October Settles In

A week ago today, Mrs. Orr and I spent the afternoon on the back porch with a fan on, swatting yellowjackets and watering the flowers. Today? The promised cold front swept in night before last, and we are snuggled in the living room, wearing sweaters. We finally fired up the furnace this morning and it was pleasant to feel the chill melt out of the rooms. Putting the flannel sheets on the bed will be the final sob in our season of grieving the loss of warm weather. But…this is life, and we are grateful for it.

Can one describe an October day without using the word “crisp?” The day is classic apple cider weather. Speaking of which, we celebrated my beloved wife’s birthday yesterday with a jaunt to North Carolina, where we visited an orchard and came away with some great baked goods, including our favorite, apple cider donuts. We also prowled through the largest antiques mall we’ve ever encountered (and only saw half of it before getting weary), and then got our noon meal at a favorite restaurant before heading back home through the mountain passes ablaze with the beauty of the season.

Last night, we learned that patchy frost would hit us before dawn, so we consolidated our pot flowers on the porches and covered them against the bite of the ice crystals. They all seemed fine this morning. As I typed these words, I realized that I forgot about the window boxes, which did really well this year. Looking out at them right now, I think they did okay. Maybe the Japanese maple that overhangs them protected them somewhat.

The dogs have been very perky in this colder weather. They raced around the yard like spotted greyhounds yesterday, around and around, snarling and nipping at each other, then stopping to rise up on hind legs like stallions, pawing and biting, and then continuing the race. They retired early and slept hard….right up to the point where they awakened Mrs. Orr this morning at 0600. We decided not to pick the remaining okra. as it looked woody and leggy, but Mrs. Orr did gather a good-sized little pail of purple hull peas, which was the end of that crop for the year.

While we miss the warm weather (and lack of joint pain), the coziness of the house on these chilly evenings is an undeniable pleasure. We have a string of twinkle lights along the mantel above the wood stove, and a bowl of them on top of the stove (which we haven’t yet fired up), and little battery-powered candles scattered through the house, so everything was a mellow, glowing chamber. I grilled steaks for my wife’s birthday supper, and she baked potatoes and prepared creamed corn, and I lit a candle atop an apple cider donut for her birthday cake, and the wild dogs of Borneo sang “Happy Birthday,” and Mrs. Orr reported a Happy Birthday indeed.

There are wars and rumors of wars, but these things are not portents — these things have always been. All of the things people usually cite as omens of the End Times are, upon examination, things that, like the poor, we always have with us, and have since the beginning of all things. But these wars do not trouble my house. We are certainly beset in our home with things stressful and unpredictable and unpleasant, but the center of our home is not dependent on some elusive sense of tranquility. The center of our home holds, and it holds around love.

Happy day-after-your-birthday, Mrs. Orr. I love you.

~ S.K. Orr