In or out of season #phenology

Now that November is firmly ensconced, we can safely trim some branches from oak trees without worrying about exposing the tree to oak wilt transported by sap beetles. Plus, we've long ago developed the habit of spraying pruning sealer as soon as the cutting stops.

dead trees feed some and shelter others

Photo by J. Harrington

In A Sand County Almanac, Aldo Leopold uses November to write about wood lot management and tree diseases:

"Soon after I bought the woods a decade ago, I realized that I had bought almost as many tree diseases as I had trees. My woodlot is riddled by all the ailments wood is heir to. I began to wish that Noah, when he loaded up the Ark, had left the tree diseases behind. But soon it became clear that these same diseases made my woodlot a mighty fortress, unequaled in the whole county."

It's evident to us that nature is an inspiring model for the circular economy we need to adopt. It's been said and written in many different ways that "there is no waste in nature." Old time New Englanders emphasized the need to "waste not, want not," "us it it up, wear it out." At this time of year, many migrant birds that took advantage of Summer's northern abundance travel great distances to find at least survival rations in Winter. Ojibwe lived a circular life, moving to different areas in a seasonal pattern.

November dawn highlights an oak tree

Photo by J. Harrington

It seems it's too easy to become separated, if not entirely divorced, from seasonal patterns. This is particularly true for those who work in offices and do essentially the same activities year round. We used to be most aware of Spring and Autumn because the bright sun, low in the sky at morning and evening commute times, was an annoyance. Winter often brought traffic jams and slippery, snow or ice covered roads. Summer sometimes delivered flooded roadways and traffic tie ups or detours.

As we approach Thanksgiving and then Christmas this year, with Winter Solstice in between, we're going to focus more on the linkage between what's going on inside the house with what's happening outside. For example, juncos are back but robins are gone. Bluejays and woodpeckers show up at the feeders more in these colder seasons. Ponds, lakes and rivers become ice covered. Soups and stews, and chili, will be served more frequently, at least until we've passed Spring Equinox. Much of the human race evolved in places that experience four seasons. What else do we lose if we lose the awareness of what we once depended on?

                     Seasonal

By Maggie Dietz

Summer-long the gulls’ old umbra cry

unraveled ease

but certain waves went by, then by.

The sky shook out the days.

The seabirds’ hunger rose in rings,

flung rock-clams to their shatterings,

raked gullets full, the bone-bills scraped.

High noon: oceans of time escaped.

                             *

All winter we slept benched together,

breakers, sleepdrunk children in a car

not conscious where they go.

We kneaded bread, kept out the weather,

while old suspicions huddled by the door,

mice in the snow.

                             *

In spring, the leaving bloomed—

oak leaf unfurled, a foot, resplendent

vigorous, aching to shake loose

but still dependent.

One morning moongreen loaves

rose into bones that rose to lift

our skin like sleeves,

our time together’s revenant.

                             *

Perennial fall, come cool the cliffs,

bring quiet, sulfur, early dark.

Represent as you must: dusk, dying, ends

and row us into winter’s water:

The body, wind-whipped, forms stiff peaks,

ice settles in the marrow bone.

At the chest, the live stone breaks against the beak,

beak breaks against stone.  

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