🎃🦇🎃 On Oíche Shamhna 👻🦇👻

This is a good time of year to honor my Irish ancestry and let the history of the day speak for itself.

Samhain Merges With Halloween

Neither new holiday [All Saints Day, All Souls Day] did away with the pagan aspects of the celebration. October 31 became known as All Hallows Eve, or Halloween, and contained much of the traditional pagan practices before being adopted in 19th-century America through Irish immigrants bringing their traditions across the ocean.

 

Samhain prayer to ancestors:

This is the night when the gateway between

our world and the spirit world is thinnest.

Tonight is a night to call out those who came before.

Tonight I honor my ancestors.

Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you,

and welcome you to join me for this night.

You watch over me always,

protecting and guiding me,

and tonight I thank you.

Your blood runs in my veins,

your spirit is in my heart,

your memories are in my soul.

With the gift of remembrance.

I remember all of you.

You are dead but never forgotten,

and you live on within me,

and within those who are yet to come.

 

magical beings in flight through the veil

Photo by J. Harrington

Samhain prayer for children:

Samhain is here, cold is the earth,

as we celebrate the cycle of death and rebirth.

Tonight we speak to those through the veil,

the lines between worlds are thin and frail.

Ghosts and spirits in the night,

magical beings rising in flight,

owls hooting up in a moonlit tree,

I don't fear you and you don't fear me.

As the sun goes down, far to the west,

my ancestors watch over me as I rest.

They keep me safe and without fear,

on the night of Samhain, the Witches' New Year.

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.

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On the Eve of All Hallow’s Eve

 At  Christmas, stockings are hung. For Halloween, pumpkins are carved. The Better Half, better particularly when it comes to artsy type stuff, has done a crafty-artsy rendition of faces for this year’s jack-o’-lanterns. See for yourself. She carved each one free hand.

this year’s Jack-O’-Lanterns

Photo by J. Harrington

The weather forecast assures us there’s no blizzard in store for Halloween / Samhain this year, at least around here. There are tricks galore in the attack ads on tv. In fact, if I paid attention, I’ve no doubt I’d also see ghouls, goblins, trolls and witches therein. I won’t accept that “we’re better than this” when we keep letting the pols and trolls pile the same crap on US every election cycle. I’ve gotten fed up enough with the socio-politico-economic nonsense that I’m looking for solutions in the following places, among others:

• Sacred Nature ~ Restoring Our Ancient Bond with the Natural World
  (currently reading)


• Ecocide: Kill the Corporation Before It Kills Us


• Cannibal Capitalism: How our System is Devouring Democracy, Care, and the Planet – and What We Can Do About It


• Doughnut Economics


• Chokepoint Capitalism

I’ll not say whether any or all of these are treats or tricks. You should check out each one, and similar works, and then decide for yourself. As a Tweet, by @carbon_truth, I recently read notes “ Paraphrasing a well-known Montana author, on November 8 Americans will choose whether they want cheap gas or whether they want democracy.” On November 8, and thereafter, lets choose the treat of democracy and not get tricked into autocracy and fascism. ‘Kay?

 

All Hallows’ Eve

By Dorothea Tanning

Be perfect, make it otherwise.

Yesterday is torn in shreds.

Lightning’s thousand sulfur eyes

Rip apart the breathing beds.

Hear bones crack and pulverize.

Doom creeps in on rubber treads.

Countless overwrought housewives,

Minds unraveling like threads,

Try lipstick shades to tranquilize

Fears of age and general dreads.

Sit tight, be perfect, swat the spies,

Don’t take faucets for fountainheads.

Drink tasty antidotes. Otherwise

You and the werewolf: newlyweds.

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Will Mother Nature trick us after treating us?

