The forecast continues to call for rain, but here in the central plains we remain dry...as usual. I take myself out to the Wood once a week and water the young trees so they will hurry and root in before the serious cold comes roaring across the flatness we call Kansas and Nebraska. The tomatoes have already called it quits and donned their black robes of death. (Party poopers.) Tomatoes are very delicate and need protection, you see. I know
In our spice shop, sales are doing well, picking up for the holidays. We have lots of new gift ideas along with our usual wonderful spice and spice blends. If you are needing fresh spices for Thanksgiving or to give as gifts, please go online to http://www.savoryspiceshop.com to look through the possibilities. You can place an order online and, if you designate us as your home shop, we will ship it to you ASAP. If your order happens to be over $30, the shipping is free. That, my friends, is a deal.
A friend lent me the book, The Shell Seekers, by Rosamunde Pilcher the other day. I loved the story and the characters and quickly asked her for another. A day or two ago I finished her novel, September. I enjoyed it just as much as the first one, or maybe more since it was set in Scotland instead of England. (Scotland, you may know by now, is my home space. Despite the fact that there does not seem to be a whit of documentation to confirm this personal belief. When I was there, in Scotland, I had the overwhelming feeling the entire time that I had come home after a long time away.)
Pilcher's books are not fast action books full of interesting plot twists and near-death escapes. They are full of the intricacies of familial relationships, especially those of multiple generations coming together. The writing is lovely and the stories will bring peace to your soul. Ms. Pilcher must have loved the out-of-doors as much as I do, for her books are full of detailed descriptions of the sights and scents of the natural world.
I finally got all my crazy fire alarms replaced and in working order. Let's hope these aren't quite so heat sensitive as the last ones. Sadly, it has become a holiday tradition around here to be suddenly assaulted by multiple screeching alarms whenever anything is baked at a temp over 450 degrees. No one is surprised anymore. They man their stations with set mouths and shaking heads. Windows are thrown open and dish-towels flapped in the vicinity of the alarms. The system is connected so when one screams, they all scream. There may have been some grumbling and squinting of the eyes now and then. We'll see what happens now. (Keep your fingers crossed.)
Outside, the bells are ringing to beat the band again today and leaves are once again accumulating in drifts against any vertical obstacle. The little birds, black claws clamped hard, ride the feeders as they swing and sway. The squirrels have finished off the pecans in my one small tree. Okay, fine; I have pecans from Dad. I can share, this year. Be warm, little friends.
While in town the other day I discovered a tall, brilliantly red Chinese Pistache tree. My own four C.
Enough idle chatter, news and such.
I am away to Maggie's Wood;
to the fierce wind and tumbling leaves.
Where are my hat and muffler?
Where, my boots and gloves?