There was a new years recently, though not one that belongs to me as I’m not Jewish. When Bug gets a little older, we’ll have to get back in the rhythm of celebrating a New School Year, I suppose, and that’s a more secular new years for the turn into autumn.
And of course the season keeps trucking along and the equinox happened in there too, and we celebrated the bounty of fiber animals at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival, as we do every year to welcome the autumn. Last year Bug got her first broom; this year she picked out a basket. It was a bit rushed for a holiday, as I had to work the first part of the day, but you do what you have to.
That’ll about do it for fiber shows, and the carnival season’s about over too. The state fair’s been and gone, the midway is packing it in, and it’s time for a brief rest before the hunt resumes.
We’re nearing the end of market season here in my part of town. First Fridays end first, and the farmer’s market near my apartment only has a few weeks left too. The rains have come back, and they were welcomed after the disturbingly hot summer and the fire in the Columbia Gorge. I can breathe again.
I haven’t been writing. I’ve painted, and sewn, and embroidered. I made pickles. I cleaned out the closet.
I haven’t been writing, but I want to get back to it. Right now words are slippery and I’m focused on the solid, definite things. Fresh fruit and the oregano outside my door. Sorting. Making. So we’ll see what happens.
In the mornings I walk Bug to school and we’re working on paying attention to what’s going on around us. We talk about the creek and the river, about the library wights and the bus spirits, about what the plants are doing and where the geese are. There’s no specific lesson plan; it’s just observation and feeling part of everything around us.
I’m making it up as I go, but that’s what parenting is, right?