Out of phase, out of season #phenology

Yesterday we tied the 90℉ local record high temperature for September 23. Today is likely to meet or exceed the record high temp for the day. While enjoying cups of cappuccino at Coffee Talk, the Better Half and I were inundated with dry, falling leaves as we sat and sipped on the back patio. The scenic drive to and from gave us an opportunity to check on the status of local crops and the leaf colors.

Winterberries in fruit

Photo by J. Harrington

Except for those that have browned from lack of moisture and heat stress, there's some, but not really much, leaf color showing. Soy beans are maturing but not there yet. Most of the corn is mostly mature. In fact, today we saw our first of the year harvested cornfield. We also saw clusters of intensely purple asters along several roadsides plus a few pale lavender hosta flowers by Coffee Talk's patio, and more asters, shocking pink(?) in front. That's about it for local wildflowers. Local winterberries are already in fruit.

out-of-season lilac bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Now, all of the preceding seems to generally fit with the seasonal patterns we're familiar with, except of the heat and humidity, but, the Better Half alerted us to something that seems highly unseasonal. We've always associated lilac blooms with mid-May and sleepy grammar school classrooms, until today. We have, in front of the house, a lilac that's just come into bloom. We're not going to overreact and cut down a devil-possessed plant or anything like that, but we do want to note that the list of unusual to weird things keeps getting longer the more we experience climate change - global warming. We about ready to watch for a whole flock of black swans fly overhead.

                     Pass It On, III

By Rachel Hadas

Lilacs look neon in fading light.

Death makes life shine:

a tiredness, a flickering between

ages, which is each age;

a piling up to tottering

and falling back to sand.

So much for cycle. The front door lock

sticks each fall when we’re first back.

We are advised to oil it.

Olive oil in the keyhole:

again the old key turns.

Once again to meander

along the edge of water,

whether tideless sea or tidal river,

pushing the stroller, dreaming

oil in the lock; the key

dipped in lubricity

the boychild’s shining skin

me tired to the bone

Already summer’s over.

Goodbye, lilacs. Your

neon is past; you’ll bloom again

next spring. Past an age

each season feels like an end of summer

but still the tale’s to tell

over and over for those

lolling and snoozing in the stroller,

preparing to come after.

Tall house standing on its high green hill—

children, do you remember?

Lawns slant down to a stream.

Under a striped tent

a buffet’s spread in the sun.

Ideas of the eternal,

once molten, harden; cool.

Oil, oil in the lock.

The old key turns.

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