Indiana Roadsides

by
Jean Hughes
August 26, 1996

Last night, I heard the first notes of fall in the music of the sassafras leaves. This morning, the birds seem to detect an autumn note too.

Five nuthatches quarrel about possession of my dooryard tree. One must be a youngster who is reluctant to try his wings alone in the world. I encourage him to take flight. His happy spot is probably only a tree or two away.

The last of the cardinal babies "tsk, tsk" from a branch. A titmouse pipes. A pewee squeezes out his melody and a black-billed cuckoo calls, and then comes to sit on a low limb.

A yellow-throated warbler has been here several times. Both tiger-swallowtail butterflies and yellow leaves fool me as they flutter through the tree tops. At this season, movement among the leaves is not always a bird.

I let the ducks out of their pen and fill all the water buckets and the duck's bathtub. The mules wait for me by the gate. They know I am going to rub them down with fly spray and will have a treat of apple or sweet corn.

As I pet the mules and go over their faces, legs and bellies, I think of the city girl I left behind forever when I came to live in the hills, and I smile. She'd never know me now.

This has been another week of freezing corn, making jam and pickling.

Sweet Coriander Pickles

In a large pan place: 8 qts. unpeeled cucumber slices 1/8 inch thick, 
1/3 cup salt, 8 cups vinegar and 2 T. mustard seeds.
Simmer just until pickles begin to turn color. Do not overcook.
Drain liquid and discard. Pack pickles into sterilized jars.
Bring to boiling: 3 1/3 cups vinegar, 5 3/4 cups sugar and 
2 1/2 T. coriander seeds. Pour boiling liquid over pickles.
To seal: Process in hot water bath for 5 minutes. Makes 10 pints.

It is late in the afternoon and the children and I are pulling weeds in the garden. A dozen nighthawks have been circling overhead for half an hour. They come close, crying faintly.

Are there more insects above the garden than there are above the fields, or have the nighthawks come to say, "Good-bye?" It intrigues me when wild creatures hover near.

* * * An orange-jewel sun hangs low in the western sky as I take an evening trip to the blackberry patch. It is a beautiful time of day. At my "easy picking" place, the leaves of this year's plants have turned to red, but the canes for next year's berries are still green. They have grown to unbelievable lengths, and they are treacherous. Their thorns dig in and hold. I am in such a tangle that I am caught by the leg, by the shoulder and my hat is lifted off, all at the same time.

Only another blackberry picker can know my plight. After some mad gyrations, I get loose and trying to ignore the briars, I let the happy moments that are here among the big, black, juicy berries come to me.

The berries hang like gems -- caches of black gold. They are today's joys and gifts. Vicissitudes we have with us always, but the beauty and bounty go on and on.

The bloom of twilight hits the thistle blossoms, as I walk toward home. Butterflies whirl in clusters and hoards of dragonflies dart above me. At such terrific speeds, how do they avoid collisions? Perhaps there is an invisible aura about each of these small beings that stops them before their bodies collide. They seem to be bouncing off of something!

We understand little of what we can see and almost none of the unseen. Perhaps we have not learned to use all our senses yet.

When I arrive at home, I sit on my doorstep. Three frogs croak from the hollow and tree frogs are in full voice. A whip-poor-will calls. This morning he awakened me before dawn.

My land is a sanctuary for migrants. Going north and south, the wildlings can find refuge here. And they do. They come to me in their wild ways and make me a part of their lives. I keep everything as wild as I can, including myself. Today, I have seen the hollows solid with jewelweeds. Summer is mixing her last colors and coaxing her final blossoms into radiance. We are entering the month of gold -- 30 days of beauty.

I wait for fall to touch my face. I love the month of the goldenrod moon. I love September!

Jean's book of ramblings and recipes "A Country Mile of Winter" and her book of poetry "The Earth's My Home" are available for $4.95 each plus $1.30 for postage and handling. Ten of Jean's favorite recipes will be included free with each book ordered. Order from...

Country Mile Publications
616 E. Monroe
Delphi, IN 46923

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