I’ll show you what’s really liquid—it’s this sunlight pouring down from the west, from the great glass jar of the sky. The creek playing its little tune, running over the stones. The descant of syllables in the mockingbird’s song. For not a single hickory nut banked by the squirrels will gain any interest. Not a grain of wheat in the wallet of a chipmunk’s cheek will increase in worth. The bear’s fat layer is its IRA. Here in the woods, it’s autumn’s great investment portfolio; look, everything’s turned the color of money: copper, brass, gold.
It’s an exciting week for me, because many dinged-up walls and doors in my house are being painted, along with the black metal stair railings. These were set to be done several years ago, before the workers were interrupted by wildfires, then by covid. When normality returned, I didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to get started again. But now my new handyman James, a friend from church, is doing the work. During son Pathfinder’s visit over the weekend I was encouraged just to have him to talk with about colors. Now things will be so lovely and clean.
Pathfinder and I did a satisfying amount of work in 24 hours, including a big tidying-up of my utility yard and all the scraps of wood I keep there, which I turn into kindling. There are always pieces that are too long for my stove and need sawing up, and I don’t want to use a power saw; he took care of those fast. He even cut my old manzanita stump into a few pieces to take home for his own wood stove, because he heard that it burns nice and hot, and wants to find out.
We cleaned the fountain together, and Pathfinder leveled it perfectly afterward. The easy way to drain the green water from it is by siphoning it out with a garden hose, but that takes two people to manage.
It’s has been wanting a good clean-up for months, and I had been hoping for this family assist. We managed to do all the tasks before the rain began, which was the morning that he left.
Today it poured, then the sun came out, then the wind blew rain in again. Between downpours I was able to go out twice and gather fallen pine needles enough to fill the big green bin for trash pickup tomorrow. The zinnias watched me with their bright faces as I walked by, so I came back and picked another bouquet of them. These wet blooms don’t last as long as the sun-washed ones, but they are cheery as long as they do. My fingers were all wrinkly when I finally came indoors again, because everything I’d been handling was sopping.
While picking up blankets of pine needles off my plants, I discovered that the Sweet Box, Sarcococca, has shiny red berries on it. I haven’t been impressed with the scent of that shrub’s flowers — it isn’t very potent. But these berries are lovely.
The flax crackers I was working on last week turned out pretty good. I had to leave them in the dehydrator about 28 hours. They need more salt and fewer pumpkin seeds, in my opinion, but I’m enjoying them, and gave some away. I’ll make a new batch soon, with improvements, and eventually will share the recipe here.
Today I made two kinds of soup with various leftovers in the fridge, and I like them both as well. Soup and crackers are just the thing for rainy November days.
Oh! mark the withered leaves that fall In silence to the ground; Upon the human heart they call, And preach without a sound. They say, So passes man’s brief year! To-day, his green leaves wave; To-morrow, changed by time and sere, He drops into the grave. Let Wisdom be our sole concern, Since life’s green days are brief! And faith and heavenly hope shall learn A lesson from the leaf.