Happy Halloween! 🎃 👻 & Blessed Samhain! 🔥

We've lived in our house for something like a quarter century. In that time, we've not had a single child ring the bell and say "Trick or Treat!" Will tonight be the first? Perhaps not, since last Friday, several local community Main Streets held Trick or Treat events. That may, or may not, help explain a dearth of urchins ringing bells over the years. Another contributor may be the distances between houses in rural areas like ours, and the long driveways between the road and the doorbell in many places. Never mind the spirits from the other worlds wandering about.

ghouls? goblins? ghosts" witches?

Photo by J. Harrington

Halloween, All Saints Day and All Souls Day are a period when many remember those relatives and friends who have passed on, crossed over, are no longer with us. I remember the phrase from more than one wake I attended, or eulogy I heard as a youth: "He (or She) was too good for this world." It was usually spoken by one of my relatives "of Irish descent," those of a second, third, or fourth generation rather than an original emigrant from "the old country."

"Many people lit bonfires to keep the evil spirits at bay."

Photo by J. Harrington

After living the better half of my life in the Midwest, far from my place of origin, I find I'm getting more and more interested in learning about the prior place of origin of many of my ancestors who came from Celtic stock. They might have remembered these days as the time to celebrate Samhain, which marks the beginning of the darker half of the year. (Until recently, I've always though of the year as being comprised of four seasons rather than two half.) I suspect living in a rural area, closer to and more aware of nature throughout the year, watching sun rise through the East windows and sun set through the West, has lead to the growth of my interest in trees, Druidry and respect for the powers of nature. In fact, as we experience, more and more, the effects of the climate we have broken, I wonder if more and more "modern people" will find themselves drawn to Druidry and paganism. Have you read Richard Powers' The Overstory?

St. Swithin's Chair

ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR.


ON Hallowmas Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest,
Ever beware that your couch be bless'd;
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead,
Sing the Ave, and say the Creed.

For on Hallowmas Eve the Night-Hag will ride,
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side,
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud,
Sailing through moonshine, or swathed in the cloud.

The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair,
The dew of the night had damp'd her hair ;
Her cheek was pale....but resolved and high
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye-
She muttered the spell of St. Swithin bold,
When his naked foot traced the midnight wold,
When he stopt the Hag as she rode the night,
And bade her descend, and her promise plight.

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair,
When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air,
Questions three, when he speaks the spell,
He may ask, and she must tell.

The Baron has been with King Robert his liege,
These three long years, in battle and siege ;
News there are none of his weal or his wo,
And fain the Lady his fate would know.

She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ?
Or is it that sound, between laughter and scream,
The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ?

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low,
And the roaring torrent has ceased to flow;
The calm was more dreadful than raging storm,
When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! 

From "Waverly Poetry: being the poems scattered through the Waverly novels" by Sir Walter Scott.
Happy Halloween!

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Before there was Halloween, the Celts celebrated Samhain

This morning we brought the tractor home from the tractor doctor's. The "owies" in the wiring harness made by the mean mouse are fixed. Since tomorrow is Halloween, we'll consider the treat to be getting the tractor back in time to get some work done before we're buried in snow. The trick was the size of the bill to get the equivalent of stitches in the wiring harness. At least now some of this year's leaves have been mower-mulched and we can haul the ones in the drive to our compost heap. Our township, for reasons unknown, decided to not participate in the local government cooperative compost site so residents are on their own. Maybe leaf burning is legal?

jack-o'-lanterns all lit up

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday's observations about ponds icing up seems to have been prescient. Even some larger ponds are now ice covered. That will move more and more of the waterfowl in the area onto the larger water bodies that are still all open water. There's a recently harvested cornfield between the house and the tractor doctor's that was literally full of Canada geese. We had only a brief glance at them since we were watching traffic, but estimate there were easily several hundred geese in the field. That pleased us no end. We've long been fans of Canada geese (they're not Canadian geese unless they have a passport). They're good looking, faithful, fierce defenders of their young, all in all full of characteristics we wish more humans exhibited.

a fire to celebrate Samhain

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow is the last day of October, Halloween or All Hallows Eve. It's also Samhain, "...the division of the year between the lighter half (summer) and the darker half (winter). At Samhain the division between this world and the otherworld was at its thinnest, allowing spirits to pass through." We suspect that the water in our hoses has frozen, a source of concern should we torch our brush pile tomorrow night. We'll check tomorrow but are not hopeful. Maybe we'll have to wait until next Spring and have a Beltane fire or, a smaller fire in our fir pit tomorrow AND a Beltane fire next Spring.

