To discuss booking Crescent Dragonwagon to speak, or create a workshop or class for your organization or event contact office@dragonwagon.com. Sally Baker Williams will be your contact.
LITERARY AND REPRINT RIGHTS
For all reprints, literary, and dramatic rights — both those of Crescent, and her late mother, the children’s book writer Charlotte Zolotow (for whom Crescent is literary executor), please contact Edite Kroll (207-283-8797).
To contact Crescent directly (**** please put topic in subject-line, especially if time-sensitive ****): crescent@dragonwagon.com
When will a new Fearless Writing group begin?
Hi, Henrietta! I am just now putting up the pages of invitation for the winter Fearless — which will take place in Italy on December 22-January 2, and be combined, over a 12-day period, with cultural and culinary tourism. The next American Fearless, which will take place via Zoom, will be in late spring 2-24. Thank you!
I just wanted to tell you me and my daughters have been making your chicken and green chili cheese soup for years , especially at Halloween. We have made some of your other recipes as well, but at this time of year- hundreds of miles apart, we three make “ the family favorite soup” and it warms this mommas heart to know, we all do it and love it at the same time. Thank you for giving us this!
Thank you, Linda!
Hi!
I know Crescent DragonWagon is your writing name but I cannot remember your other. Ah, now I do. CZ! But I do not know if you share it here. My grandma Rose lived next to you. I believe, if memory serves me, that you were also the publisher or editor of a publishing house.
I just found the letter that I wrote my grandma a year before she passed. I cried. And I rarely cry. Tears for all the sweet memories of being in her garden. Softening morning glory seeds in the palms of my little hands. Running through the sprinkler in her garden. Learning how to pull gently on the stems of honey suckle for the one little drop of nectar. Sitting at her kitchen table patiently opening sunflower seeds one by one for hours.
I had a vision of her leaving a year ahead of time and wrote her a letter. I happen to have a copy because I wrote the first one outside and snow flakes fell on the page and blurred my writing so I had to rewrite it. And I guess I kept the original copy. I just rediscovered it yesterday.
“This is a letter of love,” I wrote to Rose. “To express how deeply grateful I am, and how profoundly connected I am to you. You never spoke to me as a child but as an equal and a friend. I hope I can become like you. You always saw the goodness in my heart, and because of that, so did I. I wanted to live up to my highest self, to that good. Because I knew, in your eyes, it was true. You believed in me, truly.”
“So often you told me I was beautiful–from my heart. And I have felt that all my life. Touching my hands to my heart brings back all the conversations we had at your conversation table.”
“I dreamt you left us. But it was beautiful celebration of your eternal life. Please know that while I will miss the sight of your face, it will not diminish your presence in my heart.”
I essentially grew up in my grandma Rose’s garden. I was there every single day. I walked the aqueduct and stopped at her house before walking down Elm street to my own. Every day it was a similar routine. One of my grandfather’s 11 aunts or uncles (likely aunts) would call. I was already there but Rose would have me walk back out and in the front door and let the screen door go. “Oh, my grandaughter is here. I am so sorry. I have to go.”
Then a while later my mom would call and ask if I were there. Of course I was. I was always there. And call me home for dinner and to do my homework.
There is rarely a day I do not miss Rose. But at the same time, she is an intricate part of my heart and soul, woven in so deeply. All her unconditional love. But of course, unlike Peter Pan in Neverland who did not have a shadow, loving someone so deeply is also a reminder that in the end even if our souls are eternal, we are still mortal beings. Whose beautifully embroidered cloth napkins are sorted, given and tucked away. I actually have none of those. I have just one or things that came indirectly because they were left behind at my family’s farmhouse. A photograph of Rose in her garden. Another of the two of us in another garden at my family’s farm.
Most significantly, a small little mirrored gold compact case that is clasped. That must have once had makeup in it. Her reflecting my own heart is still foundational to the essence of my being. Perhaps we need true mirrors in the world to be beheld and to behold, to be held, to truly see and be seen. To love and be truly loved.
Perhaps her love opened the doorway in my heart to meet other beings in the world who see, when we meet, not a stranger, but themselves in another’s souls. They are seen as great in the eyes of the world. But I perceive it is actually because they truly see others. They are rare. Some of them I have worked with are the Dalai Lama, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Oprah. But so many more are like my grandma Rose. In our very midst if only people have eyes to see. Today, few have the time to “waste” on roses.
