Winter pears...

The hot, dry summer this year brought a bumper crop of Macintosh apples, yellow plums, and winter pears. This small orchard, with trees just head-high when we moved into the farmhouse, produces more fruit than I can hope to use.



Our one pear tree was a slow bloomer, and it was years before it produced more than a handful of pears. It had been poorly pruned when small, and we had no clue how to prune fruit trees, so it was years before we knew enough to try and fix the shape of the tree. Ever since, it's done very well. I love to watch the tiny green pears grow all summer long, finally reaching full size in early October.



One of my favorite things to fix at harvest time is brie with pears. Just mix brown sugar and melted butter together, spread it over the top and sides of a round of brie, and bake until the cheese turns soft. Place the cheese on a fancy plate, surround it with slices of winter pears and tart apples, and cut a wedge out to give you access to all that yummy, gooey cheese.  My mouth is already watering.



This is the first pear in more than thirty years that matured with a shiny, red-blushed skin.

Late summer...

The first feeling of autumn in the air has arrived already. I look out the kitchen windows at the orchard, and it just looks like autumn. The vinemaples are changing color, and the big leaf maples in the pasture are already losing their leaves.

But the biggest clue is waking up at 6:00 a.m. to mornings in the mid-40's, but the afternoons are still hot and dry.

All the tell-tale signs of a season in change, balanced so beautifully with late summer flowers.

I welcome the change. I put the garden to bed, then don't have to worry about it until spring. I welcome having the extra time for quilting and for photography.

Autumn is my favorite season.

First day...

Woke early to 31 degrees, happy to find snow on the ground
Read "Wicked Autumn" in a quiet house, with a mug of lemon tea
Got muddy finding a rock wall geocache
Cleaned the kitchen
Brushed Madison, but she never got her bath
Finally put away the camping gear
Started the laundry
Put away Christmas, but left out the winter decorations
Had leftover pizza for dinner, with a bit of chocolate for dessert
Organized photographs from 2016
Thought about what project to take to Material Girls
Worked through some Photoshop Elements tutorials

Hawthorn

In my front pasture are beautiful shrubby trees that flower pink and white in the spring. It took a trip to Ireland to learn that they're hawthorn bushes.

In Ireland, we saw hedges made from stone, and hedges made from living, growing shrubbery and trees. In early June, we were lucky enough to see the hawthorn hedges in full bloom.

As we drove north along the western coast, we saw a lot of farmland enclosed by these hedges, and our guide told us quite a bit about the lore of the hawthorn in Ireland. There are many traditions. Once it was believed that the hawthorn was sacred to the fairies, and that fairy spirits inhabited the trees. On the first of May, young women would wear a sprig of hawthorn blossom tucked in their bodice, in hopes of attracting a husband. It was believed that keeping a thorn from a hawthorn in your tackle box would guarantee a good catch. And that planting a hawthorn near a house would protect it from storms and lightning strikes.

Even today, some of those traditions linger. It is still believed to be bad luck to cut down a hawthorn tree that is standing alone, and as we passed hedgerows that were being pruned, it was clear that the hawthorns were left strictly alone.

I'm not a superstitious person, but those pink and white hawthorns in my front pasture? They're welcome to stay right where they are, and grow as much as they want.

Pasture mowing

It's a regular chore for the days between fall and winter. Sometimes it's my birthday surprise... yeah! But usually it happens in late October, before Indian summer ends, and the rainy season begins.

The weather really worked against us this year... nice (we're told) when we were on our road trip, and so much rain when we were home. But we finally found a day when everything worked out. The planets aligned. The sun god smiled. The tractor was put back together after some mechanical work. The mower was welded back together and painted.

It isn't all done. But enough is done to give us access to a couple of major tree-cutting projects, and to get to all the fencelines (my own chores are waiting for me). I'm also looking forward to being able to walk the hill and get some much-needed exercise, and get down to the pond to spy on the ducks.

Flannel and down...

It's that time of year, that time of fast weather change that reminds us how close the cold days are.

We got more than a hint of it on our road trip. Temperatures dropped into the twenties in Colorado, where we also got snowed on. And in eastern Idaho, in the shadow of the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone, we shivered in the early morning hours until the sun rose above the canyon walls.

So... time to fill a couple of holes in my much depleted wardrobe (and also our winter bedding). One thing I could have used on our road trip is a packable fiberfill jacket to wear under my rain jacket. I know... should have bought one before our trip! Thankfully, Costco still had a few left, and I found one in my favorite red, just like the first jacket I ever bought at REI when Davey and I started backpacking. It folds up into an inside pocket, which is very cool. I feel warm just looking at it.