Samhain

By Annie Finch

(The Celtic Halloween)

In the season leaves should love,

since it gives them leave to move

through the wind, towards the ground

they were watching while they hung,

legend says there is a seam

stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil

earth from the sky in one last pale

wave, as autumn dies to bring

winter back, and then the spring,

we who die ourselves can peel

back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.

Tonight at last I feel it shake.

I feel the nights stretching away

thousands long behind the days

till they reach the darkness where

all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch

move with me, and when I brush

my own mind across another,

I am with my mother's mother.

Sure as footsteps in my waiting

self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,

intimate, a waiting bounty.

"Carry me." She leaves this trail

through a shudder of the veil,

and leaves, like amber where she stays,

a gift for her perpetual gaze.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Is anything "normal" in late October?

A brief while ago, I checked the very, very, small pond behind the house. It was still covered with a thin coating of skim ice. As I drove around doing errands this morning, I noticed ice reaching out from the shores of larger ponds and the banks of slow-moving creeks. It's beginning to feel more like November than October, but that's not unreasonable, since the month changeover is only a couple of days away.

Photo by J. Harrington

Early this morning, before I left on the errands excursion, i was heartened to see a flock of five Tom turkeys cross the back yard, walk up the hill and disappear into the oak woods. It's been a long time since we've seen turkeys, or whitetails, on the property and that's made for an unusually bleak Summer and Autumn.

Photo by J. Harrington

Something: deer?, rabbit? raccoon?, has attacked one of the Better Half's pumpkin carvings. The two ravens have been torn from their perch. The perch is missing also. Based on prior years' experience, I strongly suspect deer nibblers, but prior years haven't had a rabbit living under the front stoop as we've had this year. Of course, at this time of year, when the boundaries between worlds are thinnest, the night-time culprit might have been a hungry ghost or goblin. We'll probably never know. When the deer were eating the full, uncarved pumpkins, the teeth marks were a giveaway.

Wonders

By Linda Bierds

In a wide hoop of lamplight, two children—

a girl and her younger brother—jump marbles

on a star-shaped playboard. Beside them,

in a chair near a window, their father

thinks of his mother, her recent death

and the grief he is trying to gather.

It is late October. The hooplight spreads

from the family, through the window,

to the edge of a small orchard, where

a sudden frost has stripped the fruit leaves

and only apples hang, heavy and still

on the branches.

The man looks from the window, down

to a scrapbook of facts he is reading.

The spider is proven to have memory, he says,

and his son, once again, cocks his small face

to the side, speaks a guttural oh, as if

this is some riddle he is slowly approaching,

as if this long hour, troubled with phrases

and the queer turn in his father's voice,

is offered as a riddle.

There is the sound of marbles

in their suck-hole journeys, and the skittery

jump of the girl's shoe

as she waits, embarrassed, for her father

to stop, to return to his known self, thick

and consistent as a family bread.

But still he continues,

plucking scraps from his old book, old

diary of wonders: the vanishing borders

of mourning paper, the ghostly shape

in the candled egg, beak and eye

etched clearly, a pin-scratch of claw.

A little sleet scrapes at the window.

The man blinks, sees his hand on the page

as a boy's hand, sees his children bent over

the playboard, with the careful pattern

of their lives dropping softly away, like

leaves in a sudden frost—how the marbles

have stalled, heavy and still on their fingers,

and after each phrase the guttural

oh, and the left shoe jumping.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Autumn deepens in the North Country

We are, as of last night's dinner, officially back in chili season. Soups, stews, chowders and chili are among the better aspects of late Autumn, Winter and early Spring in the North country. If the Better Half and I coordinate the timing properly, a fresh loaf of artisan bread magically appears about the time the soup, stew or chowder is served. (Chili usually gets corn bread to go with.) We recently read an envy-inducing description of someone who grows their own wheat, using draft horses. We've been using some locally milled organic heritage flour in our own artisan sourdough loaves. Next year, or maybe this year for Thanksgiving and Christmas 🎄, we'll see if there are other varieties to try out. We also need to do a more rigorous job of updating our baking journal.

