There is a nip in the air, here on the Cutoff; not yet a first frost, but an unmistakable chill that calls out for hearty soups and warm shawls, a good book and cups of steaming tea. Bittersweet has appeared at floral shops, and rows upon rows of pumpkins line every supermarket entrance as we entertain thoughts of Jack-o-Lanterns and pumpkin pie.
Daily, now, I take a stroll to the back of our property. I look to the left in dismay at the increasingly greater amount of trees that have been felled, the mountain of sawdust and the towers of logs. I plot, in my mind, how to make this all work to our advantage, all-the- while walking, shuffling, in the fallen leaves. It is the soft, slightly muffled sound and the crunch that brings me comfort in the flowing of seasons, one unto another, that I love so much about living here in middle America.
To the right, there are a few puffballs and I make mental notes to check them daily to monitor their growth, remembering the king of puffballs that we gently lifted and took to a nature center last year.
Ground zero brings fairy rings, dancing in the autumnal sunlight, sheltering fairies, I’m certain. Who else so expertly takes the caps off of acorns that are scattered about?
Whatever annuals remain now in pots are ravaged. The deer in the night, bold enough to come straight up to the house for midnight snack. Coleus salad, potato vine pie, and a nip of moon vine for the road; a regular frat party on the campus of the University of the Cutoff.
Much of the weekend was spent cutting back peonies, raking out withered ferns, and pulling the weeds that were hidden under so much growth. It is good to see the soil again, find the gazing ball that was hidden from view, and to watch the birds in a mad frenzy glean the seeds and insects that suddenly appear. It is a good time of year to take stock of what is, and to dream of what can be.
It is also time to clear out our plot in the community garden. I harvested a good hat full of tomatoes last week, and Tom and I gathered more this weekend. Soon, very soon, the plants will be pulled and composted, the fencing will come down, and we will sigh a good sigh at the fruits we reaped from our efforts as well as the sense of community that prevailed.
Now, where is that shawl – oh, there, draped on Aunt Ethel’s old cane rocking chair, just waiting for me and a book.
Dear Penny, like you, I’m feeling the chill of fall in the air and when I did my two-mile walk this morning, I wore, over my turtleneck and sweat shirt, the down-filled vest my father used to wear.
Also, just yesterday, Sunday, I found myself craving soup and thought about what I had in the house to make a good soup. Then I looked at my recipes for lentil, black bean, creamed squash, creamed pumpkin, potato, and carrot soups and made out a grocery list so that I can indulge myself in comfort food. Peace.
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Good that you had your father’s warm vest on hand this morning, Dee. No “frost of the pumpkins” yet, hereabouts, but, soon we will have our first dip into freezing.
All wonderful things to make soup with, which I am sure you will start in good time, Dee. We made a big pot of cabbage/vegetable soup yesterday, which filled us and left enough to freeze for leftovers another day. Hope a big pot of something is simmering on your stovetop soon.
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You’re right, Penny. There is a cleansing to this time of year. It makes me want to rest, eat soup and curl up with a book.
I loved how you described finding the gazing ball.
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Thank you, Andra. I think it is time to put that gazing ball elsewhere in the garden where I can see it all summer long. That’s just what I did late yesterday afternoon; rested with a book while soup simmered on the stove.
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This was a pleasure to read, Penny, and to walk with you around the garden, checking in on every little growing thing! I feel like you’re tucking them in for a long nap, making sure they’re doing well. I feel your ache at the stand of trees that have been lost. I hope as the months go by you’ll find some way to benefit, although anything you do will take time, and I know that’s a challenge. I’m reading “Noah’s Garden” by Sara Stein. I think it’s at least ten years old, but it’s new to me. The subtitle is, “Restoring the Ecology of Our Own Back Yards,” and she talks about precisely what you’re doing on the Cutoff, as well as in your wonderful Community Garden. My little plot is so small by comparison, so I luxuriate in your long walks, Penny. ox
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Oh, I like that vision of tucking everything in for a long nap. Soon, we’ll have blankets of snow. I’m sure we will make the best of it. I’m actually anxious to plant some things, but, I’ll wait, not being sure of what the new house will be like and how high it will tower.
I haven’t heard of “Noah’s Garden”, but, will put it on my list, which is now longer than Santa’s. Large or small, our gardens are a gift and each of ours to use as best we can. I love your post and your railroad, imagining all the adventures of mind you and your family travel on.
Thanks, again, Debra.
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You evoke the passing season so beautifully Penny, and I love the deeply shadowed photo of the tomatoes in the hat. I thought of you when I was out of the bach, remembering your giant puffball as I went down the steps and saw the remains of a much smaller one. There you are sighing that good sigh after the harvest has been brought in. Now I imagine you’ll be getting ready for that big pile of books that never goes down.
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You know me well, Juliet, as I am most eager to get to that pile of books. First, a few big piles of leaves needed to be raked, then . . . I enjoyed our little vegetable plot tremendously and will miss all these succulent tomatoes. We may have a frost tonight, so, that will end what little is left. Honestly, I’m ready to put the garden to bed now. How nice to know that you remembered that puffball. This year’s won’t get as big, nor will we be making a “contribution”. I hope you are enjoying your emerging spring.
