The Harvest Pumpkin

 

This happy hardy little gourd made it all the way to Thanksgiving from the first few weeks of October. I bought it at the store from a cardboard box filled to the brim with them, carefully selecting it from among the other gourds by taking my time, looking for just the right size and shape to complement my little doorway. The big box itself was a cheerful visualization of the harvest season, and I found myself brightening up every time I came home to it, which is just the way I planned it: that is the essence behind seasonal decorations.

I finally picked it up this weekend to throw it away, because it had gone soft and mushy from the inside out. The stem popped off as I picked it up, and the round little pumpkin quickly rolled away from me and off the porch, bouncing down each of the four front steps to the old yellow house, landing on the sidewalk. I felt like it was running its' last, final steps to freedom, and I took it as a sign that it's beautiful but brief life had indeed come to an end. What an adventure! 

And it was right on time.

Mum's the word!

The harvest bounty is upon us, my friends. Let us enjoy it, all: 
the leaves, the special seasonal scents of autumn, the rich colors, 
the sounds of fallen leaves that rustle underfoot, the beautifully clear weather... it's all there for your taking!

Cornfield to Nowhere

Huh. That's an odd juxtaposition.

"Welcome to mah jungle!"

I've walked past this oddly cultivated batch of corn and other assorted plants for awhile now, and I have no idea what it's doing behind a gas station or next to a bus stop, but I really don't care. I like the idea of some wacky station owner or old county farmer refusing to sell out to developers by obstinately retaining this weird garden patch in the middle of nowhere. 

Why an arrangement of corn rows densely interspersed with lawn hedges? Dear readers, I went in for a closer look, and I still have no fucking clue what this crazy redneck is thinking of, but whoever he (or she) is, they're my kind of rebel. Raise your freak flag high and grow some vegetables, you damn Yankee. Hat's off to you!

A little bit of rust and car exhaust never hurt no one.

Fill 'er up, dump off old clothes, pick some corn, or take two shrubs. Huh?

Boat and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

An exceptionally dense Yankee thicket.

Corn AND ornamental shrubs. Oh my!

And corn. And actual ear of corn can grow here.

Why ram a truck into it, or park two trailers, a boat, and a pile of rocks?

Because he's a rebel redneck Yankee and you're not. That's why!

Jeebus...real corn with cobs and all.

Squash patches and car oil.

Why here?! Whose is it?

You caught my attention with your strange garden patch. Grow on!

Redneck flower pot=discarded tire.

You beautiful weirdo. Kudos.

Farming Since 1712

Revolutionary times, and the seasonal harvest.

I missed the seasons out west, where the semi-arid lands jump from summer to winter, briskly stepping over the seasons of spring and fall. There's a verdant, fertile lushness to our river valley, and it's no surprise that early settlers took here well, after a few very dramatic fits and starts. Imagine Ireland and England with some of its' original woods and forests still intact. Our forefathers knew this well, and stayed on. Family farming is one of the roughest, hardest types of work on the planet, and yet, like our scrappy, hard fighting ancestors, some of them have endured the test of time. Go see for yourself.

http://www.orchardsofconcklin.com/ 

http://www.orchardsofconcklin.com/2010/04/orchards-of-concklin.html?m=1

Halloween Past

Walking around last week, I noticed a range of pumpkins still standing sentry by my neighbor's doors. Some were untouched by recent events, others were waterlogged and soggy from the full soaking of stormy weather, some bore the caved-in, toothless look of an aged man without his dentures, others were violently impaled upon the spikes of wrought-iron fences in silent warning to passers by about the temperaments of those who lived beyond the gates, and still others kept patient guard on their stoops against horrors unknown as a parade of passers walk by.

I was touched by these symbols that remained after the wreckage of a holiday we had. Here they were, no longer the harbingers of doom and gloom that typically come with of Hallows Eve, but hopeful reminders of the bounty of an autumn harvest, changed from worn and forlorn to hopeful and peaceful by the simple passage of time and season. It's a reminder about those among us who may not be called to action, but rather have the harder job of waiting and standing guard until needed. Valor comes in many forms. Happy Veteran's Day.

Fall Harvest

photos © Marie Doucette

Another benefit for those of us lucky enough to live in the Northeast part of America, is the bounty from the fall harvest. New York is known for its many varieties of delicious apples and autumn produce, as our farmers markets burst with great pickings.

When my family moved to the country, we spent autumns hiking, to view the changing foliage, and apple picking. I also tagged along with my Grandpa to buy apple cider from a local farm stand. He kept a jug of it outside our suburban house, on the patio, turning it into applejack. It was my introduction to process of fermentation.

So, I decided to revisit the orchard from my childhood, Dr. Davie's Farm. It's as gorgeous as I remembered; a beautiful, pastoral place unchanged through time. I was delighted to find the grounds in wonderful shape, preserved and tended with care, plus a thriving, working farm, buzzing with customers and orchard workers. The process of gathering apples remains unchanged; buy a bag for the fruit, then select an apple picker. 

The pickers' handle is a smoothed branch, with a bag that has wide prongs around the edge, attached to the top, for fitting between the branches and stems of the apple trees. With a slight twist, the apple dislodges from the branch to drop into the bag, or not, as you soon discover it can be a hit or miss operation. I was amazed at how easily I picked it up again.

Our suburban house was adjacent to a family farm. The backyard had six apple trees, remnants from the farm's orchard, perfect for climbing and constructing tree houses. We also had two cherry trees, and a raspberry bush that lived in the back corner of the property, near the farmers' honey bee hives. He grew corn, rhubarb, string beans, lettuce, which we picked with the children next door, on their families land. Eating fresh food, while sitting on the ground between the rows of crops, was an incredible way to experience produce.

As we walked the rows of trees, I couldn't help but smile at the festive, happy atmosphere of families engaged in harvesting. It's like a treasure hunt for kids! We passed child after child, grinning and biting into a fresh apple. What a wonderful feeling that is, to feel the sun shining on your face and the sweat on your brow, as you taste your first plucked apple. 

We learned to reap the rewards of our labor, and savor the fruits of it. The farm still produces this same effect on the children of today; to appreciate the finer things in life, while joining together as a community. Our society is not as corrupt as it sometimes portrayed. Children are the shared crop of our future, so let's tend to them well.

Enjoy the fruits of this season with your loved ones.

http://www.drdaviesfarm.com/history.htm