Rose loved unconditionally. Including fiercely chasing cats away with a broom that got in her yard and might be a threat to her beloved birds. (My first word, amusingly, was “bird.”). I do disaster relief and taught the Dalai Lama’s monks English, so I know that real love can be by turns strong and fearless as it is gentle and kind.
I remember, even now, Rose and also me, beholding your latest book as Crescent Dragon Wagon with such joy. Your books had a prominent place on her kitchen table for quite a while when they came out. This is equivalent to most people placing something sacred and valuable on their altar. Because it was around the kitchen table as well as her garden that my grandma Rose’s realm revolved.
It was there she and I sat each and every day and talked about our entire worlds. Granted, mine had not extended that far at the beginning. I was not allowed, when I was very little, to cross Broadway to go into the town of Hastings-on-Hudson alone. But it did expand as I grew. I worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art but my first gallery was the one of all her grandchildren’s work on her kitchen walls.
Her kindness was true. And deceptively simple as true kindness is. Because she grew up with a cruel step mother. Rose very decisively decided to forgive and to love.
I still so miss my grandma every day. Whenever I fall in love, everything comes up roses. Literally. Suddenly, street signs, dogs’ names, everything happens to have the name Rose.
When she passed, it was me who gave her eulogy. It was my true right of passage becoming a woman. I was told when she died that she said, “You are my Rose. ” So now I carry her name. Of course I wrote the eulogy from the The Little Prince. Who tends a rose who is the only rose on his planet. When my father died, I was offered hundreds of rose bushes. From a complete stranger, while I was hosting a concert.
I found a box of “rose” sweets the other day. Supposedly of marzipan, that my dad loved. So I got them more out of nostalgia then for what they were. I just went downstairs to have one with my coffee. And it slipped from my hands, crumbled and scattered all across my floor. Are we, also like this? On one hand, held in an inexorable web of belonging, like all the stars in Indra’s net. But also like stardust. I wonder where Rose is now. If she is here again or in everything; flowers, birds, trees and children’s laughter.
“Goodbye,” the fox says in The Little Prince. “Here is my secret. It is quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
“It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important. People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said, “But you mustn’t forget it. You become forever responsible for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose.” So many people forget this.
Remembering, the Little Prince said to the roses he discovered there were so many of on earth. “You’re not at all like my rose. You’re nothing at all yet,” he told them. “No one has tamed you and you haven’t tamed anyone. You’re the way my fox was. He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others. But I’ve made him my friend, and now he’s the only fox in all the world.”
And the roses were humbled.
“You’re lovely, but you’re empty,” he went on. “One couldn’t die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered. Since she’s the one I put under glass. Since she’s the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies.) Since she’s the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.”
Rumi echos this, “Can you find another market like this? Where, with your own rose you can buy hundreds of rose gardens. For one seed, get a whole wilderness? For one weak breath, a divine wind?”
“This giving up is not a repenting. It’s a deep honoring of yourself. When the ocean comes to you as a lover, marry at once, quickly, for God’s sake! Existence has no better gift. No amount of searching will find this.”
I am so grateful to simply be a rose who grew in my grandma Rose’s rose garden, next to your own home.
I also found another card yesterday, from a brilliant, sweet and loyal love of my life years ago. We parted ways when we were on different coasts working in film and he has been happily married for 25 years now. A healer once asked me if I had told a love how I loved. I said I myself did not know. She said, “Once you love someone you always love them.” Oh.
“I feel you brush against my cheek, soft and caressing.
Your fragrance is sweet,
Flowers, fields, trees, children laughing. . .
But then you’re gone.
I stand alone in a flood of tears
as I watch you frolic across the land.
There, under your spell,
flowers bloom, life springs, wounds heal.
I turn to go, but take one last look,
the land is breathtaking.
What a beautiful place the world is with you in it.
It is only then I find you,
living in my heart,
gently blowing the leaves away
to reveal the flowers underneath.
You’ve never left.”
Dear Rose,
THANK YOU for this beautiful, aching, thoughtful share. I am Crescent Dragonwagon, formerly Ellen Zolotow (here’s how I got my name: https://dragonwagon.com/is-that-your-real-name/) , and your grandmother was I believe Rose Finkelstein, who lived next door to my late mother, Charlotte Zolotow. She is or was the “CZ” you were thinking of. I write children’s books as well, but it was probably Charlotte’s books that were in Rose’s home, and it was Charlotte who was an editor at HarperCollins.