artisan sourdough bread

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, as we hauled the tractor to the shop to get its wiring harness repaired, we noticed more and more trees are bare and barren of leaves, 🍂 although, in some tree tops, leaves have been replaced by large flocks of blackbirds or starlings, assembling for migration. Local soybean and corn fields are joining in barren appearance as they get harvested. There'll be few places in those fields for ghosts, ghouls or goblins to lurk as Halloween 👻 🎃 and Samhain occur later this week. Following those holidays, firearms deer season in our neck of the woods will open in a little more than a week, on November 9. By then, we'll need to dig out the blaze orange coats for dog walking.

a handful of whitetails at a pear tree

Photo by J. Harrington

We all know that after Halloween and before Christmas comes Thanksgiving, a holiday that often makes me "homesick" for Massachusett's South Shore. I used to live about 20 miles North of Plymouth Rock and the Plimouth Plantation. Sometimes, among the sand dunes along the coast, I'd come across beach plum bushes. This past Summer, the Better Half acquired four bare root bushes. I planted them in pots and they spent the Summer on the deck, well away from pocket gopher teeth. They've now been moved into the house for the Winter. I'm going to be watching carefully for signs of new leafs and/or blossoms come Spring next year. What with the clusters of New England style houses in the area, turkeys occasionally wandering through the field behind the house, a few sugar maples and now beach plums, this New England transplant is beginning to feel at home.

wild turkeys, symbol of Thanksgiving

Photo by J. Harrington

Bread

By W. S. Merwin

       for Wendell Berry

Each face in the street is a slice of bread

wandering on

searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger

appears to be passing them by

they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves

they dreamed of hiding in

their own caves

full of the waiting of their footprints

hung with the hollow marks of their groping

full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels

they dreamed of following in out of the light

to hear step after step

the heart of bread

to be sustained by its dark breath

and emerge

to find themselves alone

before a wheat field

raising its radiance to the moon

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

'Tis better to light a candle than curse the darkness!

We're back to 100% cloud covered skies. Sigh! Rain is forecast to start within the next hour. Deep Sigh! At least we now have some jack-o'-lantern pictures to share. May they brighten the day! The top one I carved. It's a spider, carved in honor of our son, the arachnophile. The bottom two were carved by the Better Half. I think she did the owl because she knows I've a thing for owls and she did the ravens (or the dove and the raven if you look too closely) because she liked the picture on which the carving was based. If I were that capable with carving tools, the spider would look more like a tarantula, but all those fuzzy hairs intimidated me.

for the arachnophile in your life

Photo by J. Harrington

pumpkin carvings for the birds

Photo by J. Harrington

Today we start the last week of October, and it's not even a full week. Then, again, we get to enjoy Halloween and Samhain as the week and the month end and November begins. May all our haunts be happy ones and may the darker half of the year see us warm, dry and with harvest stores that last until next year's fresh food emerges and ripens and may this week bring us more treats than tricks!

October

Evalyn Callahan Shaw

October is the month that seems 
All woven with midsummer dreams;  
She brings for us the golden days 
That fill the air with smoky haze,  
She brings for us the lisping breeze 
And wakes the gossips in the trees,  
Who whisper near the vacant nest  
Forsaken by its feathered guest.  
Now half the birds forget to sing,  
And half of them have taken wing,  
Before their pathway shall be lost 
Beneath the gossamer of frost.  
Zigzag across the yellow sky,  
They rustle here and flutter there,  
Until the boughs hang chill and bare,  
What joy for us—what happiness  
Shall cheer the day the night shall bless?  
‘Tis hallowe’en, the very last  
Shall keep for us remembrance fast,  
When every child shall duck the head 
To find the precious pippin red.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

The magic of turning pumpkins into jack-o'-lanterns

I carved a jack-o'-lantern this morning. The last time I carved one is lost in the mists of time long gone. Shortly after I finished, the Better Half [BH] began carving the first of two she's doing. Guess which one of this partnership is the patient, attention to detail person.

