The autumn leaves of red and gold.

Somehow fall arrived in the land of the turning leaf. The wood guy delivered a couple of runs which we stacked in the woodshed. I raked leaves and pine needles. We drove to the orchard and picked empires and bought shamrocks (that’s a variety of apple which I’d never heard of before) and apple cider and squashes. Oh, we also bought a ceramic garlic keeper for my sis- and bro-in-law since Thanksgiving is at their house next weekend.

Years and years ago, when we were pretty new here and lived on campus and I was pregnant with Buddy Boy, my neighbour Marsha took me to this orchard (it’s a half-hour drive south, just ten minutes from the Vermont border) and introduced me to the owners who were friends of hers. It was in the fall and my son was born in the spring, so I must have been just a couple of months gone. But that’s not really important to the telling of this tale.

The orchard had been in the husband’s family for a couple of generations. He’s one of those touchy-feelie types who don’t respect physical space, and he was always putting his arm around me and seriously creeping me out. They ended up splitting up (he got himself a beautiful Swiss girlfriend) and sold the farm to a first cousin whose husband now runs the operation. They kept the name. He’s a folk singer and she’s a potter and sells her pieces in the store alongside all the other products: the honey, the pies, the preserves and the maple syrup. I remember when she first started, her stuff was pretty bad, but now I would stack her pottery against any other stuff I see around here.

I stayed up until 3:30 this morning finishing the book I had been reading, woke up at 8:30, did all of the above, watched a movie with Hubby after supper, and now I can barely keep my eyes open. Which means that maybe I should head to bed.

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