Country Living

County Fair Time

This past weekend brought the county fair to our neighborhood. Local farmers started bringing in livestock several days in advance of the opening, along with numerous food vendors. The carnival company trucked its equipment in late at night just before opening day. Watching the traffic build on the street that runs past our house was like a preview of things to come, with an increasing tempo leading up to fair day and the sudden appearance of fairgoers taking advantage of the seasonal highlight. Of course, the big question as opening day approached, was what the weather would be like. This year, it was hot and humid, but not rainy for most of the fair, although we’ve had almost nothing but rain since.

Because we live close to the fairground, we were able to sit on our deck and look down the stream to enjoy the fireworks display the first night of the fair. As always, it was an impressive display. Of course, we also had to pay our visit to the fair itself and walk around the grounds looking at the animals, exhibits, and crowds. It’s an annual must-do for us. This year we were strict in watching our diets and gave up the fair food indulgences in favor of our own cooking. That wasn’t easy. County fairs mean cotton candy, barbecue, and fried dough, and much more. But we were good. Since we’ve been enjoying fresh vegetables from our garden and our local Amish stand so much, it was not all that big of a sacrifice. Holding off on indulging in the ice cream available down the street in the other direction has presented a bigger challenge. I love ice cream. County fairs bring up childhood memories for both Lesley and me. They’re one of the joys of summer.

Our frequent drives through the hills around the area have provided another pleasure, watching the seasonal tableau change. The corn is now high, with brown spikes adorning their tops, a declaration of maturity. Rows of rolled up hay line cut fields, most of them wrapped in plastic to protect against weather. In the untilled areas, several ‘crops’ of wildflowers have bloomed. Splashes of goldenrod and roadside boarder strips of white topped Queen Ann’s lace have replaced views of meadows filled with dandelions earlier in the year. Brown spikes of curly dock provide occasional accents, along with a stalk of mullein here and there. Soon, fields will be muted in dusky shades of late summer, and grasses will turn brown. Right now, everything is still green, from all the rain we’ve been getting although tree leaves are a couple of shades lighter. We feel lucky not to be dealing with the wildfires of the west.

When I first came east, the lush green everywhere overwhelmed me. I felt claustrophobic. Now, I see it as a seasonal state. I’ve also become more aware of the many subtle changes in the landscape as the seasons progress and love to observe them. I think living in the countryside has made that possible. The fields, forest plots and farms offer a much richer and closer connection to the environment. It’s an advantage of village life and country living I treasure.

Now, I must push through the final stages of publication of my latest Bobby Navarro mystery so I can get to work on the next adventure, and the next setting. I’ve gotten behind. I’ll blame it on the weather. Of course, there’s always work to be done on the cottage. That’s been held up by the weather as well. Not complaining, mind you. I love summer. How about you? What does summer mean in your life? What changes in the seasons do you watch for, and enjoy?

Village Life and Country Living

I like to write about village life. It’s not only because we live at the edge of a village in upstate New York surrounded by farming country, but also because village life is so interesting. Of course, villages and small towns are settings for cozy murder mysteries, and I write murder mysteries. However, this weekend, I’m writing about village life because of the interaction we have enjoyed with our neighbors. Yesterday, we had an appointment in town (a nearby small city) and decided to swing by our favorite farm produce stand on the way home. It’s run by an Amish family and features fabulous organic vegetables. We bought a pattypan squash, a large tomato, and some pole beans. The young woman tending the stand asked me if the pattypan were for sandwiches. She was the one who introduced me to using pattypan squash in this way. I admitted to having become hooked on these sandwich treats and, as we talked, another customer behind me started asking questions about how I make them. Another convert in the making? That would be my bet, if he tries them.

I’m not saying this sort of interaction wouldn’t happen at one of the supermarkets in a city, or anywhere else, but it seems more characteristic of life here in the village. Like, the other day when one of our neighbors dropped by with a container of fresh blackberries from her garden. I later made a blackberry buckle with them. Delicious. She knows I love blackberries, and we look forward to her company at tea time (an afternoon must at our place). Last summer we were kept in raspberries and blackberries all season by this same neighbor. In return, we sent her home with bundles of fresh kale leaves and bowls of cherry tomatoes from our garden. In fact, I think we should plant an extra row of kale next year with these exchanges in mind.

Last weekend we went to a backyard picnic for a neighbor pushing her nineties. The weather had been brutal, but that day was terrific. We sat outside and feasted on hamburgers, hotdogs, and dishes everyone had brought to pass. It was a good chance to see neighbors we haven’t talked with more than a passing hello all summer. There were also people we didn’t know. We were introduced as “the authors”. I don’t know if anyone there had read my Bobby Navarro novels, but didn’t feel any need to slip into sales mode either.

The other means of village identity we seem to own is that we live in the “old _______ house”. The house has been in existence since 1874, so I can hardly object to its having a more established identity in the community than we do. I remember meeting and talking with the former owner whose family name still defines the house when we first moved in. He shared some childhood memories of a flood when their barn was washed downstream during the night. I enjoyed his visit.

Not everyone in the village likes everyone else. We don’t all share the same religious beliefs, or political orientation. We’re not necessarily dedicated to the same values and beliefs. But, we’re neighbors in the village, and that counts for something. I like that. I think these are times when we need more of that village spirit. We don’t all need to be alike, but we do need to recognize that, one way or another, we’re people of the same village.