Now that Winter’s frost allows us a spell of firm footing on frozen earth, the evenings sometimes call us abroad — to walk along the fields or follow old paths of farm-lanes when the world is lit by star-shine and moonlight silvers our steps. Then indeed the farmlands are beautiful, the groves and woodlands darkly handsome as they settle against the night-sky, the resting fields so still one could believe all was wholly deserted terrain.

So it seemed this evening, when with James and the children from the house across the lane, we, taking our time in the delight of the hour walked along the intervening fields to Rob’s. How still the night was, without even the sigh of a wandering wind to disturb its serenity, how altogether hushed and lovely.

“There’s not even an owl abroad” we chuckled, following the others through the shadows of a woodsy place.

“If it were daylight” Mack commented “its surprising the things we would see — ravens and squirrels. And maybe a partridge or rabbit.” He laughed at a memory. “Rabbits always startle me.”

The sky toward its eastern boundary reflected the bright lights of the city. And here and there in mirroring brightness above them, these of the farmsteads about. On this and more distant roads, in momentary Willo-wisps of brightness, machines moved, as were we, along the fairy aisles of the night.

“This” James offered, as by way of a gap in a hedgerow we entered another field “is part of our seeds.”

“Seeds?” Mack echoed. “Oh, yes, I know… first hay. The seed was sowed last spring along with the grain.’

“And I’m thinking the flock of sheep’s nibbling over it, isn’t doing it much good!” James said. It would be as well too if we’d get snow, to cover it — a better crop we’d get instead of the freezing and thawing weather we have been getting of late.”

“We never know” Mack commented. “We just may get our best hay here.”

“It depends on the year” we agreed. “If it’s a year for clover there’ll be an abundance of it everywhere.”

“I wish” Granddaughter observed with a chuckle “we could catch the clover scent right now!”

“Girls are forever wishing, aren’t they?” Mack offered teasingly.

“I wouldn’t mind it either” James said, tones a bit wistful, “at least I could do with the Spring.”

But fragrance [sic] of Fall went with us scent of resting fields, of sere stubble [sic] and bracken. And intermingling… it came to mind, instead of the salt of shore fields the aromatic tang of the spruces. 

The farming? How busy the farmers’ days continue to be! How full of hope to farm-folk, we reflect, as we look into the new year, now reaching before us away. This will be the best winter… the best Spring… the best year of all!

                                                                                    – Ellen’s Diary, January 6th, 1958.

Source: islandnewspaper.ca 

Witches garbed darkly and riding sprightly broomsticks, awesome black cats with arched backs and glaring green eyes, and fearful, furtive goblins one knew were about but could not quite catch, were abroad, we are almost certain in tonight’s inky darkness. Indeed since our earliest recollection of this last and most intriguing of October’s nights, we find that it has been no trouble at all for us, to hear and almost catch sight of these fabled creatures in the strange spell that has been, and we confess is still wrapped about Hallowe’en. When out of doors in the usual expectant silence and clam of its dark, we are aware of its mystic charm nor indoors with the dark closed out does it lose any of its fascinating. Dimly lit rooms are prevaded [sic] by a strange air which makes the pleasantly eerie, and if we chance to come to a mirror to tuck in a straying lock, we find our eyes searching for a sight of James’ face at a shoulder even though we know that at the very moment he is on some detaining mission away from the house.

Yes, mysterious and always fascinating we find this night which farewells October, and even in the midst of the happiness that is ours at Alderlea – surrounded as we are by our children and children’s children – somewhat nostalgic for the Hallowe’ens of childhood, now left far behind in the years. We find the in verity that spirits walk-shades of those we once knew come back from those olden days clothed again the flesh, young and eager and gay as they were then, those whose wakings now are only names on our lips, or faces in memory. They that we regarded as good or perhaps not so good and yet blessed with many an endearing trait and loyalty, as we recall them, when with us they ran happily and carefree with the pack that were wont[sic] to roam “the hills of home” on bygone and well remembered Hallowe’ens.

                                                   -Ellen’s Diary, November 7, 1949

Source: https://islandnewspapers.ca

“There’s so much to be said in favour of a fall-night like this” the orange Curiosity-cat offers now from the couch… The night hangs dim without though not without [sic] some promise of moon-light.

“Yes” he continues, “it’s not that I don’t enjoy the warm summery ones, but for pure coziness indoors, you can’t beat a night like this! The fire burns cheerly, the kettle sings. And the folks gathered about, glad  to be in to the warmth.” The old clock on the shelf ticks away the minutes solemnly. James in his armchair turns the sheets of his newspaper, the sound a rustle in the silence. At the table, Granddaughter is lost in a textbook.

With the doors closed against the chill, we think with some longing of the springtime with its new beginnings: of bright warming days and a fresh blue in the heavens of the songbirds’ trills, of the red fields of the cropping, and the first flowerings we so love.

Silently, extremely quiet this night is: the calm after storm [sic]. The peace of silence after a spell of tossing boughs and rain. “There is likely to be frost in the low-lying places by dawn” a weather forecast observes. If so, it will be bound to take a toll of our [sic] flowers in passin this place “Down by the old millstream.”— the profusion of bloom which was the gift of this strangely mixed up summer.

“There!” Granddaughter says closing her bok [sic] smartly. “That’s the end of that!… What will we have to finish off our day? She appeals with a chuckle to her grandfather.

“An apple perhaps?” she suggests.

He shakes his head.

“No. That’s ‘lead at night’. “Oh let’s have a piece of toast and…” “…apple jelly and tea? So be it!” she nods.”

                                                                                      –  Ellen’s diary, October 16th, 1962.

Source: Islandnewspaper.ca

“Fall or the chilling breath of it, came to Alderiea this morning. Not in any blackened pumpkin vines nor in frosted stortions. On the contrary each seasonal plant and flower was enjoying the sunlight, that cast entrancing shadows across the kitchen. ‘Strange” James remarked “that we don’t get a nip of frost one of these nights”. “Remarkable, I call it considering the time of the year” I replied I placed the two chairs nearer the table, fetched the tea pot so there would be no need of rising to get it, and we were ready then for breakfast.

It was not however in any of these usual “outward and visible signs” that I found the approach of Fall. But hunters came this morning. Two of them, shortly after the twilight of daybreak with guns, the sight of which made Pard protest so loudly that James came down-stairs to investigate, his socks in his hand. The hunting season had come to succeed the fishing one recently closed.”

– Ellen’s Diary, October 2, 1946.

Source: Islandnewspapers.ca