The melons are a godsend because September is always bittersweet. Bitter as our kids return to school, like the songbirds flying south, and the farm becomes empty of their joyful soundtrack. Bitter as certain beloved summer crops, like cucumbers and strawberries, are on the wane and signs of senescence are all around: powdery mildew in the squash, potato vines dying back, a chill in the creek. And then, thank goodness, the sweet: melons, the promise of a good harvest of Delicata squash in a couple weeks, the orchard heavy with apples and Asian pears in the slanted evening light. It's always heart-breakingly beautiful at this time of year, moreso than other months - I suppose because we know subconsciously that the summer days are numbered.
But not to worry, Fall will rescue us from our end-of-summer melancholy, always in the nick of time, and I will remember how much I relish lighting the woodstove and making soup again.
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