chill

Cold morning. And colder night ahead. Not just frost warning, but freeze warning. That means most of the annual flowers will be giving it up for the year tonight.

A gray day. No point in eating in the sun room. Back to the kitchen for breakfast.





Then, an unusual outing: we go to a political brunch in support of a Wisconsin candidate. I suggest to Ed that he may want to change into less torn pants. He chuckles.

The event is in a beautiful part of Madison.






Ed wants a few words with the candidate...





... to communicate his views on doing business in the state. The candidate listens, sympathetically. Soon after we retreat, not being the "stay and mingle" types.We take a yard sign with us.


At the farmette, I snip nasturtium. They'll continue for a while indoors. Here:



And here:





I have a large potted plant that won't make it if I leave it outdoors in the cold and only maybe will make it if I put it in the ground. So we bring it indoors. Maybe it'll stay happy in the sun room. Maybe.






In a desperate move, Ed digs up the pepper plant that never went beyond an initial flowering spell. Maybe we could winter it over? He asks. The farmhouse is becoming a shelter for wayward plants.






Evening.  
There's one last chance, Ed. Every last tomato has to come in before the night.
We survey the field that has served us so well. There are some green ones that still look like they wish they had a chance. And dozens and dozens of tiny red ones -- some shriveled in past frosts, some hardy enough to stand firm. We pick selectively. Sophie's choice: those that are likely to make it come in.






There is this moment of great sadness for all that will be left behind. No, wait, let me rethink that:  the remnants -- the dried, or shriveled or spent tomatoes are what will make next year's soil better! The easiest way to let go of anything is to believe that it all will come back to greet you in the future in one way or another.


One last look at the farmhouse, framed in still blooming flowers. With a solitary corn stalk waiting... for not much of anything anymore.


 




In the evening we go to another event. This is so not like us! Two in one day! This one is not political exactly. It's a vegan chili cook off, run by the Alliance for Animals. (Ed is a member.) Seven Madison restaurants are serving their (vegan) chilis. You get to sample all and then have a fine large portion of two of your favorites. And, add to it a hot dog. A vegan hot dog.








 


There is a silent auction, too, and you can bid on things like a home vet visit for your kitty. Or knick knacks that announce a love of animals.






We don't bid on anything, but we admire the generosity of those who have contributed to this event. As for the chili -- well, my own chili meter tells me all the chills are good and I'm thinking the Eldorado one is even better than good, but here's an idea: maybe vegan chills shouldn't feel compelled to put meat-textured stuff into their chills. You know, fermented something or other, rolled and then ground. Because there's plenty of goodness in plain chili without the meats. It's not as if we have to fill up on the pretend stuff.


We leave before they announce the winner. I don't like to see the disappointment in the faces of those who are not selected. 

It's nippy outside. We're only on October 6th and I'm already wearing my warmest scarves. How quickly we have shifted from that other season to this one!

TGIF

A checkered night of mismatched sleeping habits (between Ed and myself, between Isis the cat and Ed and Isis and myself -- you name it, it didn't match up). When finally Isis leaves for his morning stroll, I look up and notice that I am about to miss my sunrise yoga class.

So I rush. Which, perhaps, is the wrong attitude for yoga. And I tense when the instructor gets off to a late start. And, of course, she ends late. So all those minutes at yoga letting go of my tension results in it galloping right back at me.

And then I am late for one meeting, on time for the next, on time for four others (you got it: four others) and then I am spent from being so tense all day long. And I have the bulk of my work for the day before me.

Moreover, it is cold enough in the morning that I abandon Rosie and go straight for the donkey car. Which is never a good sign.

In the evening, Ed and I struggle with frequent flier miles and flights and get absolutely nowhere.

And so I offer you a photo that I quickly snapped before being late this morning and really, I apologize, but this is the best I can do.




But, the house is warm, the leftover soup is good and I stock up on milk chocolate covered raisins and pistachio nuts from Trader Joe's. Sinful, especially as I listen to various yoga people talk about fall time cleansing diets (so not me), but let me tell you -- an evening is always made better by milk chocolate covered raisins and Trader Joe's pistachio nuts. I speak from the heart.

snow day?

In a manner of speaking, it is that. Suddenly, no meetings, no classes, no campus activities. Yes, I am vaguely tempted to go to campus anyway, to take note of the President's visit. But I'd seen candidate Obama speak four years ago and besides, last night I dutifully watched the debate and remembered only after that I don't like watching debates. I understand the function they serve, but my engagement with the political process is quieter, tamer. I ask myself questions, often times bouncing them off of Ed, who has a good way of coming up with counterpoints. And I love to listen to serious back and froths, say on the News Hour. But, still, I did watch the debate and, disappointed, today I am taking myself as much as I can out of politics.

And what a good day it is (therefore?)! An early morning look outside…







 


A morning yoga class -- a slow one, a tad too slow, which tells me that I'm a Power Flow Yogi -- one who likes the quick change, the flow from one pose to the next, to the next… (Is it because I am that way in life?)


