Autumn Reflections
The leaves are changing into their brilliant colors. There's a certain scent in the air. Apples and pumpkins are ripening, and fallen leaves crumple under your feet. Yes, it's Autumn, in all its splendor. No other season greets you with such vibrant glory. Here, in the Northeastern corner of America, Autumn pulls no punches.
Beautiful sunny days, and cool crisp nights bring us, some how, closer to Mother Nature. Even if you're not an outdoors person, you cant help but take a little stroll to enjoy the season. It pulls you out of your shell, as it shows you things you hadn't noticed were always there.
Autumn on Shady Acher Farm, my home, is always special. The smell of fresh pumpkin bread, right out of the oven, and the huge bowl of apples on the table, Jack-be little pumpkins scattered here and there, the smell of the wood stove on cold evenings make it that way. Our dinners become more hearty, with stews and roasts replacing quick summer fare. I bake more, and not just because the kitchen is a lot cooler now. Wild turkeys come down from the hill, looking for refuge from eager hunters. The geese are covering the sky to almost darkness, in formation, heading to their winter home. They stop to visit a neighbor's pond and the sound is deafening. But we love it any way.
The chore of raking the leaves becomes a pleasure. Of course, with the word Shady in it's name, our acre gets covered with them. Now I could use the tractor and sweep them all up. But I don't. I actually look forward to the raking. I rake a while, then take a scenery break. I munch on an apple and just stare out at the beauty of our mountains.
On a sunny afternoon, I might find myself walking down to the creek. I love to just sit there, listening to the water rushing by. A few fish go swimming by as the colored leaves reflect onto the water. A couple of those geese are still lagging behind. I watch as they dive for a fish or two. Some times I try to skip stones across the water. Try is the operative word there. I catch the eye of a beaver, building his winter dam. He looks at me, sizing me up. I'm not moving, and so not a threat. He continues fussing with his sticks. A breeze blows, and the leaves sound like a crackling fire. I hate to leave, but must get back to make applesauce.
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