October Elegy

October is the last month of the year that has the kind of beauty that thrills me. November can be pretty if you like monochrome shades of brown and gray. I do like to see the trees when the leaves are gone and their bare branches exposed, but that gets old after a while. I prefer them green with leaves. We almost always get snow in November, and I might feel a moment's appreciation when the first snowfall comes and covers up the drabness. But my appreciation is momentary. The reality of what the snow and the cold means follows quickly, and all the charm flees away. December has little to offer in the way of outdoor prettiness except for the decorative lights. And January and February have no appeal at all for me. I'd rather not even be here then. October was lovely while it lasted. And now it is gone.

The last bit of color came with the changing of the oaks and larches. Their colors are usually more subtle than the showy maples, beeches, and ash trees, but this year they were brilliant. The rusty reds and coppery orange of the oaks, and the yellow ochre of the larches are the final burst of autumn color. I have several oak trees in the meadow that I planted from acorns twenty years ago. They have grown into nice-sized trees and last week they were beautiful.

Oak trees in my meadow with blueberries in the front.

Oak leaves in the meadow.

Oak leaves in the meadow.

We were busy during the first part of last week. We had Tabor and his high school friends and their wives here. On Monday we drove around Potter County to see some of the local attractions. We went out to The Sticky Bucket in Sabinsville and toured their facility. They are one of the nicest maple syrup producers in the area.

Some of Tabor's group hanging around at the Patterson house.

At the Sticky Bucket.

From there we went to a few of the Amish businesses. We stopped at the bulk food store on Fox Hill and then went on to Double E Outdoor Goods in West Bingham. The best part of that for me was driving the backroads on a gorgeous fall day. Later, they went down to the Rigas house where Stacey works and she gave them a tour of the home.

In the empty indoor pool at the Rigas house.

That evening, everyone gathered at our house for dinner. Sarah supplied most of the meal, which was made from our own ingredients—a pork roast from our pig, squash and sausage casserole, green bean and wax bean mix. Stacey made apple pies for dessert. Miriam made bread and brownies (before she left last week). It was a delicious meal and excellent company.

Dinner with Tabor's gang.

 

We didn't see Tabor's group again. They left on Tuesday morning to go up to Niagara Falls and do some exploring in that area. They stayed up there that night, and then most of them flew out of the Buffalo Airport on Wednesday morning.

Rachel and Iris at Niagara Falls.

I also had places to go on Tuesday, but I didn't have to leave until 10:00, so I had a little time in the morning. I decided to use that time to start making up my Winter Reading List. We have a lot of books in our house. I've read many of them, but there are a lot that I haven't read yet. I went from shelf to shelf looking over the titles on the spines, hoping for a flash of inspiration. What happened instead was that my perusal turned into a trip through time.

Various bookshelves in the house.

And more.

I am a collector of books. When I acquire them and read them (eventually), I usually keep them forever. Very seldom do I get rid of a book, even a book I know I'll never read again. As I wandered among the titles that morning, I realized that while most people hang pictures on their walls, I decorate with books. They might not be beautiful in the way that art is, but they have a particular and complex beauty of their own. Behind the visible spines are the pages that contain stories, histories, biographies, maps, and memories. While scanning the titles, memories of my time spent with each book returned to me. It was like looking through a photo album, except that the images were internal. I remembered where I was when I read them, what my circumstances were. I remembered the stories, the characters, the events contained in them. 

That morning, when I came upon a book I hadn't read yet, I pondered on it a moment. What did I already know about it? Would the subject or the genre appeal to me in the depths of winter? What adventures did it promise? Sometimes I took the book off the shelf and examined it. I tested its weight. I ruffled the pages and inhaled it. If it had a dust jacket, I read a little of the summary on the inside flap or looked at the author's photo and biography. I looked at the title page. If it stirred my interest, I wrote the title down on my Consideration List. That list will change over the next weeks. Books will be added, some will drop off. I love this process. I stretch it out over weeks. I'll do some online investigating for recommendations and make a trip or two to the library before anything begins to firm up. After two hours of roaming through my library that morning, I only had a few books on the Consideration List. More will follow.

I left the house at 10:00 and went first to deliver eggs to Donna, the yoga instructor, at the Wellness Center by the hospital. We haven't done yoga in a long time, but Donna became our friend and she buys eggs from us. From there, I went to the chiropractor. I went for an adjustment and to talk to Dr. Fink about my latest blood test. The adjustment was wonderful. Being the son of a chiropractor, I grew up getting adjustments from my father regularly all through my childhood. That continued for me and for my children until we moved away. I don't get adjustments very often now. My father gave them to us for free and Dr. Fink doesn't. After the adjustment, I sat with him and we discussed my blood test results and some new strategies for fighting this cancer. We'll see what happens.

