Frost, freeze, frozen...

This is Minnesota, North Country. Although we’re a few days away from the end of September, I’ve seen a couple of reports of snow in the vicinity of the Boundary Waters. Tonight there’s a freeze warning that reaches into the Twin Cities metropolitan area (the Census version). A frost advisory looks like it extends to and beyond the state’s southern border. Last night we covered many of our vulnerable plants to protect them from frost. We’ll repeat the drill tonight and throw in some crossed fingers.

woolly bear September 26, 2022

Photo by J. Harrington

To speculate again, or more, about what kind of winter we can expect, yesterday I finally spotted a woolly bear caterpillar crossing the road. The brown bands predominate which portends a milder winter. But, the folks at NOAA have a high confidence that we’ll experience a La Nina autumn and early winter, which could mean a colder, snowier winter than whatever we consider “normal” these days. Perhaps the most reasonable approach is to take it a day at a time and look out the window to see what the weather is doing.

Yesterday when I looked out the window, I noticed we still have flowers in bloom. In fact, when I actually went outside and got closer, I noticed a bee on each of two blossoms on one of our plants. Again today as I walked by, I noticed there was a bee on each of two blossoms. Were they the same two bees? We'll probably never know. Two bees or not two bees, that is the question.

busy bees belaboring blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

So, we now have enhanced volatility and uncertainty in the stock market, the climate, maybe the global economy and also in international and national politics. If we get a Halloween Blizzard this year, it may just remind us of the “good old days.”

When the Frost is on the Punkin

James Whitcomb Riley - 1849-1916

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!...
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

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