Rambling on the Island of Dry

So here we are. October is nearly half over, and the seasons have quietly shifted. The trees, stressed for much of the summer, were graying with age as the leaves dried out. So I couldn't help but be startled by the bright yellow glow on the ash tree outside the bathroom window.

I have been distracted, to be sure, these last few weeks. But not sorry. It's mostly been good. A Sunday afternoon art show, complete with modest sales and mystified lookers. Educational, both ways. I enjoy answering the questions (you have sheep!), and talking with the crowd gives me insight to the perspective of the non sheepish. And of course there is always much work to be done. Fencing and feed, fleece and seed.

I'm done with summer. The thin ice on the tank was almost welcome. A friendly fire for the evening and a warm wool blanket for the bed at night still comfort a modern shepherd. But, alas, something is still missing - the gently patter of rain.

Thats right. We are still stuck here in an island of dry. Oh, its rained all right.  Rained to the north. Showers to the South. Even a decent amount to the East, which only adds to a farmers frustrations. It would seem that our urban neighbors still just don't get it. An inch of rain on their lawns, and they believe hard times are over. Ha.  Maybe next year, when they got to the store, they will remember the warnings. But probably not.  Uh-oh, I'm already starting to sound a little cynical, and I really don't want to. Whining is still a waist of time and effort, and none of us have any to spare. After all, things will get better. It will rain again. Somewhere. Meanwhile, I finally broke down and watered the lawn, hoping for a brief return of green relief to ensure its survival of winter.

I suppose I was in a sort of mood like this when I went for a walk the other night. The leaves were in the first yellow blaze, and the sun was already beginning its set when I grabbed my camera and set out the back lane for the meadow.... pasture.... creek.   Gosh, I'm still not sure what to call it. The Grass, maybe.

Dolly, of course, was close behind... out front... all over. She clearly loves having more room to roam. Come, walk with us.

                                       The sun was setting on the trees along the lane to the north.

                         The leaves hung limply in the still evening air, turning golden like ripening fruit.

 The shadows had already reached the trees by the time I approached the far hill. Too late for good pictures, but beautiful and refreshing all the same. I watched the darkness creep across the field, and noticed the darker green line in the grass. Don noticed it the next day, while we worked on the fence. "Why is the grass taller there, and there".... he pointed to along the tree line. I gave my answer, having pondered before. "It's the shade line. Morning..... afternoon..."  The difference was profound.

 The chill was noticeable, and with the light fading fast, I started back. I passed a milk weed just opening its pod. Frail fluffy white beauty in the moment, to be hated next spring.

 Golden green and orange brown drifts of leaves were collecting in the safe harbor of the gully under the cottonwood tree.  And then, if my soul had not yet been refreshed enough, I found this....

 It was weeks ago that we planted the fall pasture. Seeds of rye and rape and radish and turnip scattered into dust. The forecast of rain was forgone, and dust it remained. And yet, it grew. And weeks later, though it should have been thigh high and grazed short again by now, the tiny seedlings remain. The tenacity and resilience of nature continues to inspire me.

 I passed by the lambs, just to say, "Good evening".

With the summer we've had, the fall color may be short lived. But for now, at least it makes for pleasant,  peaceful chores.


Thanks for coming with me. I feel better again. The stress of coping with the drought has more than me a little short on patience and enthusiasm. I just keep reminding myself of those tiny little sprouts soaking up dew and waiting. Waiting for more.  While I, on the other hand, already have much.  Much more, this week.

Namely, little Maxwell Simon McClure, who joined the family on Oct. 2. A healthy little potential helper at 9 lb 12 oz, our 4th grandchild, and the first male of the generation born to carry the McClure family name.

So at least we are not alone on the isle of dry. And the wool and the radishes comfort me. I will wait a little longer for the rain. While I watch the oak trees take their turn with color. Already the ashes have dropped their leaves into pools of yellow at their feet.

Enough words for today. There is a fire glowing in the stove, its warmth softly calling. And a forecast with mention of rain come weekend. Only chances, but I will wait.

I'll believe it when I hear it. On the roof.

Wait for me.....

Wait for me....

.....I can't keep up. Recently time has caught me unaware. I seem to be marking the calendar off in weeks rather than days. Something tells me the condition could be age related, but if so, then why does it seems to be happening to others much younger than I? I keep meaning to work some down time into my day. A few meaningful thoughts in the quiet of the morning. A deep breath, and slow exhale during those times when I'm impatiently waiting on others. I hate it even more when I let others seemingly waste MY time.

The Equinox even came and passed without ceremony this year. The days marking the changing of the seasons are special to me. For me they serve as a cultural recognition of the progression of natural life. "For Everything there is a Season"... I think it helps keep human kind on track, especially in an age where so many don't have access to the life cycles in their everyday lives. The artificial means of sports seasons and educational institutions have been altered and extended to the point where they no longer are distinctive. Here on the farm, we can't help but notice. The cool evenings command the wool blankets return to the bed (the closing of windows is delayed as long as possible). The tomatoes have set at last, but now refuse to ripen. The threat of frost has already prompted the harvest of the sweet potatoes, which was probably a good thing, as we got them before the voles did more damage. And the last crop of the season was good this year.

The sounds of September are heard daily. The tapping of acorns as they drop on the tin roof of the lamb shed, and the occasional flapping and squawking of the blackbirds as they gather, and swoop down into a chosen tree, darkening the sky in a fluid motion, raising memories of 'The Birds'. Also heard is the occasional 'thud', a hollow echo unique to the season. The rams are rutting. Hormones rule in the cool.

We have added new members to the flock, and now we have a whole new flock. Turkeys. No, I'm not disparaging the ewes. (Who are now all dressed- hopefully in their final attire for the winter, and their fleece condition was noted - impressive)

No, the flock that has been frequenting the pasture, the lane, and even the barnyard are wild turkeys. They are fun to watch, but oh so stupid. They have provided entertainment many mornings as they pace the fences, time after time, until they finally remember they can easily fly over. By the next morning (or fence), they have forgotten, and the pageant is repeated.






Dolly has developed a liking to herding the new flock. She wasn't sure at first. I think she was afraid she would get in trouble. But after a little encouragement, she decided it was great sport.





So last Monday, 5 lovely ladies came rolling in, and we spent the lovely fall day dyeing in the sun. Well, ok, so actually in the shop, in the microwave, but the effect was the same. We ate Epicurean, with the assortment of foods they had brought. We told some 'girl' stories, and laughed. They painted, dabbled, cooked and rinsed. And then we posed in front of some of the days dyeing on the clothesline. And then they took home the tassels and scarves and yarn, now sporting the colors of the season. They have told me they had a good time, which was all I had really hoped for, and are ready to do it again.

I did - today. I dyed some of my new wool I got at Pendeltons, and can't wait to get started on some of the projects already inspired. Better get to it. Just hope time slows just a bit so I can catch up.


Autumn marks the end of the growing season for most, and is met with regret. But I have come to see it more of a relief. A chance to pause in the midst of harvest to acknowledge the fruits of labor. And be glad.

In a matter of days, the crops have gone brown. But I see them not as dead, but done. Well done. I can only hope the same will someday be said of me.

Here's hoping I can at least do better with my posting, now that the evenings are shorter, and outside chores require completion earlier. Maybe I can catch a few sun rises and sets for motivation.

Happy Harvesting to all.