Autumn’s sprite

Today was the long-anticipated Farmer’s Market in St Andrews (long anticipated only by food fanatics like me, I'm sure). I must admit, when my phone told me the temperature was 3 degrees outside, I was less enthused to go out than I had expected. But, I managed to bundle out the door.

And I walked into a parking lot which had been completely mellowed, and which welcomed everyone with its campfire warmth. At the market’s entrance crouch two huge (I mean, bathtub size) barrels covered with charred potato sacks. Rows of fish hang from wooden horses behind the churning smoke, smoking. The smell was so intoxicating it almost got me over my repulsion of eating a whole fish. Almost.

I piled my bags with kale and cabbage, free-range chicken, bacon, and beef, totally thrilled with the kind vendors and the roaming, eager crowd. The weather had changed to that perfect sunny cool. I can like Scotland in the fall.

I got home and decided I simply had to have one of the pumpkins from the organic produce lady, so I walked back for my beloved pumpkin. When I brought him home, I kept picking him up and placing him down all over the living room until I found him a spot in the window. And decided I must make cinnamon donuts with apple cider. So I did. Without a mixer (other than my wimpy arm). And soup.


The sprite of autumn must be making circles around our flat. I washed about 40 apples and put them in bowls by the pumpkin and lantern. Ahhh, we are home. There’s nothing I am immediately anticipating. I love today’s simplicity: cooking and washing.  And my husband was home for the evening.

I am grateful for what I have been given: everything.