Ever More    – Our sopping spring in Sullivan has now been followed by weeks of honey sun. Back in dreary May our gardens stood drowning; now, blessed by warm summer, they disgorge huge quantities of fruit and vegetable every day. Has any neighbor approached you yet asking to unload a bag or two of over ripening tomatoes? Don’t be surprised if they do. Or go see the plenteousness of it all for yourself at L&M nursery on 17B or one of the local farmers markets in Callicoon or Barryville. There’s tomatoes by the bushel, boxes of fragrant red and white onions, long-stemmed heads of rock-hard garlic, husks of ripened corn, green apples, purple plums, hoary peaches. Everywhere, you look, abundance reigns. The summer of 2025, against all initial dread, has been a great one.

Some find the coming of Fall depressing. For myself and others like me who prefer cooler times, September is a favorite month. In summer, time seems to suspend. One long day mimics the next, and in the torrid heat, nothing stirs. Everything siestas. That was then. Changes are coming fast and furious. Each day right now is about two minutes and fifty seconds shorter than the preceding one. This Friday, September 19, is about 1,150 seconds (19 minutes) shorter than last Friday, September 12! Darkness and cold are encroaching. By four o’clock the forest trees paint long shadows. Time to call Devin at Liberty Chimney to clean the stove and chimney. Time to call your wood seller and put away a few more cord of the seasoned wood you’ll need come January.

Driving back from an idyllic Canadian vacation last week, I was struck by the lengthening shadows of the trees on embankments of goldenrod. Those shadows reminded me so much of the current national mood, darkening daily as we are roiled by violence and acrimony.  Up in tranquil Canada, among some of my oldest friends on the shores of the blue-and-green Rideau Lakes, it was hard to paint the situation down here as anything else than what it daily feels like: summer is over. Fall has arrived. 

I’ve spent the better part of 2025 trying to wrangle with the twin-horned bull of depression and anxiety born out of our national malaise. I’ve found it hard to cope with one set of facts when they are quickly supplanted (on an almost daily basis) by a new set of even darker facts. There appears to be no easy or quick way out of living consciously in our age and suffering for one’s consciousness of it. I have searched diligently for a psychic balm or remedy to depression. Only three things have really helped. One, strangely enough, is my burgeoning love of plants. Watching them grow on my deck garden to astounding heights this summer—from tiny seeds and lumpy bulbs rotting in mud to towering pillars of blossoms and tendrils – has taught me not to give up. 

Another help against despair that I’ve found useful is to listen to historical podcasts, whose lessons do the soul more good the more ancient the topic of the podcast is. I’ve found listening to stories from the Chinese and Sumerian empires particularly relativizing. These ancient cultures went through enormous periods of turbulence, and rebounded. Their stories make our age feel less unique, less ‘lonely’. You come to see that ancient times were, in fact, much more harrowing than modern times. Humanity and the human spirit somehow just keep staggering forward. They seem indomitable. Hearing of other cultures’ rise and fall builds courage to continue our march.

The third most heartening antidote to despair, I’ve found, is simple human company: lots and lots of good talk, laughter, and slow conversations with trusted friends. This antidote to despondency is, I’ve found,  supremely most potent. In a county like ours, where people of the most disparate backgrounds mix readily, it is easily accessible. Feeling down? Go get out of your room.

My business, Sticky Fingers Delectables, has entered its ”Soup & Stew” season. We had a rip roaring ride this summer, but things are quieter now. You’ll see more of these columns now. Keep in touch, write or stop into the shop (Fridays through Sundays). You don’t need to purchase anything. Just come on by. As the nights lengthen and the shadows grow longer on the golden slopes of Sullivan, we will need each other ever more. Friends, see you soon.