Today is a classic autumn day in the North Country, although perhaps a little warmer than normal. The Better Half is displaying another of her creative facets by carving pumpkins into jack-o’-lanterns. I was assigned responsibility for securing the candles required and have precipitously completed said assignment. Tea candles galore are now available, hauled from the stash in the storage closet.

our house, come Halloween

Photo by J. Harrington

We ended up in Minneapolis earlier today and dropped by Birchbark Books. It appeared that about half the city was out and about the lakes, enjoying a glorious ending to October. I’m continuing to honor my myth that I can’t die as long as my tsundoku stacks are large enough. I bought three books as Halloween treats for myself. The Better Half wanted to pick up a copy of the latest volume of a mystery trilogy and succeeded. On the drive home I was struck by the realization that a store we used to visit several times a year pre-COVID, we had visited for the second time in the past two years. We’ve essentially foregone eating out or grabbing coffee at the local coffee shop. Our quality of life has indeed been diminished by the pandemic, but at least so far we’ve survived it. That’s a combination Trick and Treat, sort of, right?

I’ve neglected mentioning another recent treat for a couple of days now. Late this past week I noticed a freshly bloomed dandelion growing in the roadside ditch. Is that a message of hope? Of persistence? Of foolish foolhardiness? Of evolutionary experiment? All of them? How can we tell some treats and tricks apart? Does today’s poem help?

A January Dandelion

By George Marion McClellan

All Nashville is a chill. And everywhere

Like desert sand, when the winds blow,

There is each moment sifted through the air,

A powdered blast of January snow.

O! thoughtless Dandelion, to be misled

By a few warm days to leave thy natural bed,

Was folly growth and blooming over soon.

And yet, thou blasted yellow-coated gem,

Full many a heart has but a common boon

With thee, now freezing on thy slender stem.

When the heart has bloomed by the touch of love’s warm breath

Then left and chilling snow is sifted in,

It still may beat but there is blast and death

To all that blooming life that might have been.

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Almost to mid-season

The Better Half [BH], while we were walking the dogs this morning, noticed a flock of five swans at about treetop height. They were silent and I, who was not next to BH at the time, never saw a thing. Seeing them would have been wonderful. Seeing them with my camera ready to shoot, even better. That gives me one more thing to still look forward to. I have many pictures of swans on the water. None of them in the air.

some fancy pumpkin carving

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re but a weekend away from Halloween. So far, we’ve not had any creative pumpkin carvers, but there’s still some time. About a week after the big H, we’ll be halfway through autumn and well on our way to Thanksgiving. Despite all the trials and tribulations in today’s world, I’m hopeful that we’ll have much to be thankful for and that between Halloween and Thanksgiving we’ll enjoy more treats than tricks.

This morning I cleared lots of leaves from the stoop and the garage doors. There are still many, many leaves on the trees around the house. As usual at this time of year, it’s a contest of whether I’ll get leaves cleared before they’re covered in several inches of snow. Wet leaves clog up the snow blower so we often just drive on and compact the snow until there’s a coating of an inch or so, which turns into ice next March. That’s an element of phenology I’ve become too familiar with. I’m less familiar with when pollinators and others head for the leaf piles to overwinter. If anyone has good information on the critters lurking in the leaves all winter, please share in the comments.

Halloween Is Coming

© Fiona Halliday

Creeping, crawling creatures scurry in the night,
Rats and bats and spiders, nibble, out of sight,
Don’t look too carefully,
You’ll get a nasty fright!

Monsters in the bathroom, witches in the hall,
Hairy beasts and demons climbing every wall,
You won’t want to catch them,
When they start to fall!

Vampires’ stealthy footsteps cross the wooden floor,
Werewolves howling fearfully, beyond your kitchen door,
Don’t look outside now,
You won’t want to find out more!

Zombies with their wild eyes and their soulless grins,
Skeletons with their bony cheeks and their missing skins,
Listen for their rattling sounds,
But do not let them in!

Halloween is coming, what a scary night,
Ghosties, ghouls and goblins dancing in the light,
Here they are all coming now, feel the spooky beat,
If you listen, hear ‘em shout:

“TRICK OR TREAT!” 

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One Treat; Two Tricks, so far

Here’s a report on the Treat:    I went off to get some errands done today. As I drove past the Sunrise River pools in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area I saw several flocks of American Coots floating on the water. It’s the most waterfowl I’ve seen in one place at one time since the spring migration.

