It’s been a peaceful time here at the Tiny Farm. Last weekend, Titus and I walked the property with my camera, and we tried to capture the close of summer and the coming autumn. We are in a season of change, there is no doubt.
The pears have been picked–at least for the most part. The few stragglers cling to the trees for dear life, turn brown as the worms suck their life from the inside out, as the moths feast on the leathery, sun-tanned skin from the outside in. Every living thing eats; every living thing dies. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “and so it goes.”
Though a harvest-wasting pestilence, the pear-munching moths are a beautiful subject matter. Their wings resemble the inner-workings of a lava lamp. Waxy, round bubbles rise from the base of their wings. These moths find the deadest pears, the ones whose carcasses are easiest pickings for their winged-coyote jowls. A friend told me once that moths and coyotes should be dispatched before they reproduce. Call me a romantic, but I’d rather document than dispatch.
One of the pear trees has been stricken by a blight. We intend to call the tree doctor and an arborist, but the truth is, this one has one root in the grave. Of dating relationships, my uncle used to say, “when the horse is dead, dismount.” I think the same analogy applies to sickly pear trees. I don’t expect to see this one next year unless it’s in the wood-burning stove.
The hazelnuts have clustered up together like green, leafy grapes. Truth is, I’ve never had a hazelnut tree, and I’m not quite sure when to pick the fruit of its effort. I looked them over for pestilence, but they appear disease and bug free. This might be a minor miracle, but then again, it might just be the nature of this exotic shrub-like tree.
The thistles have dried up and turned to prickly skulls atop wispy bones. Titus broke the skulls off, cracked them open to reveal what looked like hair growing from the inside down to the tufted seedbed. He scattered the tufted seeds to the wind and laughed without consideration of the fact that he is planting thistles in my yard. I let him have a go at it despite the fact that this will likely create weed control problems in the next spring season. The way I see it, though, the wonder of 3 is a once in a lifetime thing, and it only lasts for a year. I’d rather not crush that wonder.
Past the thistles, the last of the flowers are hanging on. I don’t expect they’ll make it more than a few weeks. I tried my best to take them in, but in the process, Amber called through the open window. “Seth, could you help me with…” she said, and Titus and I turned toward the door, turned to the practical nuts-and-bolts of maintaining a house. The insects and seeds to continued their small work on the Tiny Farm.
This piece of Ozark land has been working itself for many years now; I expect it will keep working itself for many more. I’m grateful for it.
I noticed a roughed up copy of Walker Percy’s Lost in the Cosmos, The Last Self-Help Book, on the bookshelf last night, pulled it down for sharts and giggles. If you haven’t read much Percy, I recommend it. According to the book cover, in 1983 the New York Times said that the book was “charming, whimsical, slyly profound.” Boy, were they right.
As an aside, I’d love to package a novel in this old, pocket paperback style one day. There’s something about holding this book that conjures a sense of nostalgia, and the near-hieroglyphic artwork on the cover ushers you back to a time before the Kindle, Nook, and other e-readers. As an aside to the aside, let me encourage you to do a book a favor–visit your local used bookstore and pick up an old pocket paperback (perhaps of the Sci-Fi genre); you’ll be glad you did.
Next month, my good friend and fellow writer Preston Yancey is letting releasing his first book, Tables in the Wilderness: A Memoir of God Found, Lost, and Found Again. I’ve read Tables and let me tell you something–that Preston Yancey can turn a phrase. Is this a book for those who struggle of fitting into their current church setting? Yes. Is it a book for the angsty, college student who’s processing his or her place within the church family at large? Yes. Is it a book for Anglicans? Most definitely. The truth is, though, it’s a journey book, a coming of age book, a book for everyone.
If you like a good story, fine word pictures, and some musings on the efficacy of holy icons, PREORDER Tables. You’ll be glad. I promise.
There are few groups I enjoy this much.
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