Terrill Welch by herself - issue #23 Memories of White Bread Toast and more
Is there anything more to say this October!? I usually find something but it doesn’t come as easily when I have just shared the feature painting on October 1st and the final “A Brush with Life” issue on October 4th. In addition, I have been away visiting my parents from Oct 9th to 17th. Travel means I have writing most of this issue in advance, before I went away. That said, there are a couple of new “Summer of Flowers” still life paintings to share along with a few other musings about what I have been reading and watching. However, in all honesty, I am mostly thinking about going back to school! Because I have very little idea about what to expect, my brain imagines these outlandish scenarios that sometimes result in even more outlandish dreams. By the time we get to the November issue, I should be more settled and able to expand my mental reach beyond what is now mostly unknown. In the meantime, let’s see what we have! Hint: there is a new story near the end. 😉
WHAT IS NEWLY AVAILABLE FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION
With these two, it means there is only one more still life in the “Summer of Flowers” series and I shall be starting it today or tomorrow. To be honest, I am about done painting flowers for a while even though this has been a fantastic painting project. That said, here are the two latest paintings…
This first one started off soft and gentle.
However, by the time I was done, I had tossed it up into the breeze.
The inspiration for "First Day of Autumn" emerged mysteriously, as my imagination took over and sent this bouquet swirling into an autumn breeze. In the motion, one small blossom was broken—a moment I captured with my brushes, hoping to preserve the transient grace of the scene. Embarking on this journey, my aim was to reflect the warm, muted tones of autumn, like the peaceful comfort of sitting beside the fire on a gloomy, rainy Sunday. With low contrast and subtle highlights, this piece feels like wrapping up in a cozy wool throw with a cup of tea, watching the world drift by through misty windows.
In "First Day of Autumn," I wanted to capture that delicate transition from summer to fall, where everything feels slightly softer, inviting us to pause and appreciate nature's intricate details and vibrant colors. I hope when you look at the painting, you feel the gentle embrace of a new season just beginning to unfurl its magic.
This next paintings is the ninth of ten in the “Summer of Flowers” series for this season and captures the ephemeral beauty of early October blooms. The coneflowers' vibrant dance above textured dahlias and spirited snapdragons offers a palpable sense of excitement, embodying the sensation of hovering bumblebees exploring the vibrant garden. This piece not only showcases a harmonious arrangement of colour and form but also invites viewers into a moment of contemplation and delight in nature’s spontaneous elegance.
"Dancing with Yellow Coneflowers" is a delightful exploration of color and texture that captures the vivacity of a late summer bouquet. The composition is immediately engaging; the interplay of soft pink, yellow, and white blossoms set against the lush backdrop of green foliage creates an exuberant visual harmony. One of the painting's strengths is its successful use of expressive brushstrokes that imbue the piece with a sense of movement and life, making the flowers appear as though they're swaying gently in a breeze. This dynamic quality effectively mirrors my inspiration, channeling the playful dance of the coneflowers amid their floral companions.
“Dancing with Yellow Coneflowers” is a celebration, a moment captured between the petals and the brush, a reflection of nature’s endless dance. As the series continues to evolve, I am reminded of the simple yet profound beauty that a bouquet can bring, each painting a personal dialogue between the blooms and myself.
I still need to get final photographs for each of these once they have dried somewhat and are not so shiny. However, this gives you an early glimpse of the work to consider. Also, this will be the final time that work will be held back for first consideration. Going forward, paintings will be released as I have them ready. It is one of the changes that has come about with “Terrill Welch by herself” becoming a free publication.
WHAT I AM READING
I recently completed two novels by Bernice Morgan set in Newfoundland where she was born and went to University. Random Passage (1992) and its sequel Waiting for Time (1994) are both outstanding reads. The characters are dynamic and authentic covering from the early 1800’s to the present with sections weaving back and forth between narration by various characters and through time. There is a great review written by Sarah Johnson for the Historical Novel Society at:
Bernice Morgan
These are definitely more of a winter read by the fire under a cozy blanket than a summer read but they are worth turning the pages anytime of the year. If you do not want to purchase these brand new, I found my copies secondhand at our local bookstore and there might be copies in your libraries as well.
My second reading adventure has been a two new cookbooks. The first is The Lemon Apron Cookbook: Seasonal Recipes for the Curious Home Cook by Jennifer Emilson. I love the layout of this cookbook which is presented by season. Jennifer lives in Toronto and May possibly purchase her spices from the same spice store as I do. Her list of ingredients to have on hand include Aleppo pepper, Espelette pepper, Harissa and Rose Harissa, Sumac and Urfer biber which are all spices I have purchased from The Spice Trader. It was also one of the places you could get her cookbook with some of these spices included with your purchase but unfortunately, it is currently sold out. Still, you might want to browse the spices anyway:
One of the recipes I made recently which was a huge success is “High Park Autumn Perogies.” It was my first time making Brown Butter Sage Sauce and it won’t be my last! I served the perogies dish with a side of our own freshly picked baby spinach and greens topped with local slicing tomatoes and feta cheese and a splash of lime and hot pepper which balsamic vinegar from our local roadside Briary.
