Fruits of our Labor

 

It’s Labor Day weekend here in the States, a time when we celebrate the fruits of our labor, and allow ourselves time and space to reflect on the work that has been.

The garden harvest turns to fall-colored things, deeply colored and golden. My favorite winter squash is delicata, the first variety to come to harvest, and one of the simplest to prepare, almost as if the garden said, “Here, take a rest and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

Delicata plants are prolific, inviting us to gather friends, tell them to fetch a squash from the vine, and tell stories as they roast whole in the oven for 45 minutes. 

Set a pot of black lentils up while the oven is going, and serve as a hearty side. Start with a salad of baby kale and baby spinach, the first tender leaves coming forth from the second planting, and top with sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. Dress with garlic apple cider vinaigrette. 

Nidificate

The last week has been a lot, and there have been moments of profound grace.

It's time for me to nidificate for a spell.

May Autumn be beautiful for us all.

Helene or Not

The weather is a perfectly seasonal soggish, with more soggishness on the way. Even sunny days have been extremely humid, as is often the case in late September in Virginia. The forecast for the coming fortnight is rain rain rain and a few clouds.

I have a million things I probably should be doing, but all I want to do is curl up with a good mystery and a ginormous cup of tea.

Blue

 

Word of the Day: Sublunary

sublunary: of, relating to, or characteristic of the terrestrial world

Many thanks to Julian Barnes for bringing sublunary back into my life, a word I used to use but that somehow, in recent decades, had forgotten all about. And many thanks to the random person on the internet for dropping this beautiful quote from Barnes' Elizabeth Finch, a book that jettisoned up my ToBeRead list. The crux of the quote--that reason may mislead us just as much as passion--is the nugget of so many conversations I had along the way with Larry Becker, who I miss all the time but miss most keenly in late October.

“We must certainly consider, not just in this class, but outside it, in our own turbulent and fretful lives, the element of chance. The number of people we deeply meet is strangely few. Passion may mislead us furiously. Reason may mislead us just as much. Our genetic inheritance might hamstring us. So might previous events in our lives. It is not just soldiers in the field who later suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. It is often the inevitable consequence of a seemingly normal sublunary existence.”

In fact, this whole review brought so many beautiful half-remembered things into my world today, I'm looking forward to an autumnal investigation of each of them, not the least of which is that a "twice or thrice a year lunch, lasting exactly 75 minutes" can be a significant relationship, an idea I know to be true and the truth of which was so compelling that I stopped reading the review and started writing about that (sorry Joanna, maybe I'll go back and read the rest of the review later; I wouldn't bet on it though). 

And there's also the idea of an "exiled soul," and such a thing as "literary travel." 

This was a gem found on the dirt road.

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Ghostly Weather

The weather is straight out of a Gothic novel, all dreary damp and cold, with days of rain forecast. The air is cold without the usual autumnal crisp -- it's enough to make a girl want to do nothing more than read or knit.

After finishing Brenda's scarf, I knocked about a bit, uncertain what to put on the needles next. The October Sky blue called to me, and now I have a small fireside throw in the making. It's a bit narrower than most afghans, designed to cover your lap as you sit in a favorite chair and listen to friends with tea or tuck in with popcorn and a movie.

Also, I was missing cables, so it's got oodles of them.

This weekend The Haunting of Bly Manor drops in Netflix, a modern interpretation of James's Turn of the Screw. Knitting and watching a proper English ghost story seems just right.

October

And now it is allowed to be Autumn

I went to the co-op for ginger.

Little Miss in pictures this past week

Winter Weekend

Happy Autumn

It's a Party!

Nothing else for it

The cold damp weather seeped into the house quietly today, dropping the temperature to 64 before I noticed. My poor back did not respond well and has been seizing up all evening.
Unable to sleep, I broke down and took some prescriptions; I thought pain medicine and muscle relaxers would knock me out, but no. Instead, all I want to do is organize stuff, which would be spectacularly counterproductive.
I'm fuzzy-headed enough that I can't keep track of what row I'm on, so knitting and reading are out.
Nothing else for it but to watch some crime drama and see if I can snooze until dawn. Thank goodness for streaming video.

Autumn

I'm currently reading A Storm of Swords, and last night was peppered with exclamations while I read near the boys' Lego-populated Warhammer battle.

I recommend both highly.

We are getting ready for the nearly-annual Pumpkin Carving event, complete with food and awards for pumpkins. Confession: I have no idea whatsoever how it is going to come together this year. But then, I rarely end up sticking to a plan so much anyway, so I'm just winging it and my Big Idea is that I'll enjoy the time and the company and the activity. That's the matter at hand, and I plan to revel in it.

I have a ton of projects waiting in the wings for after the Carving event, most of them focused around reorganization. Vivian seems to outgrow her clothes as soon as she wears them, and it's time to cascade those clothes onto someone who can make use of them. Graeme's room needs a bit of reorganizing (read: shelves / match / napalm), as does the kitchen equipment (I have more small appliances than I have counter space, mostly because there isn't much in the way of counters in my space). It's time to haul out coats and hats and put away shorts. And I love this time of year.

As a bonus, I've discovered some fellow writers who are encouraging me, either in person, directly, or indirectly without having a clue who I am. I blame traces of magic most, because I love the title.

As we left the house this morning, Graeme shrugged off last year's jacket, as it is too small, and opted for nought, since he left this year's jacket at school yesterday. Ethan shot him a "Dude, don't be dumb" look and said, "Winter is coming."

Frosty reception

With tonight's frost warning, September and the growing season depart, taking seventy-degree days as well. But October has always been a most wonderous month for me, with the crispness of the air, the briskness of the step, and the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot.

Even though David and I didn't get around to brewing this summer, I am still looking forward to a Harvest Gathering, complete with pumpkin carving festivities.

October also ushers in the Fall Concert series, another reason to adore the month as though pumpkins, corn, and cauldrons aren't enough.