Autumn Nears

Or maybe its already here. August has slipped away, and we are on the verge of September, but the entire month seems to have been a prelude to Autumn. The light has shifted from a glare to a warmer golden hue. The air has gone from steamy to dry, and on a clear day, the sky is so achingly blue that you can see the outer edges of the atmosphere. But overall, it is noticeably cooler, "brilliant skies and frigid nights," as Maine weather man Lou McNally declared on the radio this morning. I've even noticed maple trees starting to turn, shedding just a few crimson and copper leaves onto the ground below. So much for the dog days of summer.

The air conditioner we bought in a mad rush at Home Depot one evening in early July--a hive of panicked consumers buzzing around the ransacked display--has been quietly resting, and blankets have come out of the closets to grab in the middle of the night as temperatures drop. Flip flops are making room for clogs, (I haven't even painted my toes once this summer!) tshirts and tank tops are making way for layers, and (gasp!) fleece. Yesterday I popped over to Reny's, my favorite local discount store, where I saw racks of parkas, hats, ear warmers, gloves, and ski pants. Sigh. Even though there are officially three weeks more of summer, it is unofficially over.

So, even though there is a lot to look forward to, warm indian summer days (please!), cozy sweaters, a walk on a crisp night amidst the smell of home fires burning, I still feel a certain bittersweet longing. Its a feeling that always returns this time of year. When I was younger, it was the sadness of having to give up carefree summers for the rigor and discipline of school (tempered, however, by back to school shopping and a parade of new outfits.) As I've grown older, I experience twinges of nostalgia, a longing to be released from the cumbersome grind of work and adult responsibilities to return to those carefree school days and childhood friendships.

In Maine, where the boundaries of the seasons are abrupt and the shrinking days are measured, I wonder if the sadness one feels this time of year is indeed a chemical and hormonal response to light and heat withdrawal, a "seasonal affective disorder". Many people I've spoken to feel some sadness that the summer has faded away. They have an inventory of projects not started or finished, days not logged at the beach, or observations, like "the crickets are getting quieter". Mostly, I think we are bracing ourselves for the winter that looms a few months ahead.

But, since I can't stop the globe from turning, all I can do is take comfort in Lou's forecast for "brilliant skies". That IS something to look forward to, today.

the big one got away

Sunday on Sunday River. Bethel. Land of covered bridges, fancy farmhouses overlooking summer ski slopes, and some huge rainbows and brookies.

My first catch of the day was a complete surprise, and unwitnessed, so you have to trust me on this. We had been casting into a shallow stretch of the river for the first hour of the morning, with not much luck. While Nelson was exploring a feeder stream, I spied a likely trout harbor: a pool several feet deep, shrouded in shade, bordered at its head by rocks and rushing water. So I cast a few times into it, trying out different spots, when wham! something landed. I jerked the rod up to set the hook, and felt the vibration of something stuck on the line, something HEAVY, moving downstream. I let out a scream as i saw the rod bending, afraid it might break. And then, as the trout swam into a shallow section of the stream, the sunlight shining down on him, i caught a glimpse of a trout about 10-12 inches long. The BIG ONE.

I admit, I was terrified and didn't want to come face to face with a huge fish, deal with the hook stuck in its lip, slightly afraid that it would bite me. "Nelson! Nelson! Holy sh@#$!" I screamed to no avail. There it was, on my line, I caught a fish! A BIG FISH. In my stunned state, I couldn't quite get a handle on reeling him in. The trout took the opportunity to swim farther away, behind a rock, and popped itself off my hook. (Not an uncommon occurence. We remove the barbs from the hook, which eases the conscience and the huge fish fear factor by allowing the trout some room to wiggle off a poorly set hook.)

This brush with the big one was a rush, a confidence booster, and kept me hungry for more. I even caught a few small ones after that! Here is a big one that didn't get away, courtesy of TJ Hooker.

Six Quart Saturday

On Saturday, we picked blueberries at Crummet Mountain Farm in Somerville. The farm is owned by an inspiring woman in her 70s. A book designer, artist, and fiber artist, she shares the farm with about 20 sheep and a few chickens, and lives off the grid, her farmhouse powered by the sun, propane, and wood. After getting a tour of the farm, petting a few sheep (a lamb April, and her mommy Ginger), we set down the drive to a hill covered in acres of organic blueberries.

Crummet Mountain Farm berries are low-bush, shrubs 10-12 inches from the ground that yield tiny fruits. People seem somewhat baffled that we chose hand-picking over the more economical rake method. Not that we weren't offered the rake, but we preferred contact with the blue skinned fruits (easier to sneak a taste and find the ripest berries). Rather than picking single berries from the busth, the trick is to seek out clumps of three or four of the ripest berries, and with the paper carton beneath, quickly roll the berries off the plant with your fingers into the carton. I loved how the sound of the berries dropping into the carton changed from a papery plink to a tiny vibration, berry against berry.

Besides our host, we were the only ones picking at the time, but apparently two berry enthusiasts had arrived at the farm at 6:30 a.m., perhaps to resell the fruits on the side of a road somewhere. What a delight to have this whole place to our selves on such an amazing day - no humidity, just clear, golden skies, the crickets and cicadas whirring and buzzing around us.

Nelson was a man on a berry mission, he quickly accumulated 4 quarts to my 2. I meandered from bush to bush for clumps of plumps, content to rest a bit in the hot sun and stretch out my achy back. There were berries everywhere, deep in the grass, on every bush in every size. At the end of the day, my cuticles had bits of blue fruit in them, and my two big toes were stained blue from berries that got wedged in my sandles. This required a good scrub in the tub!

So now we have a freezer full of berries, poised for blueberry smoothies, blueberries on cereal, blueberry cake, blueberry muffins, blueberry pancakes. What else can you do with blueberries?