in their too quick hours that I
breathe wordless in them
The summer has gone by--too fast, as always.
Fall. I love fall.
School. I love school schedules.
Gardens. And canning. And the timeless beauty of the task of saving the fruits of this season to feed my family for the winter. I never feel more the glory of being a wife and mother than in the fall, as I preserve those gorgeous healthy summer days in jar after jar, and wash the blankets, and stack firewood, and fill holes in the cellar walls, and build foundations, and .... oh, wait.
But I do love it.
And obviously, I haven't been on here often.
Autumn has a bad habit of leaving me speechless.
And my husband has a bad habit of leaving me computer-less now that the semester is fully under way.
But today, I have a computer, and a few minutes of blessed silence, and to prove th
at I have been thinking of this page for weeks, though I had no time, I shall put up a few pictures, in no particular order, of the past few weeks' worth of busyness, that I took with each of you in mind.Summer apples.
Pickles. Dill ones. Tons of them.SUNY Potsdam kindly landscaped their campus with crabapples, and every few y
ears there is a great season with more than enough for everyone. Except, only my family is crazy enough to put a sheet under a crabapple tree in the middle of a college campus and shake the trees and drag home the loot. Makes a gorgeous spicy jelly.
Does he look ominous? We got an hour of happiness out of him:stuffed with plastic bags, with jingle bells tied in his tail.
Anything to keep a very busy one year old occupied.
Anything to keep a very busy one year old occupied.
The makings of tomato sauce.
And...afore-mentioned one year old. 
One and a half, rather.
One and a half, rather.(No longer quiet right now, by the way).
And because the silence is gone, I must end this post prematurely. But I will come back. The "magnetic poetry" words are back on the refrigerator, and as they arrange and rearange themselves over the days, I have no doubt that inspiration will slowly resurrect while the leaves die and the cold cozy days return.
My best to all of you out there.
May your whiskers be long and your whiskey golden.
Or something.
And because the silence is gone, I must end this post prematurely. But I will come back. The "magnetic poetry" words are back on the refrigerator, and as they arrange and rearange themselves over the days, I have no doubt that inspiration will slowly resurrect while the leaves die and the cold cozy days return.
My best to all of you out there.
May your whiskers be long and your whiskey golden.
Or something.
