At harvest time it is easy for me to romanticize farming. During the fall season farm fields look orderly and serene and the bounty thereupon looks solid and dependable and ripe for the picking. As the corn dries under the warm autumn sun, the yield appears restful in its abundance and almost inevitable.

Such was the look to behold as we drove up the Carrollton Road Sunday afternoon. Over on 900 West the noise of a combine at work broke the prevailing silence as an abundance of yellow corn rushed to fill the adjacent semi trailer. The farmer in charge of the operation was nowhere to be seen. The lack of seeing someone tending to this harvest work made the work seem all the more smooth, seamless, effortless.

Of course I know that harvest means hard work and long hours. But the visual cues of autumn, restful colors, the warming sun, the chill in the air as mid afternoon drifts toward evening, it all suggests otherwise.

I don’t know where leaf burning is legal these days, but plenty of folks were raking and burning leaves Sunday afternoon. The smell in the air took me back to childhood days when my parents, my sister and I would all tackle the bushels of leaves that fell around our house. From this repeated task the texture of a fallen oak leaf is stamped in my memory along with its hue and smell and design. For a moment, this memory of the simple ritual of being together raking leaves seems a harvest of a different sort. It is a reminder to me to appreciate the common and familiar moment shared.

The moon has been doing more than its share in hailing the harvest of late. This morning about 4 a.m. it glowed in its full glory - craters visible, a seemingly perfect circle suspended in the sky. When the moon is particularly lovely or entertaining, I use that event as an excuse to call each of our three grown children. I often get their voice mail when I call. Half the time they don’t call back. That doesn’t matter. I love the excuse to call and point out the shared wonder of the moon and the fact that, even apart, we are bathed in light from this fascinating reflective orb. We are all connected by both the ordinary and the marvelous and it is a comfort to me to acknowledge it.

So warm the apple cider and cut me a piece of pumpkin pie. The harvest is in the air and in plain view all about. And as I think about it, perhaps, too, it is time to take out the electric blanket. Celebrating the chill in the air, well, that only goes so far.

Perks

One marvel of the Internet is how it connects otherwise unconnected folks around common interests and ideas.

Sometime I’ll write something in this column and a phrase or a word pops up on someone’s computer screen far away from Carroll County. Then I’ll get a call or an email with some observation or complaint. Occasionally something in the mail follows.

Some weeks back I complained that by mid-afternoon my undershirts have crept north enough or my waist to immobilize me. Well, I’m here to tell you - no more. Problem solved.

The folks at ribbedtee.com sent me their undershirts to try out. These 100% cotton shirts are not your ordinary undershirts. Their vertical ribbing and a little extra length combine to do the job that other shirts fail to do. I’m now still neat and “tucked in” at 3 p.m.

Thank you ribbetee. My fashion conscious co-workers thank you too!