I also found some striped Merino wool socks, perfect for wearing with my paddock boots at the barn, and inside my woodcutting boots. On cold mornings before we light a fire in the woodstove, they'll keep my tootsies warm on the cold hardwood floors.

It's also time to dress the bed for winter, but our old flannel sheets are worn out. It's tough to find California King bedding, but I was lucky enough to find some yummy plaid flannel sheets that didn't cost the earth. It's cold... they're going on the bed today.

Buck in the orchard...

OK...  this is not what I expected to see when I looked out my kitchen window today. The skies had turned blue and grey, but the wind was rising and a storm was predicted. So I expected to see the leaves falling from the fruit trees, not this young two-point buck taking a nap in the shelter of the trees.

We've seen him quite a bit this year, always alone. We don't grow a vegetable garden, so there's not much to tempt him, and I don't mind sharing the orchard fruit and pasture grass with him.

Blue eggs

We met up with friends for dinner in Belltown last weekend, and our friend Ann brought me a present: a dozen eggs from her backyard chickens. She opened the carton to show me the rainbow of colors. I especially love the pale blue eggs from her Ameraucana hen, whose legs match her eggs.

Getting home-grown eggs makes me want chickens of my own again. The spring after we bought our little farm, we went to our local farm store to buy baby chicks. In the middle of the room was a huge round metal tank full of cheeps and sawdust under heat lamps. We picked out a dozen Rhode Island Red chicks, recommended by my sister as gentle birds, good layers, and gorgeous roosters. We took them home and crossed our fingers.  And we lucked out: one rooster, the rest hens.

One day we'll have chickens again, just a few hens to lay just enough eggs for us and friends.

Horse duty...

I am horse-sitting for the next ten days, while Jess is in Syracuse first for her college graduation, then for a well-deserved vacation.

The farm is just up the road from me, with large pastures and an antique farmhouse like mine, but with a wonderful old rustic barn. I always dreamed of having a barn of my own, a place to keep my leather goods and saddles, where I could line up my boots in a row, ready to be laced up before a ride. A place with a cozy corner to call my own, with a comfy chair and desk, a place to hide out for a while each day and think about nothing but horses.

Jessica's two are pasture horses like my own were, coming up to the barn for evening feeding. It's been a decade now since my last horse moved on, and all it takes is walking into the barn and calling for the horses, and I'm right back there... those amazing years when there were always horses within sight and sound.

The little things

Sometimes it's the small things that make the most impact. Some look at fall as the death of summer, but it has its own beauty. I look around my small bit of paradise and see rose hips and beautiful seed pods, yellow maple leaves carpeting the trails. The grassy strips along the road are full of mushrooms, and the trees are dressed in autumn colors.

Walk in the woods

One of my favorite walks is right here at home:  walking our private road, and walking the paths on our small acreage. Woods, pastures, the now overgrown pond... I love every foot of it. And above it all, on the crest of the hill, stands a small old farmhouse.

The road is lined with trees and shrubs and wild flowers, beautiful every time of year. The rose hips are huge, and the big maples are turning yellow. And soon the vine maples will flame red, and I'll know that winter is just around the corner.

My sister's baskets

My sister, Laurie, has always been creative, and so often her talent leaves me speechless. Her latest self-taught craft is the art of basket making, and the collection of small baskets displayed in her house clearly shows her skill.

Laurie first got interested in making baskets 6 or 7 years ago. She collects all the materials, including cedar bark, cattail, tule, sweetgrass (a sedge), and bark such as cherry and maple. She admits to loving the process of gathering materials almost as much as she loves weaving them into baskets.

The twine pieces in this photograph are samples of cordage made from various materials:  cattail, sweetgrass, dandelion stems, and nettle fiber. She says making twine is fun and easy, something they demonstrate and teach to their historical museum's visiting school children, even the little 1st graders. This year they taught the 7th graders how to make twine from cattails.

Tiny, delicate bits of twine made from natural materials are ready to weave into a basket.

My sister says it’s not hard to learn the basics of basket making, but it’s much harder than it looks to make a really beautiful, well-crafted basket. She has the knack of seeing how a basket is constructed, the materials used and the patterns needed, but says it's harder to make her fingers do what her brain tells her to do. Basket weaving requires patience, and lots and lots of practice. She gets together with a group of friends every week, and that helps keep her motivated.

Here are some of her creations.

