Happy Hour In The Garden
The heat wave that held us prisoner for most of August has finally set us free. The misty summer mornings that always look so cool and refreshing in my photos actually are now. There are still plenty of warm days ahead, and yet everything, including us, has instinctively begun to slip into the next season.
A gust of wind sends a shower of tiny yellow leaves fluttering into the hayfield. This morning I spied a squirrel scampering away with a giant walnut clenched between its tiny jaws.
The ridiculous ritual of chasing the sheep around the fields in the semi-darkness for half an hour (cajoling, cursing, begging, pleading, and, finally, screaming at them to "Get in the @#$%*&! barn, and I don't care if it finally just cooled down enough for you to graze!") has been replaced by a willing flock ready to tuck itself in well before nightfall.
Joe keeps his eyes up during our walks through the woods, making a mental note of each dead tree in the forest that he will turn into our winter warmth. The fans that have been blowing throughout the house all summer have been switched from high to low, and a quilt has been tossed on the bed. I stock up on tea, luxuriate in a brief morning chill, and look forward to baking bread on a much more regular basis.
You can feel it. The entire farm has breathed a collective sigh of relief. Plants, animals, trees, people--we have all survived another Missouri summer. The windows are wide open, and at night the air is thick with the joyous sound of insects who sing us to sleep (now that we can hear them over the quieter fans). It is happy hour not just in the garden, but everywhere.
A year of Daily Photos ago:
Don't Build Your Nest Deep Inside The Hay Baler