I too remember your Rose. I remember her garden, too — first place I ever saw bleeding hearts! When they come up each spring, I think of her. One of three or four clear memories I have of her. She wads dear soul.
I send you big thanks for giving me and other readers this loving glimpse into your life an d the life on Elm Place.
CD
Oh my heart! This was my relationship with my Grandma and to a smaller extent, my Gramps. I loved them with my whole being. I wasn’t allowed to spend as much time with them as I’d have liked. My mom said, “If I let you, you’d be there all the time.” They would have loved that, I know. My home life was turbulent and they were the anchors in my storm. They were the quiet peaceful space; my ‘escape’ from the noisy chaos of living with my four (very dear) brothers and the strife of trying to appease an alcoholic parent.Thank you so much for filling my heart with such deep joy and gratitude on a nondescript Tuesday afternoon. I Ioved your writing.
Thank you, thank you, thank you…. <3
Thanks for the richness you share from your experience and that of your parents.
I looked up your Dad online, trying to find the story “Beware Unfamiliar Spirits.” It was illustrated by Albert Dorne in maybe a 1946 issue of the Saturday Evening Post. I ran across the illustration and reference to the story in a book by Walt Reed “Great American Illustrators.”
I found your posts and the rich repository of Maurice Zolotow’s experience that is a treasure to me. It will pay me to explore it.
“You are good value,” as an Australian friend said.
http://www.philsp.com/homeville/FMI/n10/n10462.htm#A90Found references to your parent’s magazine articles.
I was very excited to see the 2022 edition of “Will It Be Okay?”, and I’ve already bought my first copy. I am wondering if a page might be missing, though. I seem to recall that in the original, there was a page which mentioned making snow-angels, i.e, after the page about putting on two pairs of mittens, etc. Pls let me know. If a page is possibly missing, I will ask Amazon to exchange for a replacement copy.
Re: the illustrations in the original edition, I actually contacted you years ago to let you know that although Ben Schecter’s images were appealing in some ways, I would have hoped for a more international-looking Mom & daughter, given that I was teaching in an urban area and wanted my students to “see themselves” in the book. Now, my wish has come true; thank you very much for your timeless book and the more inclusive images!
Hi, Julie! I aqm so glad the new edition of WILL IT BE OKAY? has made your wish come true! And I am moved that you consider the book timeless, too. THANK YOU!
The snow-angels were part of Ben Schecter’s original illustrations — they weren’t mentioned in the text. The text in this edition has been very slightly altered (it no longer contains “But what if a big dog comes?” and “hate” has been changed to “don’t like”), but it never had snow-angels other than in how Ben pictured the characters.
Again, I am grateful that you are enthusiastic about this new edition (I love Jessica’s pictures, too) and that you wrote me about it.
I am currently working on an (adult) memoir, so I know first hand how funny memory is!
Thank you very much for your warm response and for your clarification of the differences between the original and the current
editions of “Will It Be Okay,” a treasure which is about to bless a third generation of my family! I’ll look forward to your forthcoming memoir.
Hello again, dear Crescent, after many years! I hope you remember me from childhood adventures in Hastings-on-Hudson? I remember you so well from all the fun we had — you were definitely the funnest friend I had! I loved (and still love) your mother’s books, which I read to my own children, to students, and now to two grandsons…and really love all your work for children and adults as well. Fun fact: I taught child development for years and often talk about the books you and your mother wrote for children, big and small :). I live in the Berkshires and wonder if you’re still spending time in Vermont? Or leading workshops in this area? I’m sending this message with love and a big smile on my face as I remember you and fun times we shared as children. I hope you are well and living a happy life. Xxx
I do remember you, Nadia! I was envious of your red hair, long enough to braid… Am I remembering that your mama was a gym teacher? And I also think that it was at your home that I first tasted gjetost cheese which I loved and still do. I am back in Arkansas (returned in 2017) but because I teach on Zoom these days, everywhere’s “in the area.” Thank you! Like everyone, my life is not without setbacks and loss, but I have resil’ed into a truly happy day to day. I wish the same for you!
i want to make your crescent dragons blueberry coffee cake but the directions are confusing when compared with the ingredients. In the list of ingedients it states 1/4 cup sour cream as well as 3/4 cup of greek yogurt. It does not state either or can be used. But in the directions on how to make it it states that…..alternating with the sour cream/greek yogurt folding in gently…….. My question is do i use both the sour cream and greek yogurt, or just choose which one to use. Would appreciate an answer back ASAP as i would like to make these this evening. Thanks in advance.
