It is Fall in the Northern Hemisphere. I had to explain this to Ford tonight, as I hunched over the bathtub bathing Chas. Not just the fact that it really is Fall, but the part about our hemisphere facing away from the sun. He had originally asked why today was so short, and I had to explain to him that the days were actually getting shorter. He stood there, watching his reflected expressions in the mirror:

“So, Mommy, is it Fall?”

Of course, he would have to wonder, what with the confusion we’re experiencing in our Spring-inspired weather. The boys spent the evening playing in the sprinkler while I tended the plants. As the sun began to set, I put them into the jogger wearing only their underwear, and we walked along yellow Chinaberry groves and scattered Black walnut, red flags bouncing in the breeze. And then, hark! we heard the unearthed drone of a cicada. Ford sat upright in the stroller and, I kid you not, said “What the hell? A cicada!”

Ford wants to be an illustrator. I interviewed him this morning after he created this elaborate scene:

Stephanie: (holding my invisible microphone) So Ford, the world wants to know more about this young illustrator named Ford. Can we begin our interview with the question, “When did you decide to become an illustrator?”
Ford: (With a mouthful of sandwich) I decided to become an illustrator when I was playing the guitar upstairs with Daddy.
S: I see. Did something or somebody inspire you? What I mean to say is, did you read a book, or watch a television program or watch somebody else illustrating when you decided to become an illustrator, yourself?
F: Yes. I was watching television on the channel they call (pause to chew sandwich) K..L…R….
S: Oh, our local PBS station called “KLRU?”
F: Yes.
S: And what show were you watching?
F: The show with the books, you know…
S: Oh, Reading Rainbow?
F: yes!
S: Well, that’s all the time we have for today, Ford. Thank you for the interview. Now let’s hear the story behind this piece you just finished. Would you do the honors?
F: Sure!

“Next to these mountains right here are some caves, do you see them? People lived in these caves and slept there. And next to the caves, next to the mountains was a huge, huge pool of water. Actually, a huge pool of atoms. And the atoms are so small, they are this small (demonstrates with his fingers, the space between his pointer finger and thumb, pressed together). The atoms bounced together so furiously that they made noise that actually woke up the people sleeping in the caves. So the people went outside the cave, and they found a portal. The went up to the portal, but the portal sucked them inside. Suddenly, suddenly, they found themselves taken by the portal to that place called…New York City. And they looked around and saw what was there. Then they went back into the portal, and the portal took them back home to their caves.”

I took the boys out for loop around Wild Basin wilderness preserve after lunch. As we unloaded for our walk, we were met by a investigative swarm of yellowjackets. Ford began to freak out as I watched him eyeball three drones on his shirtless body. Not sure what to do, since my hands were tied, I urged him to just be still and watch them explore. I told him to use the opportunity to see them up close, so long as he remained perfectly, perfectly still. Which he did. And the whimpers ceased as he began to comment on their similarity to bees. I have no idea why they were attracted to us. All I can figure is that we smelled too lavendar-y with our herbal sunscreen, and that Ford might have left a little strawberry jam on his face after lunch.
At any rate, once we started on the trail, they lost interest.

The trail crests a ridge that overlooks, um, Wild Basin wilderness. It’s Westlake’s backyard, full of, um, wildlife. Besides the wasps, however, there wasn’t much wildlife awake to greet us on the trail except one lone mockingbird. We did see something new, though. Atop a limestone outcropping laid a half dollar-diameter star-shaped fungus that could have easily been mistaken for a spider: a small sphere, on inspection, had burst to reveal a tiny hole on top; the “legs” were eight radiating, pointy black extensions. I think it was an Earth Star, a type of exploding shroom, and this lesson captivated Ford. Like, the rest of the afternoon. These days, it’s all about explosives and things with bioluminescence.

I brought a heavy and clunky 35mm camera without batteries. The strap irritated my neck, but Chas, in the backpack, seemingly felt sorry enough to pat the back of my head and play with my hair. He occasionally pointed to things and shouted exclamations that we couldn’t understand but agreed with. We felt so jaded on the trail, Ford and I, because it was a very large version of our yard. I guess we were hoping for a water feature or a cave or, um, more wildlife.

Everyday me. The silly cornerstone of the meal.
It’s all good. Sometimes, on the job, I dream.
Mostly about other things I could be doing,
not that I’d rather. Even when I really do feel like a pig on a spit.

The morning was crisp and the breeze tickled the Juniper Cedar boughs, and berries littered the patio before we swept and painted:

Later, while Chas napped, Ford and I sat down at the foot of the flower bed and tended the plants. I drilled him on the names of each plant and he was, not surprisingly, correct most of the time. He showed me where the Christmas cactus is growing new leaves, I told him that people used to make paper with the papyrus plant.

Damon buzzed and whirred in the garage, building his amp as fast as possible before the rain came. And soon, it came. Gusts of cold air lifted the new Fall foliage and tiny drops ushered a long rainfall. Ford and I watched as Damon scrambled his welder back into the garage, shouting expletives into the bustling front.

Kelp quilt. Abandoning the Redwork pattern in the Modern Quilt Along book and adopting a freestyle motif. Turquoise/olive and puffy, similar to the quilt seen here in the book by Jean Ray Laury.