From there, I drove out to Bingham Center to pick up Ervin, our Amish friend. He was coming to our house to look at our chimney problem. He asked if I could also drop his wife and children off at his brother's house on our way, so I got to transport his wife, Clair, and their three cute little children. After dropping them off, we came here to the house. Ervin looked up at the tangled mess of chicken wire and bird's nest clogging the top of our very tall chimney. He determined that the chimney was too tall to reach by climbing onto the roof. He thought the only solution would be to rent a lift. He suggested two places where we could do that and said he would come and operate it for us. That was good because there was no way I was ever going up in one of those things. I took Ervin back to his brother's house, where we picked up his family. He asked if we could stop at the feed store near his house so he could buy some pig and chicken food. After that, I took them all home. It was nice to spend an hour or two driving around with Ervin. It was especially nice because it was a beautiful day and the backroads we traveled were gorgeous.

Coming back from Ervin's over Whitney Hill.

On Wednesday, our perfect fall weather continued. I can't remember the last time we had such a long stretch of perfect fall weather. I didn't do much in the garden that day. I watered the bed where I planted winter lettuce seeds. Then I just sat in the sunshine and read. After all the work the garden requires during the growing season, I feel I deserve days here at the end when I can lounge around.

Tabor's friends all flew out of Buffalo on Wednesday morning and Tabor and Rachel came back here. They stopped here for lunch, and then Rachel and Hannah headed back down to the Thayns' house. Tabor stayed up here for a few days to go hunting. He stayed over at the Fosters' house because it's right by the woods. With Hannah gone now, Stacey and I were the only ones here from Wednesday afternoon on. Miriam and Hannah will be home later tonight.

I had a haircut appointment on Thursday. I like getting my hair cut. I've been going to Dawn for almost twenty years now. We always have a great chat while she works. When I got home from that, it was 70° outside. We've been having great weather, but 70° is way beyond great for the last week of October.  According to the forecast, there won't be another day like that this year. I went out to try and find something to do in the garden. There wasn't much. I found a big thistle growing in the long border and pulled it out. I walked the gardens here and next door and felt happy that there wasn't anything I needed to do, but also sad that there wasn't anything either. 

While I was next door, I visited the guinea flock. They greeted me with their usual high decibel hello. I can't tell if it's a friendly noise or a hostile noise. What ever it is, it's very loud. From there I went down to my chicken coop. I have a little hen that I'm worried about. She has a condition called wry neck. She twists her head at an odd angle. There are several possible reasons for it. She might have a vitamin E deficiency, or it might be from an injury, or a virus. She doesn't seem sick and wry neck isn't contagious. She looks like she needs a visit to the chiropractor. I don't think chiropractors treat chickens, although back when my father had his practice, he treated a dog that was paralyzed from being hit by a car and cured it. Even so, I'm not taking my hen to see Dr. Fink. I'll just keep a close eye on her for the time being.

Friday morning I had a dental appointment. It was just a regular cleaning, but I was nervous nevertheless. I've never not been nervous at the dentist. I do like having clean teeth, so it's worth the stress.

My big task on Friday was getting the chimney cleaned out. After his initial assessment on Tuesday, Ervin called to say he wanted to try using his 32' extension ladder to get to the top of the chimney and clean out the mess. I drove out on Friday afternoon and picked up him and his long ladder. We came here and he set up the ladder and climbed up. I had a knot in my stomach just watching him. With a bit of effort, he managed to pull out the bird's nest and the chicken wire. That done, we loaded the ladder back on the truck. 

Ervin up on the ladder.

I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon driving him around. He wanted to go out to Brenneman's store on Fox Hill and get some apples. As we drove out there, I told him that I'm actually related to the Brennemans. My third great-grandmother was Catherine Brenneman Ayle. She and her husband were Mennonites. Ervin thought that was interesting, but he said there are a lot of Brennemans. It's one of the bigger Amish/Mennonite families. From the store we drove over to his brother Amos's metal shop where he had some business to attend to. Then we drove to his father's farm to pick up some milk. By then, school was letting out, so we stopped at the Amish school on Musto Hollow Road and picked up his three oldest children. Then I took them all back to their house. It was a fun afternoon. I like talking to Ervin. We discussed a lot of things—apples, pigs, raising turkeys, gardening, and other vital subjects. I told Ervin that if he ever needs transportation, he should give me a call and if I'm available, I'd be glad to drive him around.

The Amish school on Musto Hollow Road.

So the chimney is unblocked. When I got home that afternoon, I built a fire in the woodstove right away. It felt good to have it lit and warming the house again.

The woodstove lit again.

On Friday evening, Stacey and I went to the movies. The Coudersport theater was showing the classic black and white horror movie Night of the Living Dead (1968) for the Halloween weekend. I'd seen it twice before, the first time when it was broadcast on TV sometime in the 1980s, and then later when it came out on VHS. Friday was the first time I got to watch it on the big screen. It's pretty dated as far as horror movies go. They've far surpassed it in gore and scare level, but it still has some moments.

Colorful blackberry leaves.

