This day, six years ago (I think) my father died. I got a call mid-afternoon, from his wife Carol who left me a message saying that he’d passed away, died of a heart attack. I was glad then and glad now that I didn’t learn of this via email.

It was, like today, a beautiful fall day – the birch leaves were then, as they were today, orange and yellow with a tinge of green. Today was colder – last night we got our first snowfall. It was snow and rain mixed – the snow clung to the plants and was visible on the roofs of our multiple dwellings.

I sometimes sing songs that my father sang, folk songs, when I am riding the horses. I did not ride today because I had so much else to do. I got home from working on the book project and cleaned the hay closet, in preparation for Pete’s bringing home a truckload of hay.

Pete talked to our hay guy, John DePriest, early this morning and Pete thought John told him that there was no first cutting hay left, and that he was going to cut and bale this afternoon if the hay in the fields dried. I said to Pete that what John was now cutting was not going to be suitable because it would be wet and if the weather was warm, would mold. And because it’s been cold, would also be high in sugar.

John with his hay

Pete then attempted to reassure me that the hay being cut today would be just fine. I did not agree. We tabled the issue because he had to get work done and I had to head for town.

Pete was heading over to John’s when I got home. He said he’d misunderstood John – that he did indeed have a second cutting of hay, which he cut and baled a few weeks ago. Hearing this, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, he came home with a truckload of dry hay.

I had to clean the hay barn, which I did. I then cleaned the chicken and goat pens. I usually do this on Wednesdays but decided to get a jump on it so that I can spend time with my horses tomorrow.

So, I didn’t have time to think about my father today, or his death. In fact, I just realized he died on this date, several years ago, when I typed in September 21.

I now often wonder if when people die, if they are still with us; we just are unable to acknowledge their presence. The same with animals. They all have just taken another form.

Sometimes I think that both my mother and father, who were both avid readers, are somehow responsible for the more serendipitous aspects of this book project. Maybe so, maybe not. Then again, I might be following the paths that they had to abandon. Yes, that’s probably it. This, right now makes the most sense to me.

I wish I could stop thinking about this because there are not, and probably will never be, any clearly definitive answers.

Next: 262/ 9/22/21: Autumn