Sunday, September 16, 2007

Harvest

A roasting chicken gives off her perfume of rosemary, garlic cloves and thyme from the cozy boudoir of the oven. Jacob sits at the counter whisking the eggs brought over to us by a friend. The yolks are nearly fluorescent; such is the difference between the sad little ovals we buy at the store in their styrofoam packages and those given to us from hens that scratch for bugs all day in a sunny back field. I measure the ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and allspice. I set them aside in the ramekin while I scoop out the pureed pumpkin into the mixing bowl. Chloe walks by and inhales deeply. Mmmm. Pumpkin bread for dessert.

The door slams, and I notice that our dog has slunk in to hide under the kitchen table on her sleeping pad. The storm has kicked up, and the flashes of lightening are more apparent as the day comes to an end.

We are all hungry. It has been an active day. Jacob had his first soccer game, and we watched with joy as the first child in our family took to the the playing field, gleefully running after the ball full speed, sometimes in the wrong direction, but always with a smile on his face. For twelve years we have been a family that adjusts the ballet tights, or watches as our daughters clap gymnastic chalk from their hands. Sitting on the grassy field with an umbrella and plenty of shouts of "Go Tigers!" just feels right. I'm actually excited about bringing the snacks for next week's game.

I take my time with the food preparation. There is no rush. It's the end of the weekend, and we are all knowingly or unknowingly savoring the last flavors of a day less structured. I slowly roll the basil leaves tight, each slice of the knife releasing fragrant green ribbons to be draped over the tomatoes. My fingers smell of basil for the rest of the night.

We eat late. I watch my kids tuck into their acorn squash with brown sugar and butter, filling their bodies with food that will give them energy for the long Monday ahead. One by one, the kids find their way to bed, and there are no complaints this evening. Each one is showered or bathed, and tucked clean into their blankets with a good book and a soft light to aid the process which doesn't take as long as usual tonight.

After the dishes are done, I sit at the counter with Bob, the candles still lit, the air still fragrant with spicy bread, my wine rewarding my muscles in a way the best massage cannot.

It's a good day.


22 comments:

flutter said...

wonderful day, indeed.

ablondeblogger said...

Ahhh....that sounds heavenly! Especially the wine, lol.

painted maypole said...

sounds like a GREAT day!

Robin said...

Where can I order a day like that? I could use one.

Katrina said...

Sounds simply divine!

Anna said...

Delicious! Savor it!

Mary Alice said...

Jen, that was beautiful.

Nancy said...

A Norman Rockwell family day.

Crystal said...

Beautiful! Cheers to many many more perfect fall days.

Jennifer said...

Ahhh...

Oh, The Joys said...

Mmmm. The simplest pleasures. Yes.

jakelliesmom said...

Beautifully written, Jen. I can practically see the kids jumping in a pile of freshly raked leaves.

MamaLee said...

I love this post.

I need a day like that, for sure! I'm so glad you forever sealed the day into words.

XOXO

Jessica said...

I wish my Sunday had been half that relaxing--what a great description. Maybe next weekend...

crazymumma said...

mmmmm.

that was nice.

Sounds complete, peaceful. Loving.

Bananas said...

Beautifully written.

thirtysomething said...

what a happylicious day!

Kristi B. said...

I also wish my Sunday had been half as relaxing! what a joyful wonderful day!
I'm also selfishly grateful that your beautiful Sunday is balanced by a healthy dose of your Thursday!(otherwise, I'd *really* feel like a loser!)

Heidi Hyde said...

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you for that. I needed it today.
-H.

secret agent said...

you should think about writing a steamy sexy romance post

sophia katrina said...

I think a pumpkin spice latte would be in order with the bread. That is my favorite thing about fall. Yes, Mean Face is my sister - Mary Alice Mean Face is the ACTUAL name.... I think it stemmed from when she used to play "Mad Dog" with me and she didn't know when to stop and I would get reallllly scared after all the growling and barking and start crying. She thought it was hilarious. Hmmm... maybe THAT's why I still hate dogs.

Fairly Odd Mother said...

I could almost smell the pumpkin bread. Delish. . .