Don’t let poor Tweedle Deb’s feathers worry you. She is going through a hard moult. She is shedding old feathers in order to grow herself a new coat. ALL of our old flock are moulting. Between that and moving to their new coop we’ve not had home fresh eggs in a couple of weeks!
Tweedle Deb’s plumage pretty much sums up September’s start. The world has run amuck and we’re all holding on the best we can for the ride! Wildfires are painting the skies of the west coast a sci-fi red. The pandemic numbers are beginning their fall upswing. Schools have restarted with our granddaughters excited to be back even if that means wearing masks and following unusual bathroom, recess and classroom schedules.
We are adapting to the new normal. My new normal includes as many bike hikes as I can fit into a week. Our back roads meander through thick forests, past wide expanses of marshland and alongside beautiful rocky lake shores. I have always loved exploring new places. My e-powered wheels have allowed me to discover hidden gems that require hill climbing and elbow turns on steep descents. You’ll find me pouring over maps looking for new trails to check out. So many!
Fall colour is just starting to creep into the creek side woods.
Meanwhile back in the paddocks colour reigns supreme. Somehow our gardens have escaped the front yard and are slowly spreading into the paddock. Did you notice above that Paddy has only one tail feather left? Even he is moulting!
The critters all seem relieved to find the cool fall air has arrived. That was one hot summer! I think maybe the flowers are lasting longer because they didn’t bloom until the summer heat waves were past us.
I’m feeling a little melancholy today. Last week I said goodbye to a dear great-aunt. Over the past eight years we’ve been exchanging weekly letters. An envelope can carry so much more than news… I am going to miss knowing that she is out there. She had moved into a senior’s residence. It was a tough go this past winter and then the spring’s Covid lockdown meant an even lonelier existence. The week that lockdown lifted for short visits – I got myself there. This month Parkinson’s disease won out. I know I need to let myself feel the loss. I know she’d lived a good life. We got to reminisce about her memories – and her regrets. Death is somber. Worth carrying the weight. And a reminder to enjoy the little things in a day. The little and big things in a life. The line between being alive and not … is slim.
When I look up at a sky filled with cotton ball clouds and a new road to explore I’ll carry her in my heart. I’ve got a few others tucked in there as well. While it is my turn on this beautiful planet I can marvel that I’m still here.