We both love squash so we will be making this dish again. I did partly cook the squash, then peel and cube it as it is easier for me than how she suggested and I added fresh ground nutmeg to the cinnamon and ground ginger that was sprinkled on the squash before cooking. If you would like a vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner, this recipe would be perfect! The recipe is easy to adjust for more or fewer people. If someone can’t have wheat, it could be stirred into a nutty brown rice. The only three ingredients that essential are fresh sage from your garden, butter and winter squash of some kind such as butternut or acorn. I used Delicata squash because it is the right size for two people and our favourite squash overall. But you will have to get the book for the recipe because I changed virtually nothing. It is a keeper just how she presented it!
The second cookbook is Vij’s Indian by Meeru Dhalwala and Vikram Vij who live and have restaurants in Vancouver, BC. If you love Indian food but want recipes with fewer steps that still achieve excellent results, this is a cookbook to consider. Their story is wonderful and at times humours to read and there are lots of tips and extra information to ensure your success. I have made a variation of the Eggplant and Cauliflower Curry served with rice that was outstanding.
With these two cookbooks, I am sure we will have many winter feasts!
At this point, I think it prudent to mention that as a Canadian cook, these two Canadian cookbooks represent Canadian food culture well. We have such wide access to foods from all over the world prepared by Canadians with such diverse backgrounds that we shamelessly and gleefully mix our spices and foods up in unique and non-traditional ways from their origin. I love this aspect of being Canadian! Borrowed from the best might be a good way to describe Canadian cuisine.
WHAT I HAVE BEEN WATCHING
I have of course been watching various art related videos and have saved a few as possibilities to share but it is another show on Apple TV that has really stayed with me. Pachinko is a drama TV series based on a novel by the same name by Min Jin Lee. Pachinko follows four generations of a Korean family, starting from 1915 to 1989. You will have to read subtitles even if you put the audio to English as the dialogue is in three languages- Korean, Japanese and American English. It is worth the effort though and most times the speech is slow enough that we had no trouble keeping up. The filmography is beautiful and the characters seem to leap off the screen and into the room then take you back with them into their world. We actually watched the first season a second time before starting to watch the second season with a new episode offered each week. I have a feeling the book would be an excellent read as well as it has been well received as the TV series.
In addition, there is a new documentary on Artful TV featuring an artist I collect and who has one of my paintings as well. David Sandum lives in Moss, Norway and started the Twitter Art Exhibit fundraiser in 2011 that is now called
Here is the link to watch the full documentary for free which I am absolutely sure you will enjoy:
A STORY ABOUT HOMEMADE WHITE BREAD TOAST
We have several amazing bakers on Mayne Island and one of them is Natela. Trained as a pharmacist in her own country, she prepares a whole host of outstanding Ukrainian and Georgian items for our Saturday Farmers Market. This includes many different types of breads. However, I usually get a loaf of ordinary white bread. It may not be the healthiest choice but the memories it evokes when I toast a slice and smear it with butter are hard to resist. You see, of all the bread I can purchase locally, this plain white sandwich loaf tastes like the bread my mother made when I was young. When I toast it, I am transported to early winter mornings on the farm and, having just come in from doing chores, I am toasting it on top of the wood stove which requires my undivided attention so it is not burnt.
In my memories I am about thirteen years old. There is a single side of plywood nailed to the partition wall that separates my bedroom from the kitchen. It is early and just before six o’clock. I have heard mom put more wood in the stove that straddles the open plan kitchen and living room area. As our only source of heat, the warmth must reach the bedrooms around the edges of these two rooms. This means we do not have doors but curtains we can close for privacy and then open again to keep the rooms warm enough in the winter to sleep. The house walls are insulated with sawdust that has settled over the years and cool air breezes through the room where the nails holding everything together are covered in frost. Windows are single pane and each fall plastic is secured over them to keep some of the heat in. It is January and - 30 degrees Fahrenheit which means the school bus will still be running. But the bedroom is cold and I have pulled my bed away from the wall so that sheets do not freeze to it, or my long hair if I happen to roll to close up against it during the night.
I can hear the hissing of the gas lamp and see a faint beam of light where the plywood joins on the wall. I do not want to flip the covers back and step onto the freezing worn linoleum. But when mom puts the full teakettle on the propane stove to heat and quietly says “Ter? Are you awake?”, I pull back the covers and leap into the room with an equally quiet reply “I’m up.” Leaving my pyjamas on. I then pull on hand knit wool socks, ski pants, a down coat, leather mitts with hand knit wool liners. But no hat! I dislike having my hearing muffled. Getting hot, I quickly tie up my felt-lined leather upper boots and wrestle the blanket on the floor away from the door so I can get out.
