"God goes, belonging to every riven thing he's made
sing his being simply by being
the thing it is:
stone and tree and sky,
man who sees and sings and wonders why

God goes. Belonging, to every riven thing he's made,
means a storm of peace.
Think of the atoms inside the stone.
Think of the man who sits alone
trying to will himself into a stillness where

God goes belonging. To every riven thing he's made
there is given one shade
shaped exactly to the thing itself:
under the tree a darker tree;
under the man the only man to see

God goes belonging to every riven thing. He's made
the things that bring him near,
made the mind that makes him go.
A part of what man knows,
apart from what man knows,

God goes belonging to every riven thing he's made."

--Christian Wiman, "Every Riven Thing"

And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden

One of my favorite places in the Princeton area is Terhune Orchards. They have delicious produce year round, but fall is my favorite time because you can go apple picking.

We always end up picking more apples than we need--there's just something really fun about picking apples. Then you end up getting a bushel, and you just don't know what you're going to do with them all. (Although apple pies are always a good option.)

There's something about apple picking that makes me feel like Snow White and Eve. I guess the comparison's not completely off-base. There's always more about Eve, though. And recently, I've been thinking more about her story. Something to do with the way fall feels like a new beginning. Something about the way fall intertwines death and life. Something to do with possibilities and fullness and harvest.

October Montage

Autumn came late this year, so I've been trying to soak it all in now that it's come in all of its chilly, golden glory. This includes running along the toe path, wearing woolen sweaters, praising pumpkins, and trying new soup recipes (tonight we made French Onion Soup and I'm really pleased with how it turned out), and baking pies.

[Fall comes to Princeton]

I'm always impressed with how Princeton just seems made for fall. And the afternoons where I can steal away from the library and read outside? Those are practically perfect in every way.

[Study break]

Also, last week, there was a FALL FEST that I didn't even know was happening until my friend saw me studying in the carrel room and said, "Did you know that there is a FALL FEST going on?" I did not, but I was ready to go find it. FALL FEST ended up being the highlight of my week. Because 1) fall, 2) good friends, and 3) free apple cider donuts.

[FALL FEST with friends]

[Best. Donuts. Ever.]

[A very happy Megan.]

I'd be happy if these days lasted forever, but since I know they won't, I'll try to enjoy them amidst coursework et. al. 

The Hunt for Red October

A couple of weeks ago, Sam and I went up to Vermont for a quick weekend getaway and to see the leaves and welcome autumn in a bit earlier. (Autumn has come slowly to New Jersey this year, so the trip made it feel like we had a bit more autumnal time.)

Although there wasn't a lot of red, there was gold. Golden leaves and golden maple syrup. And perhaps that's just what we needed after all.

[Cemetery where Sam's great-grandparents are buried]

[Campsite. Yes, it was cold.]

[Golden leaves in the Green Mountain State.]

[Who can make fire out of damp logs? This man here.]

[My first-ever covered bridge! They are everywhere in Vermont and they are cool.]

[We also stopped by Joseph Smith's birthplace in Sharon, Vermont.]

[False advertising at a Farmers' Market.]

[Bluegrass singers. It was so idyllic. Also, it was so Vermont.]

[Chicken-on-a-stick. Sam's favorite meal when he was 6.]

[Old bookstore, because Vermont is full of them.]

Melancholy talks is apparently what we're good at

Today, Sam and I gave talks in church today. After the meeting, people in our church congregation were very kind and saying that we had done great, etc., etc.

One of our really good friends came up to us and said, "Those were great talks, but there was kind of, like, this melancholy but hopeful quality about them. It felt very Eastern European, and I'm sure there's a word for that in Russian."

There is. It's "toska"--Тоска--which roughly translates to sadness, melancholy, wistfulness, yearning, etc., etc.

Maybe it's time for some lighter material?