friday feast: chatting with natalie s. bober about papa is a poet: a story about robert frost

The last time I was in New Hampshire, I visited Frost Place in Franconia. I regret not also seeing Derry Farm, where Robert Frost found his literary voice, developed his poetic style, and garnered a lifetime of inspiration from his surroundings and the interesting people he met.

Derry Farm

I might say the core of all my writing was probably the five free years I had there on the farm down the road a mile or two from Derry Village toward Lawrence. The only thing we had was time and seclusion. I couldn’t have figured on it in advance. I hadn’t that kind of foresight. But it turned out right as a doctor’s prescription.

(From: Selected Letters of Robert Frost, Lawrence Thompson, ed. New York: Holt, 1964)

 

I love Natalie S. Bober’s new picture book, Papa is a Poet: A Story About Robert Frost (Henry Holt, 2013), which describes Frost’s crucial years at Derry Farm as told through the eyes of his oldest daughter Lesley.

We come to know Frost as a loving husband and father, an impoverished poultry farmer, and a word lover who not only instilled a love of reading and writing in his children, but who also taught them how to look carefully at the natural world, to make comparisons, and “to bring on what he called ‘metaphor'”.

Young readers will enjoy reading about the Frost family all-day Sunday picnics, how they wandered through fields and woodlands learning the names of flowers and birds, how they watched the sunset and studied the stars at night, how the children were encouraged to tell stories and record what they saw and felt on paper.

When listening to the speech of his farmer neighbors, Frost “heard the words that had the ring of pure poetry,” inspiring him to “make music out of words.”

While Frost’s passion for writing, his family and their rural lifestyle are clearly celebrated in Lesley’s narrative, she also mentions how her father struggled to make a living as a poet, how he felt like he was a “disappointing failure” to family and friends. She explains why, despite a life “filled to the brim” even when the “cupboard was often bare,” they eventually left the farm and moved to England.

Her Papa had courageously made the difficult, “reckless choice” to pursue the life of a poet. Despite years of poverty and rejection, he’d chosen the road less traveled by.

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the meat of the matter: aaron reynolds on carnivores

Warning: The following post features ferocious meat lovers. If you are tender, juicy, or have a tendency to hop, they might eat you. Read at your own risk.

The Lion is King of the Jungle!

The Great White Shark is Sovereign of the Sea!

The Timber Wolf is Emperor of the Forest!

and

this

seemingly normal

book biting

lasagna and sushi lover

who goes by the name of Aaron Reynolds

is

PRINCE OF THE PICTURE BOOK!!

*roar, chomp, howl*

His Royal Meatness

You want proof of the Princely Pudding? Ravenous readers everywhere are gleefully clicking their cuspids and savagely devouring Aaron’s brand new book, Carnivores. Yes, they’re eating it up before it eats them. 🙂

A wise and sensible thing to do, I daresay, because this hilarious story is totally brilliant, darkly delicious, and oh-so-filling. *burp*

It wasn’t enough that back in 2005, Aaron spiced up my ho-hum existence with Chicks and Salsa. No. He got me to wiggle my wattle and actually tolerate football with Buffalo Wings in 2007. Did he stop there? Not a chance.

Last year he terrified me with a bunch of Creepy Carrots, but I’ve since forgiven him because at least now I know the chopped salad I’ve been smelling under my pillow is real.

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soup of the day special edition: ben clanton dishes on the table sets itself

Ahoy there!*

The Alphabet Soup table is all set to welcome story-scribbler, picture-squiggler, fun-socks-wearer Ben Clanton, whose second self-illustrated picture book, The Table Sets Itself (Walker BFYR, 2013), is officially hitting shelves today! WooHoo!

Until I read this charming, whimsical story, I thought I was the only one who had a meaningful relationship with cutlery. I loved reading about how Izzy and her friends Dish, Fork, Knife, Spoon, Cup, and Napkin finally get the chance to set the table themselves. But because they soon tire of being in the same spots day after day, they decide to switch places. Uh-oh.