Saturday, on the last day of the month, it felt like October again. The warm weather was gone. It was sunny, but chilly. I managed to find some horticultural activities to keep me busy. I spent an hour in the woodshed preparing the gladiolus corms I pulled last week for storage. I trimmed off the stems and the roots. I have them curing on warming pads. When they are nice and dry, I'll pack them in sawdust and put them down in the cellar where they will sit until late May when it's time to plant them again. I made a mess while doing that, so I spent some time tidying the woodshed.

Glad corms curing in the woodshed.

Next, it was time to put out the bird feeders. I took them down several months ago to curtail a chipmunk invasion. I haven't seen a chipmunk since then, and I missed watching the birds, so I hung them back up and filled them with sunflower seeds. I know the chipmunks will be back, but I need to see birds. They bring me a lot of happiness during the cold months. I've been watching to see which birds will discover that the feeders are there again. It's usually the chickadees. Once they announce it, there will be all sorts of finches, sparrows, nuthatches, doves, jays, and juncos. If we're lucky, we'll get some evening grosbeaks and cardinals. Seeing cardinals in winter is one of my great seasonal delights.

Next, I mowed. It was almost entirely leaves. The grass isn't growing anymore. And this time it really was the last time. I refuse to mow once November is here—and it's here.

While I was doing all of that, Stacey was at work in the kitchen. She spent the day processing potatoes and apples. We've been working at the potatoes for weeks now, peeling, boiling, mashing, and freeze-drying them, but there were still a lot of them on the back porch. Stacey processed about forty pounds that day. She made two shepherd's pies and also trays of mashed potatoes for freeze-drying. There are at least a hundred and fifty pounds still to process. Apples were easier. I picked two buckets of my King of Tompkins County apples for her last week. She turned them into seven quarts of pie filling that she canned and a pie for dinner.

Seven quarts of apple pie filling.

Shepherds pies and apple pie.

Later in the afternoon, I took a walk up the road to enjoy the larch trees. They are at their best now. Along with the last of the oak trees, they are the brightest bit of fall color remaining. I walked up and across the Gold intersection where highway 49 and 449 cross, then down along the beaver pond, and back to the house through the meadow. The last day of October was picture perfect.

The larches of Gold with oak trees.

The beaver pond.

Home through the meadow with blueberry bushes.

Since this is Fast Sunday, we had the Shilligs over for a late lunch to begin our fast. We had that shepherd's pie and apple pie that Stacey made. After we ate, I resumed working outdoors. I decided I couldn't put off cleaning the barn anymore. I worked first in the upper part sweeping up dust from the floor and cobwebs from the rafters. Then I went down into the coop. I closed most of the windows and swept down the walls and even more cobwebs from the rafters down there. The spiders are gone now, so there shouldn't be any new webs until the warm days come next year.

When I came back into the house in the late afternoon, I heard a scratching noise in the stovepipe in the living room. I knew right away what it was. Just one day after unclogging the chimney, a starling was down it already. I followed the usual routine. I closed the doors to the upstairs and our bedroom downstairs. I opened the front door, and then opened the door on the woodstove. The starling flew out and went right out the front door. I spent the next hour fitting a piece of chicken wire into the horizontal piece where the stovepipe meets the vertical chimney. It will let smoke through and keep the starlings out. If they come down the chimney, they can either fly back the way they came down, or they can die in the bottom of the chimney and we can dispose of their remains by opening the cleaning hole. I think this method will stop the starling invasion one way or the other. 

The junction where the chicken wire is. The bottom opens to let out the bird, dead or alive.

Being the last day of October, I thought it fitting to end the day and the month with a fire ritual. First I burned the leaves along the bank of the road and front yard. That should be the end of dealing with leaves now. Then I went out to the edge of the orchard and lit the big burn pile. It went up quickly because it's been so dry. As it died down, the sun was setting and it was getting cold. I bid farewell to October and went inside.

Burning leaves along the road.

The end of October bonfire.

I kind of forgot that it was Halloween. We're in the boondocks and don't get any trick-or-treaters. We used to buy candy, pretending that we needed it on hand just in case, but ended up eating it ourselves while we watched a scary movie. This year, we didn't buy any candy. I can't eat it and no one else should. With Miriam and Hannah gone, we didn't feel inclined to watch a scary movie. We ended up watching a couple of episodes of The Twilight Zone. We even forgot to light the jack-o'-lanterns on the front porch steps. I guess we're pretty boring. Or forgetful. Or both.

We turned the clocks back an hour last night. This morning I woke up at my usual body-clock time of 5:30 which was now 4:30. I forced myself to go back to sleep, but only made it a half hour. I wish they would get rid of this time change. Every year they talk about it and nothing ever happens. I will feel off-kilter for a week before I adjust to the change.

