Weaving my way.

Warps and Wefts.

There's a connection to things that we may not see right away. Last week I had planned to make the trip up to our farm but I pulled something in my back and so I decided not to go. The plan was to build a shelter for the well to protect it from freezing, prune some trees (an ongoing task), bring back the trailer loaded with wood, visit with my brother and his family,  and fetch some the apples from our little orchard for drying. These things didn't get done - obviously - and now the optimal time to do them has passed. I have moved on and there are holes in the fabric of my life where these events should have been woven.

There's nothing critical or life threatening and hopefully the renters are taking care of the well - they will have no water if it freezes - but it goes another winter without a permanent solution.

There is 60 acres of our young woodlot that needs to be tended. I can't hope to do this properly from 300 miles away but with every trip I make another dent and this all adds up. And missed opportunities are lost ground.

Our woodpile is made up of hard hardwood this year. It is nicely seasoned and since it is hard hardwood it burns hot but it is rather hard to start on these fall days when a little fire in the stove would take the chill off. The trailer at the farm is loaded with wood from the old barn (wood that has failed the test for re-usability) and ready for the trip.  This is mostly old hardwood and it makes wonderful kindling. Now I miss having it here. It will still be welcome when I finally do bring it down but it won't fit quite so well into the patchwork.

We are all starting to show the signs of age and a visit with my family right now would be timely. We can compare notes on our health and share our plans for the coming months. This is precious time together and it is fabric that becomes more delicate and rare with the passing time.

The winter apples on the old Big Ben tree are ripe for picking. The apples are their best after a couple light frosts but will not stand too many hard ones. I may have missed them already. Now that we have a fire in the stove I could be drying these apples for a winter treat.

This isn't the first time this has happened to me. I have canceled trips at the last minute before.  Most of these went unnoticed and were easily forgotten (and probably just as well not taken.) However every now and then, as now, I regret the missed trip.  There were reasons that I planned this trip. It was part of the pattern upon which my life is woven and not taking it has left holes that can never be mended - I can't go back and complete the weave.  No, these are not major holes, like some in my life have been. These are merely a dropped stitch here and there that nobody would probably notice except for me.

The fact that I feel this way leads me to believe that there is a pattern that my life tends to follow. Not predestined, I think, because I do (as illustrated here) have the power of choice - the final say. But perhaps it's more of a synchrony with another - something. It's more than a script. Deeper than that and more fundamental; more like a form of peer pressure. More like fitting in with another copy of the same fabric. Synching with another weaver, perhaps, who is weaving from an identical pattern.  Somehow I know what that 'other' fabric looks like. I know how it turned out - what it looks like without the flaws. I don't know how I know this, or how I can know this, but I do.

There is another side, now that I think about it. I'm not saying that the 'fabric' to which I am synchronized is perfect. I have 'seen' holes and flaws in this copy that are not matched in my life. Errors that I have not made. Stitches that were dropped in that other copy that I have not dropped in mine. For this I am allowed to take some sense of relief - some sense of pride. But I do not criticize or judge this other work nor do I mock the weaver. I feel empathy in the most fundamental way. Truly, there but for the grace of God, go I.