Brotherly Advice (1 of 3)

It's a rare occurrence for me, but sometimes an unwelcome thought won't go away. I'm speaking of the throwaway comment by Aristotle Treefellow - "I could undoubtedly make use of your skill" - undoubtedly related to my manipulation of the crystal locks in my underground adventure (see Routes of Sylvania). I didn't want to go down there again. Couple this with the potential call on my time for the forthcoming Melting Festival, and I needed a way to relax to prepare myself. (You may be puzzled why there was trepidation concerning the Melting work, but I will get to that.) Thank goodness for my brother and a little routine.

Merlin and I were out on one of our regular jaunts, ending up at the East Dock Road snackbar we tend to frequent. None of the Seadog brothers were there but the good news was that Heston Doughty was in the kitchen instead of Fenton Barker, giving us unexpected variety in our food. His special herby nutburgers were on the menu. They would help me to relax! 

 

 

I was grateful to Darcy when he volunteered to write the recent blog entry. He obviously remembered last year's Melting preparations; I didn't write about it at the time but I was heavily involved. Before I mention this year, some disclosure might clarify last year's tasks.

There was still a lingering excitement about certain Mellowdene residents "being famous" - as some said. With the publicity and success of The Sylvan River musical, Chris and I had been thrust into the limelight, and certain people - Mayor Ramsey Nettlefield for one - were eager for our music to feature heavily in the Melting Festival. He does tend to be optimistic with his big ideas. 

 

Of course, it would have been an honour but there were difficulties whichever way one looked at it. Mellowdene doesn't have an orchestra and without one, one has to arrange the score for whatever musicians are available - and that's before one finds singers to do the job. It looked beyond our home-grown talent, especially in the time available. 

It was a relief when Lionel Grand volunteered his services and persuaded Roxy Renard to help. Working alongside these two talented musicians was a wonderful experience. We took a few of the most popular songs from the musical - not all, allowing Lionel to include some songs from his repertoire - and with his skill in my arsenal, arranging the score purely for piano was easier than it could have been. The choice of songs excluded the baritone solos, but with some key changes and minor lyrical tweaks from Chris, Roxy was able to manage the tenor parts in addition to those that fit her range and gender. 

 

My work was done when it came to the performance so I was able to relax with Cecile and the children.

So - what about this year? The musical is still popular, regularly running from a smaller theatre in Calico New City, and there are a couple of touring companies performing a stripped down version. Twelve months on, the excitement has died down here in Mellowdene. Chris and I are no longer treated like minor celebrities by some villagers - which suits us! Nevertheless, I expected to be approached to provide some assistance for this year's festival.

Merlin is a tolerant soundboard and had good advice as usual. I offloaded my concerns.  

 

"Jack - it's great that you're so helpful, but you mustn't let people take advantage of you. You had a lot to do last year. I wasn't the only one to notice it. I can tell you now that I was having an informal chat with Ramsey after the performance. He was excited how well Lionel and Roxy had interpreted your work, and I told him."

I stared at him. "What did you say?"

"I merely agreed that the concert was excellent, that you had spent almost two week's worth of full-time work doing arrangements and setting things up for the performers. I added, 'at least he won't be called upon to work so hard next year, eh, Ramsey?' and watched his face. He was silent for a few moments. I hope I did right."

"Still the big brother," I smiled. "What did he say to that?"

 

"After a bit, he nodded and said how last year had been special. He agreed that you'd gone beyond the amount of work anyone could expect. 'Caprina says that I can get carried away,' he said, 'and she's probably right. Well you don't need to worry, Merlin. I intend to scale back after this year's extravaganza, and I'll seriously think about spreading the load.'"

"It might explain why he's been quieter recently, Ramsey has normally approached me by now."

"Well, maybe that's a good sign. Nevertheless, he should have told you if your services won't be required."

 

At that point, a voice rang out. "Ah! Mr Butterglove, I've found you!"

We turned to see a somewhat flushed Alessandro Lopez. I pointed to myself and he nodded. 

Alessandro Lopez was a relatively new teacher at Mellowdene School. The recent reorganisation of the education system had included the engagement of additional teachers and Mr Lopez was one of these. During one of my weekly slots providing piano lessons for my nephew Figwort Ivory, he had mentioned Mr Lopez and a new music class over which he presides.

