Entry 4: Autumn Weather Arrives

Even a discerning eye can mistake the color of a pepper for that of its leaves.  Crouched low to the ground, I snip and snap peppers off the plants, looking closely for the fruits that so deceptively blend with the rest of the foliage.  Tiny drops of rain speckle my clothing.  Despite the cool autumn temperatures today, the light drizzle feels nice.  It’s easy to warm up when one’s body is constantly in motion.

I’m working against nature’s clock.  Showers will pick up this afternoon.  Have to get the peppers pulled before the first frost comes Sunday night.  The tree-lined horizon is telling us it’s time for the heyday of summer to end as the leaves mark the last fantastic display.

Quiet envelops me.  Aside from the occasional car traveling down Ridge Road, which bisects the old construction and the new, I am thrilled to hear next to no sounds indicating human life.  The construction equipment, stationary on the other side of the road, stands like skeletal re-creations of dinosaurs—so still and silent compared to the grand ruckus that one emanated from those same bodies.

Green grass lies heavy with water on the rolling hills just outside the garden.  If the sun would poke through the clouds, the grass would glisten.  The groomed field doubles as pasture for the chicks and the local population of wildlife.  I haul water to the young roosters whose time on earth is nearly up.  I side-step around a small pile of kibble-sized excrement—rabbit?  The hundreds of acres of forest, adjacent to the field and garden, must be teeming with critters—some more adventurously bold than others, some quite skilled at remaining hidden.

***

I stared at a chipmunk last week and it stared back at me.  I was by the goldfish pond, up the hill from the garden and flush with the lodge.  There’s a plaque situated at the outermost point of the human-made pond, in memory of Sebastian Mueller.  I go there to catch a glimpse of the frog that quickly dives to safety beneath the water’s surface as I approach.  Glimpses are all my eyes can catch.  But the chipmunk is more curious than cautious, it seems, and its gaze locked with mine for a few seconds before it scurried away towards the woods.

***

The chicks are being moved to fresh pasture every day now so the water haul proves to be quite the workout.  Their coops have been rolled further and further down the grassy hill away from the furthest edge of the garden.  I breathe in wet air, the smell of grass, the smell of cold, the smell of rain sans thunder and lightning—milder, softer, and tamer rain, the smell of fall.