We've been waking up routinely to cold and misty mornings. Frosted fields, iced over windshields, pretty patterns of crystals on the fields -- there to greet you if you step outside early enough.
Today I stepped out early. There is a morning yoga class. There's something to be said about doing yoga before my bowl of oatmeal (there's also something to be said about not doing yoga before my bowl of oatmeal, namely that I haven't the right level of oomph without it, but let's focus on the positive) -- after, I am in such a state of such equilibrium that everything, even my bowl of oatmeal, has a halo over it.
random, but pretty
So I sign up for this early morning class. And because I've been coming to classes seconds late each time, I make a point of heading out early.
But the misty fields distract me.
How could they not? It's as if someone took a brush to the bleak dark landscapes and came away with something gentle and kind.
The yoga class is full of motivated, well trained, been doin' this for years types and so I can barely keep up. And it has some hard core exercise elements thrown in which I suppose is good, but my oh my, it makes for a grueling hour. Had it been my first class back in September, I may not have been so enthusiastic about signing on. I don't look for yoga light, but I do look for yoga reasonable. Today went to levels of intensity that had me panting like a pup.
Back at the farmhouse, by the time we coordinate our activities (Ed's still working on his car), the sun has moved away from our breakfast nook and so for breakfast, we chase it to the front room (a converted old porch that faces south).
Yes, plenty of sunshine, despite the tall pines, the maples, the odd trees that, without rhyme or reason dot our front yard.
After, Ed lobbies for more honeysuckle removal and I really push for a hike. In these warmer days (in the forties and hazy, but in a bright way), it is just so tremendously satisfying to walk through a quiet forest taking in deep breaths of woodsy air.
We compromise by agreeing to do both.
The hike is just south of us. There is this truth about living in the country: the drive to anywhere is sure to be prettier than if you were driving to it from the city.
And it is a perfect little hike. Here, I offer a few photos to take in our ripply landscape in November.
blaze orange: to scare off the deer-hunters
And here's a lovely peculiarity about the place where we live: one minute you're hiking the Ice Age Trail and a breath later you're driving by a terrific chocolate shop. We stop and pick up a small box (not the one in the picture -- that's a big box). For Thanksgiving.
You could say that the day had it's most troubling moment right after. We drive to a nearby Target because Ed has a craving for coconut ice cream bars and, too, he's thinking we need more kitty litter.
Which kind of kitty litter?
I look at bags and bags of kitty litter. This one has deodorizes. Ugh. That's like chemical fragrance! I don't want that.
Let's get the plain clay.
That doesn't say that it fights odors effectively! How about this one? Grains. Natural!
He'll scatter bits of that all over the house with his paws. Believe me, I've had cats. Get the clay.
Let's read the labels. And so we waste a good many minutes reading the fine print on bags of kitty litter and we get nowhere. Help me out, cat people: what's a decent odor fighting natural product that doesn't get carried around by little paws? Pine bits? Clay particles? Baking soda? I'm stumped!
We pause at Paul's to regain our composure and to eat a very delayed pb&j.
There is still daylight when the red donkey veers into the driveway of the farmette.
And now, without pause, we take out the shears, the work gloves and head to the farmette's tree line. The burn pile of chopped honeysuckle is huge, but we add to it nonetheless.
Ed asks -- are you tired?
I am, he is too, but we continue. Until the light fades. We do this so well, he and I -- we work until our arms ache and then we do some more and then we stop. Sun's long gone, the day belongs to another time. A post on a blog, that's all.
If you'd asked me several months back -- how good are the days of November, I would have said bleh, not so clever, not so bright. Shows how much I know.