Tuesday, October 20, 2015

October 20th, 2015

Saturday morning we finally had our first hard frost.

And hard frost it was!  I let the indoor/outdoor cat out, and the dog, and then the indoor cat ran out too!  So I ran out after her barefoot and the doormat was frozen solid!  Ruby really likes to make a run for the woods, so it took a little while to catch her.  (funny cat is in the word catch)

The foliage was a full week later than usual.  I know this even though I am going senile, because color is usually at it's height for the FIrebird's birthday, and when he came down to visit four days later it wasn't close to color.

When the frost hit, the leaves that had changed dropped.  Walking down the driveway to the chicken coop (this time in boots) *swish, swish scrunch* ankle deep in beautiful reds and yellows and oranges of the delicate maples that are the first to go.

The sound brings back memories of trick or treating up and down the blocks in towns through the years as the kids were growing.  Inevitably, at least once per year, the leaves in the gutters would hide the curbs to the little faces glued on the next lamp post-and we would be scurrying around in the dark trying to find the loot that went flying in the stumble.

We had another hard frost Sunday morning.  It was so hard that the ice skim stayed on the tops of the rain barrels for the whole day, and I had to declare the automatic chicken water retired for the season.

I was splitting wood in the cold sunshine and the wind kicked up with a dark cloud-and then it was snowing!  Not the big fat flakes of the typical early squalls, but fine little balls that looked like someone had ripped open one of those bean bags chairs.

Yesterday it was drizzly and damp and dreary in the 40's.  The chill was still there this morning, and then the sun came out and we hit mid sixties.

The colors are still lovely despite the rain and wind.  But there's a melancholy feel to the air as the sun gets lower in the sky.  I looked up late afternoon at the tall elm, now almost bare, and keenly felt the loss of my friends the trees, heading off for their long winter sleep.