The works of the farm roll themselves up like vines frozen
on the crusted earth in October. Twisted together and burgeoning all
summer they climax now with a rush of things to tend to. The word “holy”
may sound a bit too sacrosanct for the farm in light of our modern vernacular,
but on the farm we literally "set apart" or "put by" to a
certain purpose many things at once before the winter. This “making holy”
can mean neither more nor less than the Creator intended. The “first-fruits”
of harvest were, in times past, more habitually set aside in accordance with
His beautiful laws to reflect an awe-inspiring truth about Himself and what He
has made. In this way the commonalities of life, the everyday provisions,
become sacred and holy; turning the eyes of our souls back to the divine
Provider through the abundance of common gifts given to an uncommon purpose.
These are days when we can revel in the changeful rush of
sky and earth towards year’s end. I love noticing the way a leaf curls
close together in helpless and impulsive protest of the frosty chill, or the
way the sun rises ruddy and defiant on crisp mornings from his new place and
casts a sultry glance down the frosty lawn to challenge the deepening cold of
nights growing ever clearer. I watch the crests of the hills in the
rolling farm-land for the tell-tale clouds of dust thrown up from a combine
reaping. Long days of blustering rain and harsh wind out of doors promise
warmth and busyness inside. There are few joys greater than pulling up
the drive in autumn dusk to the greeting window-lights of home or yanking
stocking caps down over ears and long socks up to knees to tramp over hardened
earth and under icy sky. Here are the days when you can work up a good
sweat and a great appetite on the last of the garden work and wear your
short-sleeved shirt to dinner when the house is suddenly too close and warm for
comfort. 
Our irons are so numerous they hardly fit in the fire, while
the largest of them, the root cellar, is coming along well. The hurry and
scurry of our last minute wood chopping, window mopping, supply shopping,
can-topping, project stopping, market hopping, brow-sopping, summer-dropping
life is nothing short of exhilarating. We sometimes take a breath just
long enough to realize we are making our own heat and can attest to the old
adage Daddy posts in his office… “He who cuts his own wood is twice warmed.”
Here’s hoping you are warmed just so every day!
Craig, Karen
and The Six Arrows
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