Transition Season

We finished up the final Pizza Farm Saturday this last week—too chilly to sit outside even in the sunshine. Autumn colors tinged the leaves on the trees at the forest’s edge, and Vs of Canada geese flew southward overhead. It’s time to wrap up the summer season and pack away all the extra lawn furniture and umbrellas. Summer’s events wind down as the frost advisories pop up on the weather alerts. It truly is a time of transitions on the farm.
It was time to set up the barn cameras as we entered our second year of lambing in the fall! Instead of the usual slideshow telling the story of our 100-year-old barn playing on the flat-screen at Farmstead Creamery, it’s the “Sheep Channel” all the time now, showing the four camera angles in the main part of the barn. This allows us to keep an eye on the pregnant ewes, even when we’re busy working at the Creamery, so we can hurry back to the barn to help with an imminent delivery.
“Oh, how smart!” a customer who keeps goats chimed the other day. “Spring can be such horrible weather for baby animals.” And this is true—we have significantly less struggle with hypothermia when lambing in the fall than in the spring because the concrete barn floor and all its timbers are still warm from the summer, instead of ice cold from winter. And the lambs are significantly healthier because their mothers carried their pregnancy while eating fresh grass instead of dried hay. Little baahs that once heralded springtime now become part of the magic of autumn on our farm.
Last Thursday, as we sat in an open jam circle for the final Wood-Fired gathering at Farmstead, Mom and Kara were in the barn with a delivery. By evening, healthy twin girls were baahing and tottering about, their curly red baby wool as cute as could be. Everyone was a good sport about the staffing shortage, which can happen at a moment’s notice during lambing season.
This is another indicator that the hectic summer season with its long hours needs to come to a close for the year—creating more time to spend in the garden bringing in the harvest and in the barn with the animals. It’s also time for the summer storms to bow and take their curtain call. After an unusually warm stretch, the farm was pummeled by golf-ball-sized hail Tuesday evening.
As the storm drew near, Kara and I rushed out to the pasture to tie down the turkey tractor pen, and I hurried to close in all the birds as hail this size could kill them. I literally made it into the basement just minutes before the hail arrived. Our fall colors were stripped from their branches, apples from the trees, and a pine tree in the yard snapped off and thrown into the chokecherry bushes. I’d much rather have a gentle, autumn rain than this summertime drama.
In the wake of the hail damage and with hints of frost in the predictions, we were out in the garden harvesting pumpkins. Many were dimpled, but they had held up amazingly well. Kara turned some of the most damaged into pumpkin soup, bringing the savory smells of autumn cooking to Farmstead. Apple pie for the weekend topped off the sweet spectrum along with the fragrance of pear-cranberry jam with cinnamon and apple cider. My favorite part of helping with jam making is licking the spatula after the jars are all filled and the time it creates to spend with my mom, talking about life and ideas we care about.
Autumn’s transition means bringing out the languishing projects that help us prepare for the cold months ahead—hand making hats and cowls, wraps and slippers. It means digging through the colorful yarn stash, straightening out the studio, and unpacking the sweaters from the closet. It’s time for wearing scarves and starting a fire in the woodstove while reading a good book.
This morning brings torrential rains to the farm, starting in the middle of the night. But even with the drama of lightening and thunder, I can sense that the cloud forms are changing, and the wind is from the east. Transitions are all around. What are some of the ways that you notice autumn’s arrival? This week take some time acknowledge or otherwise celebrate the turning of the seasons—whether as a walk in the woods, a pot of savory soup on the stovetop, or pumpkins to the porch.
For some transitions can be points of stress or sorrow, as we mourn the loss of summer. Summer, in time, will return. Instead, welcome autumn in all its colorful splendor. Transitions are inevitable, and we can choose to embrace the journey, inviting awe and gratitude with us. Happy autumn to you and your family, and we’ll see you down on the farm sometime.