This was the first time I've ever used serrated pumpkin cutters and a plastic goop cleaner - pumpkin scraper. They worked better than I expected, but inexpensive, undersized, plastic handles don't make for an enjoyable experience. Since we only carve pumpkins once a year, it probably wouldn't warrant looking for a better set of tools, unless they could also serve other purposes, like a serrated bread knife? We may give that some additional thought.

fancy pumpkin carving for a centerpiece

Photo by J. Harrington

Tonight, we'll try to get some decent photos of our carving efforts. The one BH has finished is impressive. I'm looking forward to seeing how it looks with a candle or LED inside it. Until then, enjoy some of our prior year's efforts. The carvings were done by the BH or the Daughter Person or the Son-In-Law. I'm responsible for the pictures. At least pumpkins are a better size for carving than turnips, unless the Irish grow monstrously large turnips.

ghosts, ghouls, and goblins can be seen wandering at night

Photo by J. Harrington

While BH was "gutting" and carving pumpkins, Yr. Obt. Svt. was outside cleaning a mouse nest out of the dashboard of the tractor. We had planned on putting mouse repellants in the dash area early next week. The persistent rain no doubt motivated the mouse to seek someplace high and dry. We ended up the proverbial "day late and dollar short" and now the tractor needs to go into the shop to get a gnawed on wiring harness replaced or repaired. What induces a mouse to go exploring into a dash board in the first place? The one's that have been sneaking into the garage have been lured to their demise in the baited traps, ideally before they find their way into either vehicle. Country living isn't all watching beautiful sunrises while drinking coffee on the deck you know. Sometimes it's dealing with vermin varmints!

Theme in Yellow

By Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills

With yellow balls in autumn.

I light the prairie cornfields

Orange and tawny gold clusters

And I am called pumpkins.

On the last of October

When dusk is fallen

Children join hands

And circle round me

Singing ghost songs

And love to the harvest moon;

I am a jack-o'-lantern

With terrible teeth

And the children know

I am fooling.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Yes, Virginia, there is a sun shining!

Today has been a classically beautiful Autumn day. The breeze has been vigorous enough that we held off on expunging leaves from the driveway. Maybe tomorrow, after we've run the mower deck over the fallen leaves on the grass, to help mulch them and enrich the soil.

coppery oak leaves

Photo by J. Harrington

Here, late in life, we're finally starting to adjust to the idea that some chores are never "done," they're just part of living. Around here buckthorn removal and leaf management seem to be continuous elements for three seasons of our country living. Winter swaps snow and ice management for leaves and buckthorn, and the beat goes on!

brassy, bronze, and coppery oak leaves

Photo by J. Harrington

Many of our trees are oaks of various species, including burr, white and red. Each of them seems determined to hold some portion of their leaves throughout the Winter and into early Spring. This trait is known as marescence and, although we've found speculation on the possible evolutionary advantage it may offer, we've yet to find anything that seemed determinative. One final observation for the day: we've observed that oaks, more so than other tree species, have leaves that turn metallic colors in Autumn. In particular, we see brass, bronze and copper hues on our oaks.

Black Oaks

by Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,

or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Autumn's swan song? Or not?

When we visited Crex Meadows near Grantsberg, WI a couple of weeks ago, we learned that the sandhill crane population was expected to peak near the end of October. While we were there, we noticed a large number of swans flocked up on a couple of the pools.

early December swans, South pool

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, as we drove past the South pool in the Sunrise Unit at Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area, we saw about a dozen of so swans, including one that was sitting on a muskrat house. Since we've seen few swans on this pool over the Summer, we believe they're beginning to flock up in anticipation of their migration South. A few years ago, there was enough open water and food available to hold a number of swans in the same area until early December [see photo]. At this time of year, it's possible that the local trumpeter swans may be joined by some tundra swans. "Birdchick,"  about ten years ago, posted a nice piece on her blog, comparing the two species. Even with several chances for snow in the forecast for early next week, the swans and the Autumn season may stick around for at least several weeks more, until after Thanksgiving? Let's hope Winter, and this year's annual fall migration, hold off at least until then.

The Swan

by Mary Oliver

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Cold weather seasonal adjustments

As of mid-day, I have a new pair of (faux) fleece-lined deerskin chopper mittens. Soon we'll have a brand new snow blower parked in the garage. The old one will be kept as a backup and shared with the Son-In-Law and Daughter Person. If we get no, or very little, snow this Winter, you can thank, or blame, me. Ever since I've moved to Minnesota, I've claimed that, if buying a new snow blower every year kept us from being buried in the white stuff, it would be a small price to pay. As for the cold, the Jeep I bought several years ago has the first heated steering wheel I've ever owned. It makes my fingers very happy come December, January and February. The snow blower we're considering also has heated hand grips. Winter in Minnesota might actually become tolerable.

