Maria Wulf Full Moon Fiber Art

I don’t take many days off, but when my friend Jackie asked if I wanted to walk the trail in the Saratoga Battlefield, I didn’t hesitate.

Jon and I took the driving tour of the Battlefield a couple of weekends ago.  But it’s been over 20 years since I walked the Wilkinson Trail which winds its way through woods, and fields.

When I first moved upstate, I used to go there all the time with my dogs.  It was one of those special places that I would go to feel grounded.

Jackie and I walked and talked, but not so much that we didn’t notice the beauty around us.

The wooded trail where soldiers walked in 1777,  opened onto fields where battles were fought between the British and Americans.  There is a feeling about the place, maybe in that it has been well persevered and cared for.  The energy of what happened there has not been lost.

Jackie and I  chased a string-thin snake off the blacktop, (where it was no doubt warming up), trying to save it from the few passing cars.

It was the perfect fall day for the four mile walk.  We took off our hats and jackets when in the sunny fields and put them back on  in the woods.

There are some friends that are just easy to be with. Jackie is one of them.   We share a love of the nature, animals and walking.

But our friendship began with books (Angela Carter and Anne Rice)  when we worked in a frame shop together in the 1990s.  We lost touch for over ten years, but when we happened to see each other at a coffeeshop in town, it was as if it had been weeks instead of years.

I work at my friendships, they’re important to me.

My closest friends are those I can say just about anything to and they,  it seems to me, can do the same.   I  trust them, which doesn’t come easy to me.   Not that we might not annoy each other every now and then, but when I walk away after spending time together I never have to have to wonder what they “really” meant or how they “really” felt.  And if I do question something, I feel comfortable asking them about it.

We also laugh a lot and often at ourselves.  That, I think, takes the most trust.  Knowing that my vulnerabilities won’t be turned on me.

That’s when I know I’m with a real friend.

The sheep stood at the open gate and waited for me to go first before following.

I’m not sure why they hesitated, but it makes me think they weren’t sure it was safe.   Like maybe they knew something I didn’t about who might be in the brambles, out of sight, but easily  heard or smelled if you’re  a donkey or sheep.

Once they walked though the gate, it was as if a spell had been broken.  The donkeys took the lead following the foot trail, up the hill right to the apple tree at the furthest end of the field.

Still so many apples.

Big brown-spotted, yellow apples with a blush of red. Maybe if you listen carefully you can hear the crunch of sheep teeth biting the apple in half, then mashing them.

The apples smelled so good, I filled the pockets of my sweatshirt with them thinking  they just might make good applesauce.

I’m surprised the deer and other animals aren’t eating more of them.  But then maybe they are and there are still plenty left.

The rhythms of the farm stay the same, from day to day and season to season.  Yet it is, at the same time, constantly changing.

This weekend I finished cutting up and sorting the branches that lay a in huge pile, since early in the summer, when the branch broke from the apple tree.

We had the stumps that weren’t too big, split into firewood, now stacked in the woodshed.

All of this changes the architecture of the barnyard, once again.

We all got used to the pile of limbs, the sheep and donkeys nibbling on them, Zip using them as a blind to hunt from.

Now, (with Braeden’s help) there are three piles of apple tree limbs, two made of twigs and one of long branches.

Zip made the adjustment quickly, finding his place in the tree limbs and on the few stumps, left in the barnyard, too knotted to be split.

I’m thinking of make a fire pit with some of the stones from the old barn foundation.   We’ve plenty of branches and sitting around a fire can be a nice way to spend a day on the weekend.  Especially this time of the year.

Yesterday I walked the newly brush hogged pastures to check the fences and see how they had changed.

We waited to mow the wildflowers until there were only a few Yarrow and asters still blooming.

Two weeks ago there were still some butterflies, bees, grasshoppers and other insects, I’ll never be able to name, making the most of the flowers.

Every fall Ted Emerson come to  brush hog the fields. It’s important to do to keep brambles and small trees from taking it over.  When they are cut the sheep can graze without getting seeds, and brambles stuck in their wool.

Two branches broke off the pine tree on the hill and a section of fence, now covered in tall grasses, will need to be fixed when the grass dies back.

There are also so many apples, the sheep and donkeys are getting their fill.

Above is the north pasture, where I throw the ball for Fate and Zinnia.  They found both balls that we lost last week in the tall grass.

Brush hogging the pastures is one of the many  chores needed to be done on he farm before the winter comes.  I still  have to dig up the dahlias, plant my garlic and put my vegetable garden to bed, but other than that, I think we’re ready for winter.