in the season

Why are you writing "late garden" on the freezer bags? -- this from Ed, who is watching me prepare the last of the tomatoes for winter storage.
Because these guys are different. Some are tougher -- as if they were trying to hold on to their might and some succeeded and others -- not so much. Kind of fleshy and limp. So I'm labeling them. So that I know.

I'm trying to do right by our harvest, but what do I know? All I've memorized is that late harvest grapes are sweeter and that late harvest pears are suboptimal. You should be picking pears when they're not quite ready for the table. They develop issues if left on the tree too long. But tomatoes -- they're all over the place. There are no hard and fast rules. We still have containers of green ones and some are ripening and some are not. I was told I could do a nice chili with green tomatoes. Can I? I haven't dared try.

I think about things like harvests and growing things and the coming of winter because when you live in the country, the change of seasons, the progression of time -- they're so obvious. Not only because the palate of colors changes, but because the balance shifts. With each month, everything moves toward a new center.






And if I forget to pay attention to the heaving and shifting that's taking place around me, there is yoga class to remind me of it. Truthfully, my love of yoga right now can be linked to my love of living in the country. One makes the other more vivid, more obvious.






As we inch closer to the cooler months and I shake out and move to the front of the closet my beloved sweater collection (nothing feels better than a comfy sweater on a cool day), I think how nothing outside reminds me of summer anymore. Yes, some of the flowers are still throwing out blooms…






Yes, I can still slip out scantly dressed for one thing or another outdoors (I have summer warmth stored in my bones… it usually lasts until right around Thanksgiving). But everything is on a different plane. We all know it.



 


If this sounds a tad morose or sentimental, don't place too much store in it. The day was certainly normal enough.

Breakfast.





Work. Yoga. More work. Leftover chili for supper. You got it: it was, in fact, a glorious day.