A late breakfast, too late to even catch the sun in the east room, so we're at the kitchen table, with the burst of the sunflowers from farmer Lee in our face…






After, Ed finishes painting a few corners of the house that he had missed and I play catch up with work.






And finally, finally we go for our monthly shopping trip to big, horrible Woodman's. It is, though, a mark of normal times. And because it is during a work day, we have more space in the aisles -- enough that we can play a little. If you were anywhere nearby, you might have seen, for instance, me, teaching Ed to do the Warrior III pose (think: airplane), right next to the fruit juices.


On the way home, Ed has lumber to pick up at Home Depot and we drive the rest of the way home with his arm hanging onto the too long board at the side of the car. Which does not stop us from detouring to the farmers market. For onions.







Needed for the tomato soup. Because, there are still these tomatoes. Ripening, ripening...

Wednesday

A quick morning walk along the dirt paths of the farmette. In the summer, I kept pointing the camera at the farmhouse. But now,wouldn't you agree that the shed, the barn are especially good at showing off the autumnal brilliance?





It's still very dry out here (the only rain expected at all is scheduled for the hours President Obama is on campus) and I should water, but there aren't the hours. Too, I spend time each morning plugging holes dug by chipmunks. They're all over and at the very least, they're messy. A potmarked canvas of root damage. Do chipmunks ever go to sleep already? Maybe October 4th?

Let me look up, not down. Oh, now there's a pretty scene!







How can you not revel in the warmth of this morning! The last of the easy going mornings, the beautiful sunny mornings of early October!


And I ride Rosie to campus, even though I ought to bike -- how many good biking days will there be? 'I ought to' does not easily translate into 'I will.'






Between the wedding and Ed's September fever, I think I let this past month slide at its own speed. It just sort of happened. Now I have to invent a speed. For a while -- a couple of weeks maybe -- I pick slow.





Not that on campus the pace is anything close to slow right now. Frantic construction in anticipation of a presidential visit. The precautions seem more extreme than the previous times President Obama was here. Not only are we under orders to keep the blinds shut in the windows facing the Mall (this would include my very very large window), but I see that they're draping a curtain over the windows of the college dorm, which is a good block away.





I cannot emphasize enough how disturbing it is to live at a time when such measures are considered necessary. Where a missed window covering could change the course of history.


So after too many hours on campus, I am very happy to be on Rosie again, very happy to greet Ed at Paul's cafe, very happy to be playing tennis (that's his Honda, next to my Yamaha -- both easily spotted around town because of the with milk crates on the rear racks )...








…to be cooking soup (broccoli), to be glancing out as Ed finishes the painting of the farmhouse...


 


... to be combating the fruit flies (we had a hefty population with all those tomatoes, but we have now the secret weapon -- the Isis hair-on-couch hand vacuum -- positioned to catch every last fruit fly!), to be mixing a lovely cassis kir (a splash of black currant liquor with with white wine), to be wondering how the debate goes, to be thinking happily about the yoga class I can attend, for a change, on a Thursday morning.

Tuesday

A few weeks back I wrote how this was the "last warm day" of the season and indeed, one of those posts proved to be right because I cannot remember any hot summer moments thereafter. Now, I am facing the fact that tomorrow we'll have the "last even medium warm" day of the year and after that -- well, riding Rosie will no longer be a given.

Already this morning, I felt under-protected from the wind and this despite the beautiful sunshine that warmed our pale yellow fields and dapples of gold beyond.

I pull my gloves on and forge ahead, but it is not toasty out there.

When the weather finally turns (Thursday), I'm imagining I'll not be suffering the consequences  of it because I do not have to go to work! Indeed, I cannot go to work. This particular Thursday President Obama relieved me of my duties by announcing a campus visit that places him right outside my office window over on Bascom Mall. I thought I'd have front row seats, but it appears that our building has to be emptied for the day and so suddenly I have a blank schedule. Sort of like Thanksgiving only without the turkey. In gratitude, I plan on watching the debate the day before, even though I am not among the undecided.


But until then, work continues and intensifies. I leave early (after breakfast, of course)…





 … just as the sun is cracking the horizon at the old orchard to the east.






Though the truck farmers beat me to it. These are the weeks of the final harvest and the farmers are racing to beat the big frost clock.






It's not early fall anymore.






Evening. I meet Ed at Paul's cafe and we both promptly fall asleep. Our planned tennis game goes to the wayside.

We steer our motorbikes home, past the fields of market flowers and spent vegetables…






And I pause just for a second, to pass on greetings to farmer Lee and this may be the last time that I see her this year, because she tells me (if I understand her correctly) that she's closing shop for the season. She hands me a large bouquet of flowers, but I'm not sure she is the one who should be thanking me. Who benefited most from her work at the farmette? I would guess we did.

I turn Rosie home...





…where Farmer Lee's flowers look so splendid in the late evening sun.





 There is nothing special for dinner. Ed is tired and snacked up for the day. I haven't the inclination to cook up the next soup. How about a sweet potato with a scrambled egg and a leftover piece of smoked salmon?





Isis sniffs appreciatively but I chase him down. Mine, little cat. This dinner is mine.

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.

