FALL - Wednesday, 8/17/2022
There’s no stopping it. Prepare for it ‘cause it’s gonna happen. Gonna? It’s happening right now. A quick breeze from the west is heading up our valley only to carom off the eastern end to head west again. If we were out west in, say, New Mexico, our valley would be a box canyon. Most of America would murder for such a breeze, but not around here. This breeze has an edge to it, a slight, barely perceptible chill, like a whisper in your ear that you’d rather not hear. Ready or not, here I come. Actually, we began getting ready last May when we put in a load of green firewood knowing it’ll age by the time we need it. The breeze whispers, “You’ll need it soon.”
This morning a young buck, still in velvet, was seen nibbling at my new peach tree. I wrapped the slender trunk with burlap, fenced it in, and doused both wrap and the ground around it with deer repellent to keep him at a distance. The bear raided our garbage bin the other night, bit it, clawed it, dragged it away. Countless creatures are out there hunting for something to eat. The green is not the green it was two weeks ago, no longer vibrant but kind of lackluster and dull, faded, some already yellowed, enough now on the ground. But, it's still August, guys! Of course, we’ve had a drought, so things are drier than normal. The grass crackles under one’s feet. Herdman Brook is barely there.Where did the rainbows go? The peach trees are bearing, though not yet ready to pick, as are the apple and pear trees. More moths. Less butterflies. Blue Jays foray down the mountain from their forest fastness to plunder the valley. Grouse thunder from hiding. Different songbirds. Different songs. Black Eyed Susans are back. The squash patch is on its way. The woodchuck can be a scourge, all right, but this season he's kept his distance, and, now that the chickens are gone, the skunks are gone, too.
It’s mid August, and we are closing in on September like a Derby winner in the stretch. The other day I saw a beautiful little fawn, still spotted, spindly legs, a dainty thing. Its mother must have been close by, but I never saw her. That night the coyotes howled for hours. I wondered.
Has it been a year? It astonishes me that we so quickly return to where we began.
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