Is this front endpaper cool or what?

This leads to a few small disasters and a big ooh-la-la adventure for the runaway Dish and Spoon, whose absence turns Izzy into a complete mess because no other plate or spoon will do. How will she get them to return to the table? Generous sprinkles of punny jokes and visual humor (I bet you never knew a cup could lift a cow) make for a rollicking read aloud, and did I mention macaroni and cheese is instrumental in setting things right again?

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chatting with susan fillion about pizza in pienza

Buon Giorno!

You’re just in time to enjoy a soul-warming slice of Susan Fillion’s homemade pizza. There’s nothing like a perfect chewy-crisp crust topped with a little crushed tomato, melty mozzarella, black olives and fresh basil, just begging you to take a bite. Delizioso!

Also delicious is Susan’s charming new bilingual picture book, Pizza in Pienza (David R. Godine, 2013), which is about two of her favorite things — pizza, of course, and Pienza, a small town in Tuscany where Pope Pius II was born (he rebuilt Pienza to be an “ideal Renaissance town”).

Susan’s story features a young Italian girl, a resident of Pienza, who is crazy about pizza — so much so, that she decides to find out everything she can about it. She asks her grandmother to teach her how to make it, she scopes out Giovanni, the local pizzaiolo, and she also reads all about the history of pizza at the library. Did you know pizza (as we know it today) most likely originated in Naples, Italy?

An artist and museum educator at the Baltimore Museum of Art, Susan has filled this book with beautiful rustic, folkloric paintings rendered in warm Tuscan browns, crimsons, golds, olives, and blues. I love how her humorous touches (Mona Lisa holding a slice of pizza) gives us a fresh taste of antiquity, blending past and present on a timeless canvas of Italian village life.

Hungry readers will appreciate the added layer of flavor afforded by the Italian translations on every page — two savory bites for the price of one! End matter includes an Author’s Note, Pronunciation Guide, and Susan’s recipe for Pizza Margherita. And did I mention the cool pizza sauce endpapers? Squisito!

* * *

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soup’s on: a blog birthday and other delights

 

Hey Hey!

I’m back! You look different. Have you had some work done? Eating more fruits and veggies, maybe?

Well, something’s changed.

I swear you’re even more good-looking than you were back in July. Tell me, tell me — how is that even possible?

When last we spoke, 6lueberries were taking over the Alphabet Soup kitchen. Well, you’ll be pleased to know we polished off every last one of those indigo beauties and haven’t had any other grocery shopping mishaps — unless you count the time I asked Len to bring home a spaghetti squash.

Object in question

Me: That’s not a spaghetti squash. It has a pointy end.

Len: Of course it’s a squash.

Me: It looks too small.

Len: Well, I found it next to all the other squashes and there was even a big sign.

Me: Imposter!

Len: Don’t be silly. This. is. a. squash.

Me: Hokay, if you insist  . . .

Marinara sauce simmering, smells good.

Two hours later, a scream from the kitchen.

Len: OH NO!!

Frantic, disheveled writer comes running, expecting to see a gaping knife wound and lots of blood.

What?!! What’s wrong?!!

Len: Look! It’s a . . . MELON!

Writer displays admirable restraint. 

Me: Is it a muskmelon?

Len: I don’t know.

Me: Well, I tried to tell you. This is just like Aunty Ella and her Chinese soup fiasco. Instead of winter melon, she got watermelon. So much for our low cal alternative. I’ll cook some penne . . .

Spaghetti squash . . . or is it?

Turns out the object in question is a canary melon, and it was delicious! I like it better than cantaloupe but not as much as honeydew. Canary melons are also called winter melons, but they’re not the same “winter melons” my aunt wanted for her soup, which are actually winter gourds. These guys are actually fruits eaten as vegetables. I swear it’s all a conspiracy. Squash espionage abounds. Henceforth, my code name is Melon Head. 🙂

Come to me, my melon-choly baby.

* * *

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