September starts....

September is upon us and though it is early, there are already signs that summer is waning. Most days it was still warm enough to hang laundry outside on the new laundry lines that Don and David built. It's me in the sunglasses, my sister in the pink hat.

We look like a couple of idiots, but it was fun and the sheets smelled wonderful after being dried on the line. It was far enough back from the road so you couldn't see anything as you drove by. But pretty much everyone else hung laundry out also, so no one cared.
The onions were pushing up out of the ground. We grew Texas Supersweet, Walla Walla, and some kind called Alisa Craig. I tried to keep them straight, but we were harvesting basket after basket. At the last minute, I managed to keep two different piles. The Walla Walla's made me cry when I chopped them, but the Alisa Craig's were sweet and tearless.

September was also the month of my Mother's visit. She is 87 and slowing down, but came to stay for two weeks. I learned a lot. About myself. About her. My sister and her husband gave up the Summer House and moved back in with Don and me. My Mother managed the 14 steps to the top just fine a couple of times a day. We cooked. We chatted. We took her apple picking. We took her to feed the calves. Mostly I thought about how if I visited my children when I was 87 and they were in their 60's what I would do differently. I would smile more.

Here she is out feeding the calves. Her hair is still red because she refuses to go gray even at 87. Will I still dye my hair? Probably. Nonetheless here she is in her white pants and black sweater and pearls, out feeding the calves.
The garlic also came in the first week of September. I was disappointed because it was so much smaller than I hoped it would be. But I planted it too shallow in the ground and probably the soil wasn't as rich as it should have been. Still, I harvested it and braided it.

I hung it in the garage to try. Later, when we used it, it was rich and sweet and almost nutty-flavored. I wish I had grown twice as much. Something to note if I live through this year, right?
Secretly, however, I rejoined every time we were finished with a crop.