Autumn, Don't Pass Me By

The local restaurants, cafes and coffee shops are presenting their fall menu specials. My friend Lily, a regular at our market booth, has pulled out her sweaters and is beginning to load up on late season tomatoes for canning. Since returning from our getaway to Montana, we've been swept up in the whirlwind of the school year, while hanging on for dear life to the farm, which has been pumping out bigger harvests than ever. Our honeynut winter squash harvest has been so bountiful, Rich convinced me to start baking my mini pumpkin pies for market (and for him :)).
When I came up for air recently, I realized that the incredible fall season has been here for more than a week...not by the Old Farmer's Almanac's definition but by mine: the wild parts of the farm are awash in full-bloom golden rod; we've had 40-something degree mornings encased in fall fog, which for some reason always conjure up images of Pride and Prejudice; and I've already scratched the itch to return to Tuken's Farm for apple picking and to see if their Angora rabbits currently have a litter of bunnies (they do :)....they always do). As of today, fall is officially here following the autumnal equinox. And if any of you are familiar with the fickle weather patterns of southern Ohio, you know that frosty conditions have surprised us early in the past, knocking the wind out of the fall landscape's sails.

I've been breaking one of my rules, failing to stop and smell the flowers, feeling committed to the farm and to keeping up with all things school. But that day when I surfaced for air, I got the feeling I used to get in childhood when I was the middle of five kids...am I missing out on something?! Is the fall going to pass me by before I allow the nostalgia of the yellow and red and burnt orange and the fading green season to seap in to me? Are my intoxicating fall walks down the bike path which provoke and inspire me for weeks to come going to happen? I suppose that's up to me.
Completely unexpectedly, I happened to receive a package from a friend out West. Inside was an incredibly beautiful knit hat made by her hands, with a fall-like Beatrix Potter postcard. It was as if she was pulling me by the hand to step into autumn. That same day, I walked by the tree which we buried our Meldog under, partially because it is the most stunning, fire red maple on the farm. The crimson fire had been lit on just one branch of leaves. Soon enough the the fire will spread and the maple will put on the display we've been waiting for to memorialize our lost sweetie, on our first fall without her.

Again, I'll take a page from the plants' and birds' and the wind's books. The tomatoes know it's fall and are putting out their last bursts of the jammiest fruit of the year...fruit that takes advantage of the chill, concentrating its sugars. The warblers know it too...they have been passing through on their way to winter quarters, triggering the Cornell Lab of Ornithology to send out an alert to those of us who live along the birds' thruway along the Mississippi. During peak travel weeks, we're encouraged to keep our lights out at night so as not to disorient the flocks of birds traveling south. And if I wasn't paying attention to these clues, there is no denying fall's incoming when kissed by the invitingly cool breeze which carries the ambrosia-like scent of ripe apples hanging from the bows of our old apple trees. And so this morning I too pull out my wool sweater and pair it with a mug of steaming coffee and the novel I've been trying to read all summer. I'm ready to be swept up in fall's breeze and to indulge in all its pleasures.
Thank you for reading :).
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