September 27, 2008

• A Fall meme

  When does fall begin for you? After the first cold-front

  What is your favorite aspect of fall? The cool air and the smells!

  What is your favorite fall memory? My wedding (November 3)

  What do you like to drink in the fall? Hot teas, wassail, and apple cider 

  What's your favorite fall food? Stews, soups, homemade bread, baked apples and pumpkin bread
  

  What is fall weather like where you live? Not nearly fall-ish enough!  But, usually lots of cold-fronts, which I
  

  What color is fall? Orange, yellow (ocher--my favorite), brown, red

  What does fall smell like? Cinnamon cider candles, burning leaves, crisp air
  

  Holiday shopping in fall: yes or no? Yes--especially at market days--love it!
  

  If you could go anywhere in the fall, where would you go? I would love to go up north, to see the leaves change colors

  What is your favorite fall sport? Football--but not on television.  Hometown football--up in the stands at the local public school, with nachos and popcorn

  Do you have a favorite fall chore? I love to decorate my house--put out a new wreath on our door

  What is your least favorite thing about fall?  It seems too short...

  What is your favorite fall holiday? Thanksgiving Day

  What's your favorite kind of pie? Chess pie

  Which do you prefer, the Farm or the Fair? Oh, it's hard to choose.  Both.

   

  Do you have a favorite fall book? Tasha Tudor's Pumpkin Moonshine
  

  How about a favorite fall poem or quote?

  To Autumn
  John Keats

  Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
  Conspiring with him how to load and bless
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
  To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
  To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
  And still more, later flowers for the bees,
  Until they think warm days will never cease,
  For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
  
  
  Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
  Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
  Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
  Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
  Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
  And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
  Steady thy laden head across a brook;
  Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
  Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
  
  
  Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
  While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
  Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
  Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
  And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
  And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

  • 9:12 am
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