Although we haven’t been specifically watching for the fall migration, we live close enough to the  resting pools that we usually see birds if they’re around. Even though I’ve not hunted waterfowl for several years now, I still get a thrill from watching them come, raise a family, and go.

bigger swallows smaller: it’s monstrous!

Photo by J. Harrington

Now for the Two Tricks:

1. We recently learned that our local trash and recycling provider has been bought by one of the big, national corporations. We’ve already been informed that several items, such as used oil, will no longer be collected as part of the recycling service. We’re waiting to see what other changes may be in store, and our expectations are not very positive.


2. The local auto dealerships where the Better Half and I each bought our Jeeps have been bought by one of the two huge Twin Cities auto conglomerates: Luther Automotive, Morrie’s Auto Group. I stopped by today to schedule an oil change and buy four new tires. The service advisor informed me, as I was standing in the service bay, that I would have to call or schedule the service on line. This is a new and unwelcome change, since the tires I want, which were original equipment brand, are specifically excluded from a MOPAR coupon. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sort that out on line or over the phone without having to dig out the specifics on the tires make, model and size. If I have to go to that much trouble, I might as well see where else I want to do business.

It’s probably no more than a sign of just how old I’ve become, but I remember waaay back to when “the customer is always right” days and businesses would do their best to make it convenient to do business with them. Apparently, with  alll the “progress” we’ve made using information technology, we’re close to returning to the days when you could buy a Ford in any color you wanted, as long as it was black.

I'll try to not let the corporatization of local economies and businesses get to me too much unless we also experience belated tricks and the Democrats lose control of Congress and/or the statewide offices in Minnesota.

First, my Motorola

Alexandra Nemerov

Nemerov constructed this poem by simply listing every brand she touched sequentially during a day, from the moment she woke up, until the moment she went to sleep: it's hard to imagine a more accurate contemporary self-portrait. And it doesn't get "sexier", "cooler", or "more accessible" than this.

First, my Motorola
Then my Frette
Then my Sonia Rykiel
Then my Bvulgari
Then my Asprey
Then my Cartier
Then my Kohler
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Kohler
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Bliss
Then my Apple
Then my Kashi
Then my Maytag
Then my Silk
Then my Pom
Then my Maytag
Then my Kohler
Then my Pur
Then my Fiji
Then my Kohler
Then my Maytag
Then my Herman Miller
Then my Crate and Barrel
Then my Apple
Then my On Gossamer
Then my La Perla
Then my Vince
Then my D&G
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Moschino
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Lucchese
Then my Apple

Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Dior
Then my Lancome
Then my Kevin Aucoin
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Tarte
Then my Apple
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Masterlock
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my Ito En
Then my Trident
Then my Chiquita
Then my Dole
Then my Motorola
Then my Chanel
Then my Schlage
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Motorola
Then my Apple
Then my Trident
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Motorola
Then my Jansport
Then my Cosi
Then my Sweetheart
Then my Minute Maid
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Mastercard
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Motorola
Then my Trident
Then my Apple
Then my Chanel
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my W
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my D&G
Then my Moschino
Then my Vince
Then my Lucchese
Then my La Perla
Then my Nike
Then my Jansport
Then my Fiji
Then my Masterlock
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my W
Then my Motorola
Then my Masterlock
Then my Lifefitness
Then my Fiji
Then my Masterlock
Then my Jansport
Then my Fiji
Then my Nike
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Vince
Then my La Perla
Then my D&G
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Chanel
Then my Chiquita
Then my Trident
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Schlage
Then my Maytag
Then my Zimmer
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Remede
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Skintimate
Then my Schick
Then my Bliss
Then my Bliss
Then my Zimmer
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Fresh
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Bliss
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Frederic Fekkai
Then my Herman Miller
Then my Pottery Barn
Then my Apple
Then my Hewlett Packard
Then my Apple
Then my La Perla
Then my Petit Bateau
Then my Jill Stuart
Then my Dolce and Gabbana
Then my Wolford
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my H&M
Then my Motorola
Then my Fendi
Then my Kevin Aucoin
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Dior
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Lancome
Then my Motorola
Then my Estee Lauder
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Motorola
Then my Trident
Then my Schlage
Then my Fendi
Then my Motorola
Then my Dibruno Bros.
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Tanqueray
Then my Fendi
Then my Motorola
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Schlage
Then my Fiji
Then my Hermann Miller
Then my Pottery Barn
Then my Apple
Then my Kohler
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Kohler
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Bliss
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Wolford
Then my Dolce and Gabbana
Then my Petit Bateau
Then my Motorola
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my La Perla
Then my H&M
Then my Anthropology
Then my Motorola
Then my Bvulgari
Then my Asprey
Then my Cartier
Then my Frette
Then my Sonia Rykiel
And finally, my Motorola

