Last Garden Harvest

12-4-2017 Magic Moment:

A rainy late fall day, warm by December standards, but chill to the exposed damp skin. I decide that today is the day to pull the last carrots from the garden. Last spring, the slugs attacked the sprouts as they came up. Then later, other critters ate the green carrot tops as they tried to regrow. I had given up on carrots. In September, I noticed small carrot greens poking up through the weeds. Aha! Maybe there will be some carrots after all! Right now the ground has thawed from the cold snaps, and the rain has made the soil workable. Time to pull the carrots. The mud sucks at my fingers, pulling on the thick orange roots, not wanting to give up its tasty treasures. A couple break off mid stick and I have to dig down into the sticky clay laden earth. The prize is worth it. I am rewarded with several crisp, perky, bright orange carrots. The last harvest from my meager slightly neglected garden.


Rain Day


A day off from work, but I am still in the Adirondacks, hanging out in my tent because it is pouring rain. Grey, gloomy, soaking wet pounding rain alternated with grey gloomy dripping wet misty rain. I am off and on napping on my futon, and reading, knitting, listening to an audio book, and playing Sudoku in between watching and listening to the rain fall from the relatively dry, mosquito free confines of my tent. This is a day of rest and relaxation, heavy cool damp humidity, and lots of free time. Not a bad way to spend a lazy day.

Frogs Calling


It has been raining for several days, cool and dreary, but it means the low spot behind my tent platform has standing water in it. Now, I do realize that mean mosquitoes, but it also mean frogs. As night slowly creeps through the now leaf covered trees, water dripping off everything sets a soft random beat. Suddenly, through the damp air comes one lone pipping squeak. Then, a moment later, one more. A few more enterprising young frogs make their presents known, until it seems the whole woods is filled with chorusing frogs, looking for mates. A twig cracks somewhere close by and a deafening silence engulfs me. What frog predator is out there walking through the dark, carelessly snapping twigs? Silence stretches for many long minutes, a single bird calls out a few notes and fades off, the sound swallowed by the wet dark forest. Soon the frogs start up again, and I drift off to sleep.



I woke last night to the sound of rain pounding on the roof. My husband breathing heavily beside me didn’t even stir. The rain was pouring down, its muffled roar growing louder as it intensified, the metal roof sounding a dull continual thudding. Even the cats got up to investigate. I lay in the dark, snugly under the feather comforter, listening. I concentrated on all the different sounds the water was making. The noise as it hit the roof, the gurgling sound as it ran off the roof, the splashing sound as it hit the ground, the hissing noise as it hit the trees outside the window, the sound of rain hitting the ground, the thunk noise when larger drops fell off the tree to hit the roof. I listened as the rain slacked off to a quiet whisper and the thunking drops were singing a random tuneless melody. I eventually drifted back to sleep with a watery lullaby in my heart.