Those Nights are Drawing In...

When we left our garden

It was summer

And now we're back

There's an ominous honking on the lake up the hill as the Canada geese gather to fly south - those that are going, as they don't all go. Perhaps they're having a political convention - probably making a lot more sense than the human equivalent. On the lane it's tapestry time - a massive impressionist painting of asters and goldenrod.

We have a huge number of apples this year - at least we can eat these - well, we can stew them.

Which is more than I can say for these - chucked down by the energetic crabapple tree in front of the house.

They are woody and useless. Though they do make a homely, cidery smell. Evidently one of our furry friends took a bite and was less than impressed.

There was a crescent moon the other morning

followed by a pretty dawn .

And the other way, the sun deceptively colouring the hills

Our wooden neighbour now sports a soccer (sic) ball. It must be the season.

But so far not many leaf colours - just a single reddish tree on the hill

Made up for by some booty from the farmers' market.

 This is the time when everyone's practically giving their produce away. Stalls by the roadside groan with courgettes, aka zucchini and even more with what they call yellow squash. Please, please, take one!

A Peek at Rural France

Taking the "sometimes elsewhere" literally...
The cows wish to preserve their anonymity. We don't want no tourists moo-ing in here.

 It's much too lovely (and no, we're not telling you where it is)

The scenery is a little like western New York's. Though there are some different touches. For one thing, the French know how to make good use of their old junk

The war memorials are better looking.

And on balance, the architecture has the edge.

The real(ly old) thing takes a lot of beating.

If only there were thriving congregations to go with them.  America has the edge there.

This doorway could tell a few stories

The flower arrangements have a touch of Je ne sais quoi

No room to park your pickup here. How can they cope?

The French know a thing or two about dessert.  This is a "cafe gourmand".

That's enough now. Don't want everyone coming here.

Back to western New York next week.

And More Sacket's Harbor

Sacket's Harbor in the morning and back for another look at the battlefield. 

The Brits were replused. Twice. Huh. This was the old well.

The vegetable garden Why would you need a vegetable garden in the middle of a battlefield? If you run out of ammo you can use broccoli.  This shows how dry and parched it was. The bit around the vegetable patch was watered, the rest not.

Nearby one of the old officers' houses

And one of the old officers' wives, who obviously hasn't been eating enough vegetables

Here's Mr Sackett's house, a hospital during the War of 1812, complete with naval cannon. Somewhere along the line, the town lost one of his Ts.

The former Union Hotel, a most harmonious stone building 

Those tables are a little de trop

Wonder what happened to him?

A sweet cottage

With real English-style hollyhocks

Locals have a sense of humour

They certainly do

 Ha Ha. But they never did find out who stole the T

 Nor have I ever found out what night crawlers are

 Brunch restaurant par excellence. It's called Tin Pan Galley.

That's Sacket's Harbor. Just touristy enough to have a chocolate shop. And just un-touristy enough that you can find a parking space on Main Street in August. My sort of place.

Sacket's Harbor

At Sacket's Harbor - which could qualify as the all time perfect little lakeside town, we stayed in a hotel newly converted from the old barracks HQ. Here's the view from the room through the mosquito-netting.

You'll have to take my word for it that it was a most splendid vista over Lake Ontario. Mind you anything would have been better than the place we stayed in last night but this was special. Not many frills and surrounded by derelict and renovating buildings but special. At the back was an old polo field, something you don't expect in this neck of the woods. 

 We headed for a birthday dinner in town and found a place called the Boathouse, right on the water.  

The setting was idyllic

The company interesting

Funny - they have one of those at Buffalo Marina too. And some of these

Begging? Who, me?

The food was on the tasty side

The only problem was this anti-social neighbour making a hideous din with his generator and machine for polishing his dock. Question: did he have to do this at peak dining time so no one could hear themselves think? 

In Blighty we'd slap him with an ASBO. An honorary Flying Turkey Award to you sir!

  Then for a stroll to the old 1812 battlefield to look at the sunset. 

To be continued