the shadows lengthen and the veil thins as the red sun sets beyond the plains
a crackling fire roars in the hearth burning oak, elm, and birch
bundles of herbs smolder above the coals shrouding the house in a thick, earthy, incense which warns off any mischievous entities
the familiars spread out on the rug, only lifting an eye to see if the food dishes have been refilled, lazily streching back into place mildly disappointed
a comicly small green gourd sits on the front stoop, a scowl scrawled across its face, backlit by a fluttering tea light, fighting for its life against the gusting midwest wind
as the sky darkens, the oven timer lets off with a loud ding and a call from the living room says, "I found the perfect movie!" an 80s cult classic
after the plates have been pushed off to the side of the coffee table, the plot begins to thicken, the blankets get pulled off the back of the couch and over eyes
the dogs bark at a loud bang unable to distinguish if it came from inside or out
neither can we
the movie gets paused to stoke the fire again, and grab handfuls of candy, before resuming position under the security of a well made quilt and a pile of house beasts
the cryptids and coyotes creep from the cornfields, and into the open under the pitch new moon sky
after the credits roll, we sit by the fire and tell stories with our ancestors, catching them up on our lives and sharing their wisdom. we even share of healing our generational curses
from the safety of the stoop with the galliant but small ward still aglow beside we draw a small pentagram and set intentions
inside a teapot steeps with chamomile, rose hips, mullien, and an assortment of herbs ready to calm the mind and body for sleep
the windward storms on the rockies to the west responsible for yesterday's warm Chinook winds have made it over the top bringing the cold winter air with it for a daily high of 34°f and a winter weather advisory.
pine and locust burn hot in the woodstove keeping the house tropically warm, while the dogs stretch out on the hand woven rug to absorb the heat.
a second pot of coffee has been brewed while bacon sizzles on the stove and the house is relatively quiet, excepting the cats chasing after a mouse who found its way in from the approaching winter storm.
freshly laundered quilts lay across the couch in front of the tv, tempting an early nap.
phones get switched to silent, and another quiet day begins on the farm.
Find me in the garden
During the golden hour
We'll sift thru the sugar snaps for snacks
And melt away the day's anxiety
With herbal remedies
Tea, of course
We'll listen to the warm wind
And the warblers tell stories
A spring carrot
With the dirt haphazardly wiped away
Tastes like honey and memories
Just ignore the grit
Find me in the garden
During the golden hour
I'll be grounding myself
And you're welcome to join me
Clothing optional
But mind the bugs and burs
if this time of year also sucks for you,
because of family or whatever
you can come sit with me by the fire
and we don't even have to talk about it
except maybe later, when we have a couple drinks
but until then, or even if it doesn't happen, we can just sit here and enjoy each other's company
the house is lightly decorated
not too wild, just the few memories we cherish
and the lights, because the lights are my favorite part
the weather hasn't even been cold but it's going to snow tonight, so it'll be a white christmas, because that's how it's suppose to be
it's supposed to be joyous too, but
again, we don't have to talk about it
I caught that shaky inhale and I know what is going through your head
the world is a mess and we for some reason are suppose to be a light in it all
we can try
we'll certainly light up a bowl
probably going to pass on the cheery christmas music, but we can dance around the living room to some good bops anyway
no special ham, or turkey, but the food will be good, and there will be cookies
maybe we'll even start a new tradition or something
perhaps we can reclaim some of that joy and heal
I remember one time when my brother was visiting the farm, I was hanging back at the house; my husband in his tractor in some field. We decided to take a drive down the road to where my husband was working, and my brother stopped me as I grabbed the keys to the little red Outback. "Shouldn't we take the truck," he asked gesturing to the Tacoma sitting there. "That's silly," I replied. A few moments later, his jeers and taunts stopped as the Outback dipped off the gravel road into the freshly plowed field without hardly slowing down, traversed a few ruts, then sped up the unturned soil to catch up to the working tractor. "Ok, nevermind," he said as we came to stop half a mile off the nearest road.
In the winter of 2017, my little red Outback and I had taken a trip to the Rockies to ski with family and friends. Returning home, the trip started out fine, but as I began to climb the first of 3 mountain passes between me and the plains, a snow squall blew in. Slow and steady the snow piled and the car climbed, up to 10,00 feet before beginning the slippery and slow drive down the other side. Mountain pass behind us, we trudged forward in clearing weather. "Surely, that was the worst of it," I mistakenly said to my self, as I patted the steering wheel. Mother Nature had other plans that day, meeting us with snow storms near the top of the additional passes, before blessing us with a white-out, high plains, blizzard just a mere 40 miles from home. A 4 hour drive became nearly 8, and the little red Outback never faltered once.
In the summers the little red Outback became a working vehicle, loaded with tools and replacement parts, an air compressor, and whatever else was needed for in-the-field repairs and emergencies. It carried numerous dogs, chickens and ducks. It hauled feed for the livestock and the people. Trips across the country and to the top of Pike's Peak. The little red Outback did everything. The little red Outback even carried my best boy to the rainbow bridge.
On June 5th 2024, my little red Outback saved my life. Traveling down narrow country roads doing standard field checks, the little red Outback met a 3 ton flat bed Chevy speeding over a blind hill down the middle of the road. The little red Outback threw its entire rally heritage into those final moments sharply turning towards the ditch, quickly avoiding a head on collision, as the truck sideswiped the Outback so hard it set off the airbags and shredded the side of the car. As the Outback careened along the roadside ditch, missing a wheel and a large portion of body work, air bags deployed, she stayed firm on the ground never threatening to flip or spin out. Although I could not save her, I'm forever grateful for the quick and nimble steering and AWD that prevented a much larger catastrophe. Thank you, Outback. You were the best vehicle I've ever had.