Indian Pipe

Indian Pipe
Indian Pipe

A recent walk on the cross-country ski trail led through Narnia-like woods abundant with fern, Indian Pipe, fungus; sunlit meadow is thick with clover, grass, and Queen Anne’s Lace.

Not quite three weeks past the solstice, already harbingers present: this morning was an Autumn morning – humidity free, clear, temperatures dipped into the 40’s before dawn. Abundances of apple and pear draw our thoughts toward harvest time.

Dog and I will walk the trail more often now, with focused intent: we’ll start to clear the path of downed branches that when half-buried in snow could deflect and twist a ski or paw, and twigs of thorns that could snag a trouser or ear.

Temperatures in the high eighties are in the immediate forecast; the Clifford picnic is next week.

From here on out, those of us who have been around here for more than a few summers know that hot, sultry, Summer days will become less and less common. Hoodies will be needed in the evenings. The grass will grow less thickly.

It’s the time of season when neighbor Penny inhales the evening, and noting the subtlety of it’s terroir, says: “The air is now changed, yet still familiar…. yes, it tastes like Frontier Days”.

 

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