So, ok, I haven’t been blogging.  At all.  Nata.  And this post will be not much more than notice of my “intention to blog” which I know might not amount to much in the grand scheme of things.  But I think if I can get myself blogging, it might get myself writing and even more importantly,  allow me to engage with the day, connect it to ME.  You know the drill.

Today is one of those crisp fall U.P. days, clear, CLEAN — you can hardly believe the world could be polluted anywhere when you look out my window and see my field of wild flowers to the north.  To the east and south, I have a “sort of” scraggly lawn — sparce and interspersed with pine cones and dog excrement — that leads down the hill to The Little Two Hearted River (above), which is admittedly low this time of year.  (Things are still green.)   And as I make my way to my garden, it smells ozoney and fresh from yesterday’s rain.  It’s harvest time, time to sow what we’ve reaped, and I love the fall with it’s exquisite sadness that seems to be both an ending and a beginning.  (School started in the fall).

I dig about ten pounds of potatoes, then pluck three cucumbers and half dozen tomatoes off the vine, knowing we’re winding down on it all.

I don’t have anything really profound to say about any of that, either, other than I’m still here….

Subjects to come:  bees (wow); grandchildren (wow), bear and grouse hunting (wow), dogs (wow), friends (wow)…

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