Here comes the fall equinox. It's actually slated for the 22nd this year. The harvest moon rose high in the sky last night, an enormous silver orb, the coin of the realm. (Listening to Neil Young right this very minute.) There's a snap in the air and the mornings are dark and cold. It's soooo tempting to roll over, hunker down into the luxurious warmth of the linen sheets and go back to sleep for another hour or two, isn't it? I love my cup of warm milk in the mornings now. I usually steep roasted soba tea in it, or warming chai spices. I use low-heat-pasteurized whole milk from our local dairy, but I'm thinking it may be time to pop over the border to Pennsylvania where raw milk is legal and available. 

I love this time of year. The change is so palpable. The earth seems to exhale a long sigh as it gives over to the new season, slowly relinquishing the bounty and beauty of summer, the leaves burning bright, the waning light. Take it all in. Walk outside. Feel the last of that yellow sun on your face. Make some soup. Get your boots out.
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I'm almost to the point of never wanting to see another tomato. I can scarcely believe that I will ever pine for one again. (But talk to me in March.) We were supposed to get our first freeze last night, so the house is piled high with delicate herbs and tomatoes, both ripe and not, snatched before Jack Frost could claim them. I have made countless batches of sauce to freeze; I have dried cherry tomatoes to store in oil; I have dehdyrated and ground slices into a powder for seasoning salt and butter; there is a giant stash of spicy tomato fruit leather, and two dozen jars of spicy tomato jam aka nectar of the gods. There is such an over-abundance of food in the house at this moment, and it occurs to me I haven't really been sharing with you much about what I've been cooking. (I document some of it on Instagram; come visit @laurasilverman)

By the way, the Nikon was having some issues and had to be sent back to the manufacturer (now the only place allowed to do repairs!) so I apologize for the less-than-adequate iphone photos which will persist for god knows how long. I trust you will bear with me in my quest to defy perfectionism and simply soldier on...
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Because summer is not over yet. Because ice cream is an essential luxury. Because nothing beats homemade. Because when you go to the heart of darkness, you need a reason to turn back. There is something about the cold, slippery, creamy sweetness of ice cream that triggers a very primal lust—one that must be satisfied every now and then.

I confess to having made frozen treats more than a few times this summer. I blame Jeni, the ice cream temptress whose book, Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams At Home, lays bare the art of eggless ice cream. I made her backyard mint (with mint from the garden) and goat cheese with roasted sour cherries for ice cream sandwiches at our July barbecue; her eye-opening black coffee; her inspired sweet corn with blackberries; and I added fresh white peach puree to her classic vanilla bean for a summer favorite. I could not resist tinkering with her Darkest Chocolate Ice Cream in the World. By adding my own spin to the decadent blend of cocoa powder, bittersweet chocolate and brewed coffee, I wound up with something  I just have to share with you. It's sinful, in the best possible way.
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So many people say they feel better in the summer—the fresh air, the sunshine, the long days. I get it, I really do, but fall will forever be my favorite season. We're not quite there yet, though as I write this I am sitting in front of our first fire of the season. Yes, it was that chilly this morning. G and I did the switcheroo, where we move the dining table to the far side of the room and the couch back in front of the fireplace. Kitten is having a long bath in front of the blazing hearth and I am warming my toes from a safe distance.

Another harbinger of fall is the Romano bean, a long meaty pole bean that arrives along with the last of the summer tomatoes (of which we have multiple trays lining the kitchen counter). River Brook Farm, where we supplement our own crops, grows these green ones and also a lovely pale yellow variety called Marvel of Venice. These are Italian beans in the grandest tradition and they are so easy to prepare in the simple Tuscan style. I make a meal of them and, if you eat crusty bread, a big rustic slab would be the ideal complement.
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September has arrived and with it that bittersweet feeling full of nostalgia for the sweetness of summer, charged with anticipation for the fresh start that is fall. How I've missed you! This post will probably be a bit longer than usual because, in my month off, I have stored up so much to tell you.

I had many plans for the month of August, a long list of projects and goals. I wanted to make natural dyes. I was going to send out a survey to my readers. I had every intention of uploading all the content for the launch of my redesigned professional website. And guess what I did? None of that. Instead, I coped with having 5 herpes outbreaks in 6 weeks: a glaring sign from my body that all is not right. But your life is so perfect! you say. Country living, fresh food, walks in the woods—what could possibly be wrong? Actually, I am grateful for this wakeup call. I have clearly been pushing myself too hard, not taking the time to nurture myself and not really listening to my inner voice. You know the one. It tells us when we have reached our limit, when it is time for change.
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