trees in the background have few leaves left

Photo by J. Harrington

Many of Autumn's leaves and needles have left the aspens, maples and tamaracks. Lots of pines also have dropped the needles that are this year's discards. We know this because many of those leaves and needles, except the tamaracks', are all over our drive. We would very much appreciate a nice, sunny day with a gusty West wind some time in the next week or so. Then, what's covering our drive would end up in the ditch across the road. It that doesn't happen, we'll probably have to resort to raking and hauling leaves and needles to our compost heap.

golden needles will soon fall from the pine trees

Photo by J. Harrington

To be on the extra safe side, in light of the cold overnight temperature forecast, we disconnected the two hoses. Falling temperatures probably help explain why mice have been sneaking into the garage and getting caught in traps in near record numbers. A contributing factor is possibly that, over the Summer, we eliminated all the leaf cover on the ground around the outside of the garage. With fewer places to nest outside, the mice are now seeking cover inside. If they didn't have the habit of chewing through wiring harnesses or nesting in engine compartments, we'd be more tolerant of their invasive behavior.

Beyond the Red River

By Thomas McGrath

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south,

And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass

Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion,

Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves.

A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea,

A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses

Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping

An aging whiskey of distances and departures.

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave.

I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe,

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Food for thought! Thoughts for food!

About this time last month I participated in a Community Summit for a Livable Planet. There was a breakout group on Local Food Production. That was the one I joined. The Summit was convened in conjunction with and response to the Climate Action Summit in New York and the demonstrations last Spring by young people through the world demanding action on the climate crisis. Agriculture won't be able to continue with "business as usual" as climate breakdown continues to worsen.

do we really need all the row crops we can produce?

Photo by J. Harrington

Much of Minnesota's economy has been built on agriculture. Agriculture is a major contributor to Minnesota's water quality problems, rivers and lakes that don't meet the standards for fishable-swimmable waters, standards that Congress declared should be met back in 1983. The climate breakdown being experienced worldwide is making it more difficult to produce healthy, nourishing foods. The economic models that today control what's produced, how it's produced and to whom it's sold were broken even before the current regime's trade war fiascos. More and more farmers are going broke. Fewer and fewer corporations are controlling the agricultural inputs farmers need.

there are many different storm clouds over our farm fields

Photo by J. Harrington

Some, most?, all?, of the issues associated with agricultural failings also are factors in the much touted "urban - rural divide" that is weakening our democracy. ("A house divided against itself cannot stand." A. Lincoln) Today's discovery of a report by the Urban Institute, Disrupting Food Insecurity, was encouraging, since it provides county-level data for both urban and rural counties. It also lists steps communities can take. Skimming through the report, I came across references to Food Policy Councils. My inquisitive nature prompted a search to see if Minnesota has such an organization. That search led me to a relatively brief (24 page) document titled Minnesota Food Charter. According to their web site, the Minnesota Food Charter has been shared with the public since October 2014. It's only taken me five years to discover it. Better late than never I suppose. Today's posting will help keep track of these resources and, if you're not already aware of them, bring them to your attention. If we manage to create and get implemented a holistic solution to the broken agricultural economy model we now have, we'll be closer to both fishable-swimmable waters and healthy food and communities than if we leave it to corporations primarily concerned with shareholder dividends and executive bonuses. But we'll need more than hope to accomplish our goals.

A Poem on Hope

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old,

for hope must not depend on feeling good

and there’s the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight.

You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality

of the future, which surely will surprise us,

and hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction

anymore than by wishing. But stop dithering.

The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?

Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit

our places, the forests are ruined, the fields, eroded,

the streams polluted, the mountains, overturned. Hope

then to belong to your place by your own knowledge

of what it is that no other place is, and by

your caring for it, as you care for no other place, this

knowledge cannot be taken from you by power or by wealth.

It will stop your ears to the powerful when they ask

for your faith, and to the wealthy when they ask for your land

and your work.  Be still and listen to the voices that belong

to the stream banks and the trees and the open fields.

Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.

Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot.

The world is no better than its places. Its places at last

are no better than their people while their people

continue in them. When the people make

dark the light within them, the world darkens.

–Wendell Berry

Minnesota is all wet!

