There are any number of associations that you may have with the expression "Indian Summer." Most people think of warm, unusually warm Fall days. Indian Summer. Our local TV news person said the other day -- we're in for some Indian Summer! The Farmers Almanac begs to disagree: apparently to qualify for that description, we would need warm air that briefly invades in November, following a hard frost. Not so for us: we did have a frost, though not a hard one. And it was in October.
Me, I think of a 1975 French song by Joe Dassin called "L'Été Indien." It's not that I turn to France for definitions of Indian Summer. I mean -- how ridiculous! It's a North American concept. (And the lyrics say as much.) But when I first heard the song forty years ago, it stuck. And it's sticking today as I wake up to the warmest, driest 27th day of October.
Breakfast, in the sun room. Don't even think it could be elsewhere. With a window cracked open.
After, Ed and I both do catch up work indoors, but I can't sit still. Avoiding the rooster as best as I can, I do some garden pruning...
...the late Fall kind that I should have done weeks ago even as it doesn't really matter: nothing will change in the composition of the plants at the farmette between now and the end of April.
The hens look on.
("what do you think -- will she throw us a treat?")
In the afternoon, I suggest a spirited hike and Ed agrees. We go to a place that's not to far from here, maybe half hour?
Indian Lake.
I've been coming to this county park since I first discovered it some three decades ago. My daughters love it for the walks. Ed likes it for the challenging cross country ski trails. I like it for the the quiet, the seasonal shifts and today -- for the end embrace of the most beautiful autumnal weather.
We hike, we deviate from trails and follow foot paths, we sit on benches to take in the views. And I take a few photos. So, hum your favorite autumnal melody and follow along.
Honestly, this month has been remarkable. So many shades of sky, so many colors on the tees, so many days where you could stay outdoors for hours and never notice that it is actually remarkably close to winter.
Me, I think of a 1975 French song by Joe Dassin called "L'Été Indien." It's not that I turn to France for definitions of Indian Summer. I mean -- how ridiculous! It's a North American concept. (And the lyrics say as much.) But when I first heard the song forty years ago, it stuck. And it's sticking today as I wake up to the warmest, driest 27th day of October.
Breakfast, in the sun room. Don't even think it could be elsewhere. With a window cracked open.
After, Ed and I both do catch up work indoors, but I can't sit still. Avoiding the rooster as best as I can, I do some garden pruning...
...the late Fall kind that I should have done weeks ago even as it doesn't really matter: nothing will change in the composition of the plants at the farmette between now and the end of April.
The hens look on.
("what do you think -- will she throw us a treat?")
In the afternoon, I suggest a spirited hike and Ed agrees. We go to a place that's not to far from here, maybe half hour?
Indian Lake.
I've been coming to this county park since I first discovered it some three decades ago. My daughters love it for the walks. Ed likes it for the challenging cross country ski trails. I like it for the the quiet, the seasonal shifts and today -- for the end embrace of the most beautiful autumnal weather.
We hike, we deviate from trails and follow foot paths, we sit on benches to take in the views. And I take a few photos. So, hum your favorite autumnal melody and follow along.
Honestly, this month has been remarkable. So many shades of sky, so many colors on the tees, so many days where you could stay outdoors for hours and never notice that it is actually remarkably close to winter.
