When
I have fears that I may cease to be
Before
my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
John Keats nags me thus – voicing my fears
that my busy work schedule may not allow me to pen my own ode to the glorious
season before it ends today.
Worldly commitments get the better of
willful creativity.
Many eons earlier, John Keats had haunted
me, albeit differently. I owe to him the understanding of the significance of
autumn as a season. Keats’ paean evoked
finer sensibilities, introducing themes of rich auburn beauty, mellowness,
fruition, and hope -emotions I had never before associated with the falling of
leaves and the slanting rays of the sun.
How could I? The only tree I had seen shedding copiously
and colorfully during the miniscule winter in arid Hyderabad was the humble but
bitter neem. But then, the neem only created a litter of yellowed leaves, a
thick tangled mat of long sticks and a shower of bitter slimy fruit plopping on
to the ground, spilling their pips in the process.
The medicinal neem also lacked the rich
romance of 'the last leaf' that O. Henry’s Johnsy had pinned her hopes on.
That short story had been another
revelation of the magnificence of autumn - in the description of the quaint
artists’ village, the frail girl who had almost given up on life, and the kind
but gruff artist, Behrman, who never gave up on his dream of painting his
masterpiece one day. The story had all the drama my little mind loved. It
symbolised hope, sacrifice and the spirit of giving. And most importantly it
had a happy-sad ending that I cherish even today.
Over the years, when my own summer was
blazing over our business in Melbourne, autumn was often an annoying time. The
maple trees lining the street at the front of the office building dumped their
leaves like the rakshas Raktabija, who had special powers to make each drop of
his blood that fell to earth give rise to another demon of identical size and
strength. I regret being the Kali who cursed the dingy dun leaves, the
business(like)woman who bought leaf blowers after leaf vacuums after leaf rakes
to stem the fall.
But then, my role at the time was to ensure
occupational health and safety, maintain the professional presentation of the
campus yet cut down the cost of cleaning. Surely it was common knowledge that
pollen gave us hay fever, which meant illness in every home, staff absence, and
loss of work-man-hours.
Until one day, as I was walking to work,
oblivious to the beautiful crisp morning and mindful of the heavy burden of
worries, a beautiful leaf came drifting from the hateful maple tree and landed
gently on my nose, stopping me in my tracks and bringing me back to my senses.
The leaf was my totem?
How much was I missing out on in life?
Seasons came and went, but the only way I was relating to them was by groaning
about the leaves that would litter and the extra cleaning it would require
dreading that the air conditioning would fail and staff and students would
suffer and complain that the roof would leak and the roof gutters would get
blocked and cause flooding about hay fever affecting workforce productivity…
Looking at the desiccates with new respect,
I marveled at how the trees would know without referring to their Outlook
Express calendars that it was time to sprout and time to shed, time to bloom
and time to brown; how the winds knew to blow on time and in speed to make all
the leaves fall without the need of a project planner and gantt charts; and how
the earth knew to rotate and revolve causing seasons without a Global
Positioning System… and so on.
When we first came to Australia friends had
told us about a little town called Bright in the Great Alpine Region of in
hinterland Victoria. Bright is famous for its brilliant displays of autumn
foliage and for the annual autumn festival the town puts on. For years I waited
to go there.
Finally we got to it this year.
Everything turned out perfectly. The day
was as rich and complete as the season. The landscape was brighter than any we
had seen. Contrary to what the weatherman had predicted it was the kind of day
I love, very sunny and bright, not a wisp of a cloud in sight and at mid-day it
was a pleasant 15 C.
The place is aptly named Bright; a whole
town resplendent with the glorious colours of the season, mighty maples and tall poplars in hues russet to
gold, red to pink to purple, a celebration of life!
We collected leaves, bought eggplants,
squashes and coloured peppers from a cute old lady at the local farmers’ market
in Myrtleford, and lovely autumnal fruit, Hachiya persimmon, Beurre Bosc pears,
quinces and apples. I am grateful that the browning pears bravely clung on to
life and the persimmon held its juices until this week, waiting from me to make
time to cook them in celebration of autumn.
Almost a month after we returned I am still
smiling at the memory of the day. The heavens were truly and very generously
conspiring to make this a memorable and joyful day for us. I am also smiling
that I got to pen these lines.
After all, as Keats said, a thing of beauty
is a joy forever. The poem, of course, is Ode to Autumn.
Apple
and pear crumble with orange and persimmon sauce
For the sauce
Ingredients
Ingredients
1 large Hachiya persimmon – skin removed and flesh
roughly pulped
1 large orange - grate the zest and reserve for the fruit
filling and use the juice the orange in the sauce
1 tsp lemon juice (only if required)
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp unsalted butter
A pinch of salt
2 tsp corn flour
3-4 tbsp water
Method
In a small heavy saucepan melt the butter
and add the sugar to it. As soon as it begins to caramelise add the persimmon
pulp and the orange juice. Add the lemon juice, if required, and a pinch of
salt and bring the mixture to a simmer on low to medium heat. Stir frequently,
and as soon as the mixture starts simmering add 2-3 tbsp of water to the corn
flour and mix thoroughly. Slowly pour the corn flour mixture into the saucepan
while vigorously stirring the mixture until the sauce thickens. You may not need all of the corn flour so add
slowly, and stir quickly. It should have some body yet pour nicely.
Remove from heat and set aside.
For the crumble
Ingredients
3 large apples, cored and thinly sliced
3 ripe pears, peeled, cored and thinly
sliced
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp brown sugar/sweetener (only if
required)
1½ tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp grated nutmeg
All
the zest from the orange mentioned above
For the topping
Ingredients
¾ cup self-raising flour
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar/sweetener
¾ tsp powdered cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup cold butter, grated
1 tsp olive oil for the dish
Method
Preheat oven to 170 C. Assemble the sliced
fruit in a bowl and sprinkle the lemon juice, orange zest, spices and sugar/sweetener
over the fruit and toss to coat. Arrange the sliced fruit in an oiled pie dish.
In another bowl, combine
the flour, oats, brown sugar, cinnamon and salt. Add butter to flour mixture and
then work the butter into the mixture with your fingers until it is completely
mixed. Evenly spread the topping over the fruit, pressing down slightly with
your fingers. Arrange the slices on the top in a pattern of your choice.
Bake for 45 to 50
minutes or until fruit is tender, juices are bubbly and topping is crisp.
Rest it for 10-15
minutes.
Pour the prepared
persimmon sauce on the crumble and serve warm. You don’t need any cream, but it
does taste good with fresh cream or ice cream.
Store leftovers in the
fridge and serve cold or warmed.
This not only makes a
great dessert, but also a sumptuous breakfast.
