Autumn treats

September's full moon occurred this morning at 12:22 am locally, when I was sound asleep. We are now in the waxing gibbous phase of the moon the Ojibwe call "Waatebagaa-giizis (Leaves Turning Moon)" and settlers often refer to as the corn moon.

Leaves Turning Moon

Photo by J. Harrington

We've not yet seen corn being harvested, possibly due to late planting in a wet Spring? Also, it's only the 2nd of September. This year's acorn crop looks like it will be much less of a mast crop than last year's. Tougher on the wild critters that eat acorns, but appreciated by those of us who are still cleaning up the remnants from last year.

When we were out cutting our grass the other day, the breeze picked up as it has today. We were surrounded by the tumbling seed heads of the purple love grass as we sat on the seat of the tractor. It felt sort of like we had tumbled into the story of Dorothy catching a ride out of Kansas. We're now watching the seed heads fly about as this is being typed. Seeing them rise and float off into the treetops is almost as unsettling as the time, many years ago, I was visiting a friend's office about forty storeys up in December and watched snow fall up.

is this a monarch butterfly?

Photo by J. Harrington

While walking SiSi today after lunch, we saw what we think was a monarch butterfly. Twice it landed on SiSi's back. A photo would have been great but we were short a hand or two needed to manage a dog on a leash, plus a smart phone camera, and a twitchy butterfly. We did get the picture above when the butterfly landed on a plant and SiSi sat still for a moment.

The artisan sourdough bread we baked this morning turned out to taste about as good as it looks. Now that cooler weather is here, we're looking forward to fixing apple and mustard grilled cheese sandwiches, as described in The Apple Lovers Cookbook, some Friday night soon. Apple season is another great thing about Autumn.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939

I went out to the hazel wood,   
Because a fire was in my head,   
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,   
And hooked a berry to a thread;   
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,   
I dropped the berry in a stream   
And caught a little silver trout.   

When I had laid it on the floor   
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,   
And someone called me by my name:   
It had become a glimmering girl   
With apple blossom in her hair   
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.   

Though I am old with wandering   
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,   
I will find out where she has gone,   
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,   
And pluck till time and times are done,   
The silver apples of the moon,   
The golden apples of the sun.

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