It’s getting to be that time of year again, when squirrels store more nuts and the evenings get longer and in certain parts of the country (like mine, for instance), you start waking up to a crystalline blanket of frost on the lawn.
Squadrons of geese fly overhead, honking and flapping, leaving their summer stomping grounds for warmer climates. And thousands of starlings fly in undulating rivers along the edge of the woods, a chittering, chattering mass of excitement and noise on the wing.
I’ve been stocking up and hunkering down and battening down the hatches. Bought a carton of Nestles Quik the other day, a fresh can of whipping cream, and a new bottle of Kahlua to spice up the hot chocolate with. One of these days I’ll have to try loading it with Bailey’s Irish Cream just for variety.
It was warmer today than it has been for the past few, but the wind off the lake was a lot stiffer. As I drove home from work I put “change over to the flannel sheets” high on my to-do list.
One of the other seasonal markers that I think about these days is cutting some more firewood. Myself. Last year was the first time I made nearly daily use of the fireplace to heat the house for part of the day, and I quickly grew into the habit. To be honest, most of that firewood got into stacks in my garage last year because my wonderful guy took down a few dead trees and chain-sawed them into woodpiles for me.
But I’ve pulled my own weight in more than a few ways too, including doing my share of trimming branches and clearing brush and stacking logs. And did my sore muscles ever complain about it the next day!
If hearing the sentence “I’ve got a chainsaw and I’m not afraid to use it” still surprises anyone moreso than me, I’m amazed. Because the road to owning one and learning how to use it was one of those life journeys that covers so much more ground than just the mile and a half to Menards.