Wind like a crisp green apple

Yesterday evening at dusk I stuck my head out my bedroom window to look at the ridge and the pond. The willow tree on the pond looks like a sweet eighty year old lady. Her wispy hair was gently blown by the autumn wind. Why is the willow tree on the western end of the hay field still so green? She must still be in her forties and feeling fine. Does she know that time passes quickly and in a few days she will be walking in the footsteps of the old lady by the pond?

Yesterday when I breathed in the evening air, it was like a big gulp from a mason jar of green apple hard cider. Bright. Cold. Tart and brisk.

This evening it is different. Still cold. More depth. A little spicier. Wind like cinnamon.

I can now see through the silvery woods. Carpeted with what looks like the brown and gold shag carpet we must have had at some point in my history. Didn't everyone live in a house at some point in their life with brown and gold shag carpeting? Some designer had a good idea, probably looking out her window at the woods at the lovely carpet, and tried to translate it into synthetic fibers and flooring materials. I think I will stick to the hard wood floors and use my imagination as I look out at that gorgeous, yet ephemeral carpeting on my ridge.

I meant to look at some weather website to see the origin of our wind. Sometimes it smells like Marblehead, Massachussetts. Sometimes it smells like the south. Weird that wind can have a smell, but the other day a friend was mentioning to me the snow up in the midwest that would occasionally be covered in red Oklahoma dust. The wind makes me amazed to live on such a very big globe.

The sky was grey today, promising snow flurries. I wonder if those promises will come true? The kids have extra energy this evening and are using it to corral chickens to move them into winter housing. They are also moving the steer into the small goat field. We intend to gentle him down and give him a spot with less competition before he becomes our grass fed beef. Goats found a way out of their field this afternoon and Maggie got them resituated.

Today is my first Friday in ages to not bake for farmer's market. Yesterday was the first Thursday. Seasons change and so do markets. Wednesday was busy, and I am happy about the new venue. It is indoors, so we don't have to worry about the weather. There are so many wonderful veggies still available. I hope people won't forget about us. I shared some leftover breads with other vendors who shared some of their leftover veggies with us. Spinach and red peppers, which I sauteed this morning and threw in an omelet (please don't think me selfish to use our meager supply of eggs!). Wow. That spinach was rich and decadent. Yesterday for lunch I roasted sweet potatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, onions, parsnips, garlic and yellow squash, all with plenty of salt and olive oil. Decadent. And every bit of it from our farm, or from our friends' farms. Except for the olive oil. Don't you wish we had some friends in the mediterranen with a nice olive orchard? Last night we had homemade pizza, freshly milled whole grain, of course, salad from market friends, sweet and tender greens with flakes of Jimbo's smoked trout, red pepper and carrots, topped with sesame vinegarette. I ate the leftover carrots today with ranch.

They were the best carrots I have ever eaten in my life.

Really.

We have grown delicious carrots. Buy great organic ones when we don't grow them. But these were out of this world. Sweet. Crunchy crispy.

Perfect. From Patchwork Farm. Orange and Yellow.

I am terribly spoiled now. I will have to find out what variety they planted and their technique. And in the meantime, I sure do hope they continue to enjoy eating our bread, because that is one barter deal I hope to pursue... And I hope that you local people will make your way out to West End on Wednesdays to try some of Patchwork's amazing carrots, parsnips and red peppers. Great stuff.

Well, I hear kids coming in from the dark cold. Boys split me some firewood and the woodstove is blazing. I think the kids will eat popcorn and watch a movie. A book is calling me. And so is the rocking chair in the living room by the woodstove. I'll miss market in the morning, but not too much. Plenty of things to work on, but my spirit is crying out for rest. Think I will listen. To that and to the wind.

Welcome to November.