Fall, Nov. 6, 1995

The beginnings of each season are the best - and each season has its own smell.  One of my favorite times was when my Dad put up the stove and we had our first fire - oh the smell of the wood burning and the warmth gave the house a whole different feeling.  Or leaves burning (can't do that anymore!) - but it always brought so many things to mind.  Nowadays burning leaves smells like marijuana.  How times have changed.

Our trip down from Vermont was beautiful especially around the green in Burpville [Belchertown, MA].  There are so many birds around chattering away and pushing each other away from the food - like a bunch of little kids.  It was 22 degrees when we woke up this morn on our porch.  Needless to say - I had on long johns under my flannel PJs - winter undershirt, and socks.  Last night the stars were so brilliant, and the sky was so pretty, but it was too cold to linger long looking - warmer under the blankets.

The smell of a wood fire always brings Grammie to mind for me - mainly because of our campfires at Rowen farm, but also because it signals the start of fall and cool weather.  Gram and Grampa would sleep on their enclosed porch from spring through until fall.  I was always amazed how long they stayed out there.  But they had ingenious ways of keeping warm: long johns under pajamas, hats and mittens, lots of blankets, and hot water bottles!  I know of only a few hardy souls nowadays who would be willing to sleep like that, but to them it was a bit of an adventure and a point of pride - and another way to stay one step closer to nature.