Of Soup and Stew and Chili

Last night summer melted away into the first day of autumn. Enough of a soft, cool, intermittent rain fell to keep our big oaks water soaked-- their leaves dripping larges drops of water on the roof over our bedroom. Water soaked enough to let the occasional small branch give way and hit the roof with a crack. Water soaked enough to break free those last few acorns-- and dear God there were billions this year-- and let them smack our roof as well. Summer melting away.

Michigan never takes her seasons for granted: Each enters and exits with some degree of ceremony and display. The winds in the last couple weeks were enough to make the dog raise his clever nose for long pause and a whiff. Even to the lowly human nose it was simple enough to pick up the smell of a hundred fields, farms, and forests that surround this town. The wind carried it all: crops harvested, crops waiting, leaves preparing to shut down 'til next year. And the memory of 50-some summers past,warm days, late night play, and a thousand things to accomplish before it's over-- all of that carried in the wind.

Like most everything in my life, I look forward to what's ahead and am grateful for most all that's left behind. For now, I'll send the light weight stuff into storage and start taking inventory of the flannels, the rubber mocs, the Portland clogs, and my rain coats. It's time to start thinking of soups, and stews, and chili.