And Fall Approaches...

For whatever reason, I've really been able to feel fall approaching this year. I'm not sure if it is some level of anticipation or a shift in the weather pattern, or something else entirely. Whatever has caused it, I've enjoyed it. I know a couple of other guys, hunters, of course, who have felt the same.

Sensing the approach, all the fall preparation activities have commenced. We've shot skeet at camp a couple of times. The wood pile is nearly stacked, though there is a bit of chainsaw work yet to do. The garden, which has done well by my low standards, is winding down. The potato plants haven't started to brown yet, that will be the last to get in.

Hunting seasons have started to open, though I've yet to tote a shotgun in pursuit. Early bear and resident goose are on the list, but, for me, the whole thing really kicks off September 26th when grouse season opens. I almost always get out on opening day and almost never shoot a bird; it is the going that counts. I don't want to miss a day through the fall, as they seem to get more special, and there is much to do.

With the recent passing of Wendell Berry, I share here one of his poems, The Peace of Wild Things, as a bit of insight toward my heading into the woods for the fall. Sure, the pursuit often ends up being the thing I talk about, but the peace of being out there lives around and in me. Thank you for the words, Mr. Berry.

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.