It's early morning here in Sconnie. (Actually not, but since it's my day off, anything happening before noon is considered early morning. That's how I roll...)
Much-loved friends in the south are facing hurricane number two in as many weeks. I send them all the hope I have, knowing it doesn't mean much but reminds them that they are not alone.
Here...The only sounds here are the cacaphony of blue jays and the subleties of finches and chickadees nibbling at the feeder. We had a mama bear and two cubs ghost their way through our pines two nights ago. Eight deer nibbled through the ninebark and Joe Pye last evening. The monarchs and hummingbirds are long gone; the empty feeders cleaned and stored in the garden shed until next year.
Cotton candy pink just kisses the canopy of the maple tree in the front yard.
I don't mind it; the quiet. It's necessary after the long and busy days of a short Wisconsin summer. But it's not all over yet...two Mountain Ash in my jeep waiting to be planted. A pagoda dogwood, apple trees, pears and even a couple of peach trees looking for a permanent home. Two cherry bushes and about 20 ninebark may or may not get in the ground this fall.
Wine to start. Fire cider to make. Paprika to dry. Salsa...jalapeno sauce...sofrito...tinctures...jams...jellies...it's the not so quiet, quiet season here at STMO.
And two deer just stampeded across our driveway...Rockie Rockstar in the vincinity but likely not the instigator...
We're 23 days away from closing for the season at work...I'm not sad. It's been a wonderfully busy season but I'm tired. Not a bod tired. An entirely good tired, but entirely tired. And my last season at Prairie Restorations, before a new adventure begins, I'm feeling a bit of angst. Loved the job but it's time for a new direction.
I'm ready for lazy mornings and starting my garden design business, and learning to cook Chinese and Mexican foods, and practicing meditation and living in the moment and gratefulness. I'm not good at a single one of those yet, but I have hope.
Speaking of living in the moment...the early morning (I crack myself up. It's 10:31) sun casts long shadows over the monarch waystation. The only color in the hummingbird garden lingers in the pink and white cosmos. A fledgling woodpecker drinks from the birdbath on the deck.
Seeds of Joe Pye filter sunlight. Little Bluestem sparkles. Showy goldenrod lives up to its name, dancing in the morning breeze. The lilacs are blooming, which is just total weirdness for October, but the scent is amazing and unexpected.
The marigolds do their marigold thing and show autumn what autumn should look like.
It's peaceful. It's beautiful. And I'm thankful for the quiet.
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