Playing catch up

The last time I posted, it was August.  August 18th, to be exact.  Meteorogically speaking, summer was on the wane, but from a practical standpoint it had really just started.  The temperatures behaved in a summerlike fashion for a few weeks and then either spring returned or fall came early, depending on which of these two chilly seasons you prefer.  I can't remember everything of the last almost three months, but I know a few things.

The grape harvest in September was rather disappointing.  We pruned the vines too hard last winter and had far fewer grapes than we would have liked.  This was especially unhappy for Naomi, who had her eye on the grapes for jam purposes.  Mike harvested every last bunch when none of us were around, and sent all to the freezer for winter consumption.  By the end of the summer, however, we had strawberry jam, salsa, pickles, and tomatoes put up for the winter.  The only problem being that I gave away most of the jam and salsa before September.   Naomi's larder, I believe  is yet full, as she was far more dedicated to farm-wifery than I and ended up with at least six varieties of jam and a lot of salsa, pickles, pasta sauce, applesauce, apple butter, as well as a whole mess of other canned and frozen goodies.

Hen of the Woods season has come and gone.  Mike was of the opinion that the season starts when we have a few cool nights followed by rain, but we determined that those conditions do not necessarily produce mushrooms.  The season was short and we never had the motherlode of fruit we have in past years.   We ate mushroom suppers two nights in a row, sent a bag to the freezer, a bag to friends, and that was it.

Goldfinches, who were just finishing raising their broods in August, are now elsewhere.  Robins flocked up, ate like crazy, and are mostly gone as well.  Red-Winged Blackbirds are still hanging around in limited numbers--they became vocal and numerous about a month ago, making me think it was spring again.  Each time I heard their trill, my brain said "Spring!"  and I was momentarily fooled.  I never realized how much I associated their song with late March.  I am happy they've quit their attempts to confuse me because it was a bummer.  Juncos are back from wherever it is they spent the summer.   Starlings, though they never left, are everywhere.  I don't know what they do all summer, but they thankfully are absent from my yard until October, when they show up in the Cottonwood each morning  in very large numbers.   The Blue Jays, also non-migratory, are insane lately.  They appear in the tree out front by 7am and begin yelling like mad.  From inside the house, I interpret this yelling as "Bring us peanuts!" and do their bidding.  I don't know what they are really going on about, but my translation is working so far.   They are smart enough to arrive before the crows and end up eating a pound of peanuts before I re-fill the dish when the crows do finally make their morning appearance.  Both jays and crows have been having their peanut meals in the front of the house for the last six weeks--probably not a good idea on my part.  Neighbors may not enjoy pulling into a cul-de-sac littered with crows.  There are seven of them all told;  they prowl the sidewalks and generally make themselves known. While six eat and goof around, the seventh perches as sentinel to watch out for everyone on the ground.  I've lost a lot of time on Saturdays watching them when I should be cleaning the house.

Trips have been taken, though sadly, none by me.  Mike has backpacked and fished in Canada, hunted dove somewhere downstate, taken Kola to South Dakota for pheasant, grouse, and prairie chicken,  gone to the farm for a deer.  The fish have been consumed, as have a good deal of the grouse, pheasant, and prairie chicken.  The doves will be eaten this evening, baked with cornbread dressing, roasted root vegetables, and morel sauce.  We are, however, venison-less so far this season.   Both Mike and the boy returned from trips to the farm empty-handed, and Mike has decided to take a few years off from deer, for reasons which remain his own.   This weekend husband, son, and dog head to the Champaign area for pheasant, and there has been talk of a January trip to Kansas for some upland bird, though I don't remember which.  Pheasant are my least favorite eating bird, but their numbers seem most numerous and thus appear in our kitchen more often than the preferred grouse, woodcock, and prairie chicken.

The garden has been overhauled thanks to the efforts of Chris and Naomi.  After listening to my whining about the inefficiency and nightmarish quality of the vegetable garden, Chris drew up a plan to fix everything.  We spent a beautiful October day (when Mike was away gallivanting through South Dakota with Kola) working, and the result is beautiful and functional.   We put 25 cloves of garlic in one bed and have plans for the other beds--as soon as seed catalogs begin arriving in January I will start the mental planting.

I now feel like I have caught up, at least to a degree.  While I put a lot of thought into at least a dozen posts over the last ten weeks, the combination of work, family, dog, cooking, etc., made completion of anything nearly impossible.  I never meant to quit, but there were days when I really thought I would never get back.  Though things have not really calmed down, the slowly closing window of good weather does add a little time to each day.  For the next few months (realistically, more like six) I won't be outside for hours except on the best of days.   For now, though, temperatures are still in the 50's and the days of rain have stopped.  Most of the trees are bare save their fruit, the prairie has gone brown, and the sunsets have taken on their winter characteristics.  While summer sunsets are beautiful, nothing can compare to the way the evening sky looks in late fall and winter.  Maybe it is only the absence of color in the rest of the landscape which makes the winter sky so magical--matters not, though--it's something to look forward to while we wait for whatever the rest of the season holds.