Summer is over at Cantly Farm.

I’ve packed away all of my cute little summer dresses, we’ve taken the glass milk jugs back to the dairy farm down the road and we’ve turned in all of our crushed Pabst Blue Ribbon cans to the recycling place. I took care of my ticket from the fine town of Russellville, Kentucky.

We’re picking up all the The Wall Street Journals that have littered and accumulated on the farmhouse floor all summer long. The last of the laundry is hanging on the line, blowing in the cool breeze. I can finally wear pants and long sleeves again and it’s becoming more and more tempting every night to shut the windows as we huddle under blankets to keep warm.

The abundant ‘maters of July are waning. The drying tobacco is turning from brown to green. The corn, which shriveled to a dead golden-gray color due to a lack of summer rain is being mowed down by the combines this week. How there is a crop to dump in the 18-wheelers parked on the roadsides by the fields is beyond me.

The stacks of records flung about all over the house and sticky with spilled beer are being returned to their sleeves. The statue of Buddha died on my birthday, smashed by Hardy in a drunken stagger. And we’ve just had our last 1.29 hamburger Tuesday at the Truck Stop. We’re cooking up the last of the venison steaks for tonight’s supper. And we’re heading out on a road trip starting tomorrow.

We’ve been a small part of the life, love and drama of some of the fine people of Logan County, Kentucky and Robertson County, Tennessee all summer. We’ve been taken in, we’ve laughed with the locals and swapped stories. We’ve heard of some local people passing away, some have changed jobs and others have stayed just the same. I’ve got so many stories that it just didn’t seem right to publish them on a mere blog.

Cats and kittens, we’re outta here on September 22, the first official day of autumn. Thanks for all the good times and memories of a unique little pocket of time and place.