Reflections on the First Week of Fall

      Spence and I celebrated the first days of fall with long-out-of-touch friends. Eric, Spence's elementary school buddy, and Eric's wife Kay arrived on the equinox. We took leisurely walks under blue skies. Tawny leaves speckled trees, crackled under our feet, and lined the banks of Deer Creek. A chipmunk eyed us while he sat on a log and munched an acorn. When we bent to examine hickory nuts, squirrels scolded. A tattered viceroy butterfly sunned on squash plants, and shiny black crickets hopped in the field. Asters, goldenrod, and hawkweed lined the road. The first daisy bloomed in Sister Loretta's memorial garden.

      Fat-cat George had a different way of celebrating. He stuck his head into the toy basket in search of a feathered catnip toy. To his surprise, the basket became a face-covering helmet. He shook his head till the basket clattered to the floor.

      We chuckled–just one of many laughs Spence, Eric, Kay, and I shared reminiscing about crayfish sales, incline rides, jazz concerts, first cars, and first dates. According to Jane Austen's character Mr. Elliot, we'd had the best company for the coming of fall–“. . . clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation. . .”

 

Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Summer

      After dinner Wednesday, Spence and I launched the kayak onto the lagoon at the north end of Lake Wilhelm. Frogs jumped in algae. The sun, burning low in the sky, poured golden shafts across the smooth water. We headed away from the glare. A great blue heron screeched aaawwwkkk as it flew away. Passing under the Sheakleyville Road bridge, we came across a flock of cormorants roosting in trees. Were they watching the sun fall on the other side of the lake? We turned for a photo angle. Water trickled under the kayak, paddles swished, and crickets droned.

    Thursday afternoon brought a different water adventure. Nicki, the new Deep Water Fitness teacher, tossed us neon colored noodles–four foot lengths of round Styrofoam with a small air hole running through the center. She said, “Stand on your noodle and pull yourself across the pool with your arms.” I forced it under the water and mounted the two inch diameter strand. The noodle knocked me backwards and shot into the air. Red, lime, yellow, and blue noodles soared over the pool. Laughter and splashes echoed off the walls. I tried again and again to mount that flexible stick. Nicki said, “It helps to put one foot on and then the other.” That did help, but I'd wobble one stroke forward, upend, and have to struggle back onto the noodle. Perfectly perpendicular, Nicki moved steadily across the pool and back.

    One classmate scrunched her face in concentration and moved forward slowly. I asked, “How do you do that?”

    “Kneel on it,” she said. “It's easier.”

     Aha–like using blocks to accommodate difficult yoga poses. I knelt, pulled my arms, and didn't topple. 

 

Reflections on the Twelfth Week of Summer

     We reached the season when, despite Spence's pride in finding a great sale on pork or chicken, I say, “Don't buy any more freezer meat.” This year even the refrigerator-top freezer complained. Loud grinding moans sounded its imminent demise. Spence pulled packages away from the air vents to stop the noise and ordered a small GE freezer chest. Ramon and his partner drove the chest up from Pittsburgh Thursday and carried it to the basement. I bought wire baskets and filled them with strawberries, blueberries, beans, and the latest too-good-to-pass-up sale meat.

     Most of our harvest isn't frozen, however. We dry onions, garlic, potatoes, and squash. Spence cans tomato sauce and pickles cucumbers and peppers. He eats radishes and salad greens fresh. I bake apples–just three this year–into pie. Only the asparagus, peas, strawberries, blueberries, beans, and zucchini get frozen.

      Besides giving us home grown food all winter, the harvest delights with its beauty. I climbed a chair to the counter for a better angle on a still life photo. Unfortunately, I put the back of the chair against the cabinets. Stepping over that to get down required more balance than I wanted to risk. I asked Spence for help. He chuckled, took the camera out of my hands, and stepped back to take my picture before helping me down.

Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Summer

      This week a white iris bloomed, and I enjoyed my children.

     Monday Ellen sent an enthusiastic email about meeting with her wedding cook, who jumped up and down and suggested a medieval-style meat carving station including smoked salmon, Cornish hens, and a whole pig with an apple in its mouth. I requested a slice of that apple. Tuesday we email-chatted about her birthday. And everyday, I numbed my butt machine quilting the stain glass blocks in row five of the quilt for her wedding. Drama ensued when a screw dropped onto the fabric in the middle of me quilting an Irish chain. I couldn't figure out where the screw went so drove the machine and walking foot to Fox's in Meadville. They popped open the walking foot cover, replaced the screw, and the machine quilted smoother than ever.

      Spencer Charles arrived Wednesday afternoon for a Wells Wood vacation. Emma, who'd cat-claimed him as her man, scurried to the door yelling mer-ows. I fetched the backgammon box. That started a run of a different game for each day–Ticket to Ride, Once Upon a Time, Gloom, and Yahtzee followed. For the last one we closed the guest room door early Sunday morning and rolled dice on the blanket so as not to wake Spence. We drank gallons of ice water and strategically placed three fans to blow the sultry air. Discussing story plots, engaging in marathon pie baking, walking along Deer Creek, and sitting in the dark on the porch listening to rain and crickets kept us busy.

I stored lots of memories.

Bonus Guest Blog for the Eleventh Week of Summer by Spencer Charles 

3:10 a.m.

I wander out into the great room. Dad, who has had a long, odd, two day stretch, is sleeping soundly and peacefully. Aw, I think. He deserves to get some good sleep.

But its 3am, and I am hungry so I sneak into the kitchen. Very quietly, I open the refrigerator door. Look back. All's asleep. Look around the fridge.

What's cold that doesn't need cooked? Oh, Dad started making potatoes last night! And, oh, kielbasi... and a little soy sauce... Hmm. Is there a small bowl to mix these up in? A small bowl that is not trapped in Mom's Pyramid of Dish Rack Doom (and Loud Crashy Noises) ...no. Wait, recycled Tupperware! Just as good! Okay, everything assembled... all the drawers opened and closed... Good, good. Now, just to cut this stuff up...

<Snorting, shifting noises suddenly drift over from the great room.>

What the hell just happened? I didn't make any noise there! Was it a...

Then, for no good reason, I feel compelled to look down. And there, looking as innocent as a Teamster, is a large, white and black cat.

George: Hi!

Me: Hi George.

George: So. What'ya doing?

Me: Go back to sleep George.

George: What'ya doing?

Me: I am making breakfast and you don't want any.

George: Ooh!

Me: You don't want any. It's potatoes and kielbasi.

George: That sounds great!

Me: You don't like potatoes, George.

George: Yeah!

<George is offered a bit of potato.>

George: Bleah!

Me: I told you

George: Where's that other thing?

Me: The kielbasi?

George: Yeah!

Me: You don't like that either George.

George: Oh, man! It sounds great!

<George is offered a piece of kielbasi.>

George: What the hell was that?

Me: It's meat George.

George: I don't think so. I like meat.

<A slight pause ensues as the remains of breakfast are diced on the cutting board.>

George: So, you got any cheese?