More not-gardening.

The wreckage of Halloween always marks the slide toward winter.

But as much as I hate winter, I do like the crunchy fall leaves. My younger son, who looks for opportunities to earn a little pocket money for spending time with his girlfriend, came over to rake. And eat his weight in food. This past weekend, I fed him dinner on Friday night, a big breakfast Saturday, and then when he returned Sunday, lunch and dinner again. I'm a doting mom, I can't help it.

I also spent a little time on Sunday chatting with my retired-cop next door neighbor, who has gotten it into his head that I'm interested in guns. What that means is every time he buys or trades for a new one - and that's frequently - he calls me over to see it. Sunday, I held the Smith and Wesson 44 Magnum in my hand and could think of absolutely nothing intelligent to say about it. So I offered up, "Um... that's heavy." I haven't even seen "Dirty Harry" so I didn't know the significance. Or care. But he's affable and teases me about my obsessive gardening, and I enjoy having him as a neighbor. (A friend said, "If there's trouble - run over to his house.") My neighbor also asked me why I had coneflowers blooming, narrowed his eyes and said something about people moving in from the next county "with their strange flowers." And then smiled broadly.

I continue to be happy with my decision to buy this particular house. I stand sometimes on my back deck and look at the trees on the hills off in the distance and feel I could probably live here, as my neighbor says, "until they carry me out."