I made it out to the farm. It is nice to be here at least once during my favorite, colorful season of autumn. Some of the leaves have turned, but some have yet to let go of their chlorophyll. The corn farmers are waiting for a frost to dry the corn and really get into harvest. Moisture in the corn is hard to fathom when it has been so long since there was any rain to speak of. The pastures are dry and withered, and many wheat fields are bare, too hard to put the planters in the ground in many cases. I think I need to record these stories too.
I am drinking my morning coffee, looking out the window at the trees I planted over thirty years ago. I never imagined them quite this big. They are huge now (the ones that get irrigated that is). Being ever the gardener, I find myself listing off the things that need to be done to put the garden and yard back in shape. The spring rains encouraged weeds in the garden as high as the fence, and you can’t get in there with a mower. I drained the sprinkling system and put out mothballs. I’ll check out the furnace before I leave (I don’t want to smell the dust, so I haven’t turned it on yet). I can get wrapped up in memories and emotions very easily, so it’s best to get to work.
Driving away evokes a melancholy. I assume some day that won’t happen, but for now, the difficulty of leaving makes me not want to return. I cannot put that life we had back together. I cannot pull enough weeds, or clean the house enough to erase the years since the children were little and the house and farm were our busy life. I can’t, because no one can. The best I can do is move forward, love my grandchildren, and treasure the good memories.
and so I go…