Snugging Down

A cold front has settled over the Willamette Valley. The sky is high, and bright, and clear. All of the leaves are falling off of the trees and rustling on the ground, shades of gold, and red, and brown mingled with the bright green of the grass. The days are beautiful, the nights chilly.  And, because of our schedules, we are a little behind  on snugging the house down for the winter. This weekend, we went into full on snug mode.

                First, we had to wash all of the windows, inside and out, in preparation for the storm windows.  There is no point covering up fig splatter and bird poop with storm windows for the winter! Once the windows were washed, Mark went to the basement to wash and wax the wooden storms and I worked up stairs. Wool blankets on the bed. All of the curtains washed—it was a good drying day! The last of the summer shirts shifted into the spare room closet, the heavy shirts moved to the bedroom. I made mac and cheese and a baked butternut squash for dinner, which warmed up the kitchen nicely.

                Outside, the leaves from our neighbor’s linden trees were raked into a tempting fifteen foot long windrow, ready for the gathering.  Before they were disturbed by cars running through them, I wanted to collect them in the re-purposed recycling bin on wheels, haul them around back, and dump them, one bin per bed, onto the cleared out garden beds.  This is a yearly task, made much nicer this year by dry, fluffy leaves. Once the beds were covered, I made sure that the plastic cover over the lettuce bed would withstand the winds. All of the plants in pots were moved into the greenhouse. Mark gave the bunny extra straw to block breezes in the hutch from below. The chickens, all five on one perch, are fine until the temperature drops to the teens. When I came home from a meeting last night, I went back out into the street ad gathered more leaves, piling them up in the driveway. This week, I will add them to the other perennial beds.

                Tonight, we have a fire in the stove. There are beans in the crock-pot, bread in the oven. All of the garden beds are covered. The storms are on the windows. The curtains are drawn. Outside, the wind picks up the dry leaves and blows them against the door, but we are all snug inside.

Autumn

It is autumn. The rains have begun. The dining room roof talks, low voices for drops on the roof, high pings for drops on the vents. The little stove is glowing in the late afternoon, warming one room of the house; we have not yet turned on the heat. The laundry hangs from the rafters. The cat sleeps on her pillow on the stool. There are gold and green decorations in the room, gold and brown tablecloth and napkins. Tonight, we are having lasagna with delicate squash and kale tucked into the layers, along with fresh apple cider. I will bake bread and granola, make yougurt and the last batch of tomato sauce. Outside, we have brought the dining table and benches in, moved the coop to another bed, begun to break down the tomato jungle as green tomatoes bounce onto the ground. Rainbows span the sky as the clouds move in a stiff seabreeze; thunder and dark clouds race along soon after. Autumn.

Oregon Winter

This says it all this week.

Oregon Winter

by Jeanne McGahey

The rain begins. This is no summer rain,
Dropping the blotches of wet on the dusty road:
This rain is slow, without thunder or hurry:
There is plenty of time – there will be months of rain.

Lost in the hills, the old gray farmhouses

Hump their backs against it, and smoke from their chimneys
Struggles through weighted air. The sky is sodden with water,
It sags against the hills, and the wild geese.
Wedge-flying, brush the heaviest cloud with their wings.

The farmers move unhurried. The wood is in,

The hay has long been in, the barn lofts piled
Up to the high windows, dripping yellow straws.
There will be plenty of time now, time that will smell of fires,
And drying leather, and catalogues, and apple cores.

The farmers clean their boots, and whittle, and drowse.

October in Corvallis

Woodsmoke and leaf mold.
Bright blue air. Sunshine. Downpours
Grey mist on the hills.

Garden closing down.
Pumpkins and squashes move in.
Vines on the compost.

Wooly hats and socks.
Four warm blankets on the bed.
Turn on the heat? No!