HOMEGROWN Life: A Melancholy Season

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Summer is such a busy time. There’s really no chance to reflect, to absorb, to acquaint oneself with things beyond daily life, the grind of chores, the work of the farm.

When autumn arrives, in all of its colorful glory, I start to notice things. It’s not just the change of leaf color or the feel of the air. We move from hot summer days to the crisp coolness of waking up in darkness and days ending much sooner in faint light. The light bends in brilliant ways, making the beginning and ending of each day a painting, untouched by Photoshop.

For me, there’s always a certain melancholy to the farm in fall: thoughts of everything I had planned to accomplish during the warm months, ideas for how the summer would stretch into autumn and then winter. But there’s a sense of accomplishment, too, in making it through such a busy schedule, sometimes stretching from the wee hours of the morning into the dark of night. There’s also a sense of loss at not being able to spend more time with friends, relaxing and enjoying all there is to enjoy about summer in Maine, especially living near the coast. I’ve come to understand that we all feel it, all of us who work to provide folks from elsewhere with their farm-fresh products, their time on the water in boats and kayaks, their fresh-caught lobster suppers.

On the farm summer is almost a blur, connecting those early days of spring, when lambs and kids and calves and chicks and all other sorts of creatures are born, to tending the expanded flocks and herds in the fall. Before we know it, it starts all over again, with the cycle renewing itself.

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