Quiet Days

Last week J. decided to visit his sister who lives in Tennessee.

I was still weary from my painting project, from late [delightful] evenings with company, from hours of canning fruit.

Contemplating the miles of riding in the car, three nights in a strange bed, the effort needed for conversation and outings I suddenly decided I was not up for it.

I sent J. on his way--not without some regrets--but also with a feeling of relief as

quiet descended on the house.

The day was chilly and sunless with a nipping wind.

I made up the wood fire in the living room, put the kettle on for tea, gathered books and magazines and retreated to my favorite lair--my Grampa Mac's old rocking chair which sits in a corner near the fireplace.

I thought briefly of the projects I might undertake with no scheduled meals to prepare, no din of the TV.

I even considered that perhaps I should haul out the vac and do a bit of house cleaning.

In the end, I admitted that I was badly over-tired and that I could REST without feeling guilty.

By Sunday morning sunshine had returned and two days of quiet tasks interspersed with hours of  reading by the fire had begun to restore me.

With breakfast cleared away and animals tended, I went outside to enjoy October's 'bright blue weather.'

Each day a new crop of leaves has drifted down from the dooryard trees.

Dogwood leaves have turned a glowing deep red.

The old pear tree looms against the sky.

Yesterday the corn harvesting machinery growled through the field, leaving brown stubble behind.

A clump of yarrow, started from seed in the springtime, blooms near the front steps.

Last blooms on the phlox.

Roses and mint.

Willis potters about with me, weaving through the tall bleached grass at the edge of the front field.

Llittle Edward poses prettily in a clump of lavender.

Not as attractive as catnip, still my herbal harvest must be investigated.

Note the differences in color of the lavender branches.  The grey tinged stalks are from plants purchased last year. The plants I raised this spring from seed designated a 'lavender vera' have green foliage.

Each day the landscape changes as the leaves deepen in color and then

float down to lie in sweeps and billows across the lawn.

Mornings are darker, the daylight melts away into dusky evenings as we move ever closer to the season of winter.

After the Frost

A post with more pictures than words.

Frost hit the Big Creek Valley last week after some false alarms--evenings when we hurried out in the last light to throw old furniture quilts, tablecloths and towels over green beans in the garden and house plants on the porch. Mornings of heavy dew, but no frost, saw us tweeking wet covers off to dry in the sunshine.

I carried most of the begonias and geraniums down to the basement where they will spend the winter months on an old table beneath a flourescent light fixture.

The frost did come on a night of full moon light and morning brought the unwelcome scene of blackened and drooping sunflowers, zinnias and cosmos--the flowers which revived in the balmy September days to bless us with their brilliant colors.

Brocolli plants, from seed sown directly in the garden, are thriving in the cooler weather.

Double-Red Knock-Out roses continue to produce bloom until really harsh temperatures prevail.

A few blooms of spicey 'pinks.'

Stalks of rampaging mint have produced fuzzy flower heads.

Coneflower looking a bit shriveled by the cold night.

All that remains of the exuberant row of zinnias.

J. has hauled old bedding from Pebbles' yard to spread on a veg bed--the kittens are intrigued.

A last sighting of the garden spider.

Her egg sack blends with the frost-blasted stalks of zinnias.

Frosted zinnias.

I've collected enough zinnia seed to sow a whole garden come another spring: zinnias, anyone?

The Michaelmas daisies are still lovely.

Sunflower heads bend toward the ground, heavy with seed.

Here and there a frazzled bloom.

Each day the wind brings down more leaves.

Beauty still in these sere, stripped-down shapes.

A feast for the lingering goldfinches.

There are several varieties of maples in the dooryard.  Some have lost most of their brilliant leaves, others are still in the process of turning.

Teasel contemplates the leaves which swirl around her in the cat yard.

Cat Stories

If you've been reading my stories for a bit you may recall I've mentioned Charlie-Cat--who isn't bright.

[It was Charlie who had to be rescued from 30 ft up in a tree last spring when he had gotten outdoors and gone missing for three days!]

Charlie enjoys the fenced yard with the other cats, but sometimes scoots outside the house when a door doesn't close quickly.

At such times he disclaims all acquaintance with us and will not be coaxed back indoors.

Catching him turns into a three-ring circus.

Last Thursday Charlie shot out the back door again.  We saw him during the day--under our car, lurking in the carport, strolling about the dooryard.

