It was planted before we moved in, a spindly little that that stretched and reached pushing roots outward. Each spring, the pink petals would cascade down covering the yard in a fairey-tale wedding ike carpet. The beauty of the petals would last a day or so on the ground before turning brown, sticking to soes and paws and making their way into the house, only to be swept and replaced by the next days blossoms. It provided shade and backdrop of large pnk pompom clusters for tea parties and photo shoots. In summer months the kids, ours, neighbors and visiting friends would climb to dizzying heights above the house peering at all of us still on the ground.  It was a big deal to finally be old enough to reach the lowest branch unaided and therefore be allowed to climb into those branches.
Once I came home to drop someting off before immediately leaving again on yet another errand. I noticed a neighbor kid hanging by two hands and a foot from one of the low branches.  As I rushed into the house I casually said "Hello" and she calmly answered "Hello". I was barely in the house two minutes before scurrying back to the car. I happened to glance over and she hadn't moved. It was not a natural climbing tree state and so I asked if she was stuck. She was, her heal was caught in a "v" between two branches and her hands were starting to slip.  I have no idea how long she had been there.  We needed a new rule, climb with a buddy and only as high as you could get down alone.
At one point the kids had climbed up and hung a rope from one of the higher branches with a loop for their foot at the bottom. I looked out the window and realized that it looked like a noose in our front yard so a weathered splintered plywood square had a hole drilled and attached to the bottom of the rope for a swing.  It was put to good use over the years.
During the autumn months, it was release large brown leaves and cover the yard yet again and we were able to create the best leaf jumping piles if the rain didn't make it soggy first.
In winter months, the stark, bare branches would break the view of the endless grey of the sky.  I waited and watched for the signs of swelling buds of leaves and petals to start to form once again on my tree.
Over the course of years, the trunk started to thicken while the branches grew long and even more spindly. The roots instead of staying buried rose to the surface reaching further upward. the leaves would burst into green and then more and more would immediately turn brown and start dropping all summer long, not waiting for autumn before shedding an they would join the pink petals on the yard. The last few years, it became increasingly clear that our beloved ornamental cherry tree needed to be removed. We fought the idea of it but this we we could no longer but it off and so made that tough decision. The kids (or young adults) in our family ran through the emotions of anger, sadness and resignation to the fact they needed to say goodbye.  John and Job took turns cutting with a small borrowed chainsaw and then a larger borrowed chain saw until only the trunk was left. We hired a professional stump removal guy and he came and took the rest of the tree out, leaving sawdust and firewood. Grass of different type and color is all that remains of our tree in the front but maybe someday we will replace it with another.

I have to admit that when I heard that Stoney Ridge Farms was open to the public for pumpkins and I had the chance to go with a kid I was excited.  In years past, we would ride the wagon around, pick out a pumpkin or two, eat the caramel apple pie, and snap photos like crazy.  I had expectations of the quaint little place it was with all the fun decor. The newly opened Stoney Ridge Farms was quite different than I had expected.  It seemed as though they went from quaint to large commercial.  I don't blame them really.  Who wants a bunch of strangers wandering around their front and side yard? However there was a little "je ne sais quoi" that was lost.  The barn was big, open and could fit many people.  I liked the little out buildings better and now realize that I need to adjust my idea of what Stoney Ridge is about.  Like most things, it doesn't stay the same but grows and changes as we do.  There are many things still the same I am just a little nostalgic.
The group Job an I went with were the foreign exchange kids.  They were introduced to corn mazes, oil drum train rides, wheelbarrow races, kettle corn and pumpkin hype. Come to find out, teens are the same the world over and like selfies and their photo taken.  Especially when they are being fun and goofy.  I think wheelbarrow racing should become a thing at the pumpkin patch but there probably is too much liability for broken arms involved yet the kids and teachers had fun. 

Stepping outside the autumn sun blazes down illuminating the world in golden hues. The leaves that were once green have changed into brilliant jewel tones from ruby red to burnished gold barely hanging from the trees until gathered by quick short bursts of  wild wind only to be dumped on sidewalks and forest paths until they are kicked and crunched by shuffling feet. There is a smell of chimney smoke floating along as it mixes with the damp odor of the earth underfoot. As I breathe out, my breath materializes as mist only to be replaced by my next breath as I trudge along. The air almost burns my lungs from the cool crispness of it. I pause, close my eyes drawing in not just the autumn air but the feeling of sun on my face, the calling of geese overhead, the crackling of the leaves beneath my feet. I inhale autumn and everything it promises.

• woodpiles, axes, spider webs, jewel tone leaves, wood smoke, frosted yards and windows hay bales
• blue and grey skies, rain drops, morning fog, mist hugging the river like a blanket
• sweaters and scarves shed by afternoon, plaid blankets
• soccer and football games, forest walks, mushroom hunting, bird hunters & black labradors
• coffee, hot cocoa, caramel spiced cider, 
• pumpkins, corn stalks, stacked baskets of apples, potatoes, onions, soups, pies, crisps and crusty warm bread, acorns, roasted chestnuts 
• trick or treaters, costumes, candy, jack o lanterns and dark nights

 