The first morning of November was cold and frosty. It was 29° at sunrise, which is now at 6:44. The sunshine looked a lot warmer than it actually was. I went to the kitchen window at first  light to see if any birds had discovered the feeders. The first to show up were three blue jays and a starling. I bet that starling is the one who thinks it wants to come down our chimney. The jays were furtive, thinking they needed to steal the seeds. They are beautiful birds. There is something about the color blue in birds and flowers that I find especially appealing. It is one of the rarest colors in nature. The feathers of blue jays  are not actually blue. Their color comes from the structure of the feathers which scatters light in a way that makes them appear blue. I love to grow blue flowers in my garden. I grow cornflowers, delphiniums, forget-me-nots, and muscari. I try to grow Heavenly Blue morning glories, but as you know from previous journal entries this summer, that didn't work out too well. I'll try again next year. The next time I checked the feeders, there were red-winged blackbirds and sparrows—and the peacock. He likes to eat the seeds the birds spill onto the ground. I think not many people get peacocks at their bird feeders.

At church today there were only fifteen of us. A lot of people are out of town, some are unwell. But for those of us who were there, the meetings were good. I thought with so few people, our testimony meeting would end early, but we didn't. Our Sunday School discussion of Jeremiah and Lamentations was good. I love the book of Lamentations. Its poetic gloominess appeals to me. It seems like a November sort of book. We are home now. Lunch is almost ready. Miriam and Hannah will be home later in the evening. And then off we go into the month of November.

Bright Blue Weather

All week long we had some of that famous October bright blue weather that Helen Hunt Jackson poeticized about.

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather.

She goes on for seven more stanzas extolling the beauties of the month. She is right: when the weather cooperates, October is a beautiful month. But I would not go as far as she does in saying it cannot rival June. I much prefer June to October. June is a growing month full of the finest garden days of the year. It is followed by July with more growth and warmth. October is a declining month. Its beauty is based on decay, is usually brief, and it's followed by winter and long weeks of cold. But last week, October gave us some glorious days.

Frosty Monday morning.

Monday, as soon as the frost was gone, I worked all day in the garden. It was sunny and breezy and in the high 60s—about as nice a day as we get in October. I borrowed Kurt's electric hedge trimmer and cut down all the tall, dead plants in the flowerbeds—phlox, coneflowers, black-eyed Susans—and the tall weeds around the lily pond. Then I mowed. I keep saying each time I mow that it is the last time, but the leaves keep falling, and I keep mowing them up. I'll probably have to mow again this week—for the last time.

The lettuce seeds I ordered arrived in Monday's mail. I went out right away and planted some in the hoop house where the tomatoes used to be. I planted three varieties—Buttercrunch, Winter Wonderland, and Parris Island Kos. I've never had much luck growing winter lettuce in the past, but back then I didn't have a hoop house where they will be protected from the worst of the cold. I'm hoping for success this time. We shall see.

Miriam was in school that day. When she got home, we took Kurt's truck and drove to Rhoda Lent's farm on Sweden Hill and picked up ten bales of straw. We had a nice visit with Rhoda while we were there. Back in the day when the Lents had a dairy herd, we bought our milk from them. Rhoda's farm is one of the nicest around. We brought the bales home and used them to make a wall around Miriam's beehive to block the wind that comes down the hill during the winter.

The winterized beehive.

Tuesday was as fine a day as Monday. Midmorning, Miriam and I took a drive over to Patterson's Maple Farm in Tioga County. Stacey is putting together a gift basket for the Rotary Club and she wanted some of their products—maple sugar, maple suckers, maple puffcorn, maple sugar candy, and maple glazed nuts. Patterson's is a big maple operation. They tap 85,000 trees. Our drive across Potter and Tioga Counties was beautiful. The trees are mostly done changing, but there are still vivid patches of color here and there.

That afternoon, I did a bit of burning. I raked the weeds that I'd cut down around the lily pond the day before into piles and reduced them to ash.

When I finished that, I picked apples. The King of Tompkins County tree is ripe. It's dropping fruit, and I didn't want any of it to go to waste. We had so little of it this year. First I picked what I could reach. Then I got the long-handled picker and kept going. The birds have been at the apples and a lot of them had holes pecked in them. Any apple that had holes also had yellow-jackets all over it. I managed to get two five-gallon buckets of reasonably good apples. I got two more buckets of bad apples that I tossed to the chickens.

Getting ready to pick apples.

My sad harvest.

On Wednesday, my main job was cleaning up the pavilion over on the Fosters' property. It's one of those places where people pile things and then forget about them. There is a bench along one side that had several years of accumulated stuff on it—bits of twine and rope, pieces of wire, broken plant clips, hoses with holes in them, plastic plant pots, and a lot of other junk. I sorted through it all, setting aside anything that was worth keeping and filled three big trash bags with the stuff that wasn't. There were things stashed under the bench too—pieces of lumber, some of it usable, a lot of it not, rolls of used plastic sheeting and landscape cloth—all in a hodgepodge heap. I organized it all. When I was done, the pavilion looked very tidy. Let's see how long that lasts.

