As autumn falls

The first week of October is now behind us. Locally, leaves have reached peak color. Birches are bright gold; oaks a multitude of metallics including copper, bronze, rusted iron, and gold; maples have flamed in scarlet and orange and are now showing bright yellows. The unseasonably warm temperatures and strong southerly winds are a poor fit with autumn's color cornucopia.

We've held off on igniting the brush pile because of dry windy conditions all week. Maybe next week will offer an opportunity to safely burn. I'm starting to realize how farmers must feel when they can't get into the fields for whatever reason.

a pumpkin patch framed by autumn leaves

Photo by J. Harrington

As we headed off to pick up this week's Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] share, we noticed most local farmers have their soy beans harvested but few have begun on the corn yet. We saw one field with many flocks of Canada geese gleaning what's left by the combine. A small flock of pheasants took off from a roadside ditch as we approached. Several fields had horses grazing. All told, it was a bucolic trip past some pumpkin patches awaiting the completion of harvest. Between climate breakdown and pandemics, I wonder if folks will return to building root / storm cellars under their houses.

On a more mundane level, we regularly drive past one farm that's been raising sheep. The Better Half contacted them via email and learned that they hadn't been able to find anyone to handle slaughtering and meat processing, so we're still searching for local meat sources offering pasture raised lamb, beef and/or pork. Many of the better known outfits are sold out until next spring or summer. Finding reliable suppliers, in part due to limited processing services, remains one of the issues hindering development of holistic local food systems.

Fall

Edward Hirsch - 1950-

Fall, falling, fallen. That's the way the season 
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples 
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves 
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition 
With the final remaining cardinals) and then 
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last 
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground. 
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees 
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever 
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun 
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance, 
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud 
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything 
Changes and moves in the split second between summer's 
Sprawling past and winter's hard revision, one moment 
Pulling out of the station according to schedule, 
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It 
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away 
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet, 
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving 
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us, 
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets. 
And every year there is a brief, startling moment 
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and 
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless 
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air: 
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies; 
It is the changing light of fall falling on us. 

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.