then he sits down. Suddenly there is a deeper quiet in the room. Philip nods and raises his eyebrows, which always look striking with his large, round, smooth bald head. He nods as if to say, “yes this is a good question” and looks over at Walter. Walter paused, not rushing, as he can, to answer with overflowing ideas. Then he responded.

“Truth be told I don’t. I am often on a project for a year, maybe longer, sometimes eighteen months, even two years – and in that time I may not know where I will be six weeks ahead. You will have to ask Aggie that question.” He smiles and looks up briefly before Philip calls out,  “Lunch. We will reconvene in an hour.” 

This book is my answer 

Through some digital magic you can also switch between reading on your Kindle and listening to the audio. Pretty cool for an old lady.

The summer is fading now, the harvests are in. The Gods in Heaven have swept up three American jewels who spread good news, and good trouble across this good earth. We who are left are saddened by their passing. I think of them, Dolly Parton, Wendell Berry and Gloria Steinem who have no need to linger – their work well done and their torchlight handed on to those of us who are finishing what we can of our work in the world. 

And it is time to make chutney again. We harvested six green tomatoes from the one plant that survived the heatwaves of this summer. Our neighbor props a sign, ‘Free but don’t take them all’ on a box of Bramley Apples she brought from her home in the country. Tony at the market – he of the best and sweetest small strawberries – hands over a punnet of Victoria and Damson plums, Pete’s onions are small but good and into the big pot with all sorts of secrets they go. A day later there are nine jars filled with dark rich savory fruit sitting on the counter. 

I look at the jars and think of the words that Wendell Berry let me share in Harvesting History, and hope that even in this autumnal urban time of our lives we can remember that

The soil is the great connector of lives, the source and destination of all. It is the healer and restorer and resurrector, by which disease passes into health, age into youth, death into life. Without proper care for it we can have no community, because without proper care for it we can have no life. – Quote from Wendell Berry with kind permission from Wendell Berry

This has been A Letter From. A Broad Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side and as always supported by Beatrice from MurchStudio. And the video? Taken by Taghi Amarani and then tucked up together by WSM