Winter: Made in Summer

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Tomatoes,

still bubbling hot in their jars, cool on the a checkered dishtowel.

The red is a sight to excite the eyes in the hot dragging days of late summer.

I love canning.

It gives a sense of accomplishment––lifting the jars from the boiling water and setting them to cool. I know they will make good meals in the winter ahead.

They will be labeled and sit in the pantry shelves waiting for a soup recipe or a spaghetti sauce I want to make.

They will still taste of summer and garden and long sunny happy days even in February when I am weary of winter.

So today, I peel tomatoes and load them into jars with a slurp and a few drips (and a half teaspoon of salt). Come winter, they will be waiting––and so good!

The Old Farm

The old farm fades with yellow at the end of a hot summer. Sunflowers grow up in the fences and sneeze weed takes the pasture. Butterflies, bumblebees, cicadas, ants, honey bees, spiders, dragonflies and horseflies hover, zip, crawl, fly, buzz, and hum the moisture from the prarie grasses and wildflowers. The horses and cows graze peacefully flapping their tails at insects and ignoring the blazing sun. Farmers fill their tractors with fuel and cut and rake hay with sweaty bandanas wrapped ’round their dry throats. The bales are stacked along the north fence and firewood is split and stacked against the seeming impossibility of a coming cold snowy blowy wet harsh winter. No one on the old farm really expects the yellow will change to brown and then to white––at least not any time soon.

I Love Light

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I Love Light

I love the way sun slants into my house through the front windows as the sun rises.

I love the way it falls across the books on the bookcases in my livingroom and how it drifts silently and sweetly across the designs on my bed quilt. I love how a breeze touches the curtains and makes the lights and shadows shiver and shimmer like the surface of a pond when the wind ripples the sky’s blue reflection.

I love light when it falls on a summer rose in a bud vase or over a bouquet full of blooms–– a mixture of bright colors and whites like these.

I love the shadows and lines of light that fall in around and through the blinds and sheers. The straight patterns beside the flowing, curving, and fluted ones give me delight.

Yes, “delight,” which sounds like “no light” or unlit, but instead says joy.

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Frosty Letters

Frost edges every blade of grass;
Freezes it into a fairyland of white,
But the oak is only beginning to drop her sculpted leaves
Drop them like handwritten letters from spring
When they first popped from buds and began growing,
When they loaded the tree with leathery green
From summer when they shaded the children playing,
When a circle of day lilies circled the tree,
From autumn when they flew like flags
When we first noticed them begin to turn brown
When they rattled and fluttered and shook in the wind.
Frost trims each letter in fragile lace
Each letter has a message to deliver to winter
A letter of seasons and hope, change, and promise.

Appealing Fruit

 

“If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” Carl Sagan


 

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Lattice top pie made from ingredients provided by the inventor of the universe.

 

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This blue bowl was shaped and crafted by a trained potter. This apple was shaped and handcrafted by the original potter.

 

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“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Why don’t doctors like apples?

 

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“It wasn’t an apple from the tree that caused the trouble in the Garden of Eden; it was the pair on the ground.” unknown

 

“Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the number of apples in a seed.” Robert H. Schuller

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“Just when we are certain we have seen everything wonderful in the world, God surprises us!”  c.e.hollis

 

 



 

 

 

 

A New Season

d65e7-grapesandcountrysidejourney170Today the wind is blowing and the wind chimes clang so loud their music has turned into racket. I may have to go take them down and lay them across the porch swing seat for a day or two. The wind is gusty and it is the kind that comes from the south in the morning, then seems to come from the east, later from the north, and then brings cold from the northwest.

So begins a new season––our autumn is coming to us. Our summer has overstepped it’s boundaries and the themometer on the porch reads eighty degrees even today. Tomorrow is forecast sunny with a high of  seventy.

Change of season, like all change, seems to come suddenly even when behind schedule, even when past due. We expect it and watch for it, dread it and then long for it. Finally––we open hearts to it and hug it to us joyfully.

I walked out among the peacn trees this morning and saw it is nearly time for the shucks to dry and begin splitting. Soon the ground will be littered with pecans and we’ll be filling buckets and baskets with the treasure. Our mama cows are delivering  three new calves to us this fall. Autumn comes and always makes us feel rich indeed.