The End of a Long, Long Autumn

The mild autumn weather has gone on for weeks and we've enjoyed every single day of it. Now, however, a cold front has descended on us, ushered in by winds like roaring locomotives.  The reality of winter can't be ignored.  From our bedroom high in the second story we can feel the winds shaking the house.  Down in the living room the wood stove has been going nonstop and Pete and I have migrated from the sunroom into the living room, sitting around the stove for our moments of quiet.

There's nothing too newsworthy but here are a few glimpses of farm life from the last couple weeks...

Not quite like California sunshine but still sunshine.  It's so nice to see kitties in the barn windows again.

Becca's kitties made the adventurous journey via air from LA to the farm.  They have transitioned to life as barn cats without a hitch and seem very happy exploring their new space.  Pete built them shelves (and I cleaned the barn windows) so they have sunny perches from which to observe all the goings-on around the farm.  This morning when it was very cold both cats were curled up together in one cave and didn't bother to stir when I went to feed them. Here they are at O'Hare, happy to be near the end of their journey.

Gray little Whit disappears in the shadows, a camouflage that makes him really hard to find in the barn.

Work in the basement has been progressing slowly but the end is in sight and Anne has been working like crazy to paint and clean.  Yesterday we moved furniture in and had fun hanging mirrors and pictures.  The bathroom and kitchenette won't be finished until next week so the Big Move of all their possessions won't take place until after that.

Christmas tree is up, fire (electric) in the fireplace, Christmas music on Pandora - it's starting to feel like a home down there.

The kitchenette is still under construction but that should wrap up this week.

No sinks installed yet but they are just waiting for the plumber.

Painting doors and trim

I recently had a hankering to make sourdough bread.  This week I mixed up the sourdough starter and babysat it through several days until it got going good.  I made a sourdough rye loaf that was really good and our favorite sourdough waffles for breakfast this morning.  There's another loaf rising in the kitchen right now (the first one miraculously disappeared).  It's fun to have a change from our normal whole wheat bread.  The rye loaf is also 100% whole grain.  

The bread sponge, in Grandma's old mixing bowl.

Love those yeasty bubbles.

I've been baking bread for a looooong time but this might just be the most flavorful loaf I've ever turned out.  No credit to me - it's a great recipe and the magic of sourdough.

Earlier this week I got a load of straw bales from a friend and (in the nick of time) got some cold frames constructed and romaine and kale sown.  They won't sprout until early spring but they will definitely have a head start on the other garden things.  When winter gets old it will be nice to know things will soon be stirring in the ground. 

A great use for old windows.

There's a thick layer of ice in one of the water tanks.

Anne and I planted 150 tulip bulbs couple weeks ago so we have the promise of tulips to look forward to in spring, too.

The strong winds of the past two days have scrubbed the trees clean of leaves, leaving them skeletons until spring.  Tractors are still busy in the fields, disking in the dead stalks.  Here's one heading home at sunset.

Everyday Sacraments

The usual definition of sacrament is "a religious ceremony that is regarded as an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace".  That's really a good definition for the sacraments of the church which we love - the sacrament of baptism or holy communion, both so full of meaning and grace.  But it is one of my favorite authors, Ken Gire, in his book Seeing What Is Sacred who opened my eyes to a broader definition of sacrament.  "Sacraments are ordinary things through which something extraordinary is offered."  He points out that God uses ordinary things like a bush (burning) and stone tablets (written on by His finger), a piece of bread, a glass of wine as channels for His voice, "something from heaven offered to us through earthly hands."  Something that lets us know we are looked after and loved.

I've found that to be an immensely helpful definition.  It has opened my eyes to look for the daily sacraments God sends me, the ordinary, earthly things that come to me from His heavenly hand as silent witnesses of His love and care.  The sunrise or sunset that takes my breath away.  The incredible detail and beauty in a dragonfly's wing or abdomen.  The warmth of the sun, the sparkle of the stars, the endlessly fascinating phases of the moon.  The laughter and smiles of those I love.  If we go through our days with eyes open to those sacraments from Him, we will find them and He takes endless delight in surprising us with unexpected things.  

Today I was gifted a sacrament in a shell.  About 4 this afternoon Kenji came in the house and said, "Phoenix found a turtle!"  I asked, "What kind?"  Of course Kenji (whose experience of turtles is quite limited) had no idea so we went out together and he showed me this:

A beautiful little box turtle!  I've lived here on the farm twenty years and seen lots of snapping turtles, painted turtles and soft-shelled turtles but never a box turtle.  That's not to say I doubted their presence but there's so much out there that one simply never sees.  And that's why it's such a sacrament to have the privilege of seeing one.

