Tuesday, September 22, 2015
The season has changed. One word was heard as a muffled voice flew over the farm,
A teacher nearing retirement in my grade school, as she listened to me in spring anticipate summer break, admonished me-
"Don't rush the season"
She was right. And of course, as my age advances, the metaphors of passing seasons does not go unnoticed. However...I'm glad to see this summer end. The heat, the dryness, the flies, fleas, lice, everything associated with heat-I'm ready to move on.
Last night it was chilly and as I did barn chores I suddenly began thinking of soup, and planned the cauliflower and pepper one I would make. We finished putting eight tons of hay in the barns–nothing feels better to me than getting the hay put up for the winter. I suppose it is like a mother knowing she has canned enough to feed her family through the winter. On the days we haul in hay, it is like Christmas in the barn-Boone is the most ecstatic. I give everyone extra hay that day-I mean it would be like someone bringing loads of cookies into my house and not sharing one or two.
Last night I sat on the deck, in a sweater with the pug buried under the blanket we shared. The light is shifting, the sky has become crisper, the leaves can be heard more clearly now as they get crisper hanging on to life for their final month. Birds were pecking the walnuts in the tree outside the garden. I love this time of year. I think most people do. I was thinking how it must go back to our primordial days and instincts. Autumn brings with it the innate desire to nest again–nesting brings with it survival and comfort.
We had many losses this year, as you know. As certain creatures leave, it gives me moments of repose on the deck at night to think of them, but also to think about how many new creatures will arrive, new adventures come with them and life goes on, even after the chill of autumn brings winter. Huck has taken to wanting to be inside instead of on the blanket on the deck when we do our evening sit down. This saddens me, but it part of the life with an aging friend. He is not sad, he just has shifted his comfort levels. I suppose in time, I will need a certain chair to be comfortable. Still, it leaves my relationship with Muddy an open window, and a new kind of bonding begins with him and me.
Itty stood on the railing last night-but she was not Itty Bitty. She was Big Etta, her outdoor name. The five pounder grows into a mountain lion when she is outdoors. I truly understand that when she looks at me from a high perch she is saying,loudly,
I am Big Etta and I am as huge as a house and strong as a lion.