We’ve put the sailboat away for the year. Since we can no longer get out on the water, we decided to find a new place to walk instead. We drove south for about an hour to get on a rail-trail along the river in New River State Park.
The day was gorgeous and warm, with twiggy brown mountains, a crisp blue sky, and an occasional brilliant red tree.
It was cold for sailing yesterday, with a high of 48 ℉, but the wind was perfect. It was a steady Force 3 (or maybe Force 4?) breeze, and we knew it would likely be our last chance to sail for the season. We waited until afternoon to catch the warmest part of the day and to give the sky a chance to clear of its low, grey clouds. At 4:15pm we were headed out onto the water while the only other boat on the lake was going in.
The sail was glorious. The wind was the perfect strength to move our little boat near her top speed, and we sailed every point of sail. We ran with the wind behind us, where the water gurgles and and makes pliant sounds because we’re moving with it. We beat into the wind, where the water slaps and makes hard smacking sounds because we’re moving against it. And we sailed back and forth across the lake on a reach, the fastest point of sail, where the water makes fast rattling sounds, where the wind blew my hair from my face, and where we moved so fast we made our own little wake while under sail.
Recent wind stripped the trees of leaves, so most of the fall color is already done. The light itself was beautiful, though. We dropped the jib upwind of the ramp, and took one more trip back and forth across the lake as the sun dropped. Halfway across, I started shivering, and I didn’t stop until we were in the car with the heat on. I’m going to have to figure out a better glove situation for cool weather sailing; my hands are useless when they’re cold and numb. But look at the light!
When we got out of the car at home, I started shivering again, despite wool socks and leggings under my pants, and a tank top, long sleeved shirt, fleece, light down jacket, and wool hat up top. Brian warmed tomato soup while I changed into different fleece layers, and only after the soup and a grilled cheese did I stop shivering. Just to be on the safe side, though, and because I started reading Jane Eyre yesterday and wanted to cozy up with some tea and my book next to a warm hearth, I built a fire while Brian played guitar. I lay next to it and read, warm and cozy after a gorgeous day in the wind.
Dealing with groceries is pretty far down my list of things I like to do. In fact, it’s probably my least favorite task every week. Today, though, it was kinda nice. A rainbow over autumn leaves isn’t a bad way to start the day.
I’m glad I skipped my morning workout. The mountains and sky are beautiful in their October colors. Much better than our dark basement.
March through June are full of green growth, spring flowers, cloudy days mixed with fair ones, and rain. July 1, the faucet turns off and the sun turns on. Summer flowers begin to bloom. In early July in our corner of Virginia, many of the butterfly attractors begin to open up, and host plants have enough leaves and fresh greenery for butterflies to feel confident their baby caterpillars will have something to eat.
Because of the lack of rain, July also means fewer clouds and a more assertive sun. The lawn has already lost its lush green of spring, and by the end of the month, many of the flowers that are peaking now will turn crispy. I took some photos yesterday to catch them before they turn.
The butterflies aren’t here yet, but they will be soon. Around 6pm yesterday, after I’d put the camera away, a monarch flitted around the front beds for at least half an hour. I never did see it land for a drink, but there are tasty treats here: it will come back.
The front beds are mostly nectar plants.
The back beds include nectar plants along with host plants like rue, spicebush, dill, and milkweed.
Time has slowed down since the pandemic began. Weekend errands, drives to and from the aquatic center, and swim meets are all gone. We planned to sail on Saturday. We had the boat hitched up and drove further away from our house than we have in 72 days now.
But the highway was closed, and traffic on the detour was backed up for miles. We turned around and came home. My boat hat transformed into my reading in the garden hat.
I sat in the garden and read Saturday and Sunday both. If the sun was up, I was outside. I finished one book, and then another. And I took some photos of the lush emerald green. The garden never as deep and fresh a green as it is in May..
Butterfly Mind 