Shh. Let's pretend it didn't just snow here last night and we are forecast yet more (albeit only a couple of inches) tomorrow. If I do this quickly I can get my October Stillmeadow reading post in just under the gun and pretend it is still autumnal and not rather winter like. Of course the weather in the Midwest is so changeable that in another week it might indeed be all warm and sunny. A person can hope anyway.
Here's what I like to see in October:
"Days grow shorter now, the nights chillier. Crisp mornings call for buttermilk pancakes and maple syrup, with country sausage on the side; at super the popovers are almost too hot to hold. The trees kindle with color, a few at a time: small flashes of scarlet appear in the swamp, and the sugar maples begin to glow, as the great wave of autumn glory slowly rises to tide. Leaves start to fall; I pick one up. It is cool to the touch; a hint of pink lies under the gold. As it dries, the serrated edges curl inward and the leaf turns to tawny brown. I think, I am holding autumn in my hand."
Autumn is my favorite season. The sticky heat of summer has drained away, there is a crispness to the mornings and all the glorious apples. I buy more than I know I can easily eat in a week, but I want to stretch them out as far as they will go. I am still hoping to get a loaf of sweet potato date pecan bread (heavenly) and then there will be pumpkin pie to look forward to.
Sorry, more descriptions of food, but then this is harvest time and the bounty of fresh food must be appreciated.
"Roadside stands splash more color along he roads now, and I wish I could paint them. Great smoky blue Hubbard squash, dark green acorn squash, bright orange pumpkins, strings of Chinese lanterns, baskets of rosy apples and bouquets of bittersweet, and sometimes Indian corn and gourds--all make a carnival of autumn and testify to nature's endless bounty. Jugs of freshly pressed cider stand in the cool shade, as well as jars of clover honey. Sometimes there are new-laid eggs for sale, or homemade jellies, lucent in the sun, or rich preserves and jars of crisp pickles, and sometimes loaves of fresh homemade bread and pans of crusty rolls."
Maybe because I am especially fond of Autumn, I particularly enjoyed the descriptions she gave of Stillmeadow.
"As I light the fire, small flames catch the leaves, and a spicy odor fills the room. The scent of dead leaves is another of the many things that cant be described. It is cool and musty and something else which may be the vanished sap. It evokes memories of walking in deep autumn woods in Wisconsin when I was growing up, and of bonfires celebrating the big homecoming football game and of picnics by the Eight Mile Brook when the small children dropped their frankfurters in the smoky embers. Jill used to say I spent half my life inhaling the smells of everything from mint to macaroni and that I certainly had some hound inheritance."
I agree with her and the idea of smells evoking feelings and memories. To this day when I smell freshly cut grass on a summer's day I remember the heat of summer when I was little and out playing early in the morning an that fresh smell of grass that had just been mown. Fond memories!
To end this post--some wise words (and Tabor always has some very wise words).
"I reflect that nothing really ends, but grows into something new. The harvest is in and the leaves will all be down soon, but they enrich the ground, and new leaves will put forth tender green in the spring, in the endless cycle of nature. Today is a part of time, a unit, but it evolved from yesterday and flows into tomorrow like a tide"
As we near the dark days of winter, I find those sentiments comforting indeed.