The string of shells that decorates this basket ends with a limpet shell

The small stone bear perfectly matches the colors in this basket,

which is decorated with a feather from a Steller Jay

This tiny basket with two different weaves is only about

three inches high, and less than an inch thick

The basket to the right is woven tightly around a closed clam shell that's

filled with tiny shells and stones to make it a rattle. The basket holds the

shell closed, and it makes a lovely hollow sound when shaken.

This beautiful loosely woven basket is made from seawood, and holds a collection of shells



This basket has a braided handle, and the top edge

is decorated with strings of wooden beads

I need a country fix

I dream of a simpler life.

Blue country skies
Horizon as far as I can see
Rolling hills and rich green pastures
Mountains of snow, whispering trees
Horses grazing, hawks soaring
Distant lakes and splashing creeks
An inky black universe, full of stars

The frogs have come alive with spring.
They sing and croak through the night,
until early morning traffic silences them.

I feel the same way.
Traffic builds, and I withdraw,
to dream of wide open spaces.



Red wheel

Our next-door neighbor has a project: building a fence between our front pasture and theirs. Howard has been at it a couple of years now; first he had to tackle the towering jungle of blackberries that had taken over both our pastures. The original 1970s cedar and wire fence was flattened a decade ago by blackberry vines and winter limbfalls, and I didn't really mind as I no longer had horses to contain.

Today I went out to inspect our English walnut tree, our own fairly large project we'd like to get done before winter. Two massive tree-sized limbs came down in the February ice storm, and the plan is to turn most of it into firewood, plus a few projects of my own (walking sticks, rounds to dry for garden "paving" stones). Dave just mowed the pasture (and blackberries) so we can get to the tree, and once the weather improves, we'll start. I suspect this project may take as long as Howard's new fence.

It was a gorgeous day, so I walked over to check on the fence project. And I noticed a new addition to Howard's place: a tractor with a bright red wheel, peeking out from underneath a canvas tarp.  Rain... a lot of rain... is predicted for tomorrow. Should I walk back to the house and get my camera? Or wait until tomorrow? The urge to photograph the tractor won out. Good thing... the rain arrived on schedule, and the next day, the red wheel was gone, safely tucked underneath the tarp.

Toilet in a box

I've seen some interesting packing jobs in my life, but this was a hoot. It bears a bit of explanation: We live in an 89-year-old farmhouse in the middle of five acres of pastures and woods in a narrow valley. We've been there for 26 years now, and have never stopped loving it.

But buying an old farmhouse is not without challenges. Having fixtures wear out is part of owning a home, but when the upstairs bathroom toilet tank sprung a leak, we were stymied. You just can't go out and buy a replacement tank for a wall-hung toilet. So we did some online searching, and learned that our toilet was made in the early 1970s, and that we could buy a new tank for $600-700. Just the tank, without a lid.

Really? I don't think so.

More searching brought us to a guy who refurbishes fixtures from old houses and resells them. He had two used tanks with minor blemishes that would fit our toilet, for $80. Sold!

The tank arrived yesterday morning, right on schedule. When Dave lugged the box in from the front porch, we both started laughing. The seller promised it would arrive unbroken... I guess packing it in a box marked "Eggs" would just about ensure that!

I have to wonder what the UPS guy thought, as he lugged a 40 pound box of eggs to our front door.

Rocking Chairs

I love rocking chairs. The Windsor-style chair that was always in my parent's house, for as long as I can remember, stood squeezed into the corner by the woodstove, and was my favorite place to sit in the winter. I bought my own, much more modern (and not nearly as well made) at a yard sale just before my marriage. It was more upright and not very comfortable, but I still have the chair. It's now in the cabin. A decade or so later, I found a perfect white wicker rocker, creaky and comfortable, at a yard sale for $5.00. It's also at the cabin, dueling rockers in the upstairs loft bedroom.

When we started traveling in the MX-5 Miata was when we first ate at Cracker Barrel restaurants (which for some inexplicable reason have never spawned stores into Washington). I love the rocking chairs at the Cracker Barrel. Each time we have breakfast at one of these charming restaurants, I threaten to bring home a couple of chairs. Since the nearest restaurant is in Boise, Dave knows he's safe. We're usually in a loaded Explorer heading off on a road trip, or we're in the MX-5 (can you picture the wee roadster with a rocking chair lashed on the trunk?) This trip, we flew to Denver. Sigh… no rocking chairs for the deck at the cabin.

But wait… you can order them online. And shipping is a mere $15 per chair. All you have to do is assemble them. Easy for a guy who builds furniture! Maybe those chairs will grace my deck after all!