We had the first real frost yesterday morning. Even as Oakley made our bed time potty run the night before, the grass glistened and crunched. Well, it is November, and this is to be expected on the heels of protracted warm weather.
Yesterday, I pulled the last of the carrots and some greens. I don’t know what they were. I’d planted a packet of seeds labeled as French salad blend. Beyond being kind of tasty, their identity remains a mystery. The basil hung like flags on windless days. It had slowed down, so no great loss there. The remaining green tomatoes may go into a batch of salsa. I sampled one–the recent rains made them really watery and the lack of sun impeded their ripening. They were just being tomatoes and didn’t know that November is not a good time to set new blossoms.
Weather wise, we open today on a not too unpleasant note, but the wind from a system originating in Canada will be sweeping through this afternoon. The temps are expected to drop rapidly. We’ll be inside, and warm. And we will let the seasons keep turning.
It’s Monday, the first day of autumn, a/k/a Mabon in the earth-based religions, and new moon day.
This weekend featured marches against climate change. Can the effort to heal the planet continue? I hope so.
Oakley and I walked at a forest preserve populated by oaks yesterday. Over the next few weeks, their leaves turn gold or scarlet depending on their species. The vibrant if too-short show really pops against the grey skies. I thanked and blessed the trees for their efforts to clean the air and cool the earth. We arrived pretty early, and no one else was there, so why not? Trees are some of the best huggers I know.
Local critters are starting to move. Deer appear by the side of the road, ready to play the ancient versions of “Dating Game” that perpetuate the species, namely crossing from point A to point B without getting nailed by a car. This morning, Oakley protected me from a flock of wild turkeys blocking the path in front of us. No harm done, but the power of a dirty look is not to be underestimated.
Hubby returned from the latest wrestling match with his mom’s house. A few days of my cooking and some decent nights’ sleep will go a long way towards repairing him. I made him pasta and broccoli with a reduction of chicken broth to cut back on the oil. He liked it and fell asleep on the sofa.
I bought another bag of gala apples from the orchard yesterday afternoon. Perfect. Sweet and crisp, just as the season they represent.