Some days, I have to remind myself of where I am in life. I still think of myself as recently retired. In June, it was five years since I retired and began withdrawing from my pension. Although I worked part-time for two years, that job was an interim position and felt to me like a retirement activity. Last month, we observed the fourth anniversary of living in our house here in Birch Bay. Four years is a significant milestone. We were college students for four years. We were graduate students for four years. When I give a quick overview of my life, I always mention that we lived in Chicago. It is true, but our actual residency in Chicago was two sets of living there for 9 months each, followed by 3 months in Montana, then 21 months in Chicago. During our Chicago years, we lived in five different apartments. We were not exactly settled. But we have lived in this house year-round for four whole years now. It seems to have gone by more quickly than our time in Chicago.

Still, we are newcomers here. We are often more struck by how different this place is from other places we have lived than by how typical or unusual any individual season might be. All of the seasons still feel strange for us.

We picked the green tomatoes this week. It was time. We haven’t had a killing frost yet, but the days are so short that the tomatoes have quit ripening on the vine. And it is time to dig up our dahlias and pack the tubers in peat moss for the winter. After all, it is November. When we lived in South Dakota, we started our fall chores in early September most years.

The locals, however, say this was an unusual year. It remained colder than average through June, and July brought a few chilly nights, though nothing near freezing. Our tomato plants took a long time to start producing fruit. And I remember worrying that I wouldn’t have enough dahlias during the early summer. Those plants, however, did make a lot once they got going. I think it was our best year ever for dahlias, and our grape tomatoes were really prolific. We also got a fair amount of Roma, cherry, and slicing tomatoes despite a slug battle early in the season.

The days are short. We are only getting 9 1/2 hours of daylight. Yesterday afternoon, we donned our reflective vests and went for our walk in the dark before dinnertime. We notice the difference living on the 49th parallel.

The weather and the garden are only part of the adjustments to being retired; however, I am still adjusting to other aspects of retirement. Not going to work isn’t a challenge. I never minded going to work. I loved the work that I did. However, I have no problem filling up my days. I go to bed with unfinished tasks every night, just as I did when I was working full-time. I even have a list of people I want to visit, just like I did when I was working. I am not preparing worship or preaching regularly, but I am writing as much as I did when I was doing all of that preparation.

The real challenge of retirement is passing the mantle of leadership to a new generation. In our denomination, we have a carefully crafted ethical code for retired pastors. It is designed to allow new pastors to form deep bonds with the congregations we served once we have moved on from those calls. The general focus of the code is that once retired, a pastor is not to provide pastoral services to a congregation. Exceptions are made for family weddings and baptisms, but other pastoral duties are to be left behind.

The problem for me is that being a pastor was a deep part of my being as much as it was a list of tasks. When I hear of a health crisis or a loss, my instinctual response is to make a call. I knew that about myself, and it was a factor in our decision to move far away from the congregation we were serving upon retirement. By doing so, we avoided having members call us to officiate at funerals or weddings. It didn’t work perfectly; I still got a few invitations in the early years of retirement with people offering to pay for trips. However, it was relatively easy to turn down those invitations. I could explain that my role had shifted and refer the callers to their pastor.

Being retired and having moved away, however, doesn’t change the fact that I still love the people that I served. When I hear about significant events in their lives, my heart goes out to them. Fortunately, there is no prohibition on praying. My prayers are filled with images of those I used to serve as pastor. It isn’t just the case with the people of our South Dakota church. Our post-retirement interim position was not a pastoral leadership role. We served as ministers of faith formation, planning, and leading educational programs. Still, when events happened in he lives of those we served, we made calls, including hospital visits and pastoral care.

In addition to being pastors, however, we are also members of a congregation. We have formed friendships within the congregation. Several months ago, one of our friends in this church suffered a stroke. It seemed natural for us to make regular visits to him in the rehabilitation center, and it seems natural for us to continue visiting him now that he has returned home. I don’t want to take our pastor's place or assume her role. I want to be a natural friend. And, as a friend, I pray. I usually say a prayer out loud when we are visiting. It seems natural, and I know it is appreciated.

The good thing about praying is that I can do it without interfering. I can pray for others while I’m processing green tomatoes or digging dahlias this week.