homestead happenings: stay alert
Was someone just a tiny bit disgruntled about impending frost and the knife of winter slicing chunks of light off both ends of the day? Moi perhaps? Well. I’m doing better. I remembered that I LOVE fall. The energy of seasonal change is so inspiring, I almost start to feel sorry for the unjacketed inhabitants of the tropics lounging on the beach month after month with their mangoes and pineapples.
Last week I picked all our tomatoes, basil, zucchini, cucumbers on a numbingly cold day. I scurried around the garden, thinking of the Hindu goddess, Kali, who represents destruction. It felt good, somehow, to welcome the end, to nibble the last strawberry gems, to celebrate the process of seed to fruit, and to yank entire zucchini plants up by their roots. Goodbye.
This turn of seasons is like a gentle tap on the shoulder, reminding us to stay alert.
Stay alert, because right around the bend, there might be snow:
Or aspen trees glowing like living luminarias.
It’s all so insanely beautiful right now. As we drove into the mountains last weekend, the front-seat crowd kept sighing and exclaiming, “isn’t it so beautiful?” like we were in a foreign country and had only bothered to learn one phrase. The backseat crowd was more enamored with the practicing of exploding noises (is this a rite of passage of all boys?) and the chirping of requests for snacks. “Honey?” Dan asked Rose. “Do you think you just want snacks because you’re a little bored in the car and not sure what else to do?” “Yeah,” Rose answered like: obviously, dude.
The kids, with their little legs and big imaginations, were happy to settle in one spot, tending the fire, munching on snow and looking for fish in the nearby creek. It was a pleasure to just sit quietly while the kids’ wild minds ricocheted off decomposing mushrooms and deer tracks, showing me again that curiosity is the best teacher.
As the sun got all tangled up on the western slopes, we drove up the road to our favorite wild hot spring.
Next, we put some food in the kids bellies, buckled them in and drove back to town. This time, no exploding noises or snack requests, just the sweet sounds of sleeping children.
There’s magic in this season between seasons; I hope you’re feeling it too.