Appealing Fruit


“If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” Carl Sagan




Lattice top pie made from ingredients provided by the inventor of the universe.




This blue bowl was shaped and crafted by a trained potter. This apple was shaped and handcrafted by the original potter.




“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Why don’t doctors like apples?




“It wasn’t an apple from the tree that caused the trouble in the Garden of Eden; it was the pair on the ground.” unknown


“Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the number of apples in a seed.” Robert H. Schuller


“Just when we are certain we have seen everything wonderful in the world, God surprises us!”  c.e.hollis







When Autumn Comes

Hay Fields and Hawks

When Autumn Comes

By Elece Hollis

The day comes on warm and wet wind from the south

The sun shines and then doesn’t again

The wind blows out of the north by late afternoon

Strengthening––it blasts and in the night brings clear cold air

Soon Winter will arrive

The sun  disappear earlier every day

But Autumn sings to us

A sweet and fresh song

We snug our sweaters around us and unfold quilts onto our beds

Simmer soups and sip warm cider beside unnecessary fires

Autumn comes and brings reprieve from the heat

Rest from the long tiresome days

The plants turn eye-resting brown and scatter seeds on the wind

They are done with their fruit and seed bearing and are ready to lie down

To sleep awhile––then to change into cover to protect the ground from ice and snow

Next spring to be the fertilizer for this year’s seeds.

So autumn comes and with it rest

Geese fly off home––echoing fare-thee-wells into the dark

The sky rests in gray as the sun packs to vacation in other lands

Pecan Dreams

Pecan Dreams

I know for certain that dreams of pecans can keep you awake at night. Dreams of unshelled nuts in bushel baskets, cracked pecans in buckets, the smell of cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. In my dreams I can see the crispy sugary nut halves settled in the surface of a pie, taste the warm buttery sweetness of the custard underneath, see puddles of pralines drying on a sheet of waxed paper.

Then there are dreams southern antebellum like aisles of arching branches. These are the dreams I have of the pecan orchard. My husband has his own style of dream.

He dreams of trees laden with clusters of green nut hulls. He dreams of a rain of pecans falling under each tree, and he dreams of his work finding God’s timing and buckets and baskets and bags of clean beautiful product to carry to market.

He also has a dream wintery evenings of sitting in his recliner cracking a pan full of nuts for me whenever I want them for cooking up something wonderful. With a fire  crackling and bright in the woodstove, he enjoys the staccato cracks and pops of the nut shells.

A dream often takes much longer than you expect to show up at the front door. Some dreams take so much work and seem so far away as to be impossible. Some dreams with plenty of prayer and elbow grease come true!


A New Season

d65e7-grapesandcountrysidejourney170Today the wind is blowing and the wind chimes clang so loud their music has turned into racket. I may have to go take them down and lay them across the porch swing seat for a day or two. The wind is gusty and it is the kind that comes from the south in the morning, then seems to come from the east, later from the north, and then brings cold from the northwest.

So begins a new season––our autumn is coming to us. Our summer has overstepped it’s boundaries and the themometer on the porch reads eighty degrees even today. Tomorrow is forecast sunny with a high of  seventy.

Change of season, like all change, seems to come suddenly even when behind schedule, even when past due. We expect it and watch for it, dread it and then long for it. Finally––we open hearts to it and hug it to us joyfully.

I walked out among the peacn trees this morning and saw it is nearly time for the shucks to dry and begin splitting. Soon the ground will be littered with pecans and we’ll be filling buckets and baskets with the treasure. Our mama cows are delivering  three new calves to us this fall. Autumn comes and always makes us feel rich indeed.


Dear Home,
        Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought I knew you. How you have changed.

Home was where I sat by the window watching birds. Now I watch children run and play. Now I set meals on the table 3 meals a day for little mouths instead of filling feeders for little sparrows and cardinals and nuthatches.

Now my empty rooms are noisy and messy rather than neat and orderly. I don’t know what to expect. Four of my grandkids have come to live here with us. They need home more than I do. Home has been stolen from them.

I fuss and I carry on but Home, you know I love the music of their voices, the sound of their footsteps on the stairs, their splashes in the bath, their cuddles and kisses. You know I love the mothering I get to do once again. You know I want them here with me.

My privacy, my peace has been shattered, but one day when they are gone I will have much more than I want of that.

Home, let’s decide to open wide our arms and to taste and ingest every morsel of fun and laughter and chaos and joy to remember later–– to find on another silent day–– to hold forever.

Love ya,


The Real Green

I’m glad the sky is painted blue
And the earth is painted green,
With such a lot of nice fresh air 
All sandwiched in between.
Author Unknown

The Real Green
By Elece Hollis

Pale green of first leaves in springtime,
Green of the forest cool and deep?
 Green with envy, green as grass?
I can’t let the question pass.
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Could it be the green of money,
The yellow-green side of a sycamore leaf,
Or the rind of a lime or the juice between?
 A holly leaf or a coffee bean? 
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Is it the green of a iris stem,
The shade of a dragonfly’s wing?
The green of fir tree––the pines
The green of olives––or muscadines?
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?
Could it be an apple, pear, or string bean
 Or the root of a majestic live oak–– unseen
Or the gray-green of  moss swaying in the breeze 
Is it the green of holly leaves?
What is real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Come to The Garden

Flowers are food for the soul. 
They fill more than bread. 
They satisfy more than money. 
C.E. Hollis
Come To 
By Elece Hollis
Come to the garden where warm breezes blow sweetly
Where bluebirds and butterflies play.
Come to the garden, sit down for the feast
Where blessings are served up each day.

Come to the garden; take food for your soul
Food much more filling than jelly on toast.
Come to the garden and take in the sweetness,
Come visit where God serves as eminent host.

Come to the garden; come on go with me now;
Don’t wait till after the morning has passed.
Come again in the evening, when shadows are falling,
Come to the table at last.