Several days ago we facetiously updated our woolly bear caterpillar forecast for the upcoming Winter. Today we discovered NOAA's climate outlook for the 2019 - 2020 Winter. It confirms our forecast. Although it's dated the day before our discovery of additional wooly bear evidence, we swear we hadn't seen NOAA's assessment until this afternoon. If you scroll down on their page tot he Temperature outlook for Minnesota, you'll note that the odds are even that we'll be warmer or cooler than average and that it's likely Winter will be wetter than average. That's pretty much what the woolly bears predicted in the aggregate.

isn't there supposed to be a silver lining somewhere?

Photo by J. Harrington

Our discovery of the climate outlook was triggered by today's search to see if we've yet broken the record for wettest year on record in the Twin Cities. We saw a notice a day or so ago that said we were within 2.5 inches of the annual record. The day's rain must already be an inch or more. It was .93" at 12:53 at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport [MSP]. For today and tomorrow the predicted rainfall amount is 1.5" - 2.0". We still have two months plus before year's end. The Minnesota Weather Almanac informs us that the average monthly precipitation at MSP is 1.77" in November and 1.16 in December. Unless our pattern breaks abruptly and we start a drought, I think we've got the "All Wet Record" in the bucket.

Closer to home, the Sunrise River pools in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area are holding more water than we recall seeing at this time of year. A wetter than normal Winter may well make for a particularly interesting Spring with snow melt, frozen ground and already high water. If our long term climate will now be wetter than the historical averages, will the folks around White Bear Lake petition Minnesota Department of Natural Resources for more groundwater pumping to keep the lake from flooding surrounding properties?

Rain

By Peter Everwine

Toward evening, as the light failed 

and the pear tree at my window darkened, 

I put down my book and stood at the open door, 

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves, 

a smell of wet clay in the wind. 

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father, 

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain 

drummed against our tent, I heard 

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail 

drifting across that remote lake— 

a loneliness like no other, 

though what I heard as inconsolable 

may have been only the sound of something 

untamed and nameless 

singing itself to the wilderness around it 

and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father 

and of good companions gone 

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain 

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know 

whether it was grief or joy or something other 

that surged against my heart 

and held me listening there so long and late.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

We spent the afternoon in the gutter!

This beautiful Autumn afternoon, with essentially no breeze and no rain, turned out to be ideal for gutter cleaning. We hope that most of the leaves and acorns are now on the ground and that whatever rain and snow melt we get this Winter will flow freely, unless freezing rain storms clog everything up. The scheme of using an electric leaf blower worked well, if not perfectly. Much of what had accumulated on the gutters had turned into a mud-like coating which needed some additional encouragement. The end of the leaf blower tube served that purpose nicely. This chore was more easily attended to when yours truly was younger and dumber (and more agile). I want to acknowledge the ladder stabilization assistance provided by the Better Half, and also thank her for not refusing to help because I'm too old and feeble to do this kind of thing. Maybe next year, but for this year we're grateful to be safely back on the ground. Maybe I need to see if AARP offers classes on aging gracefully and intelligently?

rain? ok! snow? ok! freezing rain? not ok!

Photo by J. Harrington

Two weeks from now we get to trim the dead branches on the oaks. Both feet will stay on the ground for that chore. Now, if the weather cooperates so we can enjoy torching the brush pile at Halloween - Samhain, we'll be in fine shape going into Winter. That's all for today. We're tired, but we think we're almost ready for Spring!

we've reached the pot of gold (on the ground) at the end of a rainbow

Photo by J. Harrington

April Rain Song

By Langston Hughes

Let the rain kiss you.

Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.

The rain makes running pools in the gutter.

The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Peak peekers at peak colors!

Today we took a friend to lunch at The Watershed Cafe in Osceola, WI. We've never before been there when it's been as crowded as it was today. We were daring and ate outside on the deck. Sunlight was starting to prevail and the breeze was mostly gentle. Today may have been the last decent chance this year to enjoy eating outside.

whispering waterfall in Osceola

Photo by J. Harrington

Before, during and after our lunch, mobs of motorcyclists rumbled across the 243 bridge and through downtown Osceola. An occasional classic car would cruise by and there were almost as many pedestrians as fallen leaves along the sidewalks. Everyone must have seen, and responded to, the stories about peak Autumn color and the brief interlude of classic Autumn weather. The crowds, for the most part, were cordial; the bikers, not so much. Was today Autumn's last hurrah for this year, or is there more to come? Sometime soon we'll begin the descent to deeply diminished temperatures and increased snow cover. The seasons will have changed. Will the transition be gradual, or abrupt? Have you stored enough of Autumn's memories for this year, or must you try to squeeze in some more before Thanksgiving? Remember, we're at Autumn's midpoint. it's about six weeks to the beginning of meteorological Winter, and Thanksgiving is late this year. Celebrate now! Soon the susurration of streams tumbling over rocks and down waterfalls will be muffled by snow and ice until Spring.

pumpkins, official veggie of October?

