By the time this column goes to press, I hope the snow that fell several nights ago has melted and that a week or two of glorious fall weather has arrived, bright blue skies and all. I can dream, can’t I?
However, the high-powered windstorm that knocked out the power, and the inch or more of heavy wet snow that fell the night after, were strong indicators that winter is on the way.
Although I declare it as so—until spring takes claim— leaving summer’s easy-going lifestyle is never easy.
But, if you’re like me gradually your mind and body start to shift to thoughts of pumpkin pie and hot apple cider and a warm, cozy house.
Every year, the sight of pumpkins for sale in the grocery stores reminds me that autumn is truly here. From that point on, summer dreams begin to fade, and I begin to think about fall food and décor. I haul out my autumn leaf quilt hanging and dig around the basement for the ceramic orange pumpkin I set in the window. It replaces the real Jack-O-Lanterns my family carved when the kids were little.
I bring in the bright red and pink potted geraniums from the deck and harvest my carrot crop, wondering if this has been an especially good year for root crops or if my gardening skills have greatly improved. I haven’t yet brought my parsley plant inside, but that’s a task for later in the day.
Last night I made home-made beef and barley soup. As I sliced carrots, I felt proud as I pointed out to my husband that the tomatoes, parsley, onions, potatoes and carrots simmering in the broth all came directly from my garden.
I notice my resident red squirrel exhibiting an almost shark-like feeding frenzy. He leaves a trail of pine cone husks everywhere, and, of course, he fights with the chickadees and nuthatch for the peanuts I provide. Obviously, my squirrel friend is trying to put on weight.
The two chipmunks that dig holes in my lawn are nowhere to be seen, and I figure they’re prepping for hibernation, coming out only on nice days.
The blue jays have been dropping by occasionally, and, of course, the chickadees have returned from the woods or wherever they go for the better part of the summer and pester me for goodies, which I slavishly supply.
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