Blue moon

Life P.M.T.A. (pre-moving truck arrival) is a warm, verdant, distant item in the rear-view mirror of our life these days.

While we've unpacked 80% of the boxes, the last 20% loom stubbornly, anthropomorphized into menacing creatures, in corners of Chris' woodshop and his side of the garage. (He kindly cleared out my side just in time for the first big snow.)

Before I blog my way into the white, crisp present, I want to take a moment to relish the explosive delight of fall's harvest, which is a super big deal in a place where the ground is frozen for nine months of the year.

We celebrated our neighborhood's harvest with a dinner on August's blue moon. Dave and Karen, who used to live in Bolinas, California, and whose house is adorned with whale vertebrae and other homey California relics, brought a tussle of sunflowers:

While our lives were filled with such bright colors in San Francisco, here their time is fleeting and I find myself wanting to somehow shellac them into eternity.

Tim and Kerri,  our neighbors just to the south whose hot tub lid I hear flop open early in the morning, like clockwork, about 10 minutes after I commence my pre-dawn soak,  also joined us. Chris worked on a job in Jackson Hole under Tim's supervision 20+ years ago.

 Together, our little strip of neighbors enjoyed chard from our garden,

Apples from the tree down the street,

And dishes made from our chickens' eggs.

I'd like to say these were our tomatoes:

But, apparently my half-hearted tomato efforts were not lost on our fussy tomato crop, which yielded only three tomatoes - only one of which the deer didn't get!

Seriously?

Stella and her friend researched all kinds of information about the moon so as to edify us during our meal.

And we admired the poignant beauty of a landscape that, despite every desire and request to linger, has plans of its own.