My breath catches on the first intake of the frosty air that will freeze the hair around my face and eyelashes before I get back in. The stars are my only light and the glow from the windows partially obscured by snow banking the house. Grabbing the toboggan beside the house, I head for the barn that is about the length of a town block away. I heft a full square bail onto the toboggan and head back towards the house and then around the side and out to where the horses nicker their welcome in the pasture with the arrival of their breakfast. Later in the morning after we have left for school, mom will come out and bring them water she has packed from the river, following a muscular swinging of the axe to chop the water hole open. For now, they just get hay. That is my morning chore, seven days a week from late fall to spring when they will have green grass again.
Fully awake and starting to get chilled, I pick up the pace to get to the house. Out of habit I prop the toboggan up so snow and ice don’t stick to the bottom but there is little risk of that at these temperatures.
Stomping my feet on the porch to shake off any loose snow, I come in the door carefully knowing that my boots are frozen and will slip on the much warmer floor. As quickly as I can, I get out of my winter clothes, wash my face and hands in the basin in the hallway and then get dressed into my school clothes. Mom wordlessly hands me a stack of her sliced white homemade bread. I take it without comment and put my hand over the top of the wood stove testing the heat before laying the bread on the metal grated top. The teakettle is now on one corner to stay warm along with a big pot of oatmeal porridge on the other corner. As I am monitoring the toast, mom is stuffing our paper lunch bags with roast beef sandwiches, a big slice of spice cake with icing and an apple. This will keep us going from 7:10 am when we catch the bus at the top of the hill two miles (or 3.22 km) away and until we return just after 4:30 pm in the late afternoon.
Once the lunches are packed, she calls my younger brothers to get up and goes to get my baby sister who must also be woken up and dressed to go with her to drive us to the bus stop. I am still munching on my toast, sometimes just with butter on it and sometimes with mom’s wild raspberry jam smeared liberally across to the crispy edges. I skip the hot oatmeal cereal while my mom frowns and firmly clamps her lips together because she knows I will not, no matter what she says, eat anything but toast on a school morning. I always woke up slightly nauseous. To this day, I prefer to be up for a few hours before eating. By the time we are settled on the school bus and half way to town, I can eat and will usually devour half a sandwich or even my cake if it is at risk of getting squished.
When we pull back into the farmyard at the end of the day, it is well after dark and I again bundle up and head out to take the hay to the horses. My brother, just two years younger, splits and brings in the even firewood while the youngest brother, who is only seven and looking a little weary from his long day, brings in the kindling. Mom has a full supper ready with dessert and we sit down at the table with appetites worthy of the offering. Depending on where he is working, my dad may or may not be coming home for supper. You see, my dad is a logger and it is my mom who is the farmer and is often single handedly managing everything while my dad is away in logging camps for a week to ten days at a time. If he has work close by, he will drive an hour and half each way to come home. Therefore, even then, he will leave before us in the morning and if he is lucky make it home at supper time. We all clear the table together afterward and my brother and I do the evening dishes taking turns in who washes and who dries. There is no time for homework and little light to do it by even if there was time. Thankfully, I got mine done on the bus ride home before it got dark. By eight o’clock we are all washed with teeth brushed and with one last trip to the outhouse, we are ready for bed.
In the morning we go through the same or similar routine with that homemade bread toast made on the grating of the wood stove, remaining one of my highlights and markers of each winter day. Spring comes late in the northern interior but the days are getting longer already and I am anticipating the return of daylight by the time I head out for morning chores. When I think back now, I could not have anticipated that it would be slices of homemade white bread toast made by Natela here on Mayne Island that would surface such strong memories of those cold winter nights and early mornings.
TRAVELING 11.5 HOURS EACH WAY
I love the drive and look forward to stopping to visit friends and family briefly along the way but there is no getting around the fact that we live in a large province and even to travel half of it is two days of driving for me each way. For comparison, distance each way is about half an hour less driving time than to go from Paris, France, through Switzerland to Venice, Italy.
I am going to share just one favourite photograph from the Cariboo. I have cell coverage but no internet at my parents and transferring photographs between my devices to post takes too much data. Therefore, will leave it at this for now.
If it works, I will share a bit more in the next issue.
UNTIL NEXT TIME
I hope you enjoyed all that this final private issue for paid subscribers has to offer. Next month the “Terrill Welch by herself” issue will surely feel a bit different as I will be writing for a larger and more diverse public audience. The bonus might be that it is easily shareable with family and friends. Still, I suspect that some of the intimacy I felt when writing past issues will diminish. That said, there will always be lots to enjoy. Thank you as always for your interest and support of my work.
Warm regards,
Terrill 👩🏻🎨🎨❤️
P.s. If you would like to comment on this issue and share your own thoughts you are more than welcome. Also, feel free to email me directly at anytime and reach out to tawelch@shaw.ca as I am always pleased to hear from you.
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