There really isn't just a "Fall." The season is actually three rolled into one: the first month that is so close to summer you hardly notice the difference, the second part which is the most beautiful if you find beauty in the drying leaves, and the third, which a friend recently said is something akin to hell -- the worst of the worst, spanning the weeks of late November all the way until winter solstice and maybe beyond, alternating between brittle cold, dank dark blustery wet, with maybe a hint of snow but not really, and a landscape devoid of any tones except for "earth tones," which sounds good when applied to your autumnal wardrobe, but in reality is nothing short of drab.
We're in the middle section of Fall. This should inspire joy. The colors. The crispy spent smell of grasses drying. The flight of birds. Ed wants to take out the kayaks and have us go down the river. Just for a short run! He so wants to do this and I so do not. Any project that requires many steps or stages seems overwhelming to me. This is what happens when you've accomplished too much in a short period of time. You rebel against every complicated enterprise going forward. Simplicity has charm. Effort? No thanks.
First thing's first. Breakfast.
I listen to NPR's interview with the guy who was hiking in Norway this summer and fell down a mountain and waited for six days to be rescued. (He happens to be from Wisconsin, just down the road from Madison, and he was hiking in the region I visited this past August.) What was it like to wait with broken bones, knowing that your only way out of this pickle is to have someone find you? That's what everyone wants to know. Me, I would like to hear what it's like afterwards, when you're mending, both physically and mentally. In the period right after the fall, you do all you can to keep your mind from unraveling and your body from freezing. Afterwards? It seems to me that this is when things get really complicated.
* * *
I have a haircut today. I've been going to this same person for decades. She is close to downtown, close to the farmette, not so close to where I live now. I tell her -- this is the last time you'll have to strip my hair of the mineral buildup from the well water. I am no longer on well water.
I decide to go short. Why not. May as well shuffle things around some more!
* * *
And now I am at the farmette.
We will (finally) have rain this week. I had purchased seeds for the meadows. No matter how I feel about garden work right now, I'm not about to waste them. I seed the new meadow out front. I should do the two older ones in the new orchard and peach orchard, but I run out of seeds. Oh well.
I also had purchased some bulbs. As always, a lot of bulbs. With all those acres of land -- well, you can never have too many bulbs. And now here I am, away from farmette lands, and there they are, the waiting bulbs. Not to anthropomorphize them, but I do feel sorry for them, for the potential they present, for the waste I have made of it all. Next time I am here, I'll plant some.
The farmhouse is rapidly getting closer to a state that pleases Ed, less so me. I try not to mind. It's not for me to decide what's right for it now. And at the same time, there lives my same old Ed. With the same old Ed-like qualities that I have grown to love.
He had picked up an old dog travel crate a few months ago. Off the curb -- his favorite place of procurement. We take it to the courtyard and clean it up with a hose and rag. Maybe this one will work to contain Goose when he needs to be contained.
* * *
In the afternoon I go out for a walk with pooch and his new fam. To the Pheasant Branch Conservancy.
It's a lovely afternoon for it. Autumn at her best.
The dog (aka Goose, a name given to him by the rescue team) has formed a strong attachment to the whole lot of them and mopes terribly when they leave the house without him. Last night they crated him when they came to dinner and somehow he broke loose. He follows them from room to room and loves nothing more than to romp on the bed with everyone, ending with a good snuggle at the close of it all. A rare gentle big dog.
His friendliness is definitely a gift, but it comes with a cautionary note. He is one of those dogs that will happily bound over to anyone. The kind where he'll go up to your terrified kid and the owner will say "dont worry, he's friendly." Well no, that's not the point. Not everyone wants to be greeted by your "friendly" (meaning untrained) dog. Too, as we have been warned, Goose has never met a dog he did not love. He is strong, and so until he's gone through a good period of training, he's better off being lead by an adult with a firm hand. Still, what a dog he is! Love oozes out of his eyes. I have to say, it's been a long time since I met a dog that pulled so much at my own heartstrings. And I'm not the only sucker. The two big kids and my daughter are also totally smitten.
* * *
This is a break day for the Chopin Competition in Warsaw. Those who move on to the next stage I'm sure are at it, working on their next performance, which will include Mazurkas, Sonatas, maybe a Scherzo. [Tianyao Lyu, the 16 year old, plays on Wednesday at 12:25 Polish time. 5:25 my time. Would I wake up for it? No, I would not. It's too stressful. Better to click onto the recording later. I can hear you puzzling over this one -- stressful? For you and me? I mean, there will be a winner. Someone deserving will sail to the top, and with that gold medal performance, they will have their careers solidly in place. That's what they all want. Surely all the stress is on them. True enough, and it's precisely because the stakes are so high that I dont want to hold my breath, in the fear of witnessing a disappointing performance.]
It's fitting that October 2025 should be my Chopin month. To me, his music is always melancholy and wistful. So fitting for my mood back in 1970. So fitting for my mood now.
with so much love..