My second child to become an "official/legal" adult. This is a major milestone birthday.  This year he can vote. This year, he doesn't need me on his bank account. This year, he can purchase items before that were off limits to himself and make decisions that were off limits.  Becoming an adult in the eyes of the law and society doesn't always make it so. There have certainly been changes in this last year and are seeing a different aspect to him.  I've seen him articulate more of his ideas and why he has them. His views of busy work at school. He explains why he wants to change from one class to another due to his view of relatability to the real world.  In the last year he has figured out that his career that he would like to pursue is more towards actual hands on work rather than the bureaucratic busy mental work. He knows that a four year degree won't serve him and that isn't the direction he wants to pursue at this time. I've always thought all my kids would have a four year degree but he has changed my mind. Why is it necessary if it doesn't provide a means to an end and only debt to pay? There is a staggering statistic that only 27 percent of people end up in careers related to their major for example, my husband has pursued a career in his major but I have not. We are also in a unique time period. Trade careers need people due to schools funneling so many kids to university that may not serve them. And then there are the careers that people are able create that aren't a degree yet or that are able to be self taught.  Job has always gone his own way whether that is how he acts within the family or at school, not changing who he is.  He balks at meaningless stuff and work. He learns quickly but does so with what he's interested in or if it applies to life in his opinion.  He's experienced only a little life and so he has ideas that need to be nudged in a different way but trying to change his mind on something is near impossible.  Gently nudging and waiting is easier than pulling, cajoling, and driving.  Isaac is impressed with how stubbornly he will stick to his principles. He's hilarious at times and makes a lot of things into a joke or he invents ways to make things entertaining to him, such as trying to build the tallest tower of assembled shipping boxes at work. He doesn't care about his popularity or who his friends are, however he does keep some friends seperate.  He has school friends and church friends but he doesn't mix the two.  I have no idea why. He treats them the same and is goofy with both. In fact the other day he wanted to show one of his school friends his costume this year - a blue onsie.  That is my boy.  He's been working in addition to school and soccer. His schedule is school from 8 to 2:30. Home for a snack and then Monday through Wednesday and Friday he works 3:30 to 7:30 at a chocolate factory.  On Tuesday and Wednesday nights he comes home has dinner and then off to soccer practice from 8 to 9:30.  He doesn't work on Thursdays because soccer practice is at 4:30.  He has games on Sunday and has been driving a third of his team each Sunday to out of town games and having a blast doing it. A year ago I would have said no way but he's matured and I'm ready.  This summer he decided to go camping with some friends and so threw some food in a cooler and sleeping bag in the van and he left.  He has become independent. However,he went with a family and so they pretty much took care of him.  Apple juice and sausages just wasn't going to cut it for camping.  He's learning. I laugh but know that he will land on his feet and he will be ready for life.  He isn't afraid of it, just meets it head on in his own way.  So Happy 18th Birthday and enjoy the journey. 

Perfection surrounds me, mocking me, goading me, lying to me. I turn on my computer and perfect images of homes and kids and lives and food assault me. I look around my home and see the dishes in the sink, the clothes piled on the floor ready to be put into the wash, the shoes left next to their bins. This isn't perfect. In the past I've questioned my self worth. Am I good enough, I can't keep the floors swept. I clean the kitchen after dinner and by morning the sink is piled again with midnight snacks. Is there something I am doing wrong? I can't seem to keep my weight in check, my kids in check, myself in check. There is no perfection here. I forget things, write down game times wrong, put the appointment on the wrong day on the calendar.  I have visions of taking time to enjoy the fall with morning walks and taking perfect pictures only to realize a) I have other things scheduled for the morning or b) can't muster the energy to put on my shoes. There is no perfection there either. The carpet in house is stained a dingy brown due to kids and dogs, the wood floors are stripped down to bare wood in spots, there are holes in the laminate flooring from knives being dropped. Perfection, hardly. And then these apples came into the house; spotted brown and with worm holes and I loved them. They are like me. Imperfect and still amazing in their taste. I took them out of the box and marveled at the color, yellows and reds with dried green leaves attached. I placed them on the counter and saw how the light caressed them, highlighting the curves, showcasing the imperfect brown spots that are so becoming of the apples. Finally, I sliced them, cutting out the worms, boiled them and made them into apple sauce adding just the right amount of sweetness to enhance the little bit of the tart taste of the apple; and they taste just right.

This summer I've had to get on my bike more due to a meniscus tear so the hiking I like so much has been put off to another summer. I've taken it easy on the trails, riding on things I feel in control. Each time I climb a small hill, I feel my knee catching, clicking and popping.  It's funny because I thought at one point I would like "trail" riding and mountain biking. I tried my hand at it and it turns out I feel out of control.  I grip the handlebars with white knuckles, my teeth grind together, and I feel my whole body become ridged.  I am uncomfortable and nervous. The thought is easy, the action not so much. I've decided that I'm a bike basket, easy trail, stop at a bakery or brewery kind of biking gal and John has been so patient and gracious to me. He pulls down the bikes, and places them in the truck, choses the trail that with my knee and my ability I can handle. Knowing my limitations, he encourages and smiles and takes his time. I stop when I see light that makes me gasp, taking a photo and he waits or sometimes riding a bit ahead or on a trail that goes along side that is more challenging, yet never impatient with me. We both are taking this year in enjoying the little things we can do and finding ones we can do together.

There is something so satisfying about watching growth happen and then reaping the rewards of your effort.  This is such a simple thing but from the spring we watch and wait and work and water in anticipation. The harvest comes and we've already pruned out half of the fruit before they became too big and now we can pick the remaining fruit. We pick and eat fresh from the tree with juice dribbling down our chins dripping sticky spots on the floor.  I bake rum spiced walnut pear tartes and caramel pear pies. They go in salads with goat cheese, spinach and walnuts and a creamy dressing. I have plans to bake, glaze and grill them.We give them to friends and neighbors.  The smell of ripe pears permeates the house for two weeks and then they are gone.  Until the first hint of pears comes with the blossoms on the tree in the spring.