It's Fall.

Everything says so: the trees, the changeable weather, the golden hued sunlight, the wheat and corn all brown and rustly. The garden vegetables are long past their prime and our store room is filling up with squash and dry beans while the jars of tomato sauce and jam look pretty all lined up. Today has been a beautifully sunny day so we trimmed the school day to do some yard clean up and outdoor work. We transplanted trees, mowed the grass, raked up leftovers from the woodpiles that are being moved indoors--some to our indoors, some to another's indoors. The children have harvested their giant pumpkins and are setting them up in a display. With only half the afternoon gone we can already feel the air cooling into evening and it adds urgency to the tasks.

Soon winter will come. Then our biggest jobs will be keeping the wood area in the furnace room and the bird feeders near the shed filled. For now, we will enjoy the transition time from summer's heat to winter's coziness in front of the woodstove. We'll enjoy the warmth on days when it's available and adjust to the incoming cold on the wet and rainy days.

It's Fall. And I get to eat soup.

Our house when it was still a school. At least we think that's the case. There isn't much different about our current house. Makes us realize why the windows are so drafty--they're 70 years old. We saw this photo on a little placard at the local elementary school as part of a display of schools in the area. This year another elementary school is being combined with the first and they took down the photo. We were gutted as we'd not thought to take a picture of the photo. (We meet for church in the school.) What a gift to hear my Mom casually say that she'd taken a picture of it. We don't have the fence around the property or the bell in the tower although the tower is still there and one or two metal fence posts got left behind. The great big maple behind the house is actually two maples. One is left to us, the second having fallen down the day before we took possession.

It's fun to look at this piece of history. Odd though to realize the connection we have with what feels completely disconnected from us.


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And then there are the best laid plans.

We were on our way home Sunday evening. We were making good time, I was alert and ready for the next three hours of driving and a bonus visit with my sister since we could drive that far in one day leaving a mere three hours Monday morning to home.

And then the lights started flashing. CHECK ENGINE, CHECK ENGINE. Off and on, off and on with the temperature gauge suddenly at hot and hotter and just past an exit ramp. Next exit 7 miles. Unsure if it was better to drive as fast as we could those 7 miles or to slow the engine I struck a middle range and prayed hard. Those few minutes seemed interminable. I still don't know how long they took but the exit arrived and we drove off the highway aiming for the first parking spot in the first gas station. I made a mental note of relief as we passed the cluster of bikers thinking they might know something that would help. But first I went inside and asked the cashier if she knew of a mechanic....it's Sunday evening. Nobody will be open. To my surprise she made a number of logical and informed suggestions for me to check and then asked if I wanted her to help. Uh, yes please. As we're waving the steam and smoke away from my engine the two remaining bikers walked over yelling diagnoses and a third man strolled over giving the helpful directions to the hotel nearly next door where he was manager where he'd hold a room for me with a discounted price. Whew. The cashier sent me off with her mechanic's name and number, we grabbed our overnight bag and rain jackets and spent an unexpected evening in an adequate hotel with not much rest on my part. The kids slept of course. Morning couldn't come soon enough for me. By 7 am I was in touch with Pieman who had been working the night before, then spoke with CAA.

We decided I'd call the local mechanic. What a good decision!

Although in the end the news wasn't good--head gasket, water pump, timing belt replacement since it was overdue and the engine was in pieces anyway, a few other items--we were treated with every respect and kindness and generosity all day. The morning was spent at the mechanic's drinking his fresh coffee brewed just for me while we waited for the diagnosis and cost so as to decide if we should have him do the work or tow the car back to Canada or even to sell it to him and rent a car home. We decided he'd do the work and we'd come back to get the car next week. The sister I missed out on a sleepover with offered to drive the two hours to pick us up so we could still get in a sleepover and Pieman would pick us up the next morning (Tuesday and a three hour plus return drive for him). The afternoon found us walking to Subway and Walmart for lunch and some shopping, to Staples so the kids could play on their computers and then back 'home' to the mechanic's where Robin bought us ice cream and fudge and assured us our day would get better. Robin lives in the area and we chatted a little while she waited for her car to be worked on. She commented on how patient the kids were. I agreed and said they deserved a medal or some ice cream. Just before she left she said she had an odd question for us: what kind of ice cream do we like? She wouldn't even let me pay for it! I nearly cried at her caring of us.

So by the time we arrived home Tuesday afternoon I had left my car in a strange town in the care of strangers who were happy to look after it (for a small price of course--actually half what it would have cost us here in Canada), had enjoyed a lovely visit with my sister and her family and was very happy to be home even if the temperature change was drastic.

Pieman never looked so good.

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It is good to have a home, but one always feels drawn to that which appears more comfortable.

Words spoken today by a friend whose family seems, and truly is, thriving where it is.

How false my heart feels to want what it doesn't have even knowing that the apparent comfort of another life would be just as uncomfortable as this. And is discomfort so bad? Can not discontent compel me to seek contentment from the One source that satisfies? That is the grain I am taking from my friend's comment. A warning and a signpost to my heart.

The smell of bread rising, the sound of my washing machine servant working cheerfully, children protesting that geography is more important than math at this moment but doing the math anyway, these are all signs that I feel at home.

So hush, you heart.

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