August is a symphony. At night, the crickets being to chirp and to sing in our garage, drawing closer to home, seeking shelter for the cold days ahead. Crickets slide the top of one wing on the underside of another to make their chirping noise, one edge of wing gliding on another like a bow on a string instrument. Their noise in the garage is a reminder that fall is near. Each August, I take up knitting again, and in the evenings the metal click of the needles and the yarn mark time, one needle against another, the crickets and their noise just outside, the wool slipping over metal needles under lamp-light, the darkness ahead settling down.
This is high summer, but the night falls earlier each day, and the prospect of winter is steady and sure. I want to hold on to these bright hot days, I want to tuck away the feeling of pulling beans, and twisting off ripe tomatoes, the heat and humidity, collect the heat and the symphony of sound and color, preserve this feeling of high summer and save it for the darker days ahead, the cold of winter when summer heat seems so far away.
Outside, in the August late afternoons, under the apple trees, you can hear the soft “plonk” of early apples falling ripe from the trees. I gather up the unmarked apples, Continue reading “Preserving August in Vermont”