The leaves are nearly all down now at Trout Creek. I love late autumn in Michigan, ever grateful to live where the slow turns of the seasons nourish and nudge our souls to look ahead. Here, we embrace the changes a new season brings, even when it is winter on the near horizon.
The signs are everywhere. Squirrels are hoarding acorns and fortifying nests with newly fallen leaves. Sow bugs and spiders are tunneling into the house in search of warmth. Just this morning, a buck out back was rubbing his antlers on the tamarack to get off the last of his pesky velvet. Even the wild turkeys come in closer in their hunt for food.
At the store yesterday, the mother behind me had a cart overflowing with toys for Christmas, and people were stocking up on bread and milk with the news of imminent snow. I have a loaf of bread rising, and a brand new soup pot sitting on the stove awaiting its first of many assignments.
When we get back to Trout Creek, we work as hard as squirrels to be ready for winter. The split wood supply is renewed. Lawn tools are cleaned, oiled and stored even as the snow blower and shovels are readied. Gutters are cleaned, the car’s winter emergency kit is thrown in the trunk, the furnace is serviced, and the gas fireplace turned back on. Another blanket goes on the bed, and the boots get a new coat of waterproofing. Boats are hosed out, stored upside down on their rack, and covered. Paddles go into the tall storage can. Ski poles are moved to the front. The bird feeders are restocked, while the downy woodpeckers and jays greedily cackle for more suet.
The short days mean more lamplight to illuminate those corners of our lives the sun seems to have forgotten. Now, instead of bright sunny picnics, we gather around the old family farm table. It’s soup, fresh baked bread, and fruit cobbler in place of burgers, beans, corn on the cob, and watermelon. I spend time arranging this year’s crop of canned and frozen foods. The anticipation of asparagus soup and a bubbly cherry cobbler on a cold, snowy night makes all the summer’s industry worthwhile.
It’s a time for being thankful, making ready, and taking delight in the slowdown. The long days of summer are filled with extended hours of play and work. It is now that we can give ourselves permission to hibernate for a time-to peruse that never-opened stack of summer reading, sit and pray with friends around the fireplace, study to learn something new, or simply curl up in a blanket with a hot mug of tea to watch it snow.
There is much to be learned from deliberately coming in out of the world, from slowing our hectic lives, and filling up on God’s wisdom.
The wilderness will wait for us while we rest, regroup, reorient, and renew. The winter is for maps and making plans. Before we know it, we will be out on the water again-ice fishing, winter camping and canoeing, or learning to ski, or snowshoe, or curl on an outside rink. But these short, dark weeks of late autumn are for savoring the getting ready.