September is drawing to a close and October is on our doorstep. It doesn’t quite feel real: time seems to be slipping by every time I blink. We still have warm days, but now they’re interspersed with wind and grey skies and hints of rain.

Michael and I visited Apple Hill with my parents. We have an old tradition of visiting Larsen’s Apple Barn for lunch and dessert and perusing their museum before picking up our bushels of apples. I remember coming here with my siblings, and seeing pictures of them here while I was away at college. It was bittersweet sending them photos of Michael playing where we used to, so they could reminisce too.

I got a half bushel of honeycrisp apples to make apple butter and hope to can them this weekend, if Michael doesn’t eat them all first. He’s decided apples are one of his new favorite foods.

I’ve been trying to do more intentional baking and kitchen work with Michael. We had so much fun making cookies the other day: he loved cracking the eggs and pouring ingredients into the mixer. His favorite part was eating the cookie dough (one of the perks of having our own eggs). Waiting for them to come out of the oven was the hardest part.

Jake has been taking Michael on outdoor explorations after dinner while I rest or clean up. They play on the play set: Michael has gotten quite skilled at climbing rope ladders and going down the slide.

He also loves smelling every flower he comes across, and helping Jake or my dad feed the dogs. He’s learned the entire routine: from telling the dogs firmly to “sit!”, filling the bowls, to telling them to “wait!” before saying “okay!”. When he’s stalling bedtime, he’ll pretend he’s feeding the dogs and say “Bandit, Cosmo, Max, come here SIT!” over and over again.

I cast on another knitting project (despite having a few languishing works in progress). After making two sweaters last year, I had hoped to knit a sweater every year to add to my me-made wardrobe. So last week I started the Weekender Sweater by Andrea Mowry (my favorite knitwear designer). It’s large and boxy and cozy, which is perfect for my growing pregnant body.

I also chose a color outside my normal palette: a moody heathered mauve. I look forward to wearing it this winter.

I did manage to finish my 3 ply spin. It made more yarn than I was expecting: I’m guessing around 500 yards. I’ll measure it and wind it into a skein and weigh it and we’ll see what the final specs are. I’m hoping to make some baby knits out of it.

Being pregnant makes my love of handmade garments a bit more complicated. It’s made me reflect on change over the past few weeks: the change in seasons, the change in my body as I nourish this baby, the change in us all as we grow and age.

I recently went down a rabbit hole of looking at my old stories and posts on Instagram. It’s a sweet trip down memory lane to see the way I used to bake and cook and take so many pictures. I loved looking back at our first tiny apartment by the sea, and my joy in teaching and mentoring high school students, and the beautiful church community that welcomed us as newlyweds. Even navigating the pandemic, while unprecedentedly difficult, also had its golden moments: candlelit living room dates, hikes, cooking experiments; bringing home our first pet.

I am different than I was those few years ago. I still take as many pictures, though I post fewer of them. I bake less, but I make more. I write less, but I still feel fulfilled in my daily labor, even if it means putting some of my childhood dreams on hold for this season of life.

Time has changed me, like water shapes stone. I feel the same, but I look back and realize I can see where I’ve grown wiser, gentler, and stronger. It’s a strange feeling. I wonder how it will change or grow as I continue to get older.

Maybe it’s indulgent: this post feels a little indulgent to me as I sit and reminisce. But this meditation on change has reminded me that cataloguing the quiet joys in life is worthwhile.

And this is why I continue to write these posts and take the pictures. Even though there is a deluge of information on the Internet, even though everything urges you to monetize and promote and be competitive: in the end, none of that matters. I write so I can look back at the beauty that I may have otherwise forgotten. I write so I can see the formation of the person I am becoming. And I write to share these golden moments and musings with whomever wants to sit beside me as I chronicle.

For me, some months are associated with colors. I’m not sure why: some months I don’t have any associated hue in my mind’s eye. But September has always been golden. The color of the air before sunset, of calendula blossoms, of flowing honey; of weathered wedding rings.

Pregnancy illness has abated a little bit, and I’m so grateful. I’ve been challenging myself to look for the gold in September as it marches on.

And there are so many golden moments. Michael has been enjoying the cooler weather (cooler = not high 90s) and plays outside every chance he gets. If water’s involved, good luck getting him to focus on anything else.