Sunday

Sunday morning. When I think that last week at this time I was breathing deep sighs of relief, knowing that my daughter had just survived (with great joy and merriment) her wedding ceremonies, I want to say -- my, how time changes things. Today, by comparison, was so placid. Like a day with only a muted breeze and no fires raging. A fall day, where you had to look hard to find blooms that are still going strong.







Sunday afternoon. I know that you sign up for yoga to practice the exercise of yoga (and I did sign up -- after a trial month, for a whole year of it), but I have to say, I do like this about my new yoga studio: the woman who owns and runs it strives for community. In the same way that her neighbor down the block -- Paul at the Oasis Cafe -- strives for the same. And I like that. Oh, go ahead and tell me that I'm a sap for community because I do not belong to a church and that I'm merely looking for ways to fill a void.  Yes, tell me that we all function in a spiritless world and it's our own fault.

Eh, I won't agree. for the most part, I like my world of quiet at the farmette. I like interrupting it occasionally with people, but if that doesn't happen for a period of time (daughters excepted), I'll be okay with it. But, whatever my own needs are in this regard, I do like it when people try to create a space for the local souls to crawl to, a space where someone will at the very least remember their name. 

So, after the usual house cleaning and garden admiration and adoration spell…






…I go to my Sunday yoga class and I sink deeply into the idea that I am not just stretching this way and that, but I am also reaching out to some form of humanity that is there for all of us to share.


After class, a fellow classmate says -- I wish I had had yoga when my kids were younger… I would have been a calmer parent… I nod in what I hope is a supportive gesture, but I don't really think she  is correct. We are who we are. Impatience does not erase itself in yoga classes.

Nonetheless, it surely feels good to stretch, strain and balance and think about something other than the tasks that await you in the week ahead.


In other news, Ed is truly almost healed. Not only did he join me for a modicum of breakfast…





…but, too, we went out to play tennis together: nothing grand, just twenty minutes of back and forth at the local park, but we hadn't done it since before he was stricken with the Mystery Fever and it was grand to hear him making fun of my game again.


Sunday evening. When I return from yoga, I find him up on the ladder, working bravely to replace the rotted wood over the dormer window. This project has been excruciatingly difficult -- he hasn't the equipment nor the neck muscles to do it quickly and to his satisfaction. But, he is back at it. If he doesn't topple and crack his spine then I will truly believe that he is with us again, well and moving forward -- though in a somewhat thinner frame.






Supper? Well now, if you had the last tomatoes ripening still on your mudroom floor, what would you do? Of course! Cook up more chili, add it to the old chili and serve it again and again and again. Including, in a fortified version, tonight.

remembering

Yoga in the morning. (To my commenter -- I wouldn't do it nearly as well if I were to do it alone. Being with a good teacher is really motivating. I hope that this will remain true for the year.)

The ride on Rosie is brilliant. A stunning warm breeze, a prairie to the west, to the north…






Then, after yoga, I glance at my computer. Email, then the NY Times. Ohhhhh...

A pause for reflection.

I came to live in the States as an adult (if you can call 18 adult) because of the goodness of a person who died today. I was an au pair to his little girl. I learned through him and his wife how to transition from Warsaw to New York again. I came with barely a flight bag full of clothes and possessions and joined a household that had a staff of helpers and an extended family of cousins, aunts, nephews -- all intensely close, bonded in ways that history sometimes bonds people because of unusual circumstances. That I was treated kindly is such an understatement that I can't even quite say it. The father of my charge will always in my mind be the person who liked nothing better than to drive away from the city, to the country home, fire up the grill and throw some meats for an evening supper with just his little girl, his wife and the aupair from Poland. After dinner, he and I would clean up in the kitchen and if I learned how to wipe down every last inch of counterspace it was because he taught me well. He was too kind for words and his little girl was just like him, making my au pair duties about the easiest that could be.

So, my thoughts are very much with the kids he leaves behind. Kids… How oddly stated! Kids. We were that once.




In the afternoon, Ed and I had an appointment with our village version of the Antiques Roadshow. Ed inherited a bit of folk art from his parents. Wooden garden statues that he finds quirky fun and I find kind of scary. Ed once suggested we put them in the mudroom, but the marble eyes just don't inspire trust and friendliness, so they lie buried in the basement collecting dust.

At the Roadshow, the wooden statues were a hit. Of course they were! Compare them to the standard piece of jewelry your aunt gave you for your graduation or the crystal bowl you found in your grandma's attic. There's color in the busty pose and the spiked heels of the girl and the crooked teeth and broken toes of the guy doll. I told the audience I wasn't a fan of either, Ed said he was and the appraiser sided with him and though we weren't holding a fortune in our arms, we certainly were told that we should be good and proud of the old yard dolls. Okay. We're proud. Back to the basement they go after their moment of glory.






Still later, my girl, the one who is married now (!), took her old mom and, too, the traveling companion of mom to one of our favorite places  -- Indian Lake.


 



If you know this county park...






... you'll understand how beautiful it is right now.





Utterly beautiful.






Wistfully, sometimes very wistfully so.






Sigh...