How To Spend a Late Summer Saturday

It all started here:


And that turned into this, multiplied by 6 (and those tomato plants are not done producing yet)!


I spent 4 hours peeling and chopping...


...eventually filling four pots.


The canning pot doing its job.


Net? 44 pints of stewed tomatoes. Not bad for a day's work.

Advent of Fall

After a spate of hot summer days when the humidity hung in the air like steam, there came a storm riding on a rush of wind. Rain fell in torrents. Lightning exploded, and crashing in its wake, thunder boomed and rolled away across a greenish-purple sky. After the storm, there was a new coolness to the air.

The seasons are in transition now; summer is on the wane. The sun sets earlier and rises later. Evenings are cool and at dawn the August mists hang in the valleys like gossamer veils. By mid-morning the sun has warmed the air and summer seems still here but come evening again, the breeze whispers among the trees and the heat flees before it. In the deep grasses the crickets sing, “Too soon, too soon.”

The swallows born a few months ago are flocking. They line the telephone wires and give aerial performances in the late afternoon. The sun is warm then, and hazy, and the air shimmers with incandescent light. The swallows’ wings are transparent as they swoop and dive and soar. It is the best time of day to sink down into the warm, flowered meadow grass amid the Queen Anne’s lace and the corn flowers, the feathery, wild purple asters and goldenrod, a time to watch the birds play, and dream autumn dreams.

There is a freshness to this seasonal shift—not the sprightly, springy newness that tumbles in with spring, but rather a snap to the air and a feeling of bustle, a sort of counterpoint to summer’s somnolence. It’s harvest time. Bins in the fresh air markets overflow with vegetables. Gardens are multicolored—scarlet tomatoes and yellow- skinned squash, deep green peppers, and onions the color of washed pearls. Orangey pumpkins peep from beneath dusty green leaves and pale yellow kernels emerge at the peeling back of the corn’s husk. It is a time of bounty, a time of storing up against the lean winter months ahead.

The individualities of summer and autumn meld in August. Fall flowers have a spicy scent that mingles with the sweetness of mid-summer blooms, and their colors intensify. Lavender becomes purple, pink deepens to mauve, pale yellow is burnished to gleaming gold. Leaves once the color of emeralds in the sun show promise now of autumn hues – vibrant red, vivid orange, glowing yellow. The birdsong, so lavish and loud in the early spring, mellows to sleepy tootles in the afternoon and flocks of birds freefall and tumble through the air, alight in the treetops for a moment of respite, then fling themselves into the air again. With the lengthening of twilight comes a deep hush, a stilling of wind and sound, until you can hear the earth breathe as it turns.

Over and over and over the seasons change, as predictable as the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon. Yet with each shift, what was new becomes old, what is old fades away, and what dies is renewed. Life is transformation, transmutation, metamorphosis. It teaches savoring and letting go slowly, and appreciation in the midst of mourning. This summer’s flowers will fade and fall, this year’s harvest will nourish and sustain, this year’s warmth will withdraw and diminish until nothing is left but a memory. Yet held in that memory is all the promise of summer to come again.

Home Again

My grandson saying farewell to summer...

Coming back from vacation is never as much fun as heading off on one but there is a certain satisfaction in returning home. My cottage welcomed me back with a last blossoming of fairy roses, the cat with purrs and leg weavings, and the garden with an over abundance of vegetables just waiting to be picked, pickled, packed in jars or simply eaten out of hand where I stood.

I've missed reading at my favorite sites but I haven't missed being indoors. Every day in Maine was spent on the beach or near the water or just out of doors lounging in a lawn chair. Lots of salt air, marvelous seafood, and the company of family made my time away worth every moment.

Ah, but it's good to be back in my own bed, in my own home, on my own time. School starts next week and with it comes the resurgence of the alarm clock and the hurry-up schedule and less outdoor time. I will spend the last few days jarring tomatoes, pickling cucumbers, and freezing eggplant. Between bouts with the canning pot, I will take long walks and longer bicycle rides, reveling in the freedom of the open road and the waning light.

Going Away

I'm off for a week to the coast of Maine. It will be a family affair. I'm leaving the tomatoes to ripen on their own and the squash to grow to the size of ocean liners. The cukes will be transformed into pickles before I leave but the peppers are already stuffed and awaiting their appearance as a winter meal.



Both the beets and carrots will be ready for pulling when I return and the little nubbins on the corn stalks will be full fledged ears. The end of August will go by in a rush of preserving and canning.


I'll bring pictures home with me, and wonderful memories of sunsets over the water, and laughter. See you anon.

photo credit: www.cliffhousemaine.com

A Wedding in the Family

August 2, 2008

Dear Jen and Tony,

Today is the day you have chosen to show that the two of you as individuals have also become one couple. You have decided to walk through the rest of your lives together. Living is both beautiful and difficult. It helps to have a hand to hold when you rejoice and when you need comfort. The poet Kahlil Gibran had these words to say about marriage.

"You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. "

Being together does not mean every moment. Don’t forget to take time to nourish the individual that you are so that when you are called upon to give more than you think you can, you will discover a seemingly miraculous reserve of love and compassion.

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music."

In one sense, love is already a bond. It is the thread that runs through all our lives, connecting us one to the other. Love is such an inclusive concept—among its attributes are patience and understanding, kindness and courage, affection and truth. But a false idea of love can blind us; we can mistake possession and need and jealousy for love. Remember to recognize your strengths and share them readily but don’t sublimate them.

"Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."

Remember to join hands and face the future together, both of you looking not at each other but outward along the same path. Help each other over the rocky places and at the end of each day, celebrate the joy you find in each other’s lives and in your own.

Love,
Mom