Sometimes it hits me how much I miss celebrating the seasons of the year in New England. Strawberry picking in the field and beach sunsets for midsummer, apple picking in the orchard and visiting the old-fashioned cider mill at the autumn equinox, picking out a Christmas tree at the local tree farm before the solstice, visiting a sugar house and stocking up on maple syrup for the coming year on the spring equinox…
This year my daughter Larisa hosted a wonderful feast for Lughnasa/Lammas, complete with a loaf of challah bread in honor of the first harvest festival. Katherine read the poem I posted on my blog that morning before we started eating. Later, as we were finishing up one of the guests suggested we go apple picking from a neighborhood tree. I was startled and found myself blurting out for the second time this year, “I’m having trouble adjusting!” And then added, as if to explain to the puzzled group, “Apple-picking is for the autumn equinox!”
The first time I blurted that out was back in March, when everyone down here was busy picking strawberries. I had to explain then that to me, picking strawberries happens in June and means the summer solstice. To me. This is proving to be a most difficult adjustment for my brain.
For Lughnasa we used to visit Buttonwood Farm, walk through their huge sunflower field, go on a hayride and stand in a long line for ice cream made right there on the farm. This year, I joined my daughter and her guests for a short walk to a solitary little apple tree. I watched my grandchildren climb it and pick some apples. On the first day of August. (Sadly, I had left my camera at home, missing a great photo op…) My brain is still perplexed but hopefully some day I will find a way to adjust!