It is October…a wonderful month filled with leaves and pumpkins and spice and coziness… the season has slipped into another one night while I was sleeping I suppose, just like that, the bloom of summer faded and the hint of fall took its place. Every year this happens and each time, I am amazed; I never tire of October. I had so many things I wanted to fit into this perfect autumn day, too many, so I decided on planting violas, feeding my bees a bit of sugar water, watering my morning glories and making a healthy soup for supper…oh, and writing. It is early in the day, time for coffee and this entry, so I will still have time to watch the waxing moon when I gather the eggs from my hens as they roost and end their day of wandering and I, once again, will be thankful for their gifts. I was able to cut a few more stacks of okra this morning from what is left of the summer garden; I will soon have enough to smother and put in the freezer for a chicken and okra gumbo this winter.
I did make an interesting observation on this perfect October day, I realized that my kitchen window should have faced the backyard instead of the side yard…31 years later, I notice. I am there at my kitchen window a lot because I hand wash dishes and I cook and bake, much throughout the years and still some today. I am looking at the human world through my kitchen window – it faces the street. I could have been watching the natural world had it faced the backyard and the woods. I could have watched the morning birds diving for their breakfast and my hens pecking for theirs. I could have seen the first robin come from the woods in early spring or our cat chase fat green lizards while waiting to be fed. I could have watched the maple tree change colors with the season and the bluebirds in their wooden house on the arbor. Instead I only saw cars passing.
The soup is ready.
October began yesterday, and I, like you, wonder just how much faster time can travel. I do look forward to this month of Halloween, autumn leaves and ripe citrus on the trees but I am a bit concerned about how quickly it all happens. I feel like I was just planting zinnias.
The cloudy sky hid the rising Harvest Moon Saturday night. This is something that makes me a bit sad – it only happens once a year and, like Sally telling Linus, “I missed it!”
I wanted to post something this morning – there is something about early mornings that make me reflective and “writerly”. I can so easily go right to ranting and that is a faux pas with my goals for this blog so then I jump to nature and what is happening with her but then I look deeper and go into my real thoughts – thoughts brought on by October, time, and nature, and decide to tap out a few lines about that confusion of contemplations.
It seems each time I turn the page into a new month, I take a look back, sometimes way back and sometimes just a bit back. This makes me realize that things in our heads seem better than things in real time. It’s funny how we can shuffle through the muck of our yesterdays and just allow the good stuff to rise, discarding those unpleasantries and discomforts and all those “problems” we had. I feel certain my memories of late Octobers of childhood are far better than the actual time. I love thinking about it though – it is as it should be, these places from yesterday that warm our todays, that wrap their arms around you and make you feel good – what could be wrong there and why do I need to be reminded of those nasty spots in my life anyway – I got the lesson and moved on – done.
I write a lot about memories, I suppose it looks as though I live in the past but I really do not, I reflect on the past, a lot. It is somewhat of a guide book for me, it is a “learn by example”.It is a gift from people like my parents that keeps on giving. I was blessed with many great teachers in my life – I am not referring to the classroom sort – and those teachers are alive and dwell inside of my head, teaching. I also realize the importance of what I do and how I handle situations in my life because somebody is watching and someone will remember. Our history is a very valuable tool, perhaps our most valuable. There is no way to know what is ahead, so I do look behind and try to prepare, all the while knowing somebody is “watching” and I too, will one day be the “teacher” in someone’s head.
Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.