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Whose law rules?

 Do you know about the Magna Carta? You should. In fact all of us should probably know more about it than we do.

By declaring the sovereign to be subject to the rule of law and documenting the liberties held by “free men,” it provided the foundation for individual rights in Anglo-American jurisprudence.

The sovereign did not agree to honor individual rights out  of the goodness and compassion in his heart. He had to assuage rebellious barons. I doubt if many bother to think about that these days.

Neither are there likely enough contemporary Americans who are aware of this wonderfull, and, in my opinion, accurate, assessment by Frederick Douglas:

“Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will. Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you have found out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed upon them, and these will continue till they are resisted with either words or blows, or with both. The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress.”

I have been cogitating on these themes, and am now agitating about them, because the Better Half and I went off this morning and voted early. On election day she will be serving as a judge and I’ll be home keeping half an eye on the crew removing our dead pine tree. Thus, voting early seemed like a good idea.

I Voted (early)

Photo by J. Harrington

In our county there is what appears to be an awful waste of paper for the judges’ ballot. Lord knows how many names all running unopposed... I have better things to do with my time than to carefully fill in the box nex to someone who’s running unopposed. I didn’t vote for any of the school board candidates either. Have you ever tried to learn what a prospective school board member stands for or represents? I try to avoid voting for pigs in a poke.

There are many who are asserting that if we fail to vote for democracy this election and next, we may lose it. I understand and took into account that concern this morning as I shaded boxes, but I’m deeply troubled by a concern about whether our “representative democracy” has already been usurped by global capitalism’s representatives. Aren’t both Republican and Democratic politicians, al least way too many of them, more interested in representing the corporate interests that fund PACs and campaigns than guarding the interests of ordinary citizens? How else do you account for the following headlines?

• Current emissions pledges will lead to catastrophic climate breakdown, says UN
• Business groups block action that could help tackle biodiversity crisis, report finds
• Atmospheric levels of all three greenhouse gases hit record high
• Congress moves to give away national lands, discounting billions in revenue
• Democrats’ midterms hurdle: Americans are getting used to eroded democracy

There’s too many more where these and similar articles came from. Which leads US to, and leaves US with, today’s poem.

The World Is Too Much With Us

By William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

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In remembrance

We all do better when we all do better. The man to whom I attribute that saying died 20 years ago today. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would come to miss and remember Senator Paul Wellstone with the same kind of respect as I do for Jack and Bobby Kennedy. I’m a native Bostonian so that’s a lot of respect.

Something I haven’t thought much about until recently is the message Wellstone’s saying delivers about the kind of universe in which we live and how we can best deal with each other in that universe.There are two ways to approach any interaction (“deal”) between two or more parties. It can either be crafted as a “win-win” or structured as a “win-lose.” Obviously, if we’re all going to do better, we all need win-win deals, right? Then why aren’t there more politicians like Paul Wellstone?

Are you ready to vote?

Photo by J. Harrington

Could it be that too many of those asking for (demanding?) our votes see the world as a win-lose place. In order for me to win, my opponent(s) must lose. One way we could all disabuse such politicians of such misguided approaches to serving the country and representing constituents is to refuse to vote for such candidates. How about a ban on supporting those who run, promote and/or pay for attack ads? Or do we all hold such a low opinion of those who claim to represent us that we see nothing wrong with attack ads. And what does that say about us?

