Seasonal Rituals

We’re coming up on two years in our Bear Lake home, which means we’re starting to have traditions instead of just doing things for the second time and hoping we remember how.

There are still plenty of new places to explore. But as committed homebodies, we’ve also developed an appreciation for the familiar: the view, the routines, the seasonal tasks that announce a change in the weather more reliably than whatever the weather app is currently making up.

Recently, we took our final boat ride of the year and sent Pompatus off to winter storage. Naturally, the lake then served up some spectacular October boating weather. Apparently, putting the boat away is our contribution to extending summer for everyone else.

There was a little regret. There was also a note to ourselves about next year’s timing. This is how we acquire local knowledge: one mildly expensive scheduling error at a time.

Meanwhile, the Box Elder Infestation of 2026 continues to occupy far too much of my attention and several surfaces that I would prefer to keep bug-free.

So. Many. Bugs.

I’m hoping for some serious winter weather to reduce next year’s returning cast. I don’t know whether that’s sound entomology, but it’s a satisfying thing to think while holding bug spray. Which remains at the ready.

Bob cleared the last tomatoes and peppers from the planter boxes. I cleaned up the deck pots and transplanted the rosemary into what I’m calling “next year’s herb garden.” A confident name for a patch of ground whose future depends on both the rosemary’s commitment to being evergreen and my commitment to digging, planting, and weeding.

We’ll see which of us folds first.

The Cubs also completed their seasonal duties by making an early exit from the playoffs. We reserve flying the “W” flag for playoff wins, so it never even got an outing. Very little wear and tear on that particular piece of equipment.

“Wait ’til next year!”

At least that ritual requires no cleanup.

The hummingbird feeders have been washed and stored away. By my estimate, we went through a ten-pound bag of sugar this year. That’s a respectable grocery allocation for creatures who weigh practically nothing and still manage to act as though the service could be faster.

I’ll be ready when they return in the spring. Once you’ve established yourself as a reliable source of sugar water, apparently you have obligations.

The outdoor furniture is staying put a little longer. There are still calm, sunny afternoons and clear, starry nights to be had, and you need somewhere to sit while appreciating them. Eventually, we’ll wrestle everything under the enormous, unwieldy tarp—a seasonal ritual best approached with patience and a limited audience.

As I write this, a big, wet storm is brewing, so we’re getting the fireplace ready. Partly for warmth and comfort. Partly because once outdoor activities become less appealing, tending a fire gives us something to do besides checking whether outdoor activities have become appealing again.

Cash, meanwhile, has been looking forward to cold weather and snow for a while. Today’s assignment is shopping for Cash-sized boots. Some members of the household are entering winter with considerably more enthusiasm than others. We’ll be ready when the weather is.

There’s also the indoor list: new recipes to try, old projects to finish, favorite hobbies at which we might conceivably improve. All those things we’ve been saving for when we have more time indoors are about to lose their most useful excuse.

Two years in, we’re getting a little better at the seasonal handoff. We know what needs cleaning, what needs storing, and what we put away too soon.

Next year, the boat stays out longer. The rosemary gets a fair chance. The Cubs get another opportunity.

The bugs can make other arrangements.