The tidied pavilion.

Thursday morning was the coldest of the week. It was 19° at 5:30 when I got up. That's our first dip into the teens this season. The sunrise was frosty and very pretty. On my morning walk, I found there was a thin skim of ice on the beaver pond. Miriam was in school that day and I needed the car to run errands, so I dropped her off. As I was coming back home, the sun was coming up. I love the way the sunlight hits the top of the hills first and then the tops of the tallest trees. As the sun moves higher, the light seems to flow down the east-facing sides of the hills and into the ravines. There is still enough color in some of the trees that, when the light hits them, they glow against the general brownness.

Sunrise on Thursday.

Ice on the beaver pond.

Through the meadow on Thursday morning.

My first job of the day was rather mundane after all that morning glory. I had to make a trash run. I gathered all the trash in the house and then loaded it, plus the trash from my pavilion cleaning, into the car. Driving around on such a bright morning was delightful. When I got home again, I waited for it to warm up outside. While I waited, I worked on the computer and listened to music. That has become my daily routine now. The frost didn't melt until 10:00 and that gave me several hours to work. My music that morning was Chopin. I listened to the mazurkas, all fifty-eight of them. My journal transcription had reached 1997 by then. We were living in Frazier Park, and I was commuting two hours to work, sometimes with a broken ankle and a car with a manual transmission. I wrote that I had to scream every time I pushed the clutch with that broken foot. What times those were!

I got a phone call midmorning saying that Tosh was next door and there was a skunk in the live trap they'd set by their chicken yard. Tosh didn't know how to deal with it, so I took care of it. I took over a sheet and carefully covered the cage so as not to make it nervous. Then I loaded the covered cage into the back of the pickup truck and drove way up on Cobb Hill and let it go. I was lucky this was a very calm skunk. I've had them spray before when letting them out of the trap. This one just moseyed away.

Removing the skunk.

When I got back from skunk duty, I went back in the house and worked on my journals some more. Once the temperature outside had warmed to 60°, I went out to find something to do. I'm actually running out of things to do in the garden, which feels odd. With this nice sunny weather, I've finished nearly everything I need to do, and now I have to find little extra tasks to keep busy. That afternoon, I pulled up all the gladiolus and set them in the woodshed to dry out before storing them for the winter. That was a quick job. When I finished that, I looked around for something else to do and couldn't see anything, so I just sat in the sunshine and surveyed my little domain, pondering on plans for next spring. I do have a few big jobs that still need to be done. The main one is cleaning and winterizing the barn and chicken coop. But it seemed like a waste of a warm and sunny day to be in the dusty barn, so I procrastinated. I'll do that this week. Maybe.

Thursday night was pumpkin carving night. I had twenty pumpkins sitting on the back porch stairs. Miriam and Hannah selected six of them and set up their carving station in the big room upstairs. The tradition is that they watch E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial while they carve because the movie takes place at Halloween. Stacey and I didn't carve, but we watched the movie. My love of E.T. goes all the way back to its premiere. I waited in line for several hours at the Pacific Cinerama Dome theater in Hollywood for the midnight showing on its opening day back in 1982. My friends and I played Uno on the sidewalk while we waited. I loved the movie then, and I still do. I don't know how many times I've seen it now. I cry at certain points during it every time I watch it. It also has the honor of being the first time I ever saw Stacey cry at a movie. It was 1984 and we were newly married. We watched a video of it and it made Stacey cry. Shilligs are not noted for making such emotional displays. I, on the other hand, am a famous movie weeper. I shed tears again on Thursday night. Miriam and Hannah did a great job carving their jack-o'-lanterns. They come up with some pretty creative designs. When they were done, we set them on the front porch stairs and lit them.

Carving time.

This year's jack-o'-lanterns.

Friday morning was frosty and foggy, a strange combination. The morning light on my walk was soft and pearly. It was 29° when I went out. I was wearing my hoodie. I should have worn a heavier coat. The freezing damp had me shivering in a matter of minutes. I had to walk fast and didn't stay out long.

Frosty, foggy Friday morning.

Pearly light over the beaver pond.

While it was still too cold out to work outside, I prepared to continue with my journal transcribing. I was also craving more Chopin, so first I opened my music files to find something to listen to. I got immediately sidetracked. I abandoned my journals and ended up spending the rest of the morning organizing my Chopin music files by opus number—and listening to them as I did it. It satisfied my need for the music and my love of organizing things at the same time. My love for Chopin began way back in my teenage years. I first encountered him while exploring my parents' record collection, and became an instant devotee. When I started collecting my own records, I acquired a lot of Chopin. He appealed to my angsty teenage mentality. His music, sometimes bold and turbulent, sometimes tender and romantic, made me feel like a rebel in a very safe way. While my friends were listening to things like Kiss and Blue Oyster Cult, I was down in my basement bedroom with Chopin and my headphones, swallowed up in the beauty of it. The first time I remember a piece of music moving me to tears was when I was listening to Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor. I don't remember exactly why it moved me so deeply—probably some moody fourteen-year old episode I was going through—just that it did. It still does. Chopin has always been in my list of top ten composers, usually right near the top. I took a look back through these blogs and found that I've mentioned Chopin twenty-one times in the last ten years. After Bach, he gets the most attention, followed by Mozart, and then Vaughan Williams. Those four composers pretty much define my taste and temperament.

