To write about the anticipation of spring and the celebration of summer is easy- there is momentum and energy carrying the words forward. 

The letting go in autumn is harder to summon words for.  

In living in harmony with the seasons we are invited to embrace both the light and the dark, activity and dormancy, warmth and cold, outwardly expanding and turning inward. 

Not to cling to one and reject another - but to be open to all manifestations of the seasons, with all of the moods that accompany them. 

This is truly living, no?

So this is the moment we are in. 

 Porch swings are taken down and gardens are cleaned out. 

The sun has turned a warm golden - losing the glaring intensity of summer - softening. 

  

Laundry is hung inside now. Wood is stacked.

We begin to come in. 

 Projects forgotten since last winter are remembered.  

A half-knitted scarf is picked up. An old book is rediscovered. 

Wood stoves and candles are lit. 

And now when the sun is shining and the wind is down, 
a walk in the fallen leaves is exhilarating
 - and coming in to a mug of warm tea feels just right.

~ j

Every Wednesday morning I drive my son Caleb 
to our local CSA farm so he can pull weeds and harvest veggies. 

This he does grudgingly as a barter for our weekly share of veggies. 
We head out around 7:30am, bleary-eyed, a cup of coffee under our belts.

I smile as we head down our hill. 

 Brooklyn Valley rests at the bottom of our hill.  
It is green and lush on this mid-summer morning,
 and clouds of morning mist rise from the rolling hills 
reminiscent of Appalachia. 

Truly a postcard-picture with the small white church nestled 
in the nook of the valley and the red barn on 
the side of the hill surrounded by contently grazing cows.

Turning down County Rd 12 heading toward the farm, 
we drive through a small Amish community. 

 The first homestead is already awake: 
a small fire has been built outside and I spy 5 sheep lazing 
outside the worn barn, chewing contentedly, framed by the thin white smoke.

 An Amish man is carrying buckets to bring to his cows 
who are waiting eagerly in the adjoining field. 
He is dressed in customary blue, straw hat placed neatly on his thick hair, and he nods in friendly acknowledgement as we pass.  

I scan the roadside in anticipation as we near the bend up ahead.  

Every week on our journey to the farm we pass him, 
rain or shine, 
so I'm sure to be vigilant as we approach the curves.  

We rumble over the metal-deck bridge 
and I spy him just ahead: 
a boy of about 11 atop a beautiful black horse,
 galloping down the road with one hand behind him cowboy-style. 

My heart never fails to brighten at this sight. 

 I pass slowly and give him a wide girth.  
I can imagine how different his journey down this country road is from ours.  The misty morning air in his face, 
the smell of the woodsmoke from the fire down the road, 
the obvious joy of riding his companion -
 one hand lifted jauntily behind his back.  

What is it in me that is stirred- always -by this sight?  

It is not uncommon around these parts to hear 
the clip-clop of horses hooves or see a buggy pass by.  
In fact, it surely is a daily occurrence if traveling from point A to point B. 

Some say it is a reminder of simpler times, yes. 
But, I also believe it is something more. 

It stirs a memory of a past we have long forgotten
 but still hold on a cellular level. 
Deeply.
 In our very bones. 
It reminds us of all that we have lost in our quest for more. 

I drop Caleb off and drive back the way we came. 
 The boy is still galloping up the road and this time I am heading toward him. 
 I can see his wide smile as I rumble by (embarrassed) 
in my gas-guzzling Honda Pilot.
 He gives his horse's rump a little slap for effect and I hear him say "Haw!"

I thank him silently for the gift he unknowingly gives me every week. 

~ j

Back in April I wrote about tilling the garden - predicting that soon it would be overflowing with plants and weeds. Here we are in July our garden is full and lush! 

We eat veggies with our dinner fresh picked - and some we freeze for another day.  Summer greens and lettuces, fresh scallions, radishes and cucumbers are refreshing and light in the warmth of summer - a welcome treat.  Peas and beans are in abundance - the tender young peas lightly steamed with a dollop of butter and a dash of salt...(yum)!  

  
I am always moved by the unique beauty of each plant, and the packaging nature has provided.  I smile every time I unzip the sturdy jacket on the peas to reveal a row of perfectly formed little green circles.

