I’ve been sick for several days now, apparently with the same virus that laid DF low last week. We share everything, including headache, sore throat and general malaise.

Since I’m not often ill, it always comes as a shock just how boring it can be to lie around all the time: too tired to hold a book up in bed or, when in a recliner, too brain-fogged to read seriously.

(Have watched the hell out of videos on MyPoints.com, though. If I’m gonna be sick, I might as well earn points.)

The weather outside has been as glum as my reasoning: gray skies, temps in the 40s, sideways-spitting rain. Blech. It was the kind of late-summer (read: early fall) weather that made naps mandatory yet not terribly successful. I kept dropping off and then popping awake; when I did sleep, my dreams were weird (baking a series of cakes? decorating and living in one of New York’s smallest apartments?) and made the sleep unsatisfying.

Today the sun came out and DF suggested a turn around the yard. The fresh air would do housebound-for-days me some good.

Was he ever right.

 

The feel of sun and a gentle breeze on my face was more of a tonic than any OTC med. After days of gray, I was right where I needed to be.

We viewed the quinoa crop, the almost-ripe Norland apples (so pretty!) the vigorous carrot beds. What irrevocably drew my gaze, though, were the small red dots closer to ground level.

 

 

The sun is fleeting

 

Yes, the raspberries are still producing. We hadn’t picked for five days or so because of illness. We already had 28 quarts frozen and – this is how you know I was really sick – I didn’t care that berries might be going to waste.

Not now. I grabbed a palm’s worth and wished aloud that I’d brought a container with me. DF drained the last of his coffee and handed me the giant mug. Together we prowled the edge of the patch, selecting berries so ripe they were sliding off their caps.

I thanked DF, out loud, for having maintained the berry patch. “People are paying $3 a pint for these,” I said. “And we can pick them for free.”

A couple of times I felt a little light-headed after bending down to peer under berry canes. Mostly, I exulted in the sun, the wind and the smell of wet leaves.

And, yes, the slight but discernible smell of foliage dieback. Some of the canes were already collapsing. Grasses are browning. The leaves on nearby birch, willow and alder are turning gold. Soon, very soon, it will be time to harvest our garden and empty the greenhouse.

That day was not today. Today I was grateful for sun, and for berries.

 

Related reading:

• Summer on the wane
• What summer tastes like
• The marvel of an Alaska summer