Winter's a-coming

It snowed yesterday morning in my little town in the bend of the Columbia River. Yep, not even the middle of October yet, and it was cold enough to snow for two hours, putting half an inch of the white stuff on the ground. During the afternoon, the temperature rose into the lower 40s Fahrenheit, and by the end of the day the snow had melted. We've had several days of extremely windy and unseasonably cold weather, although a warming trend (into the upper 50s during the daytime) is supposedly on its way.

Last Sunday, in advance of the predicted cold snap, it was time for the final harvest in my plot at the community garden. The three tomato plants that turned out to be so prolific were still covered with several dozen green fruits. I pulled the plants up, roots and all, along with an habanero that bore a couple of immature peppers. They're now hanging on a wire rack in my garage, continuing to ripen. The summer squash and the eggplant had attempted a last burst of activity, but I suspect that with yesterday's snow, they've bitten the dust. The only thing remaining are the Candy onions, which seem to be happy with the colder weather.

Weekend before last, a flock of crows (hmm, isn't that supposed to be a murder of crows?) was feasting on the Italian plum trees in my front yard. Now the purple plums are gone and the slow-ripening apples are turning red. The redwing blackbirds and gray banded-tail pigeons and chickadees are still enjoying the bird feeders I installed last spring. This afternoon I noticed an unfamiliar brown bird perched on the big feeder by the deck. This will be my first winter feeding the wild birds, and I'm very curious to see who will show up.

Much has happened since the plum trees in my yard began leafing out early last April. It seems like an entire lifetime ago, in context of what I've let go of and what I've come to realize about life in general, and my life in particular. I feel as though I've woken up at the age of 55 (56, by the end of the year), which is a good thing -- being awake is a good and empowering thing -- but it also presents one with the need for acceptance of one's previous miscreations and missteps. Being awake means that there's no place left to hide. The veils of denial and delusion are gone, and you see what you're looking at.

Part of me looks at the past with a dismay that sometimes borders on horror, and another part knows that it all had to be exactly as it was. I feel very solid inside of myself, with a clarity about things, in ways that I have never been before, and yet I wake up most mornings now with a feeling of panic and anxiety, that all has been lost and there's no time left to get it back. On one level, I'm excited about the possibility of future self re-invention; on another level, I simply feel worn out.

What's that quote about mid-life from Dante Alighieri? In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood, where the straight way was lost. Except, what if what I thought was the "straight way" wasn't, and what I've woken up to is actually the true path? A path I've always been on, but did not recognize clearly for what it was.

As I was uprooting tomato plants right before sunset last Sunday, at the end of a blustery, gray and chilly autumn day, I could hear the haunting skirl of a lone bagpipe from somewhere in the distance across the creek; a fitting herald of this bittersweet season.

Comments

[Joanne]

Oh if only all snowfalls were like that ... picturesque, falling gently, covering the ground in a white blanket, then melting away by day's end! We said farewell to our garden a few weeks ago too. With an extremely rainy summer, our tomato plants didn't fare well. Maybe next year ...

[Kitty]

Keeping fingers crossed that sweet snowfalls like this are all we get here this winter.

[Sharon]

I know well the early morning anxiety and panic. While I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, it helps to know that it's part of this time of transition. I agree that self re-invention is exhausting, with feelings of loss about the past and insecurity about the future. I like the thought that I've always been on the true path...but now the scenery has changed. I have changed, too, on the inside in ways that I am just beginning to understand.

[Cindy L]

Oh my, I read this and got to the part about waking up at 55, looking back, feeling anxiety, and thought you must be seeing inside of me. This is a very powerful, beautiful piece of writing, expressing where I am today... thank you for making me feel less crazy and alone in these feelings. And the lone bagpiper playing at the end struck my Scottish ancestral heart.

[Kitty]

Thanks, Sharon and Cindy. Your comments help me realize that I'm not the only one experiencing this, and that even though I don't have all the words to fully express it, what I am saying still resonates with others.

And my Scottish ancestry is speaking to me, too. This area I live in -- the Columbia Gorge, with its hills, cliffs, and dramatic weather and scenery -- is so much like Scotland. No wonder I feel at home here.