My sky was blue

It was my sky that day. I claimed it as my own in all its deep blue horizons.

I could not see a single cloud in the sky this past Saturday while picking corn. An occasional streak of a jet interrupted the clear blue but those dissipated soon. Maybe the hand of God wiped away each line as an abomination against the heavens.

The winds from the northwest did not have a hint of an autumn breeze as the sun warmed the hills and the rows of corn that I wanted to finish that day. It rustled the dry stalks and blew the husks into the fence as I picked and shucked the ears. She carried the sounds of the birds away to the south where my feathered residents are headed now and I look towards March next year for their return.

But the sky…

If I could have shared my sky, I would have. A visitor to appreciate the blue (or lend a hand in the work) or a conversation that the wind could not interrupt. I was the only person there and from mid-morning, when I first realized the sky, until I packed up in the evening, not a single cloud drifted by.

But I did share the sky with the turkey vultures that were lifted high, circling together before heading southward as well. I told them, “Not today,” as I always do when I see them. Someday they may find me as a meal but not that day.

I will share a sight from the cabin. The cottonwoods that shaded the roof through the summer are losing their leaves now and soon their skeletons will remain during winter’s cold with only the white pines and the cedars as my companions there.

But for one day, my sky was blue.

 Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writer's Pantry #89: Ghost Walk

Harvest time - Fall, 2021

 The last hay has been cut and baled:

(Looks like I have some weeds to cut)

 And the corn is ready to be picked:

The final farmer's market is this Friday.

Our aronia berries yielded double compared to our best year of 2018 and we ran out of space to keep them. The popcorn looks to be 4 times over last year and storage will be a problem. (I've had to drop prices - because the law of supply and demand)

What's next after all is harvested for 2021? 

No rest, that's for sure... Back to work!

Labor Day 2021

We have a tradition in my family on how we celebrate Labor Day: Work.

This is the time of year for harvesting and the harvest doesn’t give a whit about the day on the calendar. Our cash crops of popcorn and aronia berries are in full swing now that the earth is nearing the equinox. I could leave the corn on the stalks for a while longer but the last windstorm knocked over many and if I don’t get those ears soon, I could lose them. The aronias are ready now and soon will be dropping to the ground.

After the successful Battle of the Beetles™ our crop came on strong this year and I predict this will be our best year:

I spent this Sunday picking in the sun and removing stems while in the shade of the cottonwood trees at the cabin. Serenaded by crickets in the grass and cicadas in the walnut trees with an occasional catbird calling from the creek to the east. Gravity was to blame for many berries that fell victim to its law and didn’t make it to my pail.

I resisted the temptation of reading the news during a break – the modern world needed to stay away as I picked by hand. I didn’t want to interrupt the peace of the gentile breeze from the Northwest hinting that fall will soon arrive in force with winter right behind. My hands were stained purple from the juice as the aroma of the berries wafted away with the wind as I picked. I also resisted nibbling as these berries have a taste of the tart apple when eaten raw. It’s best to use them in cookies or muffins as a substitute for raisins or blueberries. Mixing up a drink with other fruit works well, too.

Oh, and I need these for the homemade wine.

At close of day, on this Labor Day’s Eve, I’m only about a third of the way through the berries and I still have to pick corn.

So, Labor Day with be honored with labor – as it has always been on the farm.

 

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United, Writers' Pantry 86: Pet Training