As I sit here typing way, the windows are opened to the world; our air is filled with the smell of pulled onions. The ensilage/silage trucks are busy upon our country road/the sound of the corn choppers carrying on the breeze.
Terry is out pulling the last field of the pinto beans…Harvest is underway!
Tomorrow is September’s Full Moon—The Harvest Moon. Traditionally the fullest moon closest to the Autumn equinox is the Harvest Moon. Sometimes the Autumn equinox will will be in October, but only once or twice a decade.
Boomer and I took our walk a little early last night…I really don’t know what the time was, by the silence upon the land said all the equipment, the workers, and the farmers were home. I loved the moon as it broke free of the mountains and filled the leaves of the willow tree with light. My little camera doesn’t take moon shots very well, but I think the leaves helped bring it into focus.
A thundering sunset had faded away and the night was upon us. I love to walk at night, with Boomer…there is no worry or fear of the future, no terror’s of the evil being done in the world to people who don’t deserve such treatment…it all falls away…just Boomer and I and the silence of the night.
We are about done with the huge load of firewood. It’s a relief! We are all tired of it. Terry and Evan cut and I load. Two pick-ups to stack and fill. I am the stacker and the filler of the pick-ups. Sometimes I get behind and they have to stop and help, but not often. I guess I’m proud, of that little fact,…I can keep up with the chainsaws.
Two more days…the end has appeared!
My mother, my brother, and I used to walk down to our grandparents most evenings, in the summer and fall, (when I was young) and Momma would sing “Shine on Harvest Moon” us as we walked, if it was Autumn. I loved that song!
I still do. I sing the words, to myself silently, remembering those days, as we made our way past the orchard to our grandparents house, where we would all sit outside on the big front porch and enjoy the last of the good weather.
From my world to your heart,
Linda
The farm is exploding with the simple joy of Fall. The scents are an intoxicating mix of drying corn leaves, dusty weeds; the air so buoyant it feels like a carnival.
Fall has it’s own mix of flowers; washing over the land to collide with the changing of the leaves upon the trees
The nights are cool, with morning bordering on cold
The golden corn sings and sighs in the breezes and protests mighty in heavy winds
A storm came in on Wednesday the air hazy with the promise of moisture. The clouds brooding and sullen, dropping rain in the canyons. Not a good thing with harvest.
Still the weeds, the grasses, and all the plants and flowers sing out HOPE! Hope for the coming of Spring. Hope for the new dawn of awaking, after a long rest in winter.
Life on a Colorado Farm 