He’s grown into such a little boy this month especially. He speaks in full sentences, and has a tendency to talk about himself in the third person. “Michael’s jumping!” “Michael go outside now?” And so on.

He loves to conduct to music (just like Jake does at church). His current favorite songs are (still) Wheels on the Bus, Old MacDonald, and Tractor Tractor from Slugs & Bugs. He often sings them to himself when we’re in the car, or when he’s trying to fight sleep.

His tender heart and bright curiosity melts my heart daily. He loves kissing icons at church, and when we’re home he is often helping his babydoll kiss our icons.

Making is another golden place for me. For those of you interested in my crafting endeavors, spinning has still been my main pastime. I’m making my first 3ply yarn (three singles all twisted together to make the yarn, instead of only two). It’s soft and pastel and I really enjoy the way it’s turning out. I hope to post a picture of the final product soon.

Jake humored me (like the amazing husband he is) and got some shots of my hands while spinning. I love the simple magic of spinning by hand.

I’ve also learned how to spin on a Turkish drop spindle I purchased from Galina at Carry Cherry. It has these adorable hand-painted bee motifs on it, and it’s now one of my prize possessions.

Speaking of bees, we had a very small honey harvest earlier this month with some family friends helping us. Our new hives weren’t established enough to produce extra honey, so it was a humble harvest.

Small as it was, the process of harvesting honey is always magical. My dad uses a heated knife to uncap the honey and extra wax (which we collect for later). Once the frames are uncapped, we put them in the centrifuge and spin them until the honey collects in the bottom and we can strain it into jars.

It’s fascinating to see how honey’s appearance changes by hive and by season. Some honey is dark golden, like sunlight through murky water. We think those bees mostly harvested from star thistles and other hearty weeds and flowers. We’ve also had pale honey that tasted almost minty — we think perhaps it had eucalyptus in it.

Bees are probably my favorite of all God’s creatures. I could watch them move to and fro from their hives all day. Their lives are so beautiful and ornate, with how they communicate through dancing and flit from flower to flower with pollen clinging to their legs.

I’ve always been moved by this story told by St Paisios of Mount Athos.

Some people tell me that they are scandalized because they see many things wrong in the Church. I tell them that if you ask a fly, “Are there any flowers in this area?” it will say, “I don’t know about flowers, but over there in that heap of rubbish you can find all the filth you want.” And it will go on to list all the unclean things it has been to.

Now, if you ask a honeybee, “Have you seen any unclean things in this area?” it will reply, “Unclean things? No, I have not seen any; the place here is full of the most fragrant flowers.” And it will go on to name all the flowers of the garden or the meadow.

You see, the fly only knows where the unclean things are, while the honeybee knows where the beautiful iris or hyacinth is.

As I have come to understand, some people resemble the honeybee and some resemble the fly. Those who resemble the fly seek to find evil in every circumstance and are preoccupied with it; they see no good anywhere. But those who resemble the honeybee only see the good in everything they see.

+St. Paisios of Mt. Athos, “Good and Evil Thoughts,” Spiritual Counsels III: Spiritual Struggle

If you’re interested in learning more about St Paisios, Kh. Destinie has a lovely post about him here, with many resources.

This story is often summed up in the simple phrase, Be the Bee. I strive to be the Bee in my own life, even though it’s so easy to be weighed down by the brokenness of sin that surrounds us.

Being the Bee doesn’t mean we turn a blind eye to evil and injustice, doing nothing to rectify it. Being the Bee means asking ourselves, where does our mind dwell? Where do we nourish ourselves? Even as we deal with the refuse and waste of sin in the world, can we still see the flowers? Do we still tend to them?

This has been a challenge for me lately, with pregnancy illness and fatigue making me feel like a shell of a person. Maybe one day I’ll be holy enough to focus on the flowers even when I’m sick and grumpy and miserable. Right now, I am nowhere near that holy. But by the grace of God I’m feeling better, and it’s easier for me to focus on the flowers instead of the rubbish.

I hope your September also has golden moments, and even if you’re dealing with the refuse and brokenness of this sinful world, you’re still able to see the flowers.