I fill one more yellow bowl with ripe tomatoes (you know, one of those big old Tupperware ones that everyone has). I’ve roasted batch after batch with garlic and aromatic herbs, tucking them away in the upright freezer downstairs. It’s satisfyingly full for this time of year, with beets, borscht, carrots, beans and tomatoes in both sauce and soup form on the shelves. We’re nearing the time when I’ll core and toss tomatoes whole into freezer bags, done with them, ready to move on. But not yet. There are still a few more batches of sauce and soup in me, and it’s a good thing because those tomatoes. Just. Keep. Coming.
Zinnias, too, so I pick a couple of bouquets for the kitchen. While I’m trimming the stems, I see seed pods in the tiny viola that sprang from the gravel in early spring. They’re chock-full of seeds, so I pluck them, intending to grow them in my kitchen hydroponic garden in the deep, dark winter for a splash of hope. Apart from that, there are just carrots and parsley left. Gerry pops out now and then for a fresh carrot to munch on, and I pull what I need for supper. I’ll deal with the rest, if there are any left, when we get frost. I remind myself I need to pick a bunch of the big, beautiful parsley to dry.
It’s warm for this time of year. So warm that when I take the tomatoes into the house, I return with my MacBook inspired to tap out a few words. Gerry arrives home from the gym and joins me on the deck. “It’s cool,” he remarks, his B.C. blood is thinner than my hardier Saskatchewan stuff, so he doesn’t linger. Good thing. Because I’m in the writing zone and not open to conversation.
I hear kids playing (must be recess time) at the new school that opened at the end of our street, a wasp (they’re buggers right now, and this one wants my coffee), the odd car passing by, and Molly, when she perceives something as a threat to the pack (i.e. me), she has decided it’s her responsibility to protect, and the tap-tap of my fingers on the keyboard.
These September days unfold peacefully as routine returns in the form of yoga classes and Zooms for various reasons. Having reevaluated my priorities for this season, I’m taking a break from social media and continuing to limit my news consumption. Mostly, I’m spending these late-summer days reading good words, writing, painting, going to yoga, and dealing with the tomatoes. It’s all quite delicious.
Have I told you how satisfying watercolour painting is when you’re focusing on the process more than the product? Watercolour is magic. It’s impossible to control, but given time and opportunity to flow and bleed and blend, it offers something unexpected and unique. I have spent more than a few hours over the past few months watching paint dry and cultivating peace in the process. Sometimes, a “happy accident” happens, like the curl on this leaf that made me smile when I noticed it.
When I was in the corporate world, some folks used the word “rightsize” instead of “downsize” in times when staffing numbers were being reevaluated. I never cottoned to it, believing it to be a whitewash of what was really happening in terms of cutbacks. Seen through the filter of my life today, though, it fits. I’m in the process of rightsizing my commitments and voluntary distractions to make space for that which is nourishing and right for me in this season. The effort is fluid and ongoing, but oh so necessary.