http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2012970702_fall23m.html
http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/09/22/harvest.moon/
http://science.nasa.gov/science-news/science-at-nasa/2010/22sep_harvestmoon/
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
New Favorite on my Favorite Author/Writer's List...Ruth Reichl
http://www.ruthreichl.com/biography.html
http://www.ruthreichl.com/books.html
Tender at the Bone was one of those rare "I don't want this book to end" type of books.
and I have recently learned there are two other books I must find and read......
Enjoy! This author is a rare gem.
http://www.ruthreichl.com/books.html
Tender at the Bone was one of those rare "I don't want this book to end" type of books.
and I have recently learned there are two other books I must find and read......
Enjoy! This author is a rare gem.
The Rural Life: Verlyn's Latest on Autumn....
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/18/opinion/18sat4.html?ref=opinion
September 17, 2010
Dark Comes
By VERLYN KLINKENBORG
I don’t go looking for the places of deep comfort on this farm. They call out to me. Why does the mounded hay in the horses’ run-in shed look so inviting? Why does the chicken house — warm and tight and brightly lit — feel like a place where I could just settle in? I climb the ladder to the hayloft and the barn cat watches me warily from his redoubt in the hay bales. I feel like getting my sleeping bag and joining him.
Night comes, but the fog comes first, dragging the last light with it across the hilltops. The leaves have started to fall — just ones and twos, but already scorched into autumn colors. It is still too warm for the woodstove, the kind of evening that feels like summer in mourning, though without any real sadness. On a night like this, “grieving” sounds like the noise the wind would make if it got into the attic.
Real autumn is a long way off yet, no matter what the pumpkins say. The sight of them at the farm stands seems to jerk me forward, and I am not ready. I want to consume the particulars of the day ahead of me, one by one.
I was away from the farm for two days this week, and it sprang ahead without me. The bees, uproarious around the hive-mouth when I left, are nowhere to be seen in the dusk, though I know they’ll be out again in the morning.
That hive is another place of comfort. I don’t know whether their labor feels like labor or whether necessity is joy to them. I never see the bees coming and going without wondering what so much kinship means. I loved the education Merlin gave the young King Arthur in T. H. White’s “The Once and Future King,” turning him into creature after creature. I teach myself the same way every day I’m at the farm.
September 17, 2010
Dark Comes
By VERLYN KLINKENBORG
I don’t go looking for the places of deep comfort on this farm. They call out to me. Why does the mounded hay in the horses’ run-in shed look so inviting? Why does the chicken house — warm and tight and brightly lit — feel like a place where I could just settle in? I climb the ladder to the hayloft and the barn cat watches me warily from his redoubt in the hay bales. I feel like getting my sleeping bag and joining him.
Night comes, but the fog comes first, dragging the last light with it across the hilltops. The leaves have started to fall — just ones and twos, but already scorched into autumn colors. It is still too warm for the woodstove, the kind of evening that feels like summer in mourning, though without any real sadness. On a night like this, “grieving” sounds like the noise the wind would make if it got into the attic.
Real autumn is a long way off yet, no matter what the pumpkins say. The sight of them at the farm stands seems to jerk me forward, and I am not ready. I want to consume the particulars of the day ahead of me, one by one.
I was away from the farm for two days this week, and it sprang ahead without me. The bees, uproarious around the hive-mouth when I left, are nowhere to be seen in the dusk, though I know they’ll be out again in the morning.
That hive is another place of comfort. I don’t know whether their labor feels like labor or whether necessity is joy to them. I never see the bees coming and going without wondering what so much kinship means. I loved the education Merlin gave the young King Arthur in T. H. White’s “The Once and Future King,” turning him into creature after creature. I teach myself the same way every day I’m at the farm.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
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