The storm windows went up this
weekend.
Years ago, when we bought our house, it had aluminum storm
windows—the sort with screens built in that warp slightly and are tricky, over
the years, to open. Although I have fond memories of following my father through
empty houses while he installed such windows, they are ugly. After we painted,
I did not want to re-hang them. It was like putting blinders on our house.
However, after a year of serious drafts, something had to be done. Our friend
Mark is a woodworker and he took the glass from the old storms and built wooden
ones, sized to fit each window’s quirks. We painted them deep red, hung them,
and never looked back. Every autumn, around Halloween, we wash all of the
windows—house and storm—wax the wooden edges with a chunk of candle like waxing
old wooden cross country skis, and pop them on. Well, sometimes there’s a bit
of pounding involved, if something has shifted over the summer. They add a
layer of detail to the house, rather than subtracting. The house turns inward
and quiet, focused for the long winter nights. Fires, beans in the crockpot,
potlucks, sweater knitting, and reading
become the focus of our lives, rather than hiking and gardening.
*****
Sunbow Farm had a Harvest Home
potluck this evening. We pulled in through the tall pampas grasses right before
sunset and parked by the chip and mulch pile. The cob house was warm and
welcoming; they had cleaned and lit a fire in the big wood stove. The world
smelled of earth and dinner. Kent had carved a series of compost pile gourds
and lined them down the path to the back field, ending with a large pumpkin. At
twilight, we all stepped out into the breezy fields. The sun was setting south
of Mary’s Peak, casting gold and peach light into the clouds and lighting up
the mountain. The trees were dark against the sky. Kent lit the furthest
pumpkin, and we walked back to the house, lighting gourds as we went. “We’re
inviting the field spirits into the house for the winter,” he and Harry
explained, “so that we can all live in peace. Then, in the spring, all of the
spirits head back out into the fields.”
Fifteen people walked the field track, back to the houses, as we had so
often, summer after summer, hauling beans, water bottles, armloads of greens.
“Now,” he announced, “we can eat!” And we did—fava and Indian Woman beans,
stuffed red peppers, applesauce and apple cake, pickles from abundant crops of
beets and cucumbers, all from our local farms.
On the way home, we passed three
churches having Sunday evening services, their stained glass windows glowing in
the leafy darkness.
Mabon Quiche
Turn the oven on to 350
degrees.
Make a quiche crust with half whole wheat flour.
Sautee a leek in olive oil salt
and pepper until limp.
Chop a crisp apple.
Cut smoked gouda into small
cubes.
Beat four eggs into about 2/3 of
a cup of milk.
Layer the quiche: cheese, apple
and leek, then beaten eggs. Support the crust edge if it starts to bend with a
shim of folded paper.
Bake until set.
Eat for dinner with a fresh green
salad and cider.
