The turning of the calendar page to October brought an end to the days of intermittent rain, wind and fog that were our relatively mild share of Hurricane Helene.
Mornings have been cool, the temps hovering just above or below 60 F. Heavy dew clings to the grass until well after the sun comes round. Almost daily I forget this and make my morning ventures out with cat litter or to trudge around the meadow, coming in with the toes of my shoes wet through.
It is 'two shirt' weather--at either end of the day there is noticeable autumn chill; by noon, walking or working in bright sun, the top shirt or jacket is shed.
The nearly perfect weather has been a blessing as we've had visiting family, Jim's twin brother and wife, their younger son with his wife and daughter. I created a meal to welcome them on their arrival: a hearty curried lentil/vegetable soup, freshly baked bread, apple pie, lemon meringue pie. After that we ate our main meals at various local venues with whatever of the area family could join us.
It was a good time, a blending of nostalgia, remembering events and people from many years ago, as well as thoroughly enjoying pleasant 'now' day trips and 'in person' conversations.
I was running out of energy by Monday evening and my feet hurt. J. and C. wanted to visit The Ark Encounter and then spend Tuesday night in a motel near the airport to facilitate their early morning flight home.
Jim and I toured the 'Ark' several years ago--a two hour drive each way-- and opted not to go again.
Inevitably Tuesday brought a slight sense of let down [and for me, fatigue] after so much 'out and about.'
We puttered at small homely tasks on Tuesday, picking up the threads of what has become a rather unstructured routine. Tired or not, I knew I needed to keep moving.
The bright blue weather drew me outside, not yet ready to go on with fall pruning and tidying,
In late afternoon I headed along the path we've worn where the lower meadow tips into the wooded edge of the north ravine. The grass had dried, a light breeze riffled through the trees, stirred the leaves blown down and already curling crackling brown.
Suddenly above the shuffle of my shoes through the leaves I heard it.
'Whooo cooks for yoooo?'
I stood still, thinking that my faulty hearing had tricked me.
The call came again from deep in the ravine, the voice of a barred owl.
Why, I pondered, was an owl calling in daylight?
When I've heard barred owl conversations previously it has most often been at dusk, or a few times in the grey moments before sunrise.
Walking quietly along the path I heard an answering owlish voice, nearer, from the trees behind the old shed.
For a month on fine days we've heard the snarl of a chainsaw as logging continues on property that lies below our 20 acres. Perhaps the owls have lost favorite trees or are agitated by the growling saws and the crashing down of timber.
Prior to the days of storm I began noticing the tips of oak branches littering the ground almost as though they had been snipped off. The ground underneath the oaks has been strewn with green acorns, the resident squirrels so busy in their gathering that several times I've walked within a few yards of their bustling activity before I was noticed.
Three hen turkeys are spotted strolling about nearly every day. I suspect they too are enjoying the nuts.
Strangely, there is no evidence of a hickory nut crop this season after the thousands that dropped onto the meadow verges last year.
The usual deer haven't been much in evidence during the summer; the resident foxes disappeared after our second year on the property.
Changes--subtle or sudden--following an expected pattern of the seasons or sometimes, taking us by surprise.