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Lovely tomatoes! I see you grow lots of varieties like us. Our tomatoes have now finished. My husband got rid of the last of the plants about two weeks ago. I have a freezer full of them to put into bolognaise sauces and stews and have also made soup. It’s so wonderful to have this bounty of homegrown food to use in the winter.
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With a frost expected tonight, we will be most likely pulling out the tomato plants tomorrow or the next day, Cath. We enjoyed the varieties we had this year and I already have ideas for next. Your sauces sound like a delicious re-awkening of the summer past come winter.
I saw your meme today and was jotting down many of your answers. I hope you are doing well. Sounds like you had a rough week. Best wishes come your way, Cath.
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Thank you so much Penny. Things are now quiet, which is just how I like them.
One variety of tomato which I thought was excellent was a large yellow variety. I can’t remember its name and anyway it would probably be something different over there. It was not much for eating but it cooked up beautifully and gave my cooked tomatoes a lovely colourful red/yellow/ orange appearance. Fun. 🙂
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You always take me to a place where I can see through your eyes, hear what you hear, and “…dream of what can be.” Aunt Ethel’s rocking chair is waiting for you.
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Marilyn, what a sweet thing to say. I’m touched – and appreciative. Thank you.
Guess what book Aunt Ethel’s rocking chair had waiting for me? “A Boyhood in the West of England” (entitled “The Edge of Day” for this edition). I’m enjoying it, drinking the words in slowly. Thank you for recommending it to me.
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We too are feeling the nip in the air. It is a busy time around here with combines in the fields and trucks lining up at the elevators. When I step outside, I can hear the dryers humming in a neighbor’s grain bin. It is usually so quiet at night here. All of these things are signs of autumn as much as the beautiful leaves. I love your descriptions and your warm memories. Last night I saw a falling star and thought it was symbolic of the season and beautiful night. I also read a quote from Patsy Clairmont. She said, “My favorite color is October.” Don’t you love that?
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It is 37° right now, with temperatures falling. Frost on the pumpkins tonight? That urgency of activity bringing in harvest has such an ancient feel to it, doesn’t it, Janet, in spite of combines and trucks – and to see a falling star is like catching a memory, or so the song implies. How wonderful to see as the moon starts to wane. I haven’t seen a falling star in a very long time, though we could see the moon tonight since there aren’t as many trees blocking our eastward view now. (out of every crisis comes an opportunity)
Yes! I DO love Patsy Clairmont’s quote and think that October is a very fine color, indeed. In fact, I wore October today.
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I remember last year, when many blogging friends started posting very autumnal thoughts and pictures, that here in Andalucia, Autumn is a strange season. Surrounded by olive groves, we don’t get the magnificent turning from green to red to yellow colours and the fields that were full of plants, vegetables and crops are now merely brown smudges. It’s lovely to read your post – it helps to make up for the lack of ‘October colour’ that I’m used to.
Axxx
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Oh, Annie, I’m pleased to give you some “October colour”. I sometimes take the beauty of our autumn season for granted, as it is all I’ve known. If a few photos and words can bring some of it your way, I am happy. Thank you.
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Yes, it’s that time of year again, time to gather in, to reflect, to batten down the hatches.
Time to make all safe before the onslaught of winter.
I have collected enough books to last me until next spring.
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Ready you are, then, Friko, for the “onslaught of winter”. I’m sure you have gathered far more than we have to “put by” for the winter. I can say that I, too, have a goodly collection of books. Enjoy the season as it falls into the next.
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Such an evocative post, Penny. I mourn your trees; but here we had a forest fire which razed one quarter of the top of the hill fort to the ground and already things are growing. Life will out. Thanks goodness there’s someone to watch the puffballs.
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“Life will out.” It will, Kate, and that is a good thing to remember – and watch the puffballs we will. Thanks.
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Oh how beautifully you evoke Autumn — a season we missed much of this year. (We had summer, we had a little Winter on the road, and now we have summer again.) Back in Oregon, fall is beautiful now, but we are in Florida. Reading your post makes me nostalgic and wishing I were back there, until l I remember the season that comes after Fall and all the problems Winter created for our aging bodies and spirits. But oh how lovely it sounds on the Cutoff right now.
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It is the what comes next that makes Florida such a haven, isn’t it Sallie? You really did find all the seasons but spring heading back south, didn’t you? We had the most vibrant, perfect Autumn day here today and the trees are brilliant.
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I loved your little reflection on the joys of autumn, Penny. There are pumpkins in the supermarkets here too and I’m in the throes of filling the freezer with hearty soups and stews, but the shawl will have to wait until DD has time to knit the one she has promised me – when I finally manage to get the yarn to her. 🙂
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Won’t that shawl be wonderful, Perpetua? I have a few, but, the one I’m tossing around my shoulders these days is a bright red one my sister gave me years ago. I’m afraid moths have made their marks, but, it still keeps me one as I wander about, a bit like Little Red Riding Hood. It is nice to know that we are both enjoying “soup” weather. Thank you, Perpetua.
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[…] Penny’s roaming imagination calls in. Penny tends a community garden, and in her post ‘Soups and Shawls and Bittersweet’, she included this picture of her last harvest: She wrote how it was a good time of year to take […]
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