The cooler than usual temperatures have continued in the southern mountains of Appalachia. I’ve enjoyed them very much even though the chilly air was the death of my late summer tomatoes.
We haven’t started a fire yet, but there’s been a few mornings that it sure would have felt good. We always wait as long as possible before starting to heat the house.
Part of the reason is to save wood for when its really needed and part of it is that it seems so strange to go from running the air conditioner one day to running the heat the next. And the cool air is so welcome this time of the year that’s its sort of nice to embrace it by shivering in the mornings.
Along with the cooler air we’ve had plenty of foggy mornings.
Since leaving my full time job outside the home I relish the morning walk to free the chickens whether its foggy and airish or warm and balmy I love greeting the morning.
The last several days have reminded me of a poem written by Ethelene Dyer Jones, “Old Autumn in the Misty Morn.”
“I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence,
Listening in silence.” (Thomas Hood, 1799-1845)
‘I saw old Autumn in the misty morn’
Gray cloak drawn close against the chill,
Recalcitrant as a stubborn child,
Painting the trees on dale and hill.
I saw her stand ‘shadowless like silence,’
Mellowing shorter day and longer night
Until the wordless landscape lay
A canvas for shadows of birds in flight.
And ‘listening in silence’
I sensed quiet echoes of aeons gone,
Passing sentinels of times ago
Marching unheard–and autumns spent alone.
-Ethelene Dyer Jones
Although I love fall of the year, there is a definite bittersweetness about it that Ethelene captured perfectly in her poem.
Last night’s video: My Life in Appalachia 24 | Matt Finally Got Fried Green Tomatoes!
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Mountain mists and autumn colors: my two favorite things in addition to a good rain when it’s dry.
I have had to miss your blog, and it gets me all out of kilter. I need that daily dose of Appalachia to keep me grounded. I took time to read back a few days. First off, I just think Ethelene had such a sweet spirit and captured life so well in her poetry.
I looked back over your multiplying or dividing onion post, and I loved it and the comments. Mom always referred to them as “winter onions”, because she probably never knew the true name of them. You were right, as I got some of them from a friend. They just disappeared, and I had no idea why. I suppose Mom’s multiplier onions always did well, because she went out and kept them pulled frequently except for a bare few. Walking or Egyptian onions are totally different, but I just love the way they divide into all the little bulblets. One cannot get them mixed up with others easily, because they start bending over and reaching right out of their bed.
Hoping for a long and warm Indian Summer, because I still have lots to do (in slow motion). 🙂
I do so love this time of year. Early morning the air is so cool and crisp as others have also said and the air just has such a good smell to it. I am so glad I get to experience all four seasons.
That is a most evocative photo, Tipper! I can smell and feel the place and time. It’s very nearly like an impressionist painting.
” . . . it seems so strange to go from running the air conditioner one day to running the heat the next.”
In Texas, we sometimes go from heat to air conditioning to heat all in the same day! :>
I can’t remember if I identified the lady in my avatar. She is Mary Lyzinthe Tabor Hutchins, dau. of James Sharpe Tabor, born in Swain County, NC, of 7 April 1861, the week before the US Civil War started. She died in 1946 after seeing all 17 of her grandsons who served return from service in World War II, most in combat roles and several badly wounded.
Robert-I love the photo of Mary 🙂
All your cooking for suppers looked so familiar except I have never fixed cushaw soup. Your gravy looks exactly what Mother would fix and we called it milk gravy. To me that is the best gravy to put on your biscuits – oh so delicious. I’ve had it with great southern sausage and fantastic fried squirrel, rabbit or quail! Makes me so hungry just thinking about it. So good to see Matt had his fried green tomatoes!!
I guess I mind the cold more these days so I’m not overly excited about airish cold weather. Here in SC PA, we have our AC off now and it probably won’t be long till we turn on the heat.
There is a sound and smell that I experienced one time in my teens when I was out at my Grandparents farm in NE MS. It was early morning and I was trailing behind my Grandfather out to the barn. In the misty morning, the air was perfumed with a sweet smell that seemed to be coming from only the ground and maybe the surrounding plants. I was carrying an old bucket (looked like it was tin or stainless steel). I just remember the beautiful creaking of that old bucket as it swayed in my hand. Maybe it was because the stillness was so apparent – no other sounds of life were heard other than our feet on the path . I’ve carried buckets since but never experienced that beautiful sound that created a musical treat echoing across the pasture and remains intact in my memory today.
