Autumn deepens in the North Country

We are, as of last night's dinner, officially back in chili season. Soups, stews, chowders and chili are among the better aspects of late Autumn, Winter and early Spring in the North country. If the Better Half and I coordinate the timing properly, a fresh loaf of artisan bread magically appears about the time the soup, stew or chowder is served. (Chili usually gets corn bread to go with.) We recently read an envy-inducing description of someone who grows their own wheat, using draft horses. We've been using some locally milled organic heritage flour in our own artisan sourdough loaves. Next year, or maybe this year for Thanksgiving and Christmas 🎄, we'll see if there are other varieties to try out. We also need to do a more rigorous job of updating our baking journal.

artisan sourdough bread

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, as we hauled the tractor to the shop to get its wiring harness repaired, we noticed more and more trees are bare and barren of leaves, 🍂 although, in some tree tops, leaves have been replaced by large flocks of blackbirds or starlings, assembling for migration. Local soybean and corn fields are joining in barren appearance as they get harvested. There'll be few places in those fields for ghosts, ghouls or goblins to lurk as Halloween 👻 🎃 and Samhain occur later this week. Following those holidays, firearms deer season in our neck of the woods will open in a little more than a week, on November 9. By then, we'll need to dig out the blaze orange coats for dog walking.

a handful of whitetails at a pear tree

Photo by J. Harrington

We all know that after Halloween and before Christmas comes Thanksgiving, a holiday that often makes me "homesick" for Massachusett's South Shore. I used to live about 20 miles North of Plymouth Rock and the Plimouth Plantation. Sometimes, among the sand dunes along the coast, I'd come across beach plum bushes. This past Summer, the Better Half acquired four bare root bushes. I planted them in pots and they spent the Summer on the deck, well away from pocket gopher teeth. They've now been moved into the house for the Winter. I'm going to be watching carefully for signs of new leafs and/or blossoms come Spring next year. What with the clusters of New England style houses in the area, turkeys occasionally wandering through the field behind the house, a few sugar maples and now beach plums, this New England transplant is beginning to feel at home.

wild turkeys, symbol of Thanksgiving

Photo by J. Harrington

Bread

By W. S. Merwin

       for Wendell Berry

Each face in the street is a slice of bread

wandering on

searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger

appears to be passing them by

they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves

they dreamed of hiding in

their own caves

full of the waiting of their footprints

hung with the hollow marks of their groping

full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels

they dreamed of following in out of the light

to hear step after step

the heart of bread

to be sustained by its dark breath

and emerge

to find themselves alone

before a wheat field

raising its radiance to the moon

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