There’s snow in the forecast for later today but it’s mild so far this morning. It was a warm walk with the dogs except for two pockets of cold air sitting quietly on the ground, a harbinger of what’s to come.
It’s the first day of November - and I can believe it. There’s a kind of stillness in the air. Like the water in the canal, just a series of puddles sinking slowly into the aquifer. The dogs dive in like usual, not knowing to relish their last taste of it, but I do.
We didn’t get any trick-or-treaters last night, the usual since trunk-or-treat took over the ritual of driving between neighbors in the country. I realize the advantages of the parking lot celebration, but still . . . And yes, I always buy candy “just in case” and end up eating it myself.
Callie and I harvested the last of the garden yesterday. She dug all the potatoes while I knelt and rifled through the dirt. She was a godsend, as it’s hard work to do by yourself and I hate to bug Mark; he doesn’t need another job. Cal thought it was fun to turn over a shovel full of dirt and have these beautiful red darlings tumble out. Like finding a fat asparagus spear among the grass in spring or colorful eggs at Easter. We pulled up the last of the beets and purple onions and clipped the parsley and rosemary to dry.
The last chore at dusk was delivering the potatoes to Grandma Bonny’s pump house, a thick-walled storage building at the end of her sidewalk that keeps vegetables at just the right temperature. It’s a gem. I wish I had one, but she is glad to share hers. She used to have an underground cellar which filled with a foot of sub water every summer. How happy she was to move her wares into a dry, ground level, climate-controlled room of her own.
Harvesting what the land produces is a particular joy of this way of life. Whether it’s a sturdy calf crop, a stack of alfalfa hay or a bag of herbs in the cupboard. It’s all fun. As Callie said, “nature is so cool!”
|lots of beef|
|a young strong back|