Your breaking beans remind me of times sitting on the porch with my Grandmother, Mother and Aunts breaking beans and listening to stories about their growing up years. Always great memories.
Dee, I have ate milk gravy from all of the things you mentioned, but to me none of it compares to milk gravy from fried out fatback side meat or streak of lean, no matter your name for this meat. We would eat this several mornings a week along with homemade biscuits. We never ate cornflakes or toast when growing up. It was hog heaven to have home grown cantaloupe to go along with it My family called this gravy hunky doo gravy. I have only heard one other person call it this name and they were related to us.
Always a pleasure when I read words that perfectly describe a feeling or time or place. Loved the words saying “Gray cloak drawn close against the chill” and “listening in silence”. Powerful words that sink inside of me.
I love this time of year with the cooler mornings, there is such a refreshing crispness in the air. Like you Tipper I love greeting the morning; it is my favorite time of day, I just wish the morning hours lasted longer.
We were out walking on the lake shore yesterday. There is a garland of fall color all around the lake, a narrow strip that gets full sun and is very colorful. Deeper back under the trees everything is still green.
Ethylene’s poem and your words about “bittersweet” remind me of the bible verse. JER8:20 “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” To me it captures that bitter and sweet together in a few words. Fall affects me like that to a degree, partly because another year has gone by so fast. We just can’t slow or stop time that swiftly-running river. We can just try to fill it with value before it gets away.
I meant to add this to my earlier comment, these airish mornings sure make the bed quivers (covers) feel good each morning and the coffee, sausage biscuits and Grits taste better!
I enjoyed what you and Ms. Dyer both had to say about autumn. There’s something about the cool air and smell of autumn air totally unique to this time of year. It’s a little sad too because along with the cold comes the death of my beloved flowers. I have turned the gas logs on here a few times. Electric heat doesn’t cut it in my view. Good news: Ham Biscuit (kitty) came home this morning.
There has been very little moisture around my area since spring of the year. I was hoping to get a good bit of rain from Ian but we only got about 1/2 inch. The mornings have been in the 40’s and the day’s in the mid 70’s. The leaves are beginning to show some color and some my oak trees are dropping their leaves. I think this has more to do with the lack of rain. The ones that planted sweet potatoes didn’t do so good because of the dry weather. Deer season is open and has been in the lower of SC since Aug. 15. But I no longer hunt. I always looked forward to Thanksgiving and the opening of both rabbit and bird (quail) seasons. Fall is my favorite season of the year, my wife and I looked forward to taking a trip up to the Burnsville,NC area each year, but that is all over with now.
Hi Randy,
Same temperatures here in the Piedmont of NC that you’re having. Hubby and I used to go to Burnsville every fall too – who knows, we may have even run into each other. Haven’t been in the past 3 years though. Two of our favorite shops are Something Special and the Fox Country Store. Did you also venture into Spruce Pine, it is a nice place too.
I have not been up that way in the last few years years for several reasons. We have stayed at the Nu Wray Inn on the square at Burnsville, and then spent time around Spruce Pine, Bakersville and some of the surrounding areas. I just enjoy getting a map and just riding. We were on Roan Mountain near the park one year when it came a dusting of snow in October. The tourist from Florida were having a fit playing in it. I liked to look in the antique stores especially for Coleman lanterns. One of my favorite places to go was the original Mast General store at Valle Cruis I know that is misspelled but maybe you know where it is. I did a double take when I read Piedmont, I live about 20 miles from the small town of Piedmont, SC
Yesterday afternoon I drove down the highway to Andrews and was so surprised to see the mountains donning their fall dresses. I don’t know why I was surprised; I live in the mountains and see them every day but just my little trip down the highway gave me a different perspective and showed me the fall colors are indeed here!
There is nothing like our mountains!
I spent some time yesterday afternoon walking in the woods here on the place. The trees are beginning to show some good color and the air was cool, clean and crisp. The squirrels were very active and I saw several deer and a flock of turkeys. Passing by my deer stand, the longed for muzzleloader deer season to finally arrive. I don’t bowhunt any more due to a shoulder injury. The poem you quoted well describes the paradox of the Fall season.