Gathering

The cooler weather that signals fall's approach brought billows of fog to Iron Acres yesterday morning.  The dew on this cobweb testifies that fall's friend, winter, will not be far behind.



On the way home from work, I spied busy farmers mowing fields and gathering in the last cutting of hay.



A neighbor's farm is experiencing an explosion in the poultry population. Mother hens are gathering their newly hatched chicks underneath them in barn and barnyard.



Honeybees and bumble bees are buzzing 'round the goldenrod, gathering nectar and pollen for winter food.



All too soon the blue sky will be robed in winter gray.



So I too am gathering...memories of precious Sprittles on sunny beaches, brilliant butterflies on flowering Texas sage, summer warmth and green, family times together. I'm wrapping them all in lavender wands to pull out on the bleak days ahead to remind me... of the spring to come.

Letting Go

I will admit to being a pack rat, a habit I'm trying to change.

Stuff binds us.

Although I know there is more peace, more freedom with less, I still have a problem letting go, learning that it's the memory, not the thing itself, that is worth holding onto.



This was my ancestral home in Texas, a picture taken by my Dad, an amateur photographer, the year of the great snow in Houston (his shadow is in the bottom center of the photo.) It is the house Mom and Dad built as newlyweds, the home they held onto when times were hard, the place where they raised two independent, "cotton pickin' brats", (as Dad lovingly referred to my younger sister and myself) their shelter as they grew old together.

The garage in whose darkroom corner I watched pictures appear magically on photo paper is no longer there, a victim of a tree thrown by Ike's raging winds. Only a beaten, cracked concrete slab bears testimony that it once existed.

That, and my memory.

In the house, the closet, which my sister and I shared along with a tiny bedroom, bears dated penciled lines that grew with us. We discussed rescuing the molding, that family heirloom chronicling our lives, but we have so much already.

Rich memories of Dad returning from a weary day looking for a job, yet taking time to crawl on hands and knees from the living room to our bedroom, gently carrying the pretend cowgirls on their pretend horse.

The wonderful smell of fresh bread baking in the old O'Keefe and Merritt gas range in the kitchen. Mom was not a great cook, but she did some serious baking on that stove, especially at Christmas.

Oh, the Christmas mornings, meals around the small kitchen table, practical jokes, laughter, tears. Sights and sounds and smells rush back into my mind.

The fireplug we gingerly played on and around. No ordinary fireplug, it served as a cow for roping practice, a crow's nest from which to view new worlds to conquer, a place to sit and contemplate life.



Yesterday, at 3:30 in the afternoon, the deed to that house passed into the hands of someone else. This little house, our childhood ark, our legacy, was sold, the key turned in the old lock for the last time and surrendered to the new owner.



Perhaps they will make memories of their own, add several coats of new paint, repair old tile and flooring. Perhaps they will demolish the house and start all over.

I do know this, it was a great place to spend my childhood. A cup full of experience and love. Memories I will pass on to my children, and my children's children.

Memories too precious to let go.

(Thank you, Principessa, for the pictures of the magical fireplug and back door.)

Can You Feel It?

Can you feel it? Fall is in the air. The ripening ears of corn stand in green soldier rows, almost ready for harvest. They're everywhere I look.

On the way home.



Across the road.



Along the Wendy's parking lot.



Their green and golden connect earth to the blue and white sky, and make me smile.



Fall is in the air. Can you feel it?

Sunset on Sky Watch Friday

I don't remember seeing that many sunsets as a child.  I think I was probably too busy burning up the last inches of daylight with play.  I have more time now, more opportunity to watch the sun quench its golden blaze in the horizon.



In the last 18 years at Iron Acres, I've watched many a sunset from this window. Some are more spectacular than others. On this night, the sun's flames licked the side of our house, gazing at its own image in our windows as the clouds chased it down.



Caught in an act of vanity, like a self conscious child it tried to hide behind a tree. I had been standing in our field, so I turned back to watch the display on the window. Actually, I ran from the field toward the house to catch the sun before it escaped.



Perhaps I still am burning up the last few inches of daylight in play. Only this time out, it's hide and seek with the sun!

You can seek out more more glimpses of sun and sky from all over the planet here.