Today is Halloween, that wild holiday of ghosts and ancestors and gifts of sweets. Some say the veil between the worlds is thin during these days. Celtic Samhain, Mexican Dia de Muertos. The day midway between autumn equinox and winter solstice. This morning I woke to our first frost of the season. It is later than usual for Maine, but also earlier this week than I had expected. Still, it drew me out to walk in the dawn’s first light.

I harvested the last of the (now frozen) raspberries. We often don’t get any in the fall because they don’t get enough sun to ripen before the frosts. So we’ve been grateful for several little bonus treats over the last few weeks. I also cut some (frozen) chives, and quickly chopped them up small and put back into a frozen state for use during the winter.

On October 16th, I had dug up the licorice plant, to harvest the roots–they make my favorite herbal remedy–such an energy boost iced as tea with lemon in the summer garden work. I cut off several large roots near the main plant, and all the long extension roots to new plants. After that, I replanted the original plant, and mulched with wood chips all around. Then, and I haven’t yet finished, I wash them with a scrub brush, and cut into small pieces to dry in the herb dryer. It takes quite a bit of my energy, so I can only do small batches at a time. Here is the latest:

So the end of the harvesting is in sight. No more zucchini. Still more kale–that keeps going after the frost. Still some carrots in the front yard beds. Leaves are still falling. Margy did some final mowing and some not-final raking. Much of our back lawn is moss mixed with wild strawberry, clover, grass, and weeds. We love the moss. On more mechanical themes, our garage door was fixed today! (It has been broken since the end of September.) We’ve also had a broken clothes dryer. Appointment scheduled for Friday. I guess these are part of our preparations for winter.

But today, mostly I think about the ancestors, those I loved who have died, and those I never knew who are the roots in my family tree. I had a new thought about my mom’s father, whom we called “Papa.” He was born “Johann” in Austria in 1884, but was “John” in the United States. He left his country with a few friends, who all worked as waiters to pay their way traveling across France, England, Canada, and finally Detroit, Michigan. None of his family of origin were on this side of the Atlantic. He remained friends with those men to the end of his life. He died when I was a young teen, so I don’t have too many memories except of a very quiet, very short man. Even though he lived with our family for a while. But when I look at my own life, I too left the place of my family, and bonded with friends who have been like another family in my life. So maybe we have that in common.

Really, there is so much we don’t know about the lives of our ancestors. All we can do is wonder. During this past year, since last Halloween, my friend Estelle joined the company of the ancestors. She was a true spirit sister. So I honor her today along with those others in my life whom I loved, and who loved me. In that, I have much for which to be thankful.