Of course I had to pick it up and bring it in the house.  I was sorely tempted to make a "pet" of it but I knew that it's best chances of survival and happiness are in the wild so after enjoying it for half an hour, I took it back to the spot we'd found it and put it on exactly the same spot, facing the same direction.  I do believe it might live under the barn because it was just in front of what looked like a path dug under the barn siding.  I am so thankful for the creativity of our Father and that He chose to share His joy in it with me today.

Box turtles got their name because they close up completely like a box when they are afraid, rather than just pulling into their shell.  When this fellow was closed up, all we could see outside were two teeny toenails.  The front flap of his underside opens and closes like the hatch on a boat.  

Back where we found him.  I put an old clay tile there just in case he wants a hidey-hole.

And then, as I went back in the house, another sacrament, an ordinary thing through which something extraordinary is offered...

November on the Farm

As summer came to a close Pete and I were thrilled with the thought of autumn in the country.  There is that frenzied period at the peak of summer's bounty when the days are long and nights are short and it feels impossible to keep up with the garden and weeding and everything else.  And then the days start to shorten and life begins to slow down.  I think that's one of the things I missed most in California - the rhythm of the seasons.  Back on the farm again, we have loved September, gloried in October and now we are relishing November's distilled sunlight, short days and sweater weather.  I'd forgotten how beautiful November can be.  Yes, there are gray, rainy days and foggy mornings.  But the angle of the light this time of year amplifies the sun's beauty and makes up for any shortage in the hours.  Some days we just drive slowly across the countryside and bask in the tawny harvested fields and colorful trees.

We have been immersed in the huge project of finishing the basement.  Carpenters, dust, electricians, dust, plumbers, dust, dry wallers, dust, bags and bags of stuff to cart away, and more dust.  But Anne is painting away down there now and within a week or two, the Big Move should take place.  Anne and Kenji will move into the space down there and Pete and I will migrate to the master bedroom on the ground floor.  I will acquire a sewing room upstairs and the threads will begin once again to fly.  Yesterday I finished the LAST of the canning for the season.  All the beets and apples are now in jars and the shelves are groaning under the bounty.  

Anne in her painting gear - we bought a sprayer that she is using on all surfaces.  This is the "before" photo. Now she is completely white from head to toe.

Long shadows of autumn

We've had a fire in the woodstove on a few days and evenings but the house is now so well insulated that the furnace rarely kicks on.  Logs stored in the barn need to be split - a job we enjoy on cool days.

Scenes from an autumn Sunday

Sunny, warm and that autumn feel of drying fields in the air.  After lunch we got into the car and meandered off, randomly choosing roads we didn't know.  We drove through miles of fields ready for harvest, tiny villages of neat little houses and then along the Illinois River.  It was fun to drive with no agenda, follow our whims and see what we discover.  

We followed a sign off the beaten track about 2 miles to a U-Pick Pumpkin Patch (strictly honor system).

Of course a few pumpkins came home with us.  I'm a sucker for u-pick.  This would have been more fun with grandkids but oh well...

The grain barges are starting to move on the Illinois River

In Henry, IL someone must have released some domestic geese by the river.  They have multiplied over the years and now number in the hundreds, a large and noisy flock that dominates the waterfront park.  I asked a local guy what the story was and he just drawled, "Oh, they've been here a long time now.  Sure make a mess of the park."

Goose flotilla on the river.  This is only a small portion of them.

Exploring country lanes.

September

Every fall my mom used to quote the first few lines of this poem by Helen Hunt Jackson.  And every fall the words come back to me as September unrolls her beauties around us.

September

The golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.

 

The gentian's bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun;

In dusty pods the milkweed

Its hidden silk has spun.

 

The sedges flaunt their harvest,

In every meadow nook;

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook.

 

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes' sweet odors rise;

At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

 

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer's best of weather,

And autumn's best of cheer.

The goldenrod is yellow

The corn is turning brown

The trees in apple orchards with fruit are bending down

In dusty pods the milkweed its hidden silk has spun

And asters...

asters....

And more asters...not by the brookside but making a river of blossoms themselves.

I notice that in many poems about autumn there is a line about the fringed gentian.  We don't have any of that growing around here so that's something I'll be looking for.  We do have sedges in shady spots and there's a wild grape growing on the barn and near the tulip tree.  Now if only they would bear fruit with its "sweet odors" for us!