Seasons End

That's it.

A bittersweet bite this week in the wake of frost, the death of a deer, and the unexpected passing of a loved one.

More on this big, tender heart next week, but it’s the perfect visual representation of how I’m feeling this week.

I wrote this poem a few years ago but it still rings true as the frost takes the garden, always, whether I’m ready or not.

Hard Frost

It’s gonna be a cold one tonight.
First hard frost of the year.
Maybe the whitetail will be up and moving into the morning sun 
renewed by the chill 
but green leaves and soft petals will fall.

I sat in my garden through last light 
fawning and farewelling 
saying my sorrys and thanks. 
Chance doesn’t have a memory 
but I do. 
I know what work was done 
and when I slept in.

I remember 
the excitement of spring and seed sowing 
like it’s tomorrow 
because it is.

I remember 
the not-caring and foot-dragging of late July,
the neglect and blind eye of August,
the bittersweet frenzy of September.

I resign to October 
and hope that relief and regret can live together 
while I watch this whole thing wilt 
and remember how well I’m fed despite myself.

---

One thing I’ll do, soon, before the third or fourth frost comes for it is collect a few bundles of sweet-fern to hang and dry - I hope you’ll join me - it’s a heavy hitter in the winter kitchen and if we want any we’ve got to get it now. Here’s a piece I wrote about my very favorite herb that tells you all the whys and hows.