Fall has finally come to East Tennessee. The weather gave one last 95 degree gasp last week and two days later, the temperatures plummeted, the light shifted to that glorious autumn gold, and every living creature breathed a massive sigh of relief.
The trees haven’t quite got the memo yet…
but that’s alright. The very tips of the tallest trees on the property have started to pick up a decidedly lighter tinge. I’m hopeful that, in a week or so, we’ll have reds and yellows galore.
Lately, though, I’ve been thinking of other trees.
This past spring, before the Summer That Would Not End gripped up, we invested in the very beginnings of what we hope will become a small orchard on the back end of the property. Eight good-sized blueberry bushes, 3 peach trees, and 3 apple trees are all that sit in the half acre plot right now. And though we were delighted to be able to snack on a few handfuls of berries in early summer, it will be years before we’re actually reaping any rewards from this corner of Floating Axe Farm.
And yet, as autumn finally comes, I keep finding myself thinking about what this space will look like in five, ten, twenty years. What it might be like for a lanky, teenaged Jude to casually grab a peach from a tree, then continue on to the creek as he eats it. What it might feel like on a crisp morning when I invite grandchildren out to help pick apples to take back into the house and peel for sauce.
Seasons are glorious things. This orchard, I realize, will likely be my touchstone for the shifting of time for many, many years to come.