weekend, again

This time of year, I feel so nostalgic for everything. I miss the bleached gold fields of wheat stubble as they are plowed under, and the radiant blue bowl of sky we've had every day for weeks, even as I wake to it for (at least) one more day. Every cell in my body knows these seasonal rhythms. These long days of early fall are savored because they are fleeting.



Saturday was Dillon's final Farmers Market of the season, and I miss it already. It sounds crazy, but these early Saturday mornings, two folding tables, thrift-store-baskets full of vegetables I'd grown...and these simple things allow me to feel like I'm living out a fantasy I've had for years. It has been such a good thing for me. Maybe it's not so crazy at all.



On Sunday, while Mike stalked the elusive Elk, the girls and I set out on an adventure. Elk Horn Hot Springs is only 50 miles from our front door, but we had never taken the time to visit. So we threw our suits, towels, and some snacks in the car and we were off (actually, it is never really that simple, but that is the lovely thing about memmory...)



The Grasshopper Valley is breathtakingly stunning. The mountains are unbelievably close and craggy and comforting all at the same time. The community is quirky and small...walking through Ma Barnes Country Store felt a little like stepping into an eposide of Northern Exposure. I love it. For a second I was ready to relocate...



Traffic jam in Polaris, MT

The hot springs was wonderful, with golden aspen leaves rattling overhead and a mellow Sunday feeling over the whole place. The sky clouded up, then cleared. The girls took turns jumping from the slick blue-painted steps. I had good conversations with complete strangers and Amelia quickly implanted herself into a group of kids.



Just beyond the hot springs we found a great stream and hung out for a while, dipping toes, befriending caterpillars, soaking in the day.




This caterpillar is now living in a clear plastic spinach tub (with holes poked in the top, of course). He has met Amelia's entire preschool class, and explored my mudroom for a bit before being found and returned to his moss-lined spinach tub. His name is Arthur.

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"The day is like wide water, without sound
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet..."

Wallace Steves, Sunday Morning