It is slightly after 7 pm. I am wearing a black Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, Gucci sandals and the little antique diamond ring I never take off. In my hand is a pitchfork because two giant weeds in my garden -- which I let grow thinking maybe they were some exotic wildflowers -- had to be eliminated before they released a gazillion seeds that would turn into a gazillion plants next year. There is something in the air that tells me the time for gardening has come to an end. This summer I have paid particular attention to my garden, which has given me a sense of pride in what I have created. Only flowers, of course. The chipmunks, woodchucks, rabbits and deer are simply too much of a force to be reckoned with when it comes to food destined to be put in either their stomachs or in mine. The vision last summer of chipmunks running off with that superbly ripe tomato in their mouths has left an indelible impression. No. No more food for me. I’ll stick to flowers.
Though I swam infinite laps in the pool for the past month, it suddenly no longer feels like swimming season. I hate to say it, but I need a jacket...by 8pm it is dark and, tragically, Autumn is on the way. You can smell it in the air. And yet, I have just returned from my summer vacation in Vermont and cannot quite understand how my favorite season seems to get shorter and shorter each year. In Vermont, the sky was that perfect blue, and even with the uninvited summer storms sweeping through occasionally, we were all in denial, still celebrating the bounty of summer.
Because I love Vermont, I worry about the fate of the people there. Last summer, the news was all about farmers committing suicide. This summer it was all about their reinvention as artisanal cheese makers, bread bakers and producers of various alcoholic beverages. On the road where my family has a house, two farmers are cultivating fields of grape vines. Initially, they intend to sell their produce to Vermont wineries, eventually one hopes to have his own production capabilities. And everywhere, the chefs that matter are turning to the local farms for “farm-to-table” dinners. We went to Cloudland Farm for dinner one night. Up, up, up a small dirt road until we came to the farm that Gail, the owner, explained had been in her husband's family since 1908. We shared a table with six other people and feasted together on dishes prepared by their young chef with ingredients from their farm or the surrounding farms. My friend who lives in rural Illinois laughs when I tell her of my farm-to-table excursions. That is how she grew up, but for me they are exceptionally unique experiences.
It is dark now and I guess it is crickets that I hear outside. Is it their farewell to summer song? As always, I will hold onto this sound as long as I can. I am not a winter person and there is still so much growing and tending that needs to be done in my garden, but for now it will have to wait until the peepers signal the arrival of our next spring.
NOTE: This was written before Hurricane Irene hit the East Coast and traveled up through Vermont, leaving my beloved little town under water and much of the state devastated. On the weekend of September 16th, the town was set to celebrate its 250th anniversary with a giant cake on the town green. Instead, the National Guard is ensconced in the local school doling out water and food.
Vicki Wray lives in North Stamford, and until recently spent most of her waking hours in New York City as a corporate communications executive. Working for companies like Pfizer, Revlon and AOL Time Warner has allowed her to meet wonderful colleagues and a slew of interesting personalities including the president of the United States, supermodels and star athletes, famous artists and a Justice of the Supreme Court. She is a natural observer, type A personality, and a life-long "spa junkie". Vicki firmly believes in the health benefits of being kind to oneself; taking a moment to breath, relax and finding simple joy in our every day existence.
Her column, Kind (self) Regards, will be a regular feature of the Aetheria Spa blog. If you enjoy her point of view, or would like to share your ideas, please contact her at vicki@aetheriaspa.com.
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