We’ll have a cold wet autumn and deep snow this winter. So the ‘old timers’ warned me. Not sure there’s much difference between them and me, at this point. 🙂 And I’ve no particular inkling of impending doom-like weather.
But as Issac predicted and warned before the massive Storm of 1900 inundated Galveston – at one point water levels rose four feet in four seconds; not a wave or swell, but a change in depth – so too have the learned tolled their predictions. Which are largely coming true.
Down to 8˚ the other night, and we’re still officially mid-autumn. Yesterday hours of drenching 40˚ rain. Not a day to be putting in a water service. Today a bit of clearing. One last opportunity before the fifth ice age covers Philadelphia up to William Penn’s nose.
Romance is in the air. A brisk windy autumn day, the Schuylkill River brown and full from upstream storms. Clouds break up long enough for a sunny stroll to my favorite produce stand. To my true autumnal love, fresh apple cider.
Dave tells me he can sometimes get four gallons of cider per bushel of apples. The latest press, just a day ago, is giving him a respectable 3.7 gallons. The pint of cider I enjoy was made with nearly four apples. And why, Dave, is cider brown? That’s because it oxidizes as soon as it is pressed. The flavor is not affected a bit. The fresh cider tastes like healthy goodness.
If you hear crunch-crunch through the leaves behind you, it may not be a prospective paramour trying to catch your glance. They may just want to know where you got your cider. 🙂
Our coffers are as bare as our drafts folder. Not a farthing to be had for road trips, not a whiff of wit & wisdom nor waft of wistful words this week. Perusing past articles, we remark again upon this comment from a reader:
Sometimes, amid the beautiful scenery and steady cadence of the horse’s steps and wagon wheels, we forget how the search began and discover pleasures unanticipated.
A budget trip in search of mid-December adventure, a tale of Americana, is undertaken. We sample the afternoon stroll. Take the pulse of The City. Maybe some busking on the accordion. Conduct a Smiles Count. A lustrum back it was under 20%, so we have a baseline of sorts. Well, it is a bit overcast. Plus we’d have competition from the filming of Tuba Christmas. Bah!
Onward through Rittenhouse Square in deep contemplation. Winter brings greater enjoyment of Campbell’s Baked Beans. We consider an article on this fine example of American entrepreneurship. We could even do a tie-in with vegan, gluten-free … wait … the pork … oh, traces of wheat … wow, look at that sodium! But they sure are good, smothered in hot sauce!
Past the Square, a story continues to elude. We’re late for Alma’s Christmas party. Fresh-baked sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles. Mmmmmmm. Family and friends. Happiness and love and forgiveness and compassion. The “spirit of the holidays” has excellent characteristics which would work year around. But not all of them, or my waistline would be *burp* light-years round.