At the beginning of this week I was deep in the wild of Desolation Canyon, caught between rock and sky and the Green River. I was learning to read rapids, getting reacquainted with the desert stars, and listening to the coyotes sing up and down the river. I was settling deep into the landscape and into myself. And then, midday Sunday, we ran out of canyon and into a concrete boat ramp, loaded the trucks, drove across four states, and I was straight back in the kitchen, like I'd never been gone at all.
I find this is a reflective time of year, between seasons, with summer still warm on my back and the coming winter cool on my face, at the balance point of the equinox. There will come a time, not long from now, when the long nights and gray skies will start to feel oppressive, but from here, standing at the end of the sun's season, I look forward to the warm houses on rainy nights, to long evenings of food and friends, to writing, reading, and project plotting, to the way the clouds get caught in the Chuckanuts, and the Sound, islands, and sky fade into dreamy grays.
My library book stacks have been growing dangerously tall, but despite all my wonderful choices, I keep coming back to the same few works, among them this Mary Oliver poem. Do you have favorite poems or writings for this between season? Will you share?
And now, predictably, I've gotten totally sidetracked by reflection and daydreams and run out of minutes to tell you about bakery things. It's time to get to market! I've got all three rye breads this week. And cornbread. And an excellent orange-almond-poppy pound cake. Come get a slice!
See you soon.