Poco Mountain Girl

October, I think, is when fall really arrives.  Today the first of the pumpkin pies came out of the oven (there will be many more).  Large finger-sized scoop of whipped cream hollowed out courtesy David L. Lucero.

When I looked out the door at dinnertime, fall was spread across the mountain.  And no, they don’t compare to New York maples, but these aspens have a glory of their own.

We’re getting ready for winter and looking forward to spring. There is so much to do, so much good busyness going on. I pulled out my sewing machine from its packing box and mended all the things that have torn or worn out since I packed it.  Sewing always feels cozy to me in the fall.

This spot will be our garden.  We’re digging up rocks and turning the soil, and the fire pit in the center will be moved out. Maybe I can talk Zia into letting me turn her playhouse into a chicken coop. (Bad mamma!)

In the spring we’ll plant short-season and cool weather vegetables in the middle section, and maybe some flowers around the walkway by the fence.

David has been sawing and splitting wood for winter.  It’s almost cold enough for our first wood fire, and the snow is supposed to be here Friday.  The blur on the right is Zia flashing by.

Time slows down a little for me in the fall, and I notice more, or at least I think I do.  The colors, the smells, the coyotes yipping, the elk bugling.  The crispness in the air.

But time is a funny thing–flying by like a flash, a blur, punctuated by crystal clear stills–silhouetted moments stopped in midair.

Cash turned 14 months on the last day of September, and David and I turned 106 months on the first of October.  In the spring, we’ll have known each other ten years. (Ten years since we went whipping around on his motorcycles!  Good times, those.)

Our kids are growing up before our eyes, and their babyhoods are caught only in bits and pieces that stand out, for whatever reason, on the subjective screens of our memories.

But I guess it’s all just part of the sweetness of life.  The leaves glow, then they’re gone.  The pie wafts delicious smells, then it’s eaten.  The little girl flashes by and becomes a woman.  106 months turns into 106 years.  (Hm, not sure about that last one. But something like that.)

Motorcycles turn into rocking chairs, I’ve heard.  And those will be good times, too.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 2nd, 2013 at 9:06 pm and is filed under Colorado, Garden, Home Sweet Home, Nature, The Great Outdoors. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.