Emporium Pies.

Shan found this new pie shop that just opened in the Dallas area. Perfect for a quiet Sunday afternoon.

http://emporiumpies.com/

blessed consolation.

These words are so beautiful & heartening, and so often forgotten:

Come to me, all you that labour, and are burdened, and I will refresh you.
[Matthew 11:28]

Michaelangelo's Pietà, il Vaticano. 

The Civil Wars - To Whom It May Concern

pumpkin biscuits.

I made these a few sunny afternoons ago, and they are utterly delicious. (I left out the cayenne as I was unsure what to think of it.) Honey and butter are perfect additions.

4 cups All-Purpose Flour
2 1/2 tablespoons Baking Powder
2 teaspoons Salt
2 teaspoons Ginger
1/2 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper (I omitted)
1 cup (2 sticks) Unsalted Butter, chilled
1 1/2 cups Pumpkin Purée
1 tablespoon Honey
1/2 cup Buttermilk

Make the biscuit dough: Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Combine flour, baking powder, salt, ginger, and cayenne in a large bowl. Cut the chilled butter into small pieces and cut the butter into the flour mixture using a pastry cutter, two knives, or your hands until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Set aside. Combine the pumpkin purée and honey in a small bowl. Add the pumpkin mixture to the flour mixture and stir until just combined. Add the buttermilk and stir just until mixture clings together and is combined.
Roll out the biscuits: Lightly coat a baking sheet with vegetable oil and set aside. Turn the biscuit dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead about 10 times. Roll the dough out to 3/4-inch thickness, cut biscuits out with a 3 1/2-inch round cutter, gather the scraps, gently press together, and repeat until all of the dough is used. Place biscuits 1 inch apart on the prepared baking sheet and bake until golden -- 25 to 30 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.



http://www.countryliving.com/recipefinder/pumpkin-biscuits-3261

To the Lighthouse.

le lac, gelé.

Count the Almonds - Paul Celan

{Sadly, this was originally written in German, and so the translation has ravaged it a little. Yet still beautiful.}

Count the almonds,
count what was bitter and kept you awake,
count me in:

I looked for your eye when you opened it, no one was looking at
you,
I spun that secret thread
on which the dew you were thinking
slid down to the jugs
guarded by words that to no one's heart found their way.

Only there did you wholly enter the name that is yours,
sure-footed stepped into yourself,
freely the hammers swung in the bell frame of your silence,
the listened for reached you,
what is dead put its arm round you also
and the three of you walked through the evening.

Make me bitter.
Count me among the almonds.

Thanksgiving.

Pied Beauty by Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change:

Práise hím.


{The things in my life for which I am grateful are innumerable. Deo Gratias.}

Pies.

Pie-making is therapeutic amidst the chaos.

{Fresh fruit}

{Recipe}

{Sing a song of Blackbirds}

{Ready to Bake}

{Cherry}

{Apple}

Burt Glinn, Barcelona, 1960.