Over the years, I've heard many old wives’ tales regarding fall, but before I dive into these stories, perhaps I should share just why an old wives' tale became known as such. 

This morning, after chores, I decided to forgo that second cup of coffee, and walk down the hill to take the horses for a walk up the road.

I hugged my dear man. We might not be really old quite yet, but when we are, we will be ready.

I remember the day that the large downtown cathedral was filled to overflowing. He had written his own eulogy for his son to read. He spoke to us, through his son, who stood in the pulpit, his father's words on a piece of paper before him. Those words still live in my heart.

She gave it to me about 15 years ago, and ever since that day, the little bobble head cat has sat on my dashboard. The small plastic critter has moved with me from one vehicle to the next, greeting me whenever I sit behind the wheel, and driving with me wherever I go.

Perhaps all of these random aspects of our creek valley life also have a reason. They bring me random joy when least expected.

The leaves on the buckeye trees are beginning to yellow. They are the first to bud each spring and the first to remind us that fall is on its way. When a late summer breeze blows through the creek valley, a few of their leaves lose hold and fall to the ground.

My love is always being replenished, in both small and quiet ways like the perfect cup of coffee, and in huge ways, like Greg's beaming smile at the end of long day working the farm.

We call him Lightning. As far as I know, everyone always has. He is my brother-in-law. He is a big man, standing 6'5" tall. 

I am looking forward to seeing her bounding across the fields and jumping across rocks and swimming in the creek, but yes, I am going to miss these walks, where I can reach down and run my fingers across her furry forehead.

It was then that I realized that I was totally content. My garden might not have flourished, but my life most certainly had.

No doubt tomorrow will once again be hot and humid in the creek valley and Sirius will once again be overhead in the predawn dark, no longer hidden by the daylight, and by afternoon you'll be sure to find me, sitting with my bare feet in the creek, enjoying these dog days of summer.

Sometimes things don't work out quite the way we plan, but they often work out just the way they should.

I open the door, look at the vine, and say, "Today is the day I will cut you down," but the day takes me elsewhere, and the vine lives to greet me again.

We live our lives outside, in what has become our creek valley sauna. At day's end, when we return inside, the heat and humidity are there to greet us. Outside or in, we live off the grid with the creek valley weather.