There’s another old saying that captures my philosophizing today. It comes from sports. You know, contests in which  there are winners and losers on the field. That saying is “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.” (Grantland Rice)

If we get the government we deserve, and we want better government, what if we worked to elect more Senator Wellstones and see what we think of the results? Maybe that’s as old fashioned as today’s poem.

If—

Rudyard Kipling - 1865-1936

If you can keep your head when all about you
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
   And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
   Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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A Treat for this Halloween and the holiday season

 Halloween is one week from today. We discovered how we might be able to watch some holiday season classics beginning with It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown! It took us about an hour to find this little nugget of information:

Apple TV+ said in a press release that will provide free windows for nonsubscribers to stream the iconic holiday specials. These movies are available to subscribers year-round.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown - Oct. 28-31

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving - Nov. 23-27

A Charlie Brown Christmas - Dec. 22-25

follow the press release link to bigify

I found it more convenient last year to watch on PBS, but that deal isn't in the holiday cards for this year. As my mother used to remind me, "beggars can't be choosers." If this all works well, with minimal irritation and no aggravation, I may even forgive Apple for some of the things they've done over the past year that really annoyed me, to the point I'm seriously considering moving to Linux.

In any event, please feel free to share this information, especially the press release link, as widely as possible. We need to keep the Charlie Brown holiday traditions alive and well throughout the 21st century!

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.

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As we fall out of autumn

 The day-lily garden is mulched. When we get a favorable wind, we’ll leaf blow the drive with our electric leaf blower. At least we’re going through the motions of preparing for the changes from falling leaves to falling snowflakes.

In a week or so a crew should arrive to take down the big pine in front of the house. We’ll miss it but it got hit with something this past summer that killed it. Several other pines in the neighborhood have also been stripped of their needles and died but they’re not in a position to land on the house or garage if they fall. Meanwhile, we’re looking ahead to a week of mostly seasonable temperatures and peak leaf fall.

leaf fall, Upper St. Croix River, October

Photo by J. Harrington

This is the time of year when falling leaves also get blown onto area rivers, where they become habitat to and sustenance for aquatic macroinvertebrates. Over the winter I’m going to spend time reviewing the Xerces Society’s guidance on Nesting & Overwintering Habitat For Pollinators & Other Beneficial Insects. Much of our property is wooded and much of it is open fields that have been enjoying benign neglect for at least a decade. To be candid, I’m as motivated by a desire to minimize yard work as I am providing habitat. That said, I’d like to “do it right!” If anyone has suggestions for resources to maintain a “naturalized landscape,” please share in a comment.

UPDATE: LET FALLEN LEAVES LIE

A Short Story of Falling

By Alice Oswald

It is the story of the falling rain

to turn into a leaf and fall again

it is the secret of a summer shower

to steal the light and hide it in a flower

and every flower a tiny tributary

that from the ground flows green and momentary

is one of water's wishes and this tale

hangs in a seed-head smaller than my thumbnail

if only I a passerby could pass

as clear as water through a plume of grass

to find the sunlight hidden at the tip

turning to seed a kind of lifting rain drip

then I might know like water how to balance

the weight of hope against the light of patience

water which is so raw so earthy-strong

and lurks in cast-iron tanks and leaks along

drawn under gravity towards my tongue

to cool and fill the pipe-work of this song

which is the story of the falling rain

that rises to the light and falls again

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We’re getting warm again!

I think this is what’s called Indian Summer, but maybe not. We’ve already had a measurable snow fall and the air isn’t particularly hazy. Let’s go with Sandy Griswold’s description [follow preceding link]. I’m feeling more poetical than scientific today.

I appear to have recovered from the ancillary effects of my COVID booster, at least well enough to use the mulching mower to turn much of the leaf fall into mulch for the Better Half’s day lily garden. If I’ve read correctly, the leaf mulch may also serve as an overwintering shelter for caterpillars and creatures of similar ilk. That makes me feel good about getting a twofer or even a threefer out of a couple of hours work today. In the interest of pacing myself (“He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day!”) I left some to tackle tomorrow.

more leaves on the ground or on the trees?

