SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Huber's Orchard & Winery is The farm around here for you-pick produce. In the summer, we go for berries of all kinds, and then peaches & nectarines. I really enjoy eating seasonally, especially when we're talking local produce. In the autumn, my tummy says it's time for pumpkins & apples! As one thing I've really missed in Louisville is picking my own apples, I was THRILLED to learn that I could pick them here, too! (I sure miss Hendersonville's Apple Festival and Skytop Orchard back home, though... and the good ol' SC peaches come summertime.) The "Mothers & Others" group from church went to Huber's on Wednesday, and I went too-- my first outing with my daughter in my arms instead of in my belly.
I came late (mornings are not so good for us these days, and I wanted to get in her 10 am feeding so I wouldn't have to feed her first thing there... either in a field or in some obscure corner. Fernanda waited for me, so I went apple picking with her & her 2 darlings-- Elia & Matias. I loved getting to speak & hear some spanish with them! (Fernanda's from Ecuador)
Afterwards, we pulled out our picnic lunches & joined several other friends from church in a picnic by the lake. It was fun to watch the kids feed the ducks & geese, and make a "construction site" with the cones left nearby while we adults chatted (I'm still amazed to find myself in the latter category rather than the former, by the way).
Dozin' in the sun. Mercifully, she had an uneventful, peaceful feeding. I think she likes picnics.
Her "being-burped" face
Next to the pumpkin cart. I bought a big one & two little ones. For now they are decorating our mantle. Eventually, they will fill our bellies as pumpkin bread, pumkin-chocolate-chip muffins, pumpkin pies, pumpkin spice lattes, and who knows what other pumpkin-y treats I can devise! And the apples are WONDERFUL-- crisp & juicy like I like 'em!
(the pink is from mine & Eowyn's birthdays... I haven't wanted to take it down, lol)
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
~verse 1 of John Keats' "To Autumn" ... one of my favorite poems
Huber's Orchard & Winery is The farm around here for you-pick produce. In the summer, we go for berries of all kinds, and then peaches & nectarines. I really enjoy eating seasonally, especially when we're talking local produce. In the autumn, my tummy says it's time for pumpkins & apples! As one thing I've really missed in Louisville is picking my own apples, I was THRILLED to learn that I could pick them here, too! (I sure miss Hendersonville's Apple Festival and Skytop Orchard back home, though... and the good ol' SC peaches come summertime.) The "Mothers & Others" group from church went to Huber's on Wednesday, and I went too-- my first outing with my daughter in my arms instead of in my belly.
I came late (mornings are not so good for us these days, and I wanted to get in her 10 am feeding so I wouldn't have to feed her first thing there... either in a field or in some obscure corner. Fernanda waited for me, so I went apple picking with her & her 2 darlings-- Elia & Matias. I loved getting to speak & hear some spanish with them! (Fernanda's from Ecuador)
Afterwards, we pulled out our picnic lunches & joined several other friends from church in a picnic by the lake. It was fun to watch the kids feed the ducks & geese, and make a "construction site" with the cones left nearby while we adults chatted (I'm still amazed to find myself in the latter category rather than the former, by the way).
Dozin' in the sun. 
Her "being-burped" face
(the pink is from mine & Eowyn's birthdays... I haven't wanted to take it down, lol)Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
...now putting on recording of madrigals; fall makes me think of madrigals, too... no idea why. Maybe because it reminds me of my Furman days, and Furman makes me think of vibrant dancing leaves by the lake as I walked fast to class. Always fast-- less cold that way. :) (wow... I forgot I used to SING like this! Oh, I MISS IT!!!)
No comments:
Post a Comment