to do.

October is proving to be climatically advantageous for me. By which I mean that the month has been mostly wet and cold. If you ever want to make Stu happy, make the world wet and cold.

But October brings other changes besides the weather. October is a dark month. Not as dark as the months that come later, mind you, but dark nonetheless.

The dark of fall is all-encompassing on the brush plain. In towns and cities you have the benefit of streetlights, yard lights, headlights lighting up the world around you. Out here you get what light you can from the moon and stars.

By no means am I complaining. I am truly one of the luckiest people in Canada for the night time views I enjoy.

But the dark isolates. Falls forces the deer and moose out onto the roads. Snow can come and ice up the roads anytime. Suddenly an evening trip to town becomes hazardous and markedly less appealing.

The dark reveals just how far we live from civilization - isolation guarantees northern lights and stars but leaves you utterly, miserably alone.

It's an odd feeling, to be alone. When I lived in Red Deer and Edmonton I was acutely aware that there were people next door, downstairs, around the corner. There was always somebody around.

When I got back to the farm I realized that, at any given time, the next nearest person could be several miles away.

The farm never seemed as lonely as those years in town did. In town I was always a bit of an outsider. But when I came back the distance between myself and the friends I made seemed awfully far. It only seems longer through time.

And so, dear reader, in hopes of simplifying life, eliminating distance, etc, etc. I reveal to you my list of goals for the coming months:

1. Dispose of surplus crap. No one requires four pairs of ripped jeans and a t-shirt from space camp;

2. Actually visit friends: clever text messages do not cut it;

3. Winterize the house: it's easier to persuade company to visit a house sans interior snowbanks;

4. Train the goats to not wander into the house. Unnecessary to explain;

5. Apologize to sheep for shearing them myself: I can't take their scornful looks much longer;

6. Try to figure out why I still have what appears to be a large, mechanical calculator in my spare bedroom;

7. Stop muttering under breath. Adopt zen-like appearance as alternative.

It's a short list, but it's somewhere to start.

Happy Wednesday from Alberta's brush plain.