Tuesday, September 1, 2009


"But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness. The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head ... The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on."- Robert Finch
This same sentiment occurred to me as I was milking this evening. The perfect evening air, the frisky goats and azure sky, the nodding sunflowers all reminded me that while sultry Summer is still with us, she's on her way south for the winter. These transitional days are the sweetest, and usually oh-so-fleet; my husband theorizes that the most significant change always happens "on the edge", both figuratively and literally. I'm blessed to be able to experience these days so immediately through my time at the farm; I travel home with the top down, and feel the cool shade of the trees interrupted by bands of warm, welcome sunshine. I smell the woodsmoke of first fires, and the spicy late summer gardens. The pumpkins will come soon, along with the apples and the last of the corn. We'll hurry our tender vegetables in before the first frost soon; evenings are already dipping into the 50's, which we welcomed with open arms in the spring. Autumn is slipping her toe in the door; she's spicy and musky, and loves flannel shirts. She brings memories of a lost loved one, with the anniversaries of both his birth and death. She brings my birthday on All Souls' Day; all reminders that we're mortal. The inevitable turning of the seasons, the tragically beautiful cycle of life. I 'm reminded to savor every single breathtaking day.
"To everything, there is a season..." (Ecclesiastes, then the Byrds). Persephone beckons.

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