Fall Musings

The fog is so thick this morning, I can barely make out the outline of the big maple at the edge of my back yard. I love the view out my back windows, especially in the morning and especially in the fall. I love watching the sun come up and paint the trees with yellow and gold. The dogwoods blaze with crimson and sometimes the deer creep out of the brush to welcome the day. I love the nip in the air, the smell of woodsmoke and the rustle of the leaves that carpet my yard. A brown thrasher is scratching industriously under the winter honeysuckle as I write this, reminding me that I need to be looking for my own breakfast. Fall calls for cold weather food – sausage and pancakes, chili and cornbread, bubbling casseroles and apple dumplings. It’s a time for the last bustle of work on the farm, preparing to hunker down for winter. The horses love the crisp air. I read somewhere that horses are happiest in about 40 degree weather. I seem to be happier in cooler weather too, and I have a little more energy when the thermometer dips below the eighty degree mark. I don’t run and buck like the horses do, but at least I can walk a little faster! And there is nothing better than riding on crisp days under a canopy of fall colors. My mom obsesses over the leaves in her yard, but I have found that mine will eventually blow down into the holler behind my house if I just leave them alone. Any leftovers can be chopped up by the mower next spring. The dogs love the leaves – Trace especially likes to burrow into them for his naps. And the little kids that visit love to rake big piles and jump into them. The leaves bring back memories of football games, hayrides and wienie roasts. The full moon these past days has been especially bright. The almanac says it is the Beaver Moon, named by the Indians because it was one of the last chances to trap beavers for the fur that would keep them warm through the winter. I’m not interested in trapping beavers, but I do love to go outside during a full moon, when I don’t even need a flashlight to make the last trip to the barn. When I was growing up, we didn’t do much about Thanksgiving. Usually, Thanksgiving week was reserved for hog killing and our traditional meal around that time centered around fresh tenderloin, freshly ground sausage, and crackling bread. I didn’t like the crackling bread, but I loved the cracklings fresh out of the kettle. I remember watching Gertrude Dansby, who worked for us for years, cooking off the lard and frying cracklings in a huge black kettle in our backyard. I guess the cracklings were sort of the equivalent of pork rinds, but they were much better! After we stopped killing hogs, we started celebrating Thanksgiving in a more traditional way, and this week, my mom’s family will gather at her house for turkey and dressing, cranberry sauce, and all the other good things. It’s great to gather with family to count our blessings and enjoy the bounty of the holiday table. But I think my favorite time of Thanksgiving day is late in the evening, when the rush is over and I can enjoy a plate of leftovers by the fireplace, with my dogs at my feet and a book in my hand. It’s a last breathing space before the Advent and Christmas rush begins. And I am thankful.