Of cranes and chrysanthemums!

No Northern Lights were visible last night through the overcast. The cloud cover has been scattering light to heavy showers much of the day. Those showers, in turn, have thwarted our plans to get more yard work done. A little poking about on the internets did provide a rationale for our recently discovered strategy of mulching leaves, rather than raking them, except where we want to eliminate over-Wintering cover for field and deer mice. We'll see if we can gradually wean ourselves from an addiction to lawn neatness. If we have enough fallen leaves, the mulch may also help limit buckthorn establishment, or, maybe not. We'll see. Meanwhile, we're enjoying learning holistic and organic tactics to take care of what used to be just pain-in-the-butt chores.

sandhill cranes flying in clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

Back to our persistent cloud cover, it has had a saving grace, they provided a veil between those of us on the ground and the sandhill cranes we heard calling in flight while dog-walking. At least we think they were sandhill cranes, On occasion we've noticed there can be a confusing, at least to us, similarity between some crane calls and some raven calls. Since we couldn't see the birds today, we're claiming sandhill cranes and no one can dispute us. Ever since we first read Aldo Leopold's Marshland Elegy, we've become increasingly enamored of sandhill cranes. We've been most fortunate to be able to watch their increasing numbers in our neighborhood over the years we've lived here.

mums the word along the drive

Photo by J. Harrington

The half-a-dozen pots for the annual chrysanthemum planting are now in hand. We had been contemplating raking the area where we usually plant them but instead we'll just kick the leaves away from where each pot goes, dig a hole, and plant the mums (see 1st paragraph in today's posting). Less work, more pleasure. Meanwhile, we're still looking for a source for New England aster plants.

In honor of the beginning of Autumn, and the 59℉ midday temperatures, we're wearing a flannel shirt for the first time this season. We're also starting to look forward to the return of soup, stew, chowder and chili season.

Autumn

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

No melancholy days are these!
     Not where the maple changing stands,
Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,
            Nor in the bands

Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,
     Scarlet and yellow, green and brown,
Falling, or swinging on their stalks,
            Is Sorrow’s crown.

The sparkling fields of dewy grass,
     Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers,
Starred asters and the goldenrod,
            Date Autumn’s hours.

The shining banks of snowy clouds,
     Steadfast in the aerial blue,
The silent, shimmering, silver sea,
            To Joy are true.

My spirit in this happy air
     Can thus embrace the dying year,
And with it wrap me in a shroud
            As bright and clear!

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