As a kid in the South Bronx, I loved this time of year because it meant new: yellow #2 pencils, notebooks with crisp clean pages, maybe a fresh book bag (this was way before backpacks), and spanking new clothes to start the school year. There would be one or two bright white shirts, a couple of new skirts (no pants or shorts back then), and fancy dresses for special ocassions.
The first couple of weeks might be a bit warm, but then the winds would start as the East Coast shifted into hurrican season. There were days when I’d walk to school at a 45-degree angle into the wind just to stay on my feet. It was pretty common to see an umbrellas tumbling down the street, spokes twisted and fabric turned inside-out by the gale.
* * *
It was pretty calm this morning at Bull Brook Keep. The hydrant that feeds the line to the cow’s water trough is just 50 yards from the back door, but by the time I reached it this morning, my boots were drenched and my jean cuffs were begining to soak through. Late August-early September in the Upper Midwest usually means heavy dews on the grass and fogs that hang above the pastures and hay fields. The mists take longer and longer to burn off as we move through fall, until one day we’re closer to winter and the air dries again.
Parker greets the sun
Russian kale
Every surface was dripping this morning and it took just five seconds for the dogs to look as if they’d jumped into a stream. Ah, nothing like a wet corgi jumping on your jeans for a pat on the head.
Sourdough loaves are baking and it’s time for morning tea. Lots of calls to make this morning, and notes to take as I schedule this year’s harvest and upcoming deliveries of our grass-fed-grass-finished beef. Fortunately, I’ve got a new pen and a spiral notebook at hand.
Enjoy the changing seasons!