I am still actively pursuing my weeding - row by row, day by day (every other day?). Happily, my goal is not to have a "perfectly" weeded garden (although they are lovely to look at in magazines). No - I just want to be able to see the rows, to see the individual veggie plants, and if there are a few weeds mixed in - well let them be. I call this the "Middle Path" of gardening!

The chickens are in full egg-laying-swing! We gather about 4 eggs a day and keep them on the counter until the basket overflows. 

 I've come to realize that eggs do not have to be refrigerated unless washed - in which case the protective coating is removed. I find the eggs are mostly clean when gathered - for the few that are not, they are washed and go in the fridge.

I am always moved and little surprised every time I uncover a smooth, warm egg left in the hay.

 "For me?!" I say to myself.  

"Thank you mama hen!" I say to her.

Mama Ethel is providing us with more milk as the babes are not nursing as frequently.  I freeze the milk immediately in mason jars and take them out as needed.  We are still drinking the milk raw and unpasteurized. 

"After dinner with the goats"  (as it has come to be known) is always an amusing time of day.  Most often when the goats are "let out" whoever is in the house at the time gathers on the lawn for the fun. Who can resist the attraction of romping baby goats?

Abundance comes in many forms. 

An evening walk in late July provides all the beauty a soul can hold.  

Sometimes the beauty of it all takes me aback, and my heart breaks a little - but then that is a gift too isn't it?

~ j

A walk in June

A Summer Day

"I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

~ Mary Oliver

~ j

Goats

Where do I begin?  
It has been quite an adventure with these three.  
Exploring adequate fencing, 
(we've had numerous escapes - putting my Tiger Lilies in grave danger)
trying to figure out feeding, 
getting used to the routine involved of tending to them twice a day.  

It has been altogether a quiet and pleasant event, the milking of Mama. 

Our milking stand is outside since there is no room in the small

 barn for anything other than 3 goats.

 I russel the kids into the barn with their bucket of feed, close the door and bring Mama Ethel onto the stand with her bucket of feed. 

This is quite the process: 

involving loud and chaotic "Maaing", 

jumping goats, 

and the pulling of baby goats off of me... 

...but once settled in Mama eats contentedly, 

and I can milk her.  

Goat tending is a work in progress - 

They came to us from a farm where 2 lifetime dairy 

farmers were their caretakers.  

 So I do appreciate their patience with us.

~ j

June is here.  The busyness of this month provides little time for writing. 

But a lot of good work! 

The garden is growing. I am the weeder. 
So I have been weeding. 

But weeding is work I enjoy! 

A friend of mine told me it's a power trip thing (and she is a farmer, so she would know!): deciding which plants stay and which go. Removing the roots with one fell pull, never to be heard from again! 

There is something oh-so-satisfiying about a freshly weeded row of veggies. Putting everything in order. 
Tidying up.

That empty plot of dirt has become green with growing things. 

Yummy things!

We have been enjoying fresh lettuces, chives, arugula, mizzuna, herbs. 

Nothing better, I tell you, then going out to the garden with a basket and picking your dinner. 

Coming up: peas, beans, beets, carrots, cukes, taters, squashes, pumpkins, corn, tomatoes, onions oh my!

How does your garden grow?

~ j

Tending... it's a lovely way to spend a day really. 

  A rhythm rising out of the day that feels comfortable and authentic. 

We tend to each other, to the land around us, and the gardens we hope to grow. We tend to the small group of critters who share this space with us. 

Tending feels differently from "doing chores" or "taking care of responsibilities".  It is an action that is softer than that because it comes from the heart.  Woven into the act of tending is the energy of nurturing and cherishing.  Reverence.

I find that within this daily tending are gifts.

~ connection to the people, the animals and the land around me

~ connection to a rhythm to my days that bring me peace 

~ bearing witness to what is happening around me day to day, month to month, season to season 

To bear witness to these changes is humbling and joyful. Because next week it will all change again. And the week after that it will change again.

An unfolding.  Forever in flux.

And so I notice: the new blossom, the new leaf, the movement of the sun across the sky, the seed turning to plant, the little girl whose pigtails will surely be gone this time next week:

And of course I remember to take time every day to tend to myself.

A deep breath, a moment of beauty, a stretch in the sun at the end of the day:

What are you tending to today?

~ j