Labor Day weekend is over (and surely all the school’s across America have started). Clothes are being eyed for a stint in the attic or under the bed, and sweaters are a necessity in the early morning in even the southern states. For me, this is the start of a new cycle. New Year’s Day is a date on the calendar, but fall signals something deeper.
I was raised in farming communities. Not an alone-on-a-farm in middle of thousands of acres of corn childhood, but one where we knew what crops our grandparents were raising, and begged to travel to see the harvest. (Clearly I grew up in the days before streaming or social media.) I suspect that thousands of years of an agrarian cycle can’t be broken in a few decades of town living.
Ready for Winter
My ancestors checked their food stores and seed stock, counting the days until spring planting. I eye the darkening days of winter with similar thought. What will I accomplish so I can greet spring with delight? This is the time of year when I want to outline, research, finalize.
I’m putting it in writing. Finish the book I just couldn’t complete during the onset of Covid. Outline a follow up (and layout the basics for a third). If things really go my way I’ll need to get cracking on book two and wrap it up as the days lengthen adn it’s time to return to my agrarian roots and plant a garden. (Okay, I’ve also taken up tap dancing and I’m going to keep practicing . . . let’s aim for a 64 count routine!)