Waking up on the ferry.
Check out the first item on the winter list. I have to say, I am looking forward to doing that, although my autumn list is not yet completed. I still have to put the garden to bed and finish my jams and gather 2 tons of saplings and branches for family…
"Love is Made"
Love is made in the kitchen;
Tasting and salting,
Saying let me feed you.
Love is made in the garden;
In the dirt and under the sun,
Saying let us grow together.
Love is made in the early morning;
Stoking the fire to warm cold feet,
Saying let us bring one another comfort.
Love is made in the afternoon;
Sweating over the task, working,
Saying let us build something new.
Love is made at night;
In each others’ arms, in our bed,
Saying I will be with you from light until dark.
When Mary Beth and Nat announced their engagement I wrote this poem for them. I was honored when they asked me to read it at their wedding ceremony. Afterwards some guests asked for a copy so I am posting it here. It is about the pleasures of being married and also a reminder that the love you have is what you make. (photo E. Conley)
Waiting for the Bride. The nieces and nephews trying to be good while waiting for the bride to come down the aisle. Sun shining down like a blessing.
My three beautiful girls, all dressed up for their Aunt’s wedding. I love this photo because it reminds me of photos I have seen of me with my two sisters in our smocked dresses and cardigans.
Watching salmon spawn on the Kenai. The sky was leached of color by rain but the salmon were as brilliant as the brightest crayons in the box, headed toward a river of impossible blue. Moments like these you realize that the camera is vastly inferior to the eye. (photos RML)
I think the purpose of these sopping waterfull days of fall is to make me long for the cold, clear, brilliance of coming winter days when what light that comes is slant and sweet and catches on the lacewing river ice between the tides.
We drove up through the Yukon in mid-September at the peak of fall color. The trees rose out of the dark taiga like flames, flickering up the mountainsides. The birches leapt yellow against the sky while the lowbush groundcover banked red coals against the wind.