​One morning this last week, as I drove to Craig, I noticed how the hillsides and pastures had greened up following the few days of off and on rain that had fallen in the area. Here at Pipi’s Pasture the lawns had turned an emerald green color — even the dry spots. However, now the warmer temperatures and, especially the wind, have the landscape looking more fall-like. The mornings are cooler, too, but after all it’s now September.

​I’m remembering this time of year — my favorite time — when I was growing up on the ranch. When the first of September rolled around, the Moffat County Fair was a memory. My sister Charlotte (Allum) and I had sold our 4-H steers, we had brought our show heifers home and turned them out onto pasture, and we cleaned out our showbox, putting halters, curry combs, brushes, clippers and ribbons away.

​Dad was mowing the second cutting hay and would soon be buttoning up the stackyards in preparation for bringing the cattle home from summer pasture. He was thinking about the fall farming he would do when the cattle were settled. 

​Since the summer hired men had moved on, Mom sometimes helped Dad finish putting up the last of the hay, but mostly she was canning up a storm. She used up all the last produce in the garden, such as peas, beans, carrots and corn, to can jars of mixed vegetables. The apples from our orchard (and from Grandpa’s orchard at Deer Creek) were turned into pie apples and applesauce. The bruised apples became apple butter and juice.

​We had a few garden tomatoes, but the altitude was just too high to raise as many as needed so each year one of our uncles (or even our family) took orders and drove a pickup truck to Palisade to purchase bushels of tomatoes, peaches, pears, cucumbers, peppers and even grapes. Our enclosed front porch was lined with bushel baskets of produce, and Mom’s canning job intensified.

​I can still see Mom as she checked out the baskets each morning. She picked out tomatoes, peaches and pears that were turning overly-ripe. She worked these up that very day. During the day the kitchen was hot, the counters were sticky and the house smelled wonderful.

​School started about this time, too, and my sister and I walked home each afternoon wondering what snack we would enjoy — hot peach halves, a glass of hot tomato juice or freshly-baked bread covered with apple butter. 

​After we changed our clothes, so we could wear our school outfits another day, we hunted up the milk cow to be brought in for grain and milking. Usually the old cow, wise to the time of day, had taken off into the “40” and we had to bring her home. These were delightful walks, across the creek that was a trickle this time of year and over cattle trails that were lined with chokecherry, service berry and oak trees. The days of the unofficial end of summer were delightful, indeed.