 

Chopin.

The afternoon, once it warmed a little, turned out to be another bright blue, perfect October day. I went out and wandered around the property for a while. I spent some time down with the chickens making mental notes on what I need to do to prepare for winter. Then I came up to the orchard, picked a perfect apple, and sat in the sunshine to eat it. What more could you ask for on such a day?

Saturday was busy, as it usually is. It was instilled in me from an early age that the house needed to be clean for the Sabbath. This belief was reinforced by the song we learned in Primary that taught us that:

Saturday is a special day.

 It's the day we get ready for Sunday:

We clean the house, and we shop at the store,

So we won't have to work until Monday.

We brush our clothes, and we shine our shoes,

And we call it the get-the-work-done day.

Then we trim our nails, and we shampoo our hair,

So we can be ready for Sunday.

I feel like I've spent most of my Saturdays cleaning the house. I actually like cleaning the house. Maybe I should say, I like having a clean house, therefore, I clean. Cleaning in our house is usually accompanied by music, and the music most often chosen is big-band music. I think the energy of it provides fuel for all the sweeping, dusting, mopping, laundry, etc. It's hard to sit still when the house is full of that music. You just direct the motion to some task and away you go. So I put on a long queue of music starting with Benny Goodman and moving on through Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, and the other greats, and grabbed a broom.

Saturday evening, when all the work was done and the day was growing dark, I turned off the big-band music and went back to Chopin. I was the only one home at the time. Miriam has gone down to the Thayns and will be there for a week. Stacey and Hannah were down at the firehall in Ulysses helping at a memorial service. In an empty and tidy house on a twilit Saturday evening, Chopin seemed the perfect way to wind down the day and the week. I put on the two piano concertos and sat in my bedroom in the dark with no other distractions and let the music engulf me. I closed my eyes and imagined, as I often do, that I was the one playing the piano. It was pure fantasy. My piano abilities are very weak, but my imagination is strong.

I once read about Acquired Savant Syndrome, where a brain injury results in a person suddenly speaking a different language perfectly, becoming a math genius, or becoming an accomplished pianist. One of the most famous of these is Derek Amato, who dove into a shallow swimming pool and suffered a severe concussion. He slept for five days, and when he woke up, he was a piano savant. I'm not saying that I wish I had a traumatic brain injury, but if I ever did, it would be nice if it resulted in my becoming a piano prodigy. I would love to be able to play Chopin or Bach.

This morning I watched the full moon set and the sun rise in a clear blue sky. The moon was bright and the sun was brighter. It was cold and frosty, but the light was beautiful. After I was ready for church, I sat by the furnace grate and reviewed my Sunday School and Elders Quorum lessons. I was so warm and comfortable that I dozed off again. I woke up fifteen minutes later and couldn't remember why I was sleeping in a chair.

Church today was good. We had guest speakers in sacrament meeting, a temple missionary couple from Palmyra. Our attendance was good. That was because Tabor and Rachel are here with a group of Tabor's high school friends. Tabor's group gets together every year and this year it was Tabor's turn to be the host, so he decided to have them come to Potter County. They arrived last night and will be here until Tuesday. They are staying down at the Patterson house. After church this morning, that group left to drive up to Palmyra to tour the Church History sites. They have things planned for tomorrow. I might tag along with them.

So we are home. It's just Stacey, Hannah, and I with Miriam gone. Lunch is warming in the oven. It's another gorgeous autumn day. It looks like this weather will continue through the week ahead—cold nights and mild days. I have appointments three days this week, to the chiropractor on Tuesday, a haircut on Thursday, and the dentist on Friday. I have a few last projects to fit in around those appointments, mainly getting the barn ready for winter. And through it all, I will revel in this bright blue weather as October comes to its end.

A Time for Last Things

All week I worked on things with the idea, or perhaps the hope, that it would be the last time I did them for the season, the year, or maybe forever.

I wrote last week that we started putting up the outdoor Christmas lights. We put up what I could find, but I knew there were more somewhere. On Monday, I searched the woodshed and found another box of them. I put these up around the back porch and strung them along the top of the chicken-yard fence. Now the outdoor lights are done and waiting to be turned on after Thanksgiving.

Tuesday was a big 'last-things' day. It was a gorgeous fall day. It was windy and 80°. I felt sure that it would be the last time this year that we'd have a day like that. It was so warm, I came in and changed from my heavy work overalls to a pair of shorts, the last time I'll be able to do that this year, no doubt.