Photo by J. Harrington

As additional signs that peak Autumn has arrived, we saw several flocks, some large, some small, some in the air, some on the ground, of Canada geese and sandhill cranes during our drive. Local farmers have begun to harvest corn and soybeans, although many of the fields we passed remained untouched. The parking area at Pleasant Valley Orchard was almost full as we drove by. It's peak time for several varieties of apples, and pumpkins are on display almost everywhere.

October

By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Updated predictions for Winter

A day or two ago we came across a woolly bear caterpillar that was mostly reddish-brown with brief black caps at each end. Today we noticed one that was about 1/3 black - 1/3 reddish-brown - 1/3 black. Late in August we discovered a different one that was mostly black at each end with a narrow reddish-brown band in the middle. Based on this entirely unscientific sampling, we claim that this Winter will be ... whatever it may be. We may, or may not, experience a Polar Vortex. The temperatures may, or may not, trend above or below whatever passes for average in this neck of the North Country woods. The same will be true for snowfall, or not. We just hope and pray that freezing rain stays down in Missouri where it belongs. Winter may run well into Spring, or may end early. Meanwhile, we're enjoying a beautiful, breezy Autumn day (not counting time spent this morning in the dentist chair -- no apples for a day or two!).

at Autumn's peak color, the neighborhood becomes very scenic

Photo by J. Harrington

If we've experienced a frost this Autumn, it hasn't been noticeable. We have had a hard freeze, according to the skim ice we've seen on the bird bath two different mornings. That may qualify our current spell of warmer weather as "Second Summer." Next week, closer to month's end, we'll begin preparation for Samhain / Halloween. There's jack-o-lanterns to carve and, maybe, a brush pile bonfire to torch, if rain or snow allows.

October

Helen Hunt Jackson

Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,
Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun
Immeasurably far; the waters run
Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways
With gold of elms and birches from the maze
Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,
Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,
The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,
And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance
Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,
And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance
The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil
Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,
Steals back alone for one more song and dance.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Are you for the birds?

The black cherry tree behind the house has finally reached peak color. In fact, most of the trees in the neighborhood are at that stage these days. Having blue skies and sunshine to go along with peak colors makes the world seem a prettier place than the dreary, damp, downpour-ridden days we've been experiencing. Although we're several days past this month's full moon, this morning, early, was the first time in a long while the cloud cover's been broken enough to see moonlight.

black cherry leaves near peak color

Photo by J. Harrington

The local blue jays are back. We rarely see them around the property during the Summer, but they're a relatively common sight during the Autumn, Winter and early Spring. Most of the feeders we use are hanging feeders, reported to not be among the jay's favorite. Since our cold season visitors are mostly business-like buffs, grays, and blacks (nuthatches and chickadees), blue jays, and cardinals, add splashes of welcome colors.

black-capped chickadee

Photo by J. Harrington

Speaking of chickadees, we have to admit that this week we discovered our knowledge has been woefully lacking. We thought there was only the black-capped chickadee and were truly upset when we read that climate change might cause them to move from Minnesota. It turns out, as we did a little research, that there's a separate species, the boreal chickadee. (We should have read the article more carefully when we encountered the phrase "Boreal species such as warblers and chickadees will suffer greater effects because they are specialists and less adaptable to changes in temperature and habitat....") The boreal chickadee is the one that Minnesota may lose to climate breakdown. (In the research effort, we also learned there's the carolina chickadee, the mountain chickadee, the mexican chickadee, the gray-headed chickadee, and the chestnut-backed chickadee.) Our Winter feeders just wouldn't be the same without the cheerful, black-capped visitors that flitter in and out with a beguiling frequency.