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re at or rapidly approaching the time of year when there are more leaves on the ground than in the getting bare trees. Halloween’s about 10 days away. Election Day is slightly more than two weeks from now. This is about as autumn as it gets. I’m guessing you’ve heard some variation on the story of the Northerner who finally broke down and bought a snow blower, and it never snowed hard all winter? He wasn’t sure, after spending the money, how he felt about that. Well, the Better Half has given me a couple of early Christmas presents, nice warm sweaters. Just after I received the second sweater, the Indian Summer weather began. I promise not to complain if I never need to wear the warmer of the two sweaters all this winter. Let’s see how long our warm spell lasts.

Indian Summer

By Diane Glancy

There’s a farm auction up the road.

Wind has its bid in for the leaves.

Already bugs flurry the headlights

between cornfields at night.

If this world were permanent,

I could dance full as the squaw dress

on the clothesline.

I would not see winter

in the square of white yard-light on the wall.

But something tugs at me.

The world is at a loss and I am part of it

migrating daily.

Everything is up for grabs

like a box of farm tools broken open.

I hear the spirits often in the garden

and along the shore of corn.

I know this place is not mine.

I hear them up the road again.

This world is a horizon, an open sea.

Behind the house, the white iceberg of the barn.

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Treats, not tricks, on November 8?

Peak color has come, and gone, in our area. In fact, that’s true pretty much statewide. Time to adjust perspectives and get ready for Halloween / Samhain.

almost time for these folks to show up again

Photo by J. Harrington

The Celts considered the darker half of the year to begin with Samhain on November 1. It was the time of the ending and the beginning of the Wheel of the Year. If I’m feeling optimistic, November 8 will bring better days. Otherwise, it may bring a return of the dark times we suffered from 2016 through 2020.

I’ve reached my limit of the emails and snail mails screaming the world will end if I don’t send $50 or $100 or more to this or that group or candidate. What other occupation convinces people to pay for the employee’s job application? Furthermore, I resent elections being pitched as if they were wars or sports contests coming down to the end of the season and two opponents running neck and neck.

I’m going to take a moment to fantasize about two major changes I’d like to see:

1. US politics gets reshaped to bring out the best in all of US instead of what we get now, attack ads ad nauseam.
2. Change the laws so that the only legal type of corporation allowed in this country is a “B” Corp. or equivalent.

B Corp Certification is a designation that a business is meeting high standards of verified performance, accountability, and transparency on factors from employee benefits and charitable giving to supply chain practices and input materials.

I'm feeling a little lethargic today, probably as a consequence of yesterday's COVID booster, so I'm going to keep it short. With luck I'll be back to what passes for normal tomorrow.

The End and the Beginning

By Wisława Szymborska

Translated by Joanna Trzeciak

After every war

someone has to clean up.

Things won’t

straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble

to the side of the road,

so the corpse-filled wagons

can pass.

Someone has to get mired

in scum and ashes,

sofa springs,

splintered glass,

and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder

to prop up a wall.

Someone has to glaze a window,

rehang a door.

Photogenic it’s not,

and takes years.

All the cameras have left

for another war.

We’ll need the bridges back,

and new railway stations.

Sleeves will go ragged

from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,

still recalls the way it was.

Someone else listens

and nods with unsevered head.

But already there are those nearby

starting to mill about

who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes

sometimes someone still unearths

rusted-out arguments

and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew

what was going on here

must make way for

those who know little.

And less than little.

And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown

causes and effects,

someone must be stretched out

blade of grass in his mouth

gazing at the clouds.

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Several kinds of food for thought

Tomorrow we pick up the last share for the year of the Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] we participate in. Our final week's box contains:

• BABY PIE PUMPKIN
• BUTTERNUT SQUASH
• CARROTS
• CELERY
• GARLIC
• KALE
• ONIONS and
• POTATOES

As the farm now considers “the work of winterizing the farm. We find ourselves looking forward to slower winter days with ample time for dreaming and visioning for next year,” I think that this weekend and next week may be the last yard work sessions for the year before we switch over to moving snow. I went and got my bivalent COVID booster today so I’m hoping to feel up to getting some exercise while I tidy the place a little, if not tomorrow then the day after.

