twittering through autumn
"Vermont, Early November"
It was in between seasons,
after the thin twitter of late autumn
but before the icy authority of winter,
and I took in the scene from a porch,
a tableau of silo and weathervane
and a crowd of ferns on the edge of the woods--
nothing worth writing about really,
but it is too late to stop now
that the ferns and silo have been mentioned.
I drank my warm coffee
and took note of the disused tractor
and the lopsided sign to the cheese factory.
Not one of those mornings
that makes you want to seize the day,
not even enough glory to make you want
to grasp every other day
yet after staring for a while
at the plowed-under fields and the sky,
I turned back to the order of the kitchen
determined to seize firmly
the second Wednesday of every month that lay ahead.
~ Billy Collins
And so we begin another fall month and watch as the leaves on our beloved New England trees move to the next stage of their journey. The first leaves fell gracefully and now what is left on the trees seem to drop, pulled and tugged by winds and rains, and chilled by cold mornings. This fall was not as brilliant as autumn's past in that the colors lacked the brilliant reds and showcased instead muted oranges and yellows, and yet somehow these colors are as dear and brilliant. It is hard to explain my desire to cast my eyes out onto this sea of trees, peppered spice rack for the eyes: hues of saffron, cumin, tumeric, ginger, mustard seed. The trees swaying in their mystical dance, a mystery to me in much the same way those elusive spices are.
It is good that I was born in the fall. The dying season. I am a person who needs to be reminded of my birth and journey through life at this time of year; to batten down my proverbial hatches and struggle through the winter, to be reminded of the beauty that comes after the seeming dead of wintertime.
This fall has found us very busy at the Farm with Board Meetings, a change in management, and many little diversions in the past month. Both TSO and I celebrated birthdays within just over a week of each other, which meant two parties. I was very happy to have people in our house, filling it and reminding me that my coworkers are my family. We work and live in such an amazing place.
Halloween at the Farm is a unique experience too. Many guests, staff and their kids come to dinner dressed in costumes and then trick or treat at houses around the Farm. This was my first year with our own house, so it was fun to just sit and watch as people came to our door. Maybe not going out trick or treating around the Farm as I've done in years past marks another creeping step towards adulthood, especially as I am a year older now...nah... not yet.
It was in between seasons,
after the thin twitter of late autumn
but before the icy authority of winter,
and I took in the scene from a porch,
a tableau of silo and weathervane
and a crowd of ferns on the edge of the woods--
nothing worth writing about really,
but it is too late to stop now
that the ferns and silo have been mentioned.
I drank my warm coffee
and took note of the disused tractor
and the lopsided sign to the cheese factory.
Not one of those mornings
that makes you want to seize the day,
not even enough glory to make you want
to grasp every other day
yet after staring for a while
at the plowed-under fields and the sky,
I turned back to the order of the kitchen
determined to seize firmly
the second Wednesday of every month that lay ahead.
~ Billy Collins
And so we begin another fall month and watch as the leaves on our beloved New England trees move to the next stage of their journey. The first leaves fell gracefully and now what is left on the trees seem to drop, pulled and tugged by winds and rains, and chilled by cold mornings. This fall was not as brilliant as autumn's past in that the colors lacked the brilliant reds and showcased instead muted oranges and yellows, and yet somehow these colors are as dear and brilliant. It is hard to explain my desire to cast my eyes out onto this sea of trees, peppered spice rack for the eyes: hues of saffron, cumin, tumeric, ginger, mustard seed. The trees swaying in their mystical dance, a mystery to me in much the same way those elusive spices are.
It is good that I was born in the fall. The dying season. I am a person who needs to be reminded of my birth and journey through life at this time of year; to batten down my proverbial hatches and struggle through the winter, to be reminded of the beauty that comes after the seeming dead of wintertime.
This fall has found us very busy at the Farm with Board Meetings, a change in management, and many little diversions in the past month. Both TSO and I celebrated birthdays within just over a week of each other, which meant two parties. I was very happy to have people in our house, filling it and reminding me that my coworkers are my family. We work and live in such an amazing place.
Halloween at the Farm is a unique experience too. Many guests, staff and their kids come to dinner dressed in costumes and then trick or treat at houses around the Farm. This was my first year with our own house, so it was fun to just sit and watch as people came to our door. Maybe not going out trick or treating around the Farm as I've done in years past marks another creeping step towards adulthood, especially as I am a year older now...nah... not yet.
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