Gibson and I headed out into the cobalt blue world. The light is already tired this time of year, always stretching and yawning. That's what August light is, tired. It's the glow of Lughnasadh, the first harvest. Once you pass that August 2nd cross quarter you are in the realm of fall and I feel it everywhere, boiling from room temperature on its way up. I can feel Autumn in every breath, the air is tired too. As a farmer and as an old-fashioned agriculturalist I see the year starting and ending in fall, not January. This is the end of a whole year of growth and all the work will pay off in warm stove wood, canned jars of summer vegetables, growing lambs, a strong horse, and soon bonfires that set yellow cornstalks aglow. Before you know it there will be cider pressing and reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow around the campfire, a CAF tradition. I can not wait.
In the next few weeks we'll be in the realm of September and I could not be more excited. September is to me what Thanksgiving is to die-hard Christmas fans - the beginning of the celebration season! I am a fall junky and in the next few weeks nights will dip into the forties, then flirt with the thirties, and soon I will be calling the chimney sweep and chopping and stacking woof everyday from the growing pile. All the wood for my stove this year came in trade or as gifts, and what a gift it is! I have a friend, Tim Hoff, who has driven over with his son on several occasions to drop off wood left over from trees cut down by his boss or road jobs. All the wood, much of it hardwood, was scavenged but it'll burn just the same. I need to chainsaw and chop it up but I think well over two cords are already outside my kitchen window. That is not a bad start at all.