Today was a rather gray and rainy day, here in the Berkshires. It was, in fact blustery, as A. A. Milne would put it. Driving home from Worthington this evening, I dipped down into the Westfield River valley, which was filled with a thick, impenetrable fog that made for slow going. Between the
Bryant Homestead and the
Bryant Free Library, a coyote leapt over the guard-rail and disappeared into the gloom. After crossing the river, I climbed the hill into Plainfield, and suddenly broke through the fog. Looking back, there was a river of cloud filling the valley. A little ways along, another stream of fog flowed down the Meadow Brook by the late Harry Guyette's fields, but it was clear again by the farmhouse.
Those who have visited
Brookwood (or have at least read our
driving directions), know that we have a large purple mailbox. When I checked the mail, I found that the top of the mailbox was coated in ice, and the mailbox was frozen shut. Although it was above freezing, there must have been some sleet this evening that froze up that mailbox door. I did not have to get out the ice scraper this time, but it is certainly a harbinger of colder weather to come.
We had a very long summer this year at Brookwood, with warm temperatures lasting nearly to the end of October, even as the leaves on the trees changed color and fell to the ground. Fall is finally here, though, and we are rushing to get those leaves raked up, the barn cleaned out, all of our wood cut, split, and stacked for this year, and wood for next year on the ground. This is a hectic time of year here in the Berkshire hills, as our list of before-snow chores grows longer each day, and weather reports predict flurries or snow showers sometime this week.
As the seasons pass, I will be writing regular notes about the goings on here at Brookwood and sharing my musings about the land and life here in the hills of western Massachusetts. Drop me a note if you have any comments, or if there is something you would like to hear about.
Writing from the wood between the brooks (a' choille eadher alltan in Gaelic), I am your host,
Brian
