These early fall days are always such a treat—still warm with rays of golden light yet cool enough to wear tunics with leggings. We enjoyed four (dirty, stinky, fun) camping trips this past summer, the last of which resulted in a record number of fish hooked in a picturesque Sonoma pond. The pond was brimming with water lilies and looked so cool and fresh, yet I was dripping with sweat from a record heat. Even the fish were hot. The sleeping bags and other miscellaneous gear now reside quietly in the garage, awaiting next summer’s itinerary into the wilds.
Meanwhile, at home, the last-minute garden actually resembles a garden and not just a patch of dirt with tiny starts. I lament, however, that slugs and other insect varieties have easily achieved the upper hand, leaving me with rows of holey kale and depressed snap peas. Apparently, I garden solely to allow the local bug population to flourish and not to feed myself or Reed, who seems keen to survive on lollipops anyway. I have been toying with the idea of foregoing the seemingly requisite victory garden, instead upending my chard and green beans to replace them with dahlias and peonies. A perennial cut flower garden may not be edible, but—seeing how no one’s eating it anyway—it will at least be beautiful in a way that requires a little gasp of joy and astonishment with each glance.
Because broccoli is overrated.
The other big news around these parts is of course Reed’s new puppy. We needed a little joy, and golly gee did we get some. Her name is Finn (Reed’s choice). Already they play together in his fort. He directs while she either ignores him my sleeping through his commands or ignores him by eating the fort. (Mom, Finny ruined my fort again. Come fix it!) Both distress him slightly, although her adorability quickly wins out and he forgives her without a grudge.
As for me, well, I’ve been in a bit of a fog this past week, still in that newborn shock of waking up every two or three hours to let the puppy out to pee. On the bright side, I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with the stars.
See: the glass is always half full.
After a month of unsuccessful starts and consolation sock knitting, I’ve finally hit a stride on a Real Project (or two). I’m trying to be better about putting down my knitting sooner in order to instead crawl into bed with a book (finally found a decent one) and prioritize sleep.
As always, my to-do list always exceeds the amount of available time. I think I’ll save the entire world each weekend yet only manage to cross a few things off the list. This must be why The Tortoise and the Hair is such a relatable story.
I’m trying to work more on nesting—unpacking the last of the boxes that clutter places they really shouldn’t. Accepting. Finding places for things. Lighting candles when Reed isn’t awake to knock them over and burn the house down.
I need to walk more (ideally with my knitting), especially before the fall weather turns permanently drippy and it’s too cold for my hands to comfortably knit. It’s hard to find the time. Puppy’s still a bit too young to be out in the world for beach walks and such, so I still have to go it alone.
Soon enough, she’ll be at my side, provided she quits nipping at my hand knit socks.
While we’ve been keeping busy (too busy, perhaps) with trips and potlucks, it’s nice just to be home. In the yard. Soaking up sun. Pulling weeds. Embracing the litany of home repairs calling my name with an appreciative enthusiasm.
Now that the sun is setting at a decent hour, I look forward to putting Reed in his jammies and driving out to the beach to watch those last rays dip beyond the horizon, on their way to tomorrow.
If I’m lucky, he’ll fall asleep on the way home.