"Mr Lopez," I said in greeting.

"Please call me Sandro," he said, indicating a seat. I waved that he should sit.

"How can I help, Sandro?"

"I've called at your house but your wife told me you might be here. I've come mainly to apologise to you."

"Whatever for?"

"It's regarding the music for Melting," he said, and I exchanged glances with my brother. "I know you've been called upon in recent years, but Mayor Nettlefield had said you deserved a break and suggested that the school might be involved, which meant I would need to organise my students.  I've been busy the last few weeks."

"I'm not sure why that warrants an apology, Sandro."

"The thing is, both the mayor and I thought that each other would have been in contact with you to inform you of these plans. I only found out this morning that you were in the dark."

Merlin laughed. "We were just talking about that. Ramsey Nettlefield's delegation skills can be amorphous at times."

Sandro smiled uncertainly. "Then you don't mind?"

 

I shook my head. "Frankly, it's a weight off my mind. It will be refreshing to be an observer this year. What do you have planned?"

"That's generous, Mr Butterglove..."

"That's Jackson. Saves confusion. I know my brother prefers to be called Merlin too."

"Right. Well, Jackson, the classes are relatively new and few children can play instruments - although I'm aware Figwort Ivory is learning the piano, thanks to you - so I am concentrating on their singing for now. I hope to form a proper choir at some point, but my current objective is to get as many children involved as possible."

"You'll have your work cut out."

 

"As I'm learning. I should manage, but if you have any ideas I'd be grateful."

 

As Heston Doughty appeared with our nutburgers, Sandro stood. "I'll leave you to your meals. Thank you for understanding."

We acknowledged him, and the chihuahua teacher left the snack bar.

Merlin looked at me. "Problem solved. There's just the other issue."

"Aristotle Treefellow."

 

"Right. An imposing bird. It seems to me that the best way of dealing with the Professor is to find someone who knows more about him. How best to handle him."

"You're thinking of Newton?"

"Of course. Aristotle tutored Newton for some years. If anyone can help..."

 

He was right, of course. I'd go and visit my twin. But first, nutburgers.

o 0 O 0 o

  

 

 

Autumn in Sylvania

Given the time of year in Mellowdene, I'd like to share a poem by my friend and workmate Chris Snow-Warren. 

Autumn in Sylvania 

When Summer's eyes grow heavy and the season starts to doze,

when woodlands in Sylvania see Billy Sun work less,

then many leaves decide its time for them to change their clothes

and critters watch the fashion show and (wow) does it impress!

 

The russets, dark and richly red - the elegance of Fall -

that Adrianne (the Hopkins mom) loves 'til the leaves are shed, 

she brings a bottle there to toast the beauty of them all,     

foregoes the Champagne in her name and has a glass of red.

"The leaves are orange like my burger bun," young Aiden claimed.

"That's true," said David Doughty, "or the hairs upon my head,"

"And what about my dress?" Rhianna Dappledawn exclaimed.

"The tree's a Maple; I am too. Related!" Jasper said.

 

Accreditation: Background trees taken from an image by Andrey

So it went on as critters claimed their kinship with the trees,

declaring Autumn's colours as the best that they had seen.

They sadly knew the leaves would go; "it only takes a breeze."

One grey bear smiled. "Not all," he said. One Forest Evergreen.   

o 0 O 0 o

From the pages of the Mellowdene Examiner (1/5)

The celebrated Sylvanian wit Oscar Wildebeest once said "There's only one thing worse than being talked about; it's being sung at by a tone deaf donkey in a locked bathroom."

Hi. As you've probably guessed, it's Darcy Fielding here. You may be wondering why I opened with that quotation. It's something I tell myself when I want cheering up - a sort of "well - things could be worse."

And now you're probably wondering why I'd want to do that. Well - sadly - Jackson has let me down.

That was my first thought today, but I now realise I was being unfair. Jackson is under no obligation to write these pieces for Life in Mellowdene. It's just that he usually gives me plenty of notice if he can't manage to complete something. This time, I heard nothing.

When time was approaching my usual publication date, I phoned Butterglove House to find out if I'd missed some prior communication. Cecile answered.

"Oh hi, Cecile," I said, "It's Darcy. Is Jackson in?"

