we walked to an abandoned farmhouse.

This is the small story of a family walk to an abandoned farmhouse on the day before Thanksgiving. Two parents, two pups and their girl; bedecked in checkered plaid, stripes, leggings, wool socks and rainboots, like true Canadians ought to be. Light and shadow patterned the trails from between the countless branches and skeleton trunks, while the perfume of pine and dead leaves hung heavy in the air. This is a story that matters to me.

the pumpkin craze.

                                                                      Pumpkin.
                                                             
                                                                  It's everywhere.

As soon as September rolls in, this particular flavour comes out -- it appears in our lattes, pancakes, butters, pies, cakes, muffins, breads and soups. Not just at home, either. From the coffee shop around the corner to the supermarket across the street, pumpkin is popping up in everything. Personally, I'm not one to complain. The deep yet mild and earthy flavour of pumpkin is one of my favorites. I've always held a secret spot in my heart for pumpkin muffins, rich with spices and nuts. Now that October has come to stay, people are truly going pumpkin crazy. The pumpkin craze snuck into our house last week in a batch of muffins, and this week, in a bread. This quickbread is whole-wheat, dense and bursting with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. It only takes one bowl to prepare. Once I had slid it into the oven, the house began to smell like we lived in a harvest festival. Today, I'm going to share this bread with you. I highly advise you to rush over to the grocery, grab a can of pumpkin puree (and hopefully pay for it, if that's your thing) and make this delicious loaf.

                                                              Whole Wheat Pumpkin Bread

                                                                recipe by Cookie And Kate

1/3 cup coconut or vegetable oil 

1/2 cup raw honey

2 eggs

1 cup pumpkin puree

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp cinnamon, plus more to swirl on top

1/2 tsp ginger

1/4 tsp nutmeg

1/4 tsp allspice

1 tsp baking soda

1/4 cup hot water

Preheat oven to 375 F.

In a large bowl, beat oil and honey together.

Add eggs, and mix well.

Stir in pumpkin puree and vanilla, then stir in flour, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and allspice.

Add baking soda to the hot water, stir to mix, and then add to batter.

Spread batter into greased 9 x 5 inch loaf pan.

Sprinkle with cinnamon.

Bake for 55 minutes to an hour and 5 minutes. Bread is done when toothpick inserted in the top comes out clean. If the top of the bread jiggles when you take it out, it's definitely not done.

Cool for at least 1/2 hour before slicing.

                                                     Enjoy the pumpkin craze, friends!

the secrets of loneliness.

The kettle lets out an anguished wail as it comes to the boil; it is my only companion of the hour. After filling my mug, I stand and watch the tea bag slowly release color into the steaming water, like the gradual restoration of a black and white photograph. Discarding the used tea bag, I find a seat at the empty dinner table, which casts shadows of family meals past and faded laughter during daylight hours. Sunlight reaches through the room's large glass windows with trembling fingers, to touch the pages of the novel before me.

It's a solitary affair - this book, my hot drink, a bit of food, a pair of well-worn slippers and I. If a passerby were to peer through the glass and see this young girl, legs crossed comfortably, nose in a book, they'd consider her well-off; not supposing she'd enjoy any company. But is this entirely true?

A miniscule voice is trying to push and grasp its way out of the depths of my thoughts, whispering that maybe, just maybe, I'm not satisfied with solitude any longer. But I push the voice down, down, down. I drown it in printed words and silent revelations, because loneliness is a tricky thing; an ugly chain. Loneliness craves and relies on itself. It requires time spent with no bothersome company even when it hungers for human presence. Yet I can't shake the question forming in my mind - can you truly survive on the comfort found in tea and silence, forever?

a movie night at meredith's.

                         "You know what we ought to do? Watch a movie and chill." And with those two
                              sentences, our plans for Friday night lay before us, simple and relaxed.

                                     

 "Can we watch Atlantis? Pleaaaaase?", Meredith cried, and we all shook our heads and raved about our own movie choices. In the end, we settled on 101 Dalmations - the version with the real people - and Leah, Lauren, Meredith and I laid back carelessly in the basement like teenagers are ought to do. We watched with eyes aching for younger years while our brains racked up witticisms and scoffs at how unrealistic the movie was (I mean, really, who loves dogs enough to adopt 101 one of them and buy a new home with dog spots painted on the exterior?) but secretly loved it. Leah was the first to gulp all of her water - like always - and loudly crunched her ice cubes for the rest of the movie - again, like always - but I'd never dream of complaining, because this small trait of Leah's is one that I know and hold close, like every other fact about my friends that I cherish.

Afterwards, the girls ransacked the pantry for cookies, mini marshmallows and goldfish. I stood in front of the counter and held the camera to my eyes, hoping to capture the youth and laughter etched into the faces of some of my closest friends.

glimpses.

 

 Throughout the cold, bitter evenings of January and February, I'd like to pull out these glimpses of autumn that I'm striving to commit to memory. Among these glimpses are an abundance of apples piled high on the counter, all of different sizes, shades and scents. The rustle of familiar pages as I return to a favorite read. The comfort of large sweaters sitting on my shoulders as the weather delivers a chilly draft. The delicious smell of disturbed leaves as I trek across countless trails and yards. Reminiscent flavours of cinnamon, chocolate and pumpkin. The feel of worn-out fuzzy socks sliding on elegant hardwood floors. A pot of stew growing warm on the stove, sending its aroma to every corner of the house.

During the fall, this dear old home becomes a place of prosperity and warmth on cool evenings. While sunlight bathes the walls of our living room, it is the place for deep thoughts and hot breakfasts on the sofa. After darkness has fallen outside the large windows, the room doubles as a cozy haven for reading until midnight, knitting or drinking tea.

Of course, the indoors is no match for the outdoors in this season. Why miss the chance to pounce on satisfyingly crunchy leaves or lie under skies filled with scurrying clouds? Autumn is rich with wood smoke and dry foliage, so to drink it in is like a great privilege. I thrive during these wonderful months. Everything is fresh in a way much different than summer, but just as beautiful, if not more.