Harvest Time 2023 (# 2)

I can’t believe it is the end of September!

As the weather has cooled and brought chill to the air (I wasn’t quite ready to let the warmth of the sun go) I have fallen into a comfortable rhythm with my morning and evening routines that feels satisfying.

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I’ll wake up at 6am.  Shuffle out of the bedroom into the rest of the house.  The cats are sound asleep. The house is dark and quiet.  The mantel stove, which I have started using again at night to keep the house a little toasty, is flickering.  I’ll get the coffee going.  While that’s brewing, I clean out and reset the cats’ placemats and bowls in the kitchen for their dry food and water, jump in the shower, and get dressed.

I don’t have a television, so I call the local weather number on my phone and let it play on speaker phone while I sweep the kitchen.  Then I put my radio on NPR and listen to the morning news while I drink my coffee and watch the sun come up and daylight fill the house.

I go outside and tend to the outdoor chores. Long gone are azaleas, rhododendrons, bleeding hearts, honeysuckle, soapwort, cornflowers, lilies, wild violets, blackberries, hastas, and lilacs.  All the flowers and herbs have bloomed, shed their seeds, and turned brown and stiff. I can see the tendrils of (fucking!) bittersweet, still voraciously climbing and wrapping itself around trees. I tear at the tendrils, best I can, careful not to shed a single piece as I place whole vines in my trash cans; anywhere a little piece falls will just sprout more. I’ve never known such an invasive species. The berries are beautiful as anything, all bright orange and autumn colored; but bittersweet is awful! I am in a never-ending battle with it.

After tending to the yard, I sweep the porch and steps and usually end up sweeping down the driveway; I have an indoors broom and an outdoors broom, and ne’er the two shall twain. 

I come in and shut off the mantel stove, so the sun can do its work warming the house now.  And, then it’s time to wake the home altars; lighting candles and incense about the house; there’s the main altar, and the ancestors altar; and the hearth altar; the altar for the spirits of this mountain, this plot of land, this place.  Gotta tend your relationships. 

By this point, the cats are awake and eating their breakfast.  I love their temperament the most in the morning.  They are soft, and quiet, and sleepy-eyed, and at their most cuddly.  They want soft kisses planted all over their cutie head and cheeks, and lots of hugs.  They’re definitely their most lovey-dovey when only half-awake in the morning, and I love it.

As the cats eat their breakfast, I’ll sit and make my to-do list for the day, starting with shifting anything from the day before’s list onto today’s list.  Meditating on what I want to accomplish, and creating a daily to-do list, is part of my morning practice, and just drives home what I want to prioritize, what I’m doing with my day, what I’m working towards in terms of joy and beauty, and what I’m working towards in terms of security and investment.  So, there’s a disciplined daily practice around ‘the to do list’ for sure.

Eventually I’ll hear NPR turn to classical music, and I know it’s time to go into my office, turn on my computer, and start my work-day.

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After work, the tone of the household is a little different.  Harder chores.  More calories expended. 

I feed the cats their wet food dinner immediately after work. 

Then, I change into my “outdoor work” clothes, filthy denim, work boots, protective leather gloves, safety glasses.  I go out to the shed and get out the wheelbarrow, metal rake, ax, clippers, and I wheel all those tools down the long driveway to the South-Eastern corner of the property.  I’ve been clearing out a trail that follows the perimeter of the homestead. Surveyors came and put 13 stakes in the ground (a fortuitous number), and, starting at stake number 1, I’ve cleared a four-foot wide path all the way to stake number 8, and counting. Each time I go out, I start at stake number 1, and walk the path to where I’m working.  This lets me look for any roots that have regrown (lookin at YOU, BITTER-SWEET!), small trees, boulders, etc, that still need to be removed so that the path is clear and safe. 

It’s back-breaking work.  For me, anyway.  With this body I got, it’s back-breaking work.  I’m out there for hours pulling and cutting and digging and chopping and tripping and falling and scraping myself on trees and bushes.  I had my wheelbarrow full of rocks, each larger than a cantaloupe, and my whole wheelbarrow tipped over and fell on me, throwing me to the ground, and twisting my ankle.  Nothing to do but get up, re-load all the rocks, and keep it moving.  The other day I started to see blood soaking through my jeans and, when I pulled my pant leg up, I had this huge gouge in my shin that was bleeding profusely.  Where did it come from?  Hell if I know! Didn’t feel a thing!  So, it’s been a little rough and tumble out there.

After a couple hours out in the woods, I return home, limping, bruised, bleeding.  I come inside and shed all those clothes in the mud room (the dirt and ticks can stay out there!), jump into a boiling hot shower, and just stand there kind of whimpering as the hot water and steam do their best on my sore muscles. 

It sounds awful; and, sometimes, in the moment, it feels awful; but, it’s such good work.  There’s something life-affirming about it for me.  Pushing myself.  I am no stranger to long-term illness, and I’ve especially had some past health challenges.  So, I know full well there’s no guarantees of what I’ll be capable of, or not, tomorrow or any other given day; so, to go hard today feels like the gift it is.

After evening shower, it’s dark out.  I cook dinner.  Clean house a little bit.  Play with the cats.  Listen to NPR while I read or do some art.  I go outside to enjoy the darkness (there’s no artificial lights on my street), see all the stars, and find the constellations.  Sometimes it’s nice to talk on the phone with friends during the evenings.  And, I try to be in bed by midnight or 1am. 

I’m new to mornings.  6am is early for me.  I used to be a night owl.  There’s a quiet that happens after midnight once everyone else is asleep.  I always found I could think clearly and get stuff done when the world was quiet.  And, now, I’m finding there’s a quiet in the morning, too, before everyone else is awake.  They’re different, the night and morning quiet times; but I’m appreciating getting to know morning in a way I never have before. 

And that’s what’s going on here, at this time, during this season.

I hope wherever you are you’re finding joy and beauty in the seasonal changes. I wonder if there’s some particular practice, chore, routine, time of day, area of the house or yard, etc., that really makes you feel connected to yourself and your surroundings?  That makes you feel alive! 

I hope we continue to lean into those places and moments that bring out the most whole and sound versions of ourselves.

May It Be So!