If you missed the stories about the loss, since 1970, of 3 billion birds or the Audubon Society's estimated impacts of climate breakdown on birds, you can follow the links in this sentence to either or both reports. First, many years ago, it was market hunting that triggered species loss of passenger pigeons and diminished populations of waterfowl and other avians. That was largely corrected with hunting regulations and the creation of wetland protection programs funded largely through taxes and firearms and ammunition and the sale of federal and state "duck stamps." Climate change and habitat loss are going to be more challenging to address. We've demonstrated we're capable of responding to these kinds of issues. The bigger question is, are we willing? What's a bird in the hand or two in the bush worth to us?

Birds Again

Jim Harrison - 1937-2016

A secret came a week ago though I already
knew it just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.
The very alive souls of thirty-five hundred dead birds
are harbored in my body. It’s not uncomfortable.
I’m only temporary habitat for these not-quite-
weightless creatures. I offered a wordless invitation
and now they’re roosting within me, recalling
how I had watched them at night
in fall and spring passing across earth moons,
little clouds of black confetti, chattering and singing
on their way north or south. Now in my dreams
I see from the air the rumpled green and beige,
the watery face of earth as if they’re carrying
me rather than me carrying them. Next winter
I’ll release them near the estuary west of Alvarado
and south of Veracruz. I can see them perching
on undiscovered Olmec heads. We’ll say goodbye
and I’ll return my dreams to earth.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Does #BigAg really feed people?

We live where there are lots of what look like "family farms," in a county that's part of a 2 state, 21 county Combined (Standard Metropolitan) Statistical Area [CSA]. Obviously, we live in a more rural sector of the CSA, one in which there are a number of farms that operate as Community Support Agriculture, a very different kind of CSA. Our state contains the headwaters of the Mississippi River. Just south of us is the State of Iowa, noted for its agriculture and its increasing agriculture related water pollution problems. We're also one of the Great Lakes states. To our East, Ohio is gaining increased notoriety for their growing problems with algae blooms.

what is all the field corn used for?

Photo by J. Harrington

Since we like to eat, and we depend on clean drinking water, we've become more and more interested in the linkage between agriculture, sustainable living, and water pollution. The way we look at things, corn grown for biofuels is an industrial use and should be regulated as if it were a manufacturing operation. Over the past few days, we've begun to reread a book we picked up a year or two ago. Immediately below is the title and an excerpt from the book.

Restoration Agriculture - Real-World Permaculture for Farmers

On the whole, unless someone has special circumstances, nobody is really making money in agriculture. The Leopold Center for Sustainable Agriculture at Iowa State University has reported on numerous occasions that, of those farmers in the United States who file an IRS Schedule F (farm income and expenses), 80 percent receive the majority of their income from something other than farming. The fact that the USDA has huge agricultural subsidies (both direct and indirect) is evidence that there's something wrong with the economics of farming....

Why, we wonder, would people engage in farming if they have to have outside income to support their farming. Wouldn't that, according to other IRS regulations, make 80 percent or so of those farmers engaged in a hobby rather than a business?

wolf statue on Minneapolis' Native American Cultural Corridor

Photo by J. Harrington

Then today we came across an excerpt from a book that approaches food supply from a quite different perspective. The title and an excerpt are immediately below.

Indigenous Food Sovereignty in the United States - Restoring Cultural Knowledge, Protecting Environments, and Regaining Health

Despite the $13 billion corporate food industry, 70 percent of the world’s food is grown by families, peasants, and Indigenous farmers. We are those people, and today when we return to our farms and our seeds, we take our place in history. In a time when agro-biodiversity has crashed and world food systems are filled with poisons, our seeds remain, and they return. These are our stories: stories of love and stories of hope.

If 70 percent of the world's food is grown outside the corporate food industry, and, in the US, most family farmers depend on outside income to survive, could this not be one of the most egregious failures of our current capitalist system, our political system, and our agricultural economy? Are we not adding upper stories to a shaky house of cards? Are we but arguing about what color to paint the deck chairs on the Titanic, before we rearrange them? Isn't our entire food system leaving us in a potentially very vulnerable position vis a vis our food security? You might want to think about these questions between now and November 2020.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,

vacation with pay. Want more

of everything ready-made. Be afraid

to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery

any more. Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something

they will call you. When they want you

to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something

that won’t compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free

republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot

understand. Praise ignorance, for what man

has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering

of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head

in her lap. Swear allegiance

to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark the false trail, the way

you didn’t go. Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.