We had a lot of things going on that day. I took advantage of the beautiful weather to work in the yard and garden all day. I weed-whacked around the overgrown edges of everything. I cleaned out the hosta beds at the front of the house and cut down the nettle patch along the side of the woodshed. I put away garden furniture and tools. Those were all 'last-time-this-season' jobs. Then I mowed up leaves off the lawn. That was an 'I-hope-it's-the-last-time-but-it-probably-isn't' job. 

Hannah spent hours in the afternoon and evening power washing the outside of the house for the last time this year. She likes to power wash and I'm glad, because I don't. She got most of it done, but she ran out of daylight. That was the only chance she had to do that, so it will have to remain unfinished. I'm glad she got done what she did. The house looks good.

Hannah power washing the front porch.

That afternoon, Miriam winterized her beehive. That was a 'first-and-last-time' activity. This is the first year she's had bees, so it's her first time winterizing. And it was the last time she'll open the hive until next spring. She took the other dead hive, disassembled it, and put it in storage in the barn. She doesn't like that style of hive and doesn't plan on using it ever again, so that was a 'last-time-forever' job.

Miriam winterizing her hive.

Late in the afternoon, when all my work was done, I sat in the garden and let myself relax. I sometimes forget to do that. My garden isn't all work. I do love the work, but my reason for it all is so that I can just enjoy being in it and doing nothing sometimes. So I sat in my favorite seat in the vegetable garden and watched the world for a while. It was windy. There were leaves whirling through the air at times. The vegetable beds were tidy, the pathways clean. The sun was warm and the sky was blue with white clouds moving quickly across it. There was nothing I needed to do, nothing requiring my attention. I listened for birds. The only ones I heard were crows far away making a ruckus over something. Everything looked beautiful in the long afternoon light, but also tinged with that autumnal melancholy I've always loved. I immersed myself in the moment and let my mind go blank. I don't know how long I sat there. It seemed ages. As the light waned, a thought popped into my head. It was a line from one of Shakespeare's sonnets that I'd listened to the day before. I don't have it memorized even though it is one of my favorites. It seemed to fit the moment.

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all the rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

When I was done with my meditation, I folded up my garden seat and put it away for the winter.

As the season winds down and the main display of fall leaves is done, most of the color in the world fades away. That's when I especially notice every pop of brightness that remains. All through the garden and at the edges of the property, there are surprising splashes of color. Along the roadsides, the sumacs are at their best now. They glow with incandescent colors against the dull fields behind them.

Pops of color around the yard. Top: honeysuckle, blackberry leaves, burning bush.
Middle: blueberry bush, witch hazel, American hazel.
Bottom: poke stems, late wallflowers, asparagus berries.

Roadside sumac near Genesee.

On Wednesday the world reverted back to more typical October weather. The day began with a beautiful sunrise, but, "Red in the morning…" usually proves true, so I knew rain was coming. After dropping Miriam off at school, I had errands to run up in Wellsville. By the time I got home, the morning was gone, and it was raining.

My morning walk on Wednesday: the swing.

My morning walk on Wednesday: the beaver pond.

My morning walk on Wednesday: almost home as the colors start to fade.

Because it was too damp to do anything outside, I worked on my journal transcription project. I'm working through my 1995 and 1996 journals now. In one of the entries, I wrote that I was listening to Aaron Copland's Sonata for Violin and Piano and how much I loved it. I realized as I transcribed it that I hadn't heard that piece of music since the day I wrote that thirty-one years ago. I love Copland's music and own recordings of most of it, but not that piece. I went to YouTube and found a performance of it with Aaron Copland playing the piano and Isaac Stern on the violin. I stopped what I was doing and sat and listened. It fit the mood of the day perfectly. After that, I went on a Copland binge for the rest of the morning—Billy the Kid, Appalachian Spring, Rodeo, Our Town, The Red Pony, and other wonderful music.

Thursday was feed-buying day. I used to buy my chicken feed from the big chain stores, Tractor Supply or Runnings, but there is a family-owned feed store in Coudersport, and I switched to buying from them. They are a bit more expensive, but the quality of their feed is as good or better, and I like supporting local businesses. So, after dropping Miriam off at school, I headed into town. I usually like to begin stockpiling feed around this time of year. As we approach winter, I feel safer with a big supply on hand, just in case. It's the squirrel syndrome. I bought 200 pounds of feed and a hundred pounds of scratch. When I got home, I hauled it all to the barn and put it in buckets. That won't be the last time I buy feed this year. I will continue to buy a couple hundred pounds every two weeks until all my feed buckets are full.

Unloading chicken feed.

While I was in town, I stopped at the metal shop and picked up the bell we had them restore. The bell was on a post on the Fosters' property next door, and it was in bad shape. It was corroded and had lichens growing on it. Its clapper had fallen off. We took it to the metal shop in Coudersport and had them sandblast, powder-coat it, and fix the clapper. We had it powder-coated gold, of course. It looks nice. Now we have to figure out where to put it.

