Sundown in the woods.

Hike.

Before this mellow fall completely winds down and the trees are completely bare we went out into the woods. And kicked through pathways of wet, ankle deep leaves. And watched the squirrels and the birds in their frenzy of foraging. And breathed in the soon to be dormant scents of mud and moss.

It was grand.

A few ragged blooms left out there.

These have been on permanent rotation lately.

I may have bribed someone into walking 4+ miles with the promise of hot chocolate in the woods.

Last year's pressed leaves, Washi tape and a sunny window equal some very spontaneous, low maintenance fall decoration.

"...and all at once summer collapsed into fall."

Oscar Wilde

Isn't that the way it happens?

 Every year. 

Especially down here in southern Wisconsin.

All of a sudden, it is fall.

And you feel like you must have blinked and missed the lead-up, the slow change, the gradual transition.

Except there isn't one. There is just summer and warm days and warm nights and mosquitos and bees and green leaves and flowers and roses and then, one morning, the gutters are silently and mysteriously full of the most beautiful colored leaves. 

And you wonder when they all changed. And you wonder when they all fell.

Because you are quite certain you had been watching and waiting for just this thing to happen.

I took photos this year at sunset. I usually don't. I usually try for a rainy morning so everything looks wet and clean and there's a darker sky for contrast.

Or I try for a sunny afternoon. 

But it just worked out differently this time. And the filtered, ebbing, evening sunlight did lovely things to the tops of the tree and the shadows on the ground.

And the photos turned out a lot lovelier than I thought they would.

So here's to beautiful, beautiful fall. In all her many glories. May she not collapse too far, too fast.

Pasta.

First, let me say, I do not own a pasta machine. And second, I have never made homemade noodles before. 

To me the whole process of making one's own pasta has seemed, even when talking about regular full-gluten pasta, a strange dichotomy. On the one hand it appears daunting and complicated. And yet, on the other, Italian housewives have been doing it for hundreds of years. By hand.

And so, since Wednesday was the first, real, honest-to-goodness fall weather day we've had so far; chilly, damp, raining on and off, and there was nothing else I needed to do I decided to go for it. And either be brave. Or foolish. Depending on the outcome.

(As a side note, I always forget that, when the days grow shorter and the yard work wraps up for the year, there's suddenly a whole lot of evening free-time to fill.)

I settled on a grain free paleo recipe. Linked for you below.

And couldn't believe my eyes when the dough turned out. And rolled out. And cooked, in under a minute, into rustic, al dente,  lovely little ribbons of pasta.

It never ceases to amaze me what a few simple ingredients are capable of.

Enjoy.

http://thejoyfulfoodie.com/recipe-homemade-almond-flour-pasta/

Fall Vacation: final day

It was a much shorter stay this year than in previous ones. Which had us all a bit melancholy. (Blame it on waiting too long to book our reservation last year.)

But we did cheer up as we stopped, on our way back home, to pick apples.

And sample a few.

And snag some pumpkins.

Until next time Purdy Valley.

We can hardly wait.

Fall Vacation: Days 2 & 3

No stay at the farmhouse is complete without farm fresh eggs. Which get put to good use in elaborate and late breakfasts.

In addition, no stay is complete without morning snuggles, on the porch swing, over coffee and cocoa, with Tommy the cat.

They say September is the season of heavy dew.

More views of the much battered Bad Axe river.

A few brief glimpses of blue sky.

This years crop of field corn might be destined for silage only. Everything it still very wet.

 There were a few snakes out and about. Despite all the standing water.

Paula loves Elli.

Elli loves Tommy.

I led off yesterday's post with a picture of the farmhouse's suspension bridge that used to span the Bad Axe river. Obviously it is no longer functional. And may never be again. The farmhouse's owners had already repaired it once this year. So. In order to reach the back pasture, the cows, and the hiking trails the above method must be courageously undertaken.

Despite a long, hot summer the water was breathtakingly cold.

This is the debris line on the other side of the pasture. It was WELL above our heads. So during the height of the flood the river was rushing at about 16, or more, feet high. 

All the trees look very fall appropriate without their leaves. But these leaves weren't so much lost as completely stripped off.

This used to be a hiking trail.

As was this. Now it is a caved in river bank.

If you look very closely at the top left of this picture you can see the remains of what was once a foot bridge.

Not a lot of color this early. But it's starting.

We finally found the cows. 

These poor things. 

As recently as 2 days before our arrival some of them were still missing. They had all been washed downstream by the flooding. Which is crazy. Because they are HUGE. Though some are only calves, a few weeks old, still, they are HUGE.

Miraculously all of them survived. And found their way home. Either on their own. Or with help from neighbors. The last 3, a very traumatized mom and her 2 babies, had to be chased over the muddy countryside.

And this is what they came back to.

The return trip.

Fall skies.

They came running. Because they thought I had food.

 Nope. Just a camera.

Lynn. Not as sociable as Paula. But still pretty cute.

Twilight.

Another sunset. I always forget how fast the darkness descends in the Purdy Valley.