Hi, Betty! You want 1 cup altogether of a thickish soured milk product . You can use 1/4 cup sour cream + 3/4 cup Greek yogurt, as I prefer, or all sour cream, or all yogurt. So it is your choice.
Hi! Yesterday I made a batch of your Fresh Ginger Gingersnaps from your Dairy Hollow House Newsletter of 30 years ago, and they were great. I’ve made them a few times before, but not for several years. I once had hoped to make it to your Dairy Hollow House when I lived in the Midwest but never did, unfortunately. Now I’m in Pennsylvania. It sounds like you are doing well, and I’m glad to see that.
Great name, by the way. I always thought Crescent Dragonwagon was such a terrific name to choose.
Oh Jean, I am so happy you enjoyed those cookies! I love those gingersnaps, and now you’ve brought ’em to mind, *I* want to make ’em again soon! On my name: I guess you’ve seen the tab on this site that says “Is that your real name” and tells the whole goofy story… Are you happy in Pennsylvania? An interesting state, so full of differences and contradictions depending on where you are. But hey — the whole country is counting on your Harris-Walz vote! You’re the epicenter!
Dear Crescent Dragonwagon,
I know that you are sent messages from people with stories about their contact with you through your cookbooks. Here is mine.
Kate lived in a one room cabin with a woodstove, kerosine lamps and candles, no electricity or phone. It wasn’t the back woods in the middle of the country but lots of hippies had chosen to live “off the grid” and hers was a charming and beautiful life. She made jewelry and sewed clothes and costumes on her treadle machine and … I fell in love.
She invited me to one of her several small potluck Christmas parties in 1979. I myself had lived on the road and had next to no experience cooking but I went to a small store that sold mostly local organic vegetables, thinking that I could figure this thing out and impress the girl. Happily, the store also had a few books, including your Soup and Bread book. I didn’t buy it but I leafed through it and found a soup recipe and one that taught me how and why to make soup stock. I shopped for those things, copied the steps and made a soup that delighted the 8 or 9 people. We had candles on the tree and hearts were warmed.
She loved Christmas parties and had several of them. She invited me to come to a second and then a third and fourth. I went back to the same food store, opened the same cookbook and chose a different recipe and … again … hearts were warmed.
I just loved that book and the new me, it wasn’t the first time that I had ever cooked but it was the first time that I understood why I took the steps that I did, why I put the vegetables and aromatics into cold water to begin the stock and why I waited for it to boil before adding the ingredients whose nutrients and tastes I wanted to seal in. I learned so much and … I just loved that book. And then I worried. There was only one copy in that store and … I was pretty broke in those days and somehow didn’t even consider buying it myself but … suppose someone else bought it?? And then, just before Christmas, someone did.
We had a quieter, non-party on Christmas day, an exchange of modest gifts, sweet music in the cabin and … maybe you saw it coming, I didn’t … I unwrapped her gift to me and it was your book.
She’s a smart girl.
… I became known for my soups …
I’m preparing a couple this season too. All the best to you dear woman. Thank you.
Tom Noddy
Tom, I love this story for about 20 different reasons. Thank you, thank you!
Dear Crescent,
Hello!
I am now in my young 70’s and remember so vividly a magnificent book you wrote
about a couple explaining to their child how she was born.
The line that has always been in my head and heart all these years is
“We had too much love for two.
That is the night we thought of you.”
How I loved that book and the lovely illustrations.
Is it possible that it is still in existence?
Many thanks for spreading your magical spirit so openly.
With best wishes and a bouquet of Sunflowers,
Sasha
Hi, Sasha! That book is WIND ROSE, published in 1976 (believe me, it would NOT be published today). It is long out of print, and I have only a few copies myself, but I bet if you consult with Dr. Google you can find a copy used. I am so, so happy it stayed with you all these years! And yes, Ron Himler’s illustrations were stunning: so tender and painterly…
Hi Crescent,
Thanks so much for your reply!
I am going to order Wind Rose today!
Many things in your Fearless Writing course are really resonating
deep inside me.
I’m going to explore those possibilities.
I’m also going to send your Cornbread Cookbook to my sister who lives for
cornbread!
Best wishes,
Sasha