We’ve had a rare stretch of balmy clear nights and I find myself seduced into staying up late to watch the stars and be lulled by the polyrhythm of crickets and the smell of the watered garden tinged with redwood trees still breathing the morning fog. We’ve heard peeper frogs during the rainy season since we settled here over two years ago, but this is the first season we hear the steady hum of crickets and cicadas at nightfall, before the cooler air settles in from the coast and the new silence gives way to the predatory warnings of owls and coyotes. By cultivating the land and making a homeplace we’ve influenced the ecosystem around us in ways that are beginning to feel like a reward for our efforts. The hum of home has begun to extend beyond our reach and beyond our waking lives, night and sleep informing the patterns of the day.
With the property becoming more domesticated and my shopwork finding a healthy cadence during this season of shortening days, I’m lucky to have these warm autumn nights to reflect on the craftwork that fills my days. It’s almost as though the daily rituals of working with wood are a way of limbering up my mind, preparing me for clear thinking.