Simple Living, September II

On this page . . .

The Good Connection  ❤  Late Season Surprise ❤  A Small Kindness  ❤  Moonshadow ❤  Pineones 101  ❤  Time In a Tailspin

The Good Connection 

I grew attached to this spotted rabbit very quickly, and began looking for him each morning as soon as I got up, even before there was coffee.  I've taken his picture over and over, I've left him a carrot, I've tried to make rabbit noises to him, and even hummed one day to convince him I'm harmless. 

He doesn't scare easily, but he does scare.  His escape route is the far corner of our property, far away from humans and startling noises.  I imagine him two years from now, still hanging around, stopping by to say hello on his way back down the warren, and even letting me pet him once in a while. 

Notice I said "I imagine."

It's curious how quickly he became part of the life of our home, which led me to think about the importance of connection. Even in the crossing of paths between two homebodies like my husband and I, and a small rabbit, there was life, and life is contageous.  

In this world of disconnect, life needs other life.  It's a basic building block, and a thought I've had off and on for a while now.  It seems more clear to me with each passing year. No one and nothing really wants isolation, and a home darkened by it is not a good idea.  

Late Season Surprise 

I've been carrying this tiny melon around with me all day, since my husband found it laying unattached on the ground this morning outside the melon cage. It's only the size of a tennis ball, but nicely striped and gently soft.

I think it might even be ripe.

This spring I planted three heirloom melon seeds, saw them suffer in the heat, doubted their survival, and then watched this little ball of fruit appear and grow slowly from a skinny vine I had almost pulled up. I don't remember the variety, but it's got some spunk.

It's here with me now--the melon ball--and I must tell you, the aroma of sweet ripened summer is all around.

A friend sent me a picture last week of a palm-sized potato she found hidden in a flower pot that was filled with compost from the previous year. It had another potato attached two inches up on the narrow vine, only about the size of a dime.

Several years ago I found a perfect sweet potato that had been overlooked during a small harvest two months prior. It was exciting to suddenly see a patch of orange in the dark brown dirt.

Write all that down somewhere and let's try to remember it.

PS. The little melon was, indeed, ripe! It was sweet, juicy, and a little more tartly-green tasting than other musk mellons. Yum! Oh, and a small spread of seeds is now drying on the counter for next spring.

Until next time,

A Small Kindness 

The small pieces I use for table settings are kept in a large box in the dining room--napkin rings and coasters mostly.  After a full-fancy meal they get tossed back into the box quickly and without any thought--a colorful, disorganized heap--to wait for their next party.  Going through them quickly at the last minute to match the pieces together can be frustrating when you're in a scurrying hurry.  

No time to waste.

I finished setting the table for our whoop-de-do, only now I wasn't in so much of a rush.  I took my time, in fact, and chose just the right color coasters to go with the fall glasses.  I even straightened the plates into a perfect square. No hurry.  No fretting.    

Thank you, my friend.  Your good work did not go unnoticed. 

Moonshadow 

Standing near the water's edge at night I often watched and waited for the moon to break through the horizon, a sliver of orange that shimmered larger and larger on the surface of the water; or I saw it hover overhead, white and round, at other times thin and curved.

. . . and I saw its shadows.

While living in Nashville, Tennessee many years later, my husband and I rented a small farm away from city lights and traffic. It was just right for seeing the night sky.

I don't remember what woke me, but late one winter evening I got out of bed and walked across the wooden floor to look out the window. It had snowed that afternoon, and the hills and fences around our farm were painted in a blue and white silence like I had not seen before.  The sky was crystal clear; the moon was full.

I couldn't believe the beauty of the scene.  All the hillside was dappled in blue shadows made by trees, fences, and cows, while a ghostly glow illuminated the snow. The air itself looked like that of another place, as if I had entered a child's world of fairy tales.

It was a private event I had been invited to attend, and in spite of the fact that I had arrived alone, I did not feel unknown.  

This month of September is the Harvest Moon, perhaps the most stunning of the year. The lower you can catch it on the horizon, the bigger and more orange it will look. So plot out a good spot now for low-horizon moon watching this month. I'll be looking at it with you.

Pinecones 101 )

Several pinecones lay around the trunks of two tall pines, and I noticed that one pinecone stood out more than the others. I picked it up to get a closer look.  The cyan color on its tips was beautiful against dark, wood-like petals. I supposed the color was created by a thin layer of either lichen or tree moss such as you sometimes see on the north side of tree trunks and small limbs. It was smooth and thin--a solid dusting, and it looked hand painted. 

Once inside I looked for pictures of pinecones online and to see if any had the same beautiful, turquoise tips.  They didn't, so I turned my attention to identifying names of parts in case I needed to refer to them one day.  It's rewarding, isn't it, to know what you're talking about?

I'm afraid, however, that I know less now than when I started.  I should have known a pinecone is not just a pinecone. 

What I called a "petal" is actually a "leaf."  The leaves sit on the rachis, you see, which also has a peduncle.  The leaves have prickles--that one I can understand--but what I didn't know was that they are found on the ends of "umbos." 

"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me." 

Ps. 139:9,10