early November #phenology

A hundred yards or two North of our property there's a small pond. Actually, it's not even big enough to be called a pond but it's bigger and more permanent than a puddle. Maybe it's a pondle? Anyhow, this morning we noticed that the skim ice covering on it is almost complete. Last month our bird bath and the wet spot in the back yard developed skim ice a couple of times. This month Winter's icy fingers are grasping deeper in our water bodies, even those the size of a pondle. We found a basic explanation of what happens under the ice cover on a lake at the Ausable River Association's web site. This year's ice in reports haven't started yet.

which arrives first, ice or snow?

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow is the opening of local firearms deer season. One of the nearby farmers was harvesting corn last night so that leaves one or two fewer fields for the local herds to hide in. Unless we get a big surprise, tracking snow isn't  going to cover any local ground. To be on the safe side, we'll have to remember to wear blaze orange while doing outside chores for the next week or so. We have never really had the patience to be a good deer hunter, although we can sit in a duck boat or blind for hours. Back in the times we actively hunted waterfowl, we used to fuss about the need to wear blaze orange on the way to and from a duck blind. We always figured it would make more sense to prohibit deer hunting within 500 yards or so of water bodies.

This week the dark-eyed juncos returned, adding another sign of Winter's approach. The back yard brush pile is rebuilt, which should please runny babbit and maybe some other local folks. There seem to be more blue jays than usual this Autumn, but that's as much a perception as anything we can document. So far we've seen white-breasted nuthatches, chickadees and a downy woodpecker at the suet feeders.

blue jays' color will be enhanced by a snowy background

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, we're grateful for some unexpected sunshine and its warmth; for grasshoppers warming themselves on the road this week, reminding us that Summer can return; and for the color added to our lives by bluejays and a metallic green beetle we watched stumble along the road today while we walked one of the dogs.

November

Helen Hunt Jackson

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet’s day of pain?

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