Hunting and gathering

Sometimes, there's nothing like sitting in my parents' kitchen with a hot cup of tea, watching rain beat the windows and the spruces bending in the wind. How nice it is to have a refuge, a place where I can go and be cared for. And it's always enjoyable to get out of the city, to roam and forage, pick handfuls of bright autumn weeds for my Thanksgiving centerpiece. When you live in a city, everything costs money. You want a centerpiece? Go to a store and buy flowers. Out at my parents' house, walk into the old barnyard and explore. It's the "riches of nature," literally. These little rose hips were just what I needed.


I came to my parents' house this weekend partly to reap without sowing: to gather the benefits of an overgrown field, a dusty old barn full of treasure, and a house stuffed with the slow accumulation of things that aren't used anymore. I needed things. I have a big house: lots of wall space, lots of shelf space. Finding ways to make it cozy has been my job. This time of year, especially, I feel the need to gather things for my winter nest, or something. Who knows? But the sight of all sorts of homey things-- table linens, teacups, baskets--stirs a powerful hoarding instinct, and I return to Binghamton, my car stuffed with goodies.