Although I’ll miss the weekly trip to pick up our CSA veggies, I have to confess that I’ve eaten enough cabbage the past few months to hold me until next St. Patrick’s Day, although I suspect the Better Half may sneak in a New England boiled dinner or two over the winter. She more than compensates for that kind of behavior by baking a couple of kinds of my favorite cookies.

Artisan Bread in Five Minutes A Day

Photo by J. Harrington

Speaking of baking, my new book on Sourdough by Science has a chapter on sourdough starters. I’ve almost finished reading through it. I want to think a little more about it but I believe the care and feeding of starters as the author proposes will work better than the approach I’ve been stumbling through for the past decade although it will require some careful planning of the transition. The author maintains a smaller starter and feeds it smaller amounts than I’ve been doing. I’ll report back as I work through those changes.

I’ve been baking artisan bread for about a decade now, first following the “Five Minutes a Day” program and then moving into artisan sourdough. Mostly it’s been fun and tasty but I’ve grown unhappy with  the volume of starter discards I’ve created and recently have had my dough behaving differently than it used to. Artisan and organic and bacteria and yeast do not make for a mechanical process, but it’s a good learning environment for us Type A control freaks.

Bread Soup: An Old Icelandic Recipe

By Bill Holm

Start with the square heavy loaf 

steamed a whole day in a hot spring 

until the coarse rye, sugar, yeast 

grow dense as a black hole of bread. 

Let it age and dry a little, 

then soak the old loaf for a day 

in warm water flavored 

with raisins and lemon slices. 

Boil it until it is thick as molasses. 

Pour it in a flat white bowl. 

Ladle a good dollop of whipped cream 

to melt in its brown belly. 

This soup is alive as any animal, 

and the yeast and cream and rye 

will sing inside you after eating 

for a long time.

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Seasonal aberrations?

Today I got an unexpected surprise. [Of course, if I had expected it, it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?] Most of the smaller ponds in our area, and some not so small, are now covered with skim ice. Despite some cold days and very cold nights, I honestly didn’t see it coming. We’ll probably see it going this weekend when the temperatures are forecast to reach the mid-70’s, but as I drove past some smaller ponds, and the Carlos Avery Sunrise river pools, I had a “Wait! What?” moment or two. Usually, I look for such developments in November, although we did have local ice cover by this time of month a couple of years ago, but it’s not a regular occurrence.

mid-October: rare ice

Photo by J. Harrington

What I’ve noticed in years past is that smaller, shallower ponds ice in first, forcing waterfowl that stick around onto bigger lakes. Often, the smaller ponds freeze before the great migration of waterfowl has begun, which concentrates migrating birds onto the waters remaining open. The reverse happens in the spring, with many northern migrants resting on the Carlos Avery pools before dispersing to smaller waters or continuing north. This year’s breeding duck population is below the long term average. I’m beginning to feel a little haunted by the ghosts of the passenger pigeon.

But for now, we still have waterfowl and juncos. The latter just showed up on our deck, another sign of approaching winter. I have no idea if the juncos will head back north this weekend or will simply “tough out” the forthcoming heat wave. It’s hard to say these days which is more of a rollercoaster, the local weather or the stock market. To paraphrase Cormac McCarthy, this is No Country Century for Old Men.

XLV [Before the ice is in the pools]

Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886

Before the ice is in the pools,
      Before the skaters go,
Or any cheek at nightfall
      Is tarnished by the snow,

Before the fields have finished,
      Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder upon wonder
      Will arrive to me!

What we touch the hems of
      On a summer's day;
What is only walking
      Just a bridge away;

That which sings so, speaks so,
      When there's no one here,—
Will the frock I wept in
      Answer me to wear?

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So the North Wind said “Chill out!”

Morning wind chill in low teens; not what we expect in mid-October, even here in the North Country. Brings us to a version of “it’s not the cold, it’s the windchill,” as an alternative to those in the southwest who try to convince us that “yes, but it’s a dry heat” as the thermometer tops 100.

