November thaw, anybody?

Yesterday a pileated woodpecker stopped by briefly. We didn't get a close enough look to be sure if it was a he or a she. S/he didn't feed, just landed on a feeder hanger for a bit, looked around, and flew away again.

when not feeding on suet, pileated woodpeckers do this

Photo by J. Harrington

The Jack-O-Lanterns and pumpkins will get hauled up under the pear tree sometime this week. That may help limit visits to the bushes near the house by whitetails looking for snacks. They already help themselves to the pear tree foliage and fruits. (In about 6 months the pear tree will be back in bloom.)

whitetail deer use cover of night to sneak up to the porch and snack

Photo by J. Harrington

The weather forecast for later this week  mentions sunshine, whatever that is, and warmer temperatures. We have a vague recollection of what those were. This year the cold and snow hit us before we managed to blow the leaves and branches off the roof and out of the gutters. It'll be interesting to see if we get enough of a November thaw to finish that chore before the serious Winter weather arrives.

We've been invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the new (to them) home of the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law. They're almost all moved in. That'll be a very, very different experience. It certainly won't be "Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go," although we will be crossing a river and traveling briefly through some woods.

Today we're grateful for the oatmeal-raisin-white chocolate chip cookies the Daughter Person baked for us. They're delicious and just what we need to sweeten our pre-Thanksgiving mood. We're also full of gratitude for having shared all the years the Better Half and we have had, raising the next generation. We can think of no one with whom we'd rather become an empty nester twice over.

Thanksgiving for Two

By Marjorie Saiser

The adults we call our children will not be arriving 

with their children in tow for Thanksgiving. 

We must make our feast ourselves, 

slice our half-ham, indulge, fill our plates, 

potatoes and green beans 

carried to our table near the window.

We are the feast, plenty of years, 

arguments. I’m thinking the whole bundle of it 

rolls out like a white tablecloth. We wanted 

to be good company for one another. 

Little did we know that first picnic 

how this would go. Your hair was thick, 

mine long and easy; we climbed a bluff 

to look over a storybook plain. We chose 

our spot as high as we could, to see

the river and the checkerboard fields. 

What we didn’t see was this day, in 

our pajamas if we want to, 

wrinkled hands strong, wine

in juice glasses, toasting 

whatever’s next, 

the decades of side-by-side, 

our great good luck.

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