September days

We are expecting a frost tonight. It can't be possible, not so soon.  Just one night below 32 degrees for the foreseeable future. I am feeling an urgency to gather and preserve all the good things our small, new farm has produced this season despite the promise of many fair days to come. For the first time in many weeks the windows in the chicken house will be closed against the cold. The window coverings in the house will be open to the sun all day to capture the sunlight against tonight's chill.
I'll cover the tender plants with what I can: the left over moving blankets,  the row covers I purchased for the vegetable beds but have not as yet used. Houseplants still enjoying their summer holiday out of doors on the decks will need to be covered as well. But they, like me, are not ready for the REAL end of summer.
The threat of frost can upset the goal of living in the moment. Hurry, hurry. I refuse. I have tomatoes on the stove now simmering for another batch of sauce. I purposefully cored and skinned each one as the gift they truly are. No waste, either, as I'll give the chickens the skins, cores and pulp. I really love that.

I gathered two boxes of apples to process today too, but am impeded by lack of sufficient space and equipment. I think they'll keep nicely in the chill, on the porch just out of reach of Jack Frost. And some I can use with the dehydrator. I do enjoy dried apple rings.
No rain here in nearly 2 weeks. I'll need to water the orchard this afternoon. I had thought one of my neighbors was testing their wood stove or having a campfire, as there's been smoke in the air. Jerome tells me it is from the wildfires in Minnesota. How sad. Was it the drifting smoke that added to our sunset?

 

And why the harvest moon, though past her fulness, still rises with such color on her cheeks?
I am truly blessed to be here, now. And I am thankful.