The end of summer tastes like Iowa pork chops.
It smells like a campfire.
It feels like dew that rains all over your toes.
Its golden hour looks like this:
Cash farm is a green haven for the long Labor Day weekend with Joe’s mom’s big family. Everyone sets up tents and the kitchen overflows with food and there’s music, whiskey, late nights, early morning Mass in town on Sunday and “graveyard” games (which aren’t played in the graveyard).
I used the quiet time to read My Ántonia (which is breathtaking; any lover of the Little House books will feel right at home in this prairie story) and recharge after a busy summer. Things won’t slow down much this fall, I’m afraid, but it’s sweet to have a marker between the seasons like this.
