All Is Safely Gathered In -

This fall has definitely been a time of gathering for me. I frantically filled my freezer and all of my pint and quart jars with the goods from my garden and the farmer's market - even to the point of pickling carrots! This must be the old school (or my Idaho/pioneer heritage) me that feels the need to make sure I have done all I can, and used all I have available, to make sure we are prepared for the winter. I am fulfilled by doing so - my domesticity is appeased and having a full larder/cellar/pantry gives me peace - although the preparation can be angst-filled. 

In preparing I am now comforted and full of thanks. Thankful for a garden that produced, a husband who cared for the garden, water to care for the "crops," for time to preserve, for the ability to preserve - and make it edible; grateful for space to store as well as the view of being able to cautiously open my freezer and have a variety of good to choose from - fruits from my own labors. 

Summer is a time for romping in the woods while autumn is the time to gather the wood - and as much as I love sun and romping, I love settling and find contentment in the calm, or at least resting for a season. 

Winter is not my favorite season, yet autumn gives the "job well done" sign. 

And I am filled with gratitude for being provided and being able to provide. I am grateful for the time to rest and enjoy these fruits - there are very few times in my life when I take/have the chance/opportunity to see my handiwork for longer than a moment or two. Sitting down for a dinner last night of butternut squash, beets, roasted potatoes and carrots, fresh baked bread (from the bread machine), and fried apples, with autumn jazz playing, and a warm clean home, are confirmatiosn of my work and my blessings.

Now waiting for that winter storm - 

1. 1. Come, ye thankful people, come;
   Raise the song of harvest home.
   All is safely gathered in
   Ere the winter storms begin.
   God, our Maker, doth provide
   For our wants to be supplied.
   Come to God's own temple, come;
   Raise the song of harvest home.
2. 2. All the world is God's own field,
   Fruit unto his praise to yield,
   Wheat and tares together sown,
   Unto joy or sorrow grown.
   First the blade, and then the ear,
   Then the full corn shall appear.
   Lord of harvest, grant that we
   Wholesome grain and pure may be.
3. Text: Henry Alford, 1810-1871
   Music: George J. Elvey, 1816-1893