“It’s been raining all day. And rain will turn to snow, tonight, during the wee hours. The world is unstable ... perhaps, it’s always been that way. We collected our shovels, and a box of tulip bulbs, on a brighter day, barely 24 hours ago, in a yard still signaling tenderness, and sleep, and the promise of trust. The dirt in the bed, warm, and yielding, turned over & crumbled, making way for new plantings. Perhaps, the last, as the barometer plunges. Yet, I like to think that the tiny hands of children, patting & pressing, have provided just the exact right amount of care. The little people in my life grab tools they can hardly hold, and run to fill their pint-sized watering cans, with a dedication that will not be matched by any adult. I’ve aspired to meet them, I realize, all these years, in so many ways. They never disappoint. But one can never be fully prepared, for the return of winter. The garden shed door, blown out by a wind storm weeks ago, hangs diagonally, by it’s remaining hinge. Odd lawn chairs, left by visitors to an outdoor concert here at the height of summer, have folded into themselves, in precarious disarray, about the yard. One last paper wasp nest, the bane of my existence for so many months, has finally gone dormant, hanging yet, to the top row of firewood, in my studio wood shed. A bird feeder, attacked by bears and emptied, has likewise, not been dealt with or repaired. Wooden pallets, once in use, need burning, and have fallen into the pathway to the vegetable garden. My clogged ditches won’t get dug this fall, and pondering this, I fill with anguish, over the loss of my excavator, who was also, a good friend. The roll of road fabric I bought at the Paris Farmer’s Union closing sale, remains in the driveway, and I know plowing around it will aggravate me again, for another year. I won’t finish the patio in front of my rental cottage, or even get it started, now that he’s gone. At least I ordered the stone, and it’s not moving from where it sits crated, another thing to plow around. The pile of gravel is mostly gone, but I seem to back up onto what’s left of it with my truck, all too frequently, and wish I had the time and the motivation to move it. Oh well, it’s just an ordinary door yard situation, and I speak for many, I know. Other things are moving ahead. The rotten stairs I fell thru a few weeks ago, wrenching my back, have been removed, and a new egress from the porch is in process. I was able to mulch my crab apple trees, and other shrubs, all in good time for the freeze. I think I’m on top of the peat moss situation, to support winter use of my yurt’s outhouse, for skiers, and extreme campers: fingers crossed. Despite the fact that our local dump has stopped accepting trash, I now know the schedules of other transfer stations in the area, open one day a week, so I’d better stay on my game. The days are shorter. I have the same work days to conquer out in the field, with less warmth, and light, but we’re not too far off from meeting our commitments to gardening clients. As for making records, I could write a whole separate saga, and undoubtedly, I will try, although from where I sit right now, it’s been more trouble than it’s worth. But please, do stay posted! I love each and every person who has read this far.”
