I imagine this is what November would be like if we lived, say, in Georgia. Warm, but not hot, plenty of sunshine. We're getting an insight into southern living without having to travel. Yes, once again, we're in for a beautiful day. Slated to climb up to 74F (23C) -- an unheard of reading for this date. Our average high is in the 40sF. Do the math -- we're off by some thirty degrees.
(A very pleasant morning walk, checking on the animals, then assessing what needs to be done out in the flower fields.)
Cold October nights did away with the last blooms. But you can still find secret survivors!
(Breakfast, with a couple of cats, on the porch.)
Whatever work I do in the garden now can be subtracted from my tasks come next spring. But one can't be overzealous. Some texture in the flower beds needs to remain in place for the winter. I snip away, but without drive, without great ambition. Just a little in each bed.
(And the sun plays on the last pockets of color, such as the peach tree with its golden leaves...)
In the afternoon, Ed and I search for nearby places to hike. Someplace where there aren't hunters with guns or bows and arrows. We try out Camrock Park, perhaps a half hour's drive to the east. I don't remember ever walking there, but of course, today any place is going to look stunning.
The trails aren't empty, and if it were up to me, I'd slap masks on most everyone we pass, but still, it's a sweet little walk.
And on the drive home: that fabulous Wisconsin sky.
As is now my routine, toward evening I cook up a dinner for the young family.
(Knock knock! Foods's at your doorstep!)
(The masked bandits!)
I cannot emphasize enough how peaceful the world had become for us here, at the farmhouse. The tumult, the counting, waiting, to say nothing of the even longer period of waiting as the campaigns unfolded -- it all ended this week.
I'll light a candle, Ed will pop corn -- an evening seemingly like so many others. But not at all like the others. Not even close.
