So we got rain, a couple a weeks ago, one inch and one quarter. I write this long hand, because it was a giant event. We are still two dozen plus inches behind, but for that one morning after, the woods perked up, the birds cheered, and the insects trilled and sang and my whole world and hollow rejoiced.
But, in the big picture, the creek only got its whistle wetted, it is back bone dry and the spring still drips a slow and lonley "plop". Conditions are pretty much the same as they have been all summer
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And in these pictures, if you look closely, there are things you can see that are amiss. Too open, missing overstory leaves, dead and dangling dry leaves, in the upper picture, there is a dead baby cedar in the foreground and mummified blackberries.
I miss my seasons. I am a person who solemnly nods to each equinox and solstice, to each full and medicine moon, one who notes in a little notebook the changes and counts the "firsts and lasts" First mushroom, last berry, first cherry blossom day, last frost. Now I don't know how to act. Usually, I have unhooked the outdoor shower by now, in preparation for first frost, and lovingly covered the fall lettuce. Usually by now I have already built a fire to warm the house on a chilly morning, and steeped my ritual first hops tea for my first long night of harvest sleep. This year, it is too dry for a shower, and for growing lettuce, but even if it weren't it is still in the 80's and 90's. What kind of October is that?
Ok, I promised myself I wouldn't blog without something nice to say (hence the lack of writing)
So, I have discovered that, I can throw the kayak in the back of my pickup truck, go to the river, have an "other worldy" experience and be back at the house in less than two hours....(hey, that is sort of counting thing, a first and last thing....a susbstitute for seasons, perhaps?)
