Signs of Change: Flu Season

It hit me early Thursday morning, that dry swollen feeling in the back of my throat. By noon I was experiencing a dry cough and by late afternoon, fatigue.

I knew it was inevitable. My husband has been home for three days. Local schools have experienced record absenteeism and have been closed for up to 3-4 days at a time. One of the local pharmacies had to close for nearly a day. The hospitals are full, and nearly everyone has experienced some form of this nasty disease (swine or otherwise). It seems early in the year for such an epidemic.

So I am home this afternoon. I have a candle burning and lights on to ward off the chill damp Friday. The sky is the color of a dingy rag, and most of the trees are bare, save for a few golden bursts here and there. I looked out the front door to see juncoes gathering on the front sidewalk, gray and white amidst crimson and rust fallen leaves.

"Welcome back," I said to them, and gently closed the heavy red door so they would not fly off. Time to buy winter bird seed, I guess. We do this at the old garden store and feed mill near the old depot. The mill is a gathering place for locals, of course, and a centerpiece in our old downtown.

Such traditions make me feel good and safe as winter approaches. I am a city girl at heart, and although I grew up in a small community, most of the year I would rather live amidst hustle and bustle and anonymity.

But not as autumn wanes. There is much comfort in the friendliness of small town life as cold weather approaches. The person you chat with at the feed mill may help push your car out of a snow drift come winter's blizzards.

When I am working in the kitchen, I am looking out over a small private backyard filled with other friends: Birds. Our winter residents are mostly juncoes, cardinals and chickadees with a smattering of house finches.

Feeding them is another comforting ritual for us. Having them so close by is almost like having guests at our kitchen table.

Caramel Apples and Saffron Leaves

As the beauty of fall starts to wane (as it does, inevitably, especially when it rains as endlessly as it has for the past 24 hours), we must snatch moments of charm and enchantment when we can.

Thursday was dull and gray. I had a meeting across town in a conference room of a large private marina located on the river. I arrived late, and was forced to squeeze my car in a tight spot along the bank of a narrow inlet. Descending from my minivan, I was greeted by a chorus of quacks from a colony of ducks, some mallards, others black, and two the color of fresh butter.

I stood there for a bit, mesmerized. It is not unusual to find ducks in my neighborhood, or in other places, nor is it odd to find Canada Geese (in fact they live here year long). Sometimes swans make their home in the reeds along the riverbank at the end of our street. But I never tire of seeing them, and hearing them.

Inside the meeting, there were caramel apples, heavy with pecans, and coffee to revive us from our afternoon stupor. I had no choice but to sit in a corner at the table squeezed in between a man I know slightly and a woman who is my fifth cousin. Before me was a window and through it I could see saffron-colored leaves, a lovely and stark contrast to the pale gray sky.

For a brief moment I felt content, as though everything was aligned for my pleasure.

Small things, simple things. But lovely on a weekday afternoon.

A Walk in the Autumn

I went into the office for a few hours this afternoon and when I left the air was scented with the wine-dark aroma of falling leaves. As I walked to the car, maple, oak and gingko leaves crunched beneath my feet. A flock of starlings chattered away as they do in fall, high up in the pine trees.

I inhaled. This is what I remember from seasons past.

This is it. High autumn.

These days I run too much to appreciate these moments. Instead they are stolen. There is a fugitive feeling to my enjoyment of such things these days.

That must change and change soon. I have always wanted to spend my fall weekends walking through leaves and for more than a few moments. Last year we had two entire weeks of such activities, and that's where the photo above comes from: A walk down a country lane in the hills above Cahors. I thought it had a witchy feel to it. Pure October.

I have wonderful memories of childhood, of walks home from school past the Craftsman houses that filled our little neighborhood. I took many of the same walks in graduate school, hiking through Vilas Park in Madison with a backpack full of notebooks.

Often there would be a bag of muffins from Ovens of Brittany in my backpack. In an ideal world I would come home to apple muffins or pumpkin bars daily!

Home is more attractive in cold weather. Especially if there's something tasty in the oven.

A Blustery Day

From time to time I worry that this has become less a food blog and more a general blog.

I think I need a break from worrying about it.

This photo was taken on a blustery day about this time a year ago. It was taken on the way to a luncheon on board a ship. The food was comforting and hearty.

Yesterday was equally blustery here, and we had a tomato-y beef stew for supper, with a glass a California merlot with a lingering berry-like finish.

We hear gunshots in the morning and geese overhead all night long. I saw lots of turkeys and a few deer driving north last week.

Fall is good.

Farm Market Winding Down

The days have been mostly blustery this week, and gone is the sweet sun of September.

The weather points to a dull and lingering fall. This week's farm box was noticeably lighter.

Food is always a great comfort. To that end, we've been eating lots of stir fries and ratatouilles. Lots of potatoes roasted with herbs and olive oil.

Sunday night supper is pork chops with applesauce. Sometimes nothing fancy will do. Simple is best.

How about you?