!Fall
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agk's diary
16 September 2023 @ 22:29 UTC
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written on GPD Win 1
while Grammy turns 95 and my daughter coughs in bed
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Tastes of fall: orange custardy persimmons, sweet
slick muscadine grapes plucked from among pine
needles where they fell in the Georgia hills,
rich meaty pecans from my aunt's house in the North
Carolina piedmont. Soon persimmons will fall here,
too, in Kentucky.
Sound of fall: rain that fell in puffs of cool in
Georgia, rain falling steady outside my window.
Turkeys are bigger and bolder. On a social ride
last week I spotted four of them by the unfinished
bypass road, still used only by bicycles. I thought
they were deer in tall grass til we got closer.
Creeks are low, and water flowing through local
caves which emerges as springs. Some caves are only
passable to humans when the water level drops. They
seal, trapping visitors inside, with a good storm.
My beans and tomatoes are still producing. Compost
still renders food scraps into rich soil in about a
week. My windows remain open.
My friends are chopping wood and stacking it. When
cold weather comes, they'll need it to stay warm.
Maybe they'll bed under blankets, wrap their backs
with wool, cuddle with hot water bottles and a pot
of tea like we do. They also have warm dogs. I
picked some of their abundant mountain mint, dried
it on the way home.
I thought about what to do if I could easily visit
to improve their water situation. Something involv-
ing water line buried below frostline, their water
buffalo toted across the creek, situated uphill or
on a platform above the elevation of their house
for a cistern.
Insulated with hay bales or rigid foam against
freezing, with the spin filter or something to keep
sand out of it & periodic sanitization. Somewhere
to carry water, and one day to pump springwater or
drain rainwater. Water matters more than electric.
My Grammy turns 95 today, surrounded by my parents,
brother, nephew, cousin, aunt---but not me or my
daughter. I couldn't get the time off work. The
celebration was planned after my work schedule. I'm
sad we're not there. Tomorrow my brother turns 37.
Tonight Evy's in Louisville doing a rope perform-
ance. Tomorrow she works at the hospital. Daughter
and I bike to church then drive to the city library
for a panel discussion about restoring passenger
rail. Right now, it rains steadily, refilling our
groundwater. Crickets chirp in the woods. Daughter
is asleep. I have a book to finish reading.