The restored bell.

When I got home, it was drizzling, which prevented me from working outdoors. I spent the next few hours processing pumpkins while working on my journals. I had ten pumpkins that needed to be done. One by one, through the day, I steamed, gutted, mashed, and froze them. By the end of the day I'd only processed five, and I was tired of pumpkins. But I'm also thankful that we had such a plentiful harvest this year.

Finally at 2:30 p.m., the sun broke through and I left my pumpkins and computer and went outside. There is a weedy patch on the property line between our house and the Shilligs', just behind my vegetable garden. It is made up mostly of sunchokes mixed with goldenrod, wild raspberries, and pokeweed. It is overgrown and unkempt, and I was tired of it, so I spent the rest of the afternoon ripping it out. Of all the garden mistakes I've made, introducing sunchokes (also known as Jerusalem artichokes, although they are not in any way related to artichokes and have nothing to do with the Holy Land) to the property is my greatest regret. I planted a handful of them more than twenty years ago as a food crop. We didn't like how they tasted (they taste like dirt and give you horrendous gas) and we do not eat them. Over the years, they have spread all over the property. They are almost impossible to eradicate. I'm determined to wipe out this particular patch. On Thursday, I began phase one of my sunchoke eradication project. I pulled up what I could. That took me until dinnertime. Phase two would have to wait for Friday.

Phase two of Project Choke-Out-the-Sunchokes was supposed to take place on Friday, but the weather did not allow it. It rained all day. I wasn't happy that my plans were thwarted. I went back to processing pumpkins, resumed my journal project, and put on some Stravinsky. He seemed to be the composer most suited to my mood. I started with The Firebird, moved on through Petrushka, and finished with The Rite of Spring. It was cathartic. I processed the rest of the pumpkins—a 'last-time-for-the-year' project completed.

Miriam and I drove out to the Amish bulk food store on Fox Hill in the afternoon. We were surprised to see a field of what looks like rapeseed blooming along the Rooks Road. It was nice to see the bright yellow flowers on such a gloomy day. They must have planted it as a cover crop. It will not have time to produce mature seeds before cold weather comes.

 

A field of yellow on a gray day.

We had our traditional fabulous Friday pizza à la Hannah dinner. The Fosters and Kurt joined us. After dinner, Stacey and I went to the movies. We saw Heart of the Beast. I am not a fan of dog movies, but I thought this one was great. It was filmed in Alaska and the scenery was beautiful.

Saturday morning, Stacey, Hannah, and Julie left to attend a Relief Society activity in Jamestown. After they were gone, I puttered around waiting for the sun to break through the morning clouds and the day to warm a little. It was 32°. I watered my houseplants. I switched over a load of laundry. Then I looked out the window and saw that it was snowing. I cringed. I knew it wouldn't stick. It only lasted about ten minutes. But still, it was snow. I'm not ready for snow.

You can't see it very clearly, but it is snowing.

It didn't warm up much through the day, but the sun broke through finally around 10:00 and I put on my grubby garden hoodie and my work gloves and went out. My main goal was to finish my sunchoke project. I attacked what was left in that patch with my sickle and cut everything to ground level. Then Kurt came with his tractor. He hauled away the piles of debris I'd made, removed a large pile of rocks, and then tilled the area. Looking over the cleared ground, I decided to plant more blueberry bushes there. I already have a row of eight bushes across that part of the yard. I will extend that row and add another eight bushes. I can't plant until spring, but I can get the ground ready. I had Kurt dump pine wood chips there and then I raked them out. It looks good. It's done and now we'll wait for spring.

That weedy jungle on the right is the sunchoke patch.

Partway through the project, lots of piles.

Project complete, everything tidy.

It was 22° when I got up this morning. After reluctantly crawling out of my warm bed, I went to the living room and stood over the furnace grate for a few minutes. It felt like a January morning, not mid-October. A snow flurry on Saturday morning and now this bitter cold on Sunday—I hope this isn't an indication of what winter has in store for us. I took a very hot shower and dressed for church. By then, the sun was rising. I looked out the windows and saw a world white with frost. It all went away as soon as the sun came up.

Church was good today, but attendance was light. I enjoyed the drive to and from Wellsville. Most of the maples on the hills are done, but there are still some very pretty areas. The oaks with their smoky reds and oranges, and the larches with their butterscotch yellow are starting to turn now. I'm sitting here waiting for lunch and thinking about all the things I want to accomplish in the week ahead. My list of projects is getting shorter, but there is always something to do. The weather looks like it will be reasonable all week. I think I'll tackle cleaning the pavilion. It gets cluttered over the summer and I like things to be tidy for the winter. There are other things to consider, like making room to store the Cub Cadet for the winter. I need to do one more big barn cleaning and winterize it before the cold weather settles in. And there are more leaves to mow, blow, or burn. That's plenty to keep me busy, and when I'm busy, I'm happy.