Gathering in

Limb about to come down

Limbs down

  

       In  September we had torrential rains for a week.  Five limbs blew down from the overgrown ash tree in our back yard.  Our backdoor neighbor alerted us to another heavy limb hanging by a thread over her garage.  Like many homeowners around here, we are waiting for the tree men to give us estimates.
   The big storm marked the beginning of rainy season here in Oregon.  It will rain until next June or early July.  Beginning in early March the grass will need to be cut every week without fail.  The first spring we live in  this house, I burned out an electric mower when I tried to cut grass that had not been attended to for three weeks.  Once the rains stop in June or July, they stop absolutely.  The grass gets brown and doesn't need cutting more than a few times until early November.
     The September storm has been followed by many sprinkling and showering days, all of them dim, damp, and gray. Before I moved here,  I asked  a colleague who had grown up  in the Pacific Northwest for tips about coping with the lack of light.  She cautioned me, "When the sun comes out, you go out, even if it's only for a minute.  Eat soup and bread, and  light a fire every night to break up the dark."

Glockenspiel at Mt. Angel

     I've taken care to follow her advice, but some years it's not enough.  I bought on Craigslist a full spectrum sun lamp, promising "Summer sun for winter blues."  When I arrived at the bungalow of the couple who were selling it, the wife started in  on her husband.  "We're moving to Arizona.  I used to use this lamp, but now I don't need it because we're moving to Arizona.  Three years ago we went there for two weeks in the winter.  Last year it was a month.  Now we are moving to Arizona.  I just can't take  the winters here anymore.  We're moving to Arizona, aren't we, Honey?"  It was like a skit out of Portlandia.

Chas and Kris with puzzle

     In autumn some people gather in apples or hay or Christmas plans.  I want to gather in the light.  We have some glorious days when the sky is high and blue and the vistas are bright.  On those days we find excuses to drive out into the country.  We drove south to Mt. Angel, a village settled by German and Swiss farmers.  We ate heavy food and  grinned at the Glockenspiel, mechanical figures that move to tinkly music and illustrate the history of the area.

Chas's cottage puzzle

     On gray days the colors of the leaves are even richer than on sunny days.  I drove to Manzanita to clean the library cottage, soaking in the golds of the big-leaf maple trees and gawking at the tawny hides of the elk in the meadows.   I had a special delivery to make: Chas created a difficult wooden jigsaw puzzle showing the old gal in all her glory.  It will now live at the cottage for those who want to  accept the challenge of piecing it together.
    The wet weather aggravates Judy's breathing problems.  It brightens up the pain in my arthritic fingers.  But when I  broached the idea that maybe we should spend some time in Arizona this winter, Judy looked at me like I had suggested going to the moon.