She didn't answer immediately. In retrospect, she seemed a little unsure of herself. And then she said, "Hello, Darcy. No. I'm afraid he's away."

"Oh. Songwriting business I expect. No matter. It's just that.... did he leave me any papers, articles, anything for me like that?"

"Erm, No, Sorry Darcy. He went rather suddenly."

"Ah. Okay. Well, thanks Cecile. Maybe I can have a word with him when he gets back."

"Okay. 'Bye."

Then she put down the phone. I thought it was a little out of character, but I had other things on my mind. I had an article to write. Or did I? I had all my newspaper archives. Harry Hawthorne (my lead reporter, you may recall) had recently done one of his food reports. I could use that.

And so I have. Here it is.

o 0 O 0 o

Hawthorne's Hunger - The Doughty Hamburger Wagon

(from the Mellowdene Examiner archives)
(Reporter: Harry Hawthorne)

After last month's article on the Summer menu from the Mousehole / Seaside Restaurant, I felt I should avoid another five course meal and check out one of the smaller culinary outlets in Mellowdene. The question was, where was this place? It tends to move about. I am, of course, talking about the new mobile catering establishment that is The Hamburger Wagon.

I met up with Gordon Doughty at the edge of the village green where he had earlier been providing nourishing snacks for a family sports day event.


I asked him what had given him the idea to create a mobile kitchen. Did he think there'd been a need?

"Not a need as such," he replied. "but I believed that people would warm to the idea. It occurred to me that there must be places other than restaurants and cafés where hot food would be welcomed."

There had been queues when I first arrived so Gordon appeared to have made a correct assessment. And Sylvanians do like good food. I mentioned this.

"That's true. There are many good amateur cooks throughout the country, and Mellowdene has its fair share. I was talking to Burrell Hazelwood (of Mice & Clean) a while back and according to him even the librarian is quite talented in the culinary arts. All of which reminds us that we need to ensure we have a high quality product."

He went on.

"With events like the one here, ordinarily villagers would bring picnic food. Some might bring flasks of tea or coffee. Rarely you might find flasks of soup. So the opening for decent hot food was always there."

I asked if there had been any feedback from other catering outlets.

"Quite positive actually. We cater for different markets. The Mousehole does the high end evening meals. Marion Brighteyes at the Blackcurrant Café provides some of our pastries which boosts her business and the Watermill Bakery. And when Pickleweed's Pizza Emporium opens they will concentrate on home deliveries."

I knew that his entire family were keen chefs. I asked who was best.

"Why me, of course," he laughed. "But seriously, it's healthy competition and we learn from each other. It's not just me and my wife Delia. My brother Heston is showing an increased interest - he's cooking today, by the way - and my children are keen tasters. If something doesn't meet their approval we look seriously at the menu."

I had heard a rumour that they had some notable help from outside the family. I asked if he could confirm this.

"Ah yes, it's true. We have Sawyer Honeydew inventing some incredible finger food for us. Again, with the amount of excellent home cooks, it's good to be able to offer something different and exciting."

You may recall that I mentioned freelance master chef Sawyer Honeydew in an early Hungry Hawthorne report - he periodically meets with Basil and Betty Hazelwood at the Mousehole to design new dishes for their menus.

"There's no crossover there," Gordon assured me. "I think Sawyer enjoys the difference in the sorts of food he designs for us as compared with the food for Basil. Here, let me show you."

That was my opportunity to sample some of Gordon's menu and Heston's cooking.

As usual, I was in danger of over-indulging. Regarding the food I have one comment: 

You must try it.

As I waved goodbye to Gordon and Heston, Delia turned up in their rented car ready to move the wagon. Bartering with the car company - quality food for the sporadic loan of a car - works well for both of them. Community catering at work.

o 0 O 0 o

I've just noticed something linking Harry's piece with Jackson's last article about Horatio Seadog's birthday. This also mentioned the Hamburger Wagon. I love these weird coincidences.

So that's it for this week. Short and sweet. I am a little concerned about Cecile, though. Did I imagine it or was she unsettled? I may be an editor and publisher, but I still have my reporter's nose for a story. If I haven't heard from Jackson by tomorrow, I think I'll go and see if Cecile's okay.

o 0 O 0 o