Fall dropped in on us ten days ago, and it sure feels like it. The air is cool, the trees are displaying patches of color, and the squirrels have taken over the two hickory trees in our back yard. That’s alright, they can have the nuts. I gathered them up the first year we lived here on Jericho Road—at least tried to. The squirrels got most of them. The nuts we did manage to harvest went directly into the freezer, to preserve them until cracking and picking out the meat. But that’s where they stayed until the box broke, and then there were frozen nuts everywhere. We never really got to them. So yeah, let the furry little creatures have them.
It’s always entertaining to watch squirrels busily scurrying around the back yard burying nuts. They do the same thing in the wooded areas, and you have to wonder how they can find them again. I’m convinced that they don’t find a lot of them, and soon there will be a hardwood forest where they planted the nuts and acorns—unknowingly paying it forward for the next generations of bushy-tails. Even the lowly squirrels have a job. Nature’s little arborists. Just one more small detail among the mountains of evidence that the Master Designer has things well planned.
If it weren’t for winter coming next, fall would be my favorite time of year. Actually, it still is. And truthfully, the first couple snows are pretty nice too, but after that, you can have it. It seems that many others share those sentiments, especially as we age. But fall—sweet pleasant weeks of autumn—with cool nights and moderate days, beautiful colors and bountiful harvests. What is there not to love about this season? Oh, and cider! Delicious, sweet cider.
And the walking. Sure am missing it lately. A couple weeks ago something went wrong in my hind foot, and it hurts to walk. I’ve had plantar fasciitis before, but this is different. My foot won’t bend without the feeling of a knife going down through the top of it. Not sure what brought this on, but with long steps like mine, it’s painful. Now after hobbling around trying to spare my foot, the old knee is having sympathetic pains to go along with it. Actually, the knee probably hurts from favoring the foot. Stubbornness is prevailing, and it will fix itself with time, or eventually the doc may get a call. In the meantime, the bicycle is dusted off, and the trip up and down Jericho and Zuercher is on two wheels with an old single speed made for women.
Sometimes I ride this bicycle to work, and always take a ribbing about it being a “girls” bike. This doesn’t really bother me. I bought it at a garage sale for Juanita several years ago for the grand sum of twenty-five dollars. This was a wise move. We were considering purchasing good bicycles as a way of burning some calories, but something told me that the desire to get out and ride might be a passing fancy, so we made a small investment to test the idea. And, well… the riding didn’t go well for Juanita, so since she doesn’t ride it, I do. Who cares if it’s a woman’s bike with no bar from the seat-base to the front. I could have used one like this when I was a little kid, and it wouldn’t have hurt so much when my feet slipped off the pedals.
Anyway, riding a bicycle uses different muscles than when walking, and pedaling a single-speed up the long Zuercher Road hill is a challenge, but doable. Sure gets the old ticker racing. It gets to rest as we (the bike and I) coast down the long, gentle slope towards Jecky Hershberger’s dirt lane, and then we pick up breath-taking speed going down the steep hill that leads into the S curve. Negotiating around the curves, there is still enough forward momentum that it’s not too difficult to get up the next hill. And on we go, past Chipmunk Hill Woodworking, and onward to Western Road. Another long slope allows for coasting past Jacob’s and Sam’s. Then we go over the next hill and back up again until reaching State Route 250. Sometimes I walk this far, but not right now. A round trip to this point and back home is close to five miles. Although it is done much faster on a bicycle, those hills on a single speed quickly remind me of the health benefits of doing what I’m doing. I’ll probably change my biking route sometimes, but this is familiar territory, and it’s always fun to talk with Jacob, and occasionally with his brother Sam who farms right across the road.
A little over a week ago, Sam was planting the field where his son Johnny stopped the bullet. I spoke with him while he was out close to the road pouring seed into the planter. I assumed it was winter wheat. He informed me that it was spelt, and then told me that he is certified organic. This is great! He can get a better price for the grain when he sells it to retailers like Stutzman’s Farms who mill it into flour and puff it for puffed spelt cereal. Not only that, but he said he can feed spelt to his horses. Wheat is not so good for horses, he went on to say, but the spelt can be used with no problem, and is higher in protein than oats and wheat.
So now I’m all curious about using spelt flour as a replacement for wheat flour. From what I can find out so far, it digests easier than wheat. It is also water soluble and has less gluten than wheat, so some folks who cannot use wheat products can do okay with spelt. But please don’t take my word for it. Do your own research. I just thought it was interesting how the Amish have been getting into organic farming and raising crops that will bring a better income.
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Last week it was difficult to think of something write about, but it worked out okay. Thank you all for your “likes” and kind words. It was humbling. Really. It puzzles me how these weekly words coming from a fairly addled mind can speak anything of interest into the above-average minds who read it. My favorite response came from cousin Jay’s wife, Donna Crisenbery. She wrote, “I love your stories even when you don’t have anything to say.” Laughed out loud on that one! Made my day! You know, I think it boils down to something I read not long ago written by William Nicholson in his book, “Shadowlands.” He says this, “We read to know we’re not alone.” Perhaps that’s why these musings strike a note at times. We’re all on this journey called life, and we need to know that somehow we are normal, (whatever that is), and that we’re not that much different than most other people. We need to know that everyone else has difficulties and embarrassments. And especially, we need to know that all those folks out there that appear to have it all together--they don’t. We also need to remember that we are all in this together, and here’s the kicker; none of us is going to get out of here alive. So let’s talk with each other, and be kind to each other.
Just one more quick note. I stopped at Kidron Town and Country last evening for some bananas, and glanced at their bulletin board on the way out. You just never know what interesting thing you might find there. Sure enough, the following note caught my eye.
“Found one mile west of Kidron. Male cat about five years old. Very tame and friendly. (If anyone is letting cats off around our place, please stop it!) Call 330-857-XXXX”
So there you have it. If it’s your cat, you may claim it. If you dropped it off, you know what NOT to do from now on.
From the lovely small town of Kidron, Ohio, where all the men are homely, all the women are beautiful, and all the lovely children will come back home. So long.
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