A Fall has never felt so intense, so brilliant and heady -- there's no meekness to it, it's glorious, it's strong, it hits you straight up!
I blame the weather.
We wake to yet another crisp and clear morning. Too crisp. I bring up my weather page and note in shock that our village is registering a reading of 30F. That's below freezing, to all you non Americans!
Ed!
I had left all the pots outside. Forecasters had predicted a low of 35. I was not ready for this. At the very least, my potted flowering tree should be inside.
Ed! I get spoiled by his willingness to lug things around for me, even at the earliest hours.
In the end, I can tell by all my sprawling nasturtiums that it must have been nano-hundredths of a degree above freezing. Those plants just lose it at 32. They turn to mush instantly and there's no going back. And this morning, they were still perky, in a struggling sort of way.
We have breakfast in the glory of the sun room...
...and then I head out to meet my daughter, you know, that one!
...for our walk to the downtown Farmers Market, where I actually have a rather large list of purchases to make: the last beautiful corn, exquisite heads of broccoli, many pounds of spinach, arugula, the last of the local raspberries, oyster mushrooms (oh, I missed those in the last month!), cheese curds (for Ed), goat cheese (for Ed), macaroons (for Ed).
It's a beautiful day to be at the market. It could not be more splendid. Even as I offer no photos. Well, one. Of someone else going for the shot. We have a lot of photo enthusiasts here.
At the farmette, Ed and I return to the rose removal project. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to dig up and clean out the invasives on this property. Last year, it was the raspberries. This year, obviously the rose spikes got us going. Once again, the cheepers join us...
...and Oreo gets his plum rewards for not lunging anymore. Ed says -- you are, to him, every other person. If he doesn't lunge at you, he wont lunge at others. You have to admit that the man is guided by eternal faith in the animal spirit.
The light is so generous now. It gives us the gold even as we would settle for less.
And finally, the evening comes. Quickly. And still, we make room for tennis. Yes, sure, it's all coming to a seasonal end. But we don't finish with a whimper. On the courts, we put our souls into the game.
(path to our secret, hidden tennis court)
Alright. Time to go home. To the farmette.
These have to be the last images of our blooming annuals. The growing season will end any day now, but we can't complain: it's been a stunning run.
I blame the weather.
We wake to yet another crisp and clear morning. Too crisp. I bring up my weather page and note in shock that our village is registering a reading of 30F. That's below freezing, to all you non Americans!
Ed!
I had left all the pots outside. Forecasters had predicted a low of 35. I was not ready for this. At the very least, my potted flowering tree should be inside.
Ed! I get spoiled by his willingness to lug things around for me, even at the earliest hours.
In the end, I can tell by all my sprawling nasturtiums that it must have been nano-hundredths of a degree above freezing. Those plants just lose it at 32. They turn to mush instantly and there's no going back. And this morning, they were still perky, in a struggling sort of way.
We have breakfast in the glory of the sun room...
...and then I head out to meet my daughter, you know, that one!
...for our walk to the downtown Farmers Market, where I actually have a rather large list of purchases to make: the last beautiful corn, exquisite heads of broccoli, many pounds of spinach, arugula, the last of the local raspberries, oyster mushrooms (oh, I missed those in the last month!), cheese curds (for Ed), goat cheese (for Ed), macaroons (for Ed).
It's a beautiful day to be at the market. It could not be more splendid. Even as I offer no photos. Well, one. Of someone else going for the shot. We have a lot of photo enthusiasts here.
At the farmette, Ed and I return to the rose removal project. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to dig up and clean out the invasives on this property. Last year, it was the raspberries. This year, obviously the rose spikes got us going. Once again, the cheepers join us...
...and Oreo gets his plum rewards for not lunging anymore. Ed says -- you are, to him, every other person. If he doesn't lunge at you, he wont lunge at others. You have to admit that the man is guided by eternal faith in the animal spirit.
The light is so generous now. It gives us the gold even as we would settle for less.
And finally, the evening comes. Quickly. And still, we make room for tennis. Yes, sure, it's all coming to a seasonal end. But we don't finish with a whimper. On the courts, we put our souls into the game.
(path to our secret, hidden tennis court)
Alright. Time to go home. To the farmette.
These have to be the last images of our blooming annuals. The growing season will end any day now, but we can't complain: it's been a stunning run.
