October 7, 2020
The fall colors, in our neck of the words, are beautiful—not yet at their peak, but progressing nicely, the reds and yellows eating away at the green. We make a game of it, David and I, each fall when we spot that first tree that is blazing with some red and gold. We call it a traitor, because, of course, it’s a sure sign that winter truly is on the way.
Autumn is my daughter’s favorite season. She hates the high heat of summer, and the general wetness of spring. She’s not a fan of winter, either, because of the added risk in driving, something she does a lot of daily because all her clients are in the community.
But autumn, she declares, is cool and crisp and clean—and a joyous break from the heat and humidity of the weeks just passed.
I used to love to take walks in the fall, to feel the cool crispness in the air, to feel my cheeks chill from it. Every season has its own beauty, and while I know the secret is to cherish each one for its uniqueness, I haven’t quite mastered that yet.
As I write this, I am still battling my usual fall cold. I get one in the spring, too, and because I’m on heart medications, I pretty much only have sleep as my weapon against it. As with all colds, some days are better than others. Mostly, I become annoyed at my inability to do as much as whatever had become normal for me, just prior to the cold’s onset. But this, too, will pass, and so I do my best each day to acknowledge that fact and then dismiss the inconvenience of it all.
Last night, we had the last serving of beans from our garden. The entire enterprise is pretty much done for the season. We all think that the amount we harvested was well worth the effort we put in.
I didn’t spend all that much time sitting outside in my back yard this year. There weren’t that many days that were “just right” for me. I tend to be conscious all the time, whether or not my legs are getting any drafts on them. Even a breeze that feels warm can bring agony later. I’ve tried having a blanket on my legs, but that doesn’t always work. In the end, being grateful for pain medications does not mean I want to consume them copiously. So I take care.
But the back yard did see plenty of use this year. We had a few small gatherings of family for family suppers. Great-grandchildren were here a few times, and the back yard is a good place for them to run off some of their energy.
As well, our daughter bought a small charcoal barbecue, because as far as she and her dad are concerned, steak tastes so much better grilled over charcoal. She even purchased a bag of hickory to add in with the charcoal. I’m not surprised they both like that “smoky” flavor. They’re alike in a lot of ways. I like it well enough but would choose my propane grill if given the choice. Of course, because of the amount of time it takes the charcoal to give you that good, hot burn, we did only use it a few times and yes, only for the steak.
We had a few meals grilled outside in foil, for which the propane grill is the best. Jenny has taken over all of the outdoor grilling. That isn’t something that David was ever interested in doing, so I’m glad that she really enjoys doing it. Our daughter likes to marinate chicken breasts, then wrap them in foil. She also loves those small potatoes in foil—with salt, butter, and maybe a couple of drops of olive oil. And our favorite new thing this season was whole carrots, wrapped in foil, and grilled. Butter, and perhaps a tablespoon of honey goes in with those carrots, and my, they are very tasty, indeed.
David and I are staying home these days. The numbers of infections is rising in our province, though here in our county, they’re up and down, and at 11 as of yesterday. The situation is wearing on us, just as it is on everyone else. It’s stressful to always have that “what if” scenario in the back of your mind. There’s really no escaping the fear that lies in wait for a weak mental moment. They call it Covid fatigue, and it is that, but we have to be made of stronger stuff. Yes, acknowledging that this virus will be here for another year or so feels like too much. And for some of us, a total of two years is a lot of time, because we don’t all necessarily have that many years left.
But when it’s a matter of public health, of doing what’s best not just for yourself but others, you just have to suck it up. We’re all in this together, which, turned around, mean’s we’re not, any of us, alone.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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