As usual, when approached, he opened his eyes very wide and ran off.

As it drew near supper time, after several futile attempts to corner him, I declared crossly that he could spend the night outside.

On my way to the compost pile, I heard him wailing mournfully.

Investigating, I found that he had gotten inside the hav-a-hart trap--set in the veg garden for yet another possum--and the trap had clanged shut.

Since I can't open the trap's door, I fetched Jim who found the sight of Charlie in the cage quite hilarious.

Willis, on patrol in the dooryard, follows J. to the garden.

The kittens immediately gathered to see what all the fuss was about.

Charlie, unappreciative of rescue attempts, dug his claws into the earth of the garden and hung on as J. tried to extricate him.

Charlie being lugged toward the house.

Charlie was deposited unceremoniously in the cat yard where he seemed to be

contemplating his adventure.

An interesting sequel to Charlie's outing is this: he went out again this weekend and did his lurk-about, popping under the truck whenever I went toward him.  In the evening I heard a clattering in the carport and opening the back door saw a large possum lumbering about, shoving

empty cat food dishes in his path.

Charlie let out an impassioned yelp from under the truck and rushed in the open kitchen door.

Since then, he has gone out several times each day and meekly returned, even 'meow'ing to be let in.

Perhaps his feeble brain has recognized the house as a refuge from beasties who rattle in the night.

Perhaps he has simply connected with the thought that he can return to the house without

the process of being rounded up.

We folded up and put away the old furniture quilts and tarps we used to protect the long

row of green beans from the frost.

J. dragged this one--a boat cover I think---to the garage.

Bobby McGee decided to hop aboard for a ride.

Bobby hides in the folds of the tarp.

"How do I get off the magic carpet?"

"Whew!  That was a ride!"

Precious Memories

Jim's sister, Jane and her husband Chuck, were able to make a much-anticipated visit, driving from their home in Ohio to stay with us from Friday through Monday.

There is never enough time for doing all that we would like to do, even though we stayed up past midnight each evening sharing stories, laughter, a few tears, reliving memories and creating many precious moments to savor later on.

The sun no longer strikes the front porch directly in the early hours of the day and there was a brisk wind on Sunday morning which sent leaves scudding across the grass with kittens joyfully tearing

about after them.

We gathered up jackets and wooly vests, even a blanket or two, and warmed our hands on mugs of steaming coffee.

The wind calmed and after a hearty late breakfast we trudged along the road and down to the edge of Big Creek.

Jim, Jane and Gina--posing for the camera.

Although Jane describes herself as 'big sister' [she is 3 years older] you can see why Jim thinks of her as his 'little sister.'

It was Chuck's birthday this week, so G. and I planned a celebratory dinner for Sunday evening, to be held at G.'s house.

We collaborated on a meal which featured roast turkey, a sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes with gravy, steamed Swiss chard, tomato/cucumber salad, fruit salad-----maybe we should have had our dinner at noon so we could take a good hike after!

On Monday we all piled into the big red truck and headed for Casey County.

G. wanted to buy some canning tomatoes.

The Mennonite auction and the family-owned gathering of shops nearby are a favorite destination for us.

Here G. has caught Jane and I, bundled against the wind.

Jane and Chuck admire a horse waiting for its owner at the auction barn.

While the men waited to load G.'s tomatoes, we ladies strolled across the road to the Mennonite mercantile, Misty Mountain, which displays a fine gathering of kitchen wares, sewing notions, hand-stitched quilts, cedar chests, rocking chairs and handsome wood-fired cookstoves.

There is also an assortment of ready-made tradtional Mennonite clothing.

G. asked for--and was given--permission to take photographs.

She was very taken with these 'winter bonnets' of dark blue velour.

Chuck and Jim obligingly modeled stern black hats before we gathered up our few purchases and loaded into the truck for the short drive to the Bread of Life Cafe--another Mennonite business whose proceeds are dedicated to the support of The Gallilean Home--a refuge for handicapped children and adults who need life-long care.

We tucked into the buffet of hearty country food, admired the pretties in the adjoining gift-shop, then traveled home in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

One last evening together, mindful of the timely departure which Chuck and Jane

needed to make the next day.

We had our coffee together this morning, with the sense of impending separation hanging over.

It is always easier to welcome loved ones than to say goodbye.