A guest post by Vicky Tebbetts
In the past couple of months a lot has happened on the hill.
Our collective kids are deep into their fall school projects; Elena opened DownStreet Eats and has packed the house ever since. We’ve tallied our ribbons from the Tunbridge Fair, and plucked crisp apples at Burtt’s Orchard in Cabot. Bright leaves have elated us and the first hard frost has disappointed us. From wild grapes to greenhouse tomatoes, all of us have had a part in the harvest, one way or another.
Pumpkins and roots are left in the farmstand, taking their places among the year ‘round beef, syrup, jam, and baked goods. Chickens, pigs, steer and a ram have all “gone away” on the big truck and come back in neat packages. We love them and they are our food. There’s not much more to say about that.
Tractors labor in the tree-lined fields, cutting, tedding, and wrapping the last giant hay marshmallows. If you are a jumper of bales or a swinger of birches, they have never been easier to find and enjoy.
Nathan’s cider house grinds away every Saturday. Apples in, pumice out, into the bucket of the tractor for later. The culture there is a lot like that of a sugar house, but the pace feels a bit more urgent in the face of the coming winter. And even the crickets, chirping under pale, filtered sunlight, have picked up the tempo and pitch of their song.
Plastic emerges to cover windows and screens, and pickups roam the back roads. Soon the hollow echo of the winterizing hammer and the shot of the hunting rifle will ring out through our bare and gray forest. Within a few weeks the snow will fly. It is a time of transition.
And life on the hill marches on.
Follow Vicky’s story of life on the hill on Twitter: #lifeonthehill.