This weekend is one of remembrance and family for me. For many people in North America and around the world, it also leads into the holiday season in the Christian world.

As the leaves turn shades of gold and russet, the weather chills and the smell of decaying leaves and dirt surrounds me. 

I picked the last of the carrots and beets, saying goodbye to my tiny garden that makes tiny vegetables, for another winter.

It was only a few days ago that a solid white blanket of snow covered them and I gave thanks that I was able to reap their bounty before it was too late. 

Luckily, the snow faded with the sun and the wind from the mountains, and I was able to have a small grace period to finish the season.

My parents came today, my brother and his partner yesterday. 

A turkey is thawing safely in the fridge this time, not overnight in the oven like last time. 

Safety first, after all.

I’m looking forward to spending this time with my family, visiting, cooking, and even canning. 

With my mother and husband’s sister, we will reenact my memories of fall as we make beets the way my grandmother always did. 

The weekend stretches wide and warm in front of me, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that as I get older, I’m appreciating the value in the traditions that I once knew, coming back to my roots. 

Learning what I need to someday pass the lessons on to my own children, 

coming full circle from being the child to the mother.

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