There was a disconcerted red squirrel this morning, trying to figure out  how to get at the plants and pumpkins we had covered with a flannel sheet to protect from frost and freezing. It’s supposed to get really cold again tonight, so we’ll just leave the cover on all day and night. Things, such as temperatures, are supposed to improve after tomorrow night, until the next unseasonable cold snap gets here.

migrating waterfowl

Photo by J. Harrington

We drove past the Sunrise river pools in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area today. This morning as we were heading out of town there was one pair of swans. When we returned several hours later, the water was still very high, but there were no birds in sight anywhere. Waterfowl numbers should pick up over the next couple of weeks as the migration begins to include divers and geese.

As this was being typed, we had what I think was a robin at the bird bath. If I’m correct, it’s the first time in the years we’ve had the bath on the deck rail that I’ve seen a robin at it. I’ve seen robins in the puddles in the driveway, but never at the bird bath. This world seems to get stranger by the day.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

By Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

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No silver threads (yet), but golden needles

It’s the time of year when some evergreens aren’t. Tamarack (larch) needles are turning gold and dropping. When autumn sunlight catches them just right, they shine and shimmer like a precious metal. Soon the ground will be covered with fresh snowfall, glistening as if woven from silver threads, but not yet. (In case you don’t recognize the source of today’s title, click here.)

it’s time for tamarack gold

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m delighted and amazed that the wild asters growing in our road ditch are still showing flowers on about half of the stems. A little splash of violet among the yellows, golds, scarlets, maroons, browns, etc. is a treat.

Today and tomorrow are going to be cold and windy enough that I want to avoid outside work, except for walking the dogs, and that’s only work some of the time. With luck, Wednesday’s weather will cooperate enough  that I can get some of the leaf litter converted into mulch for the Better Half’s lily bed. We’ll be sure to leave enough as and where they've fallen to give caterpillars and what not winter hideouts.

Majestic Tamarack

Moira Cameron

Tamarack, thy gilded hues,
awash in morning sun, suffuse
the landscape as a golden fleece
draped o’er the outcrop: centrepiece
of northern woodland’s peaceful views.

Autumn breeze brings forth the day
as feathered branches softly sway
to Earthly rhythms: heed the call!
and let thy golden needles fall
to paint the mossy forest way.

Naked, stand in winter’s freeze,
thou proudest of coniferous trees!
While through each long and bitter night
Aurora bathe the sky in light
and dance to secret melodies.

Nature’s dance begins anew
as solstice sun comes into view;
its gentle warmth beats back the claw
of winter chill. Bare branches thaw - 
majestic Tamarack renew! 

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Swans’ song time?

Compared to most prior years, we’ve seen very few swans this year. Perhaps those that migrated north last spring haven’t yet returned. That would be consistent with  the fact that we’ve seen few waterfowl in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area pools all summer. Years past, there were often many Canada geese and a handful of swans. I’ve no idea what’s going on, or not going on for that matter. There is a location on the lower St. Croix river where flocks of swans often spend the winter. Maybe we need to take a drive and check out that place some day soon.

swans at Carlos Avery WMA

Photo by J. Harrington

We have been seeing more pheasants in the area fields during the past few years. Maybe their range is slowly increasing to the north as climate breakdown continues? There seem to be lots of changes in habitats and ranges as the effects of climate weirding continue. I know that one nearby major wetland complex is practically dry.  That could well affect both pheasants and waterfowl; better(?) for the former, worse for the latter.

I’m seeing, or reading about, more and more changes for the worse as climate breakdown continues. It’s affecting the habitats of fish, wildlife and humans. And yet, and YET, our government continues to under-respond while too many folks, especially those in rural areas, continue to vote for the party full of climate change deniers. I am not encouraged. I hope the upcoming elections prove that I’m a lousy trend extender.

The Wild Swans at Coole

By William Butler Yeats

The trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;

I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount

And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.

All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,

The first time on this shore,

The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold

Companionable streams or climb the air;

Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander where they will,

Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,

Mysterious, beautiful;

Among what rushes will they build,

By what lake's edge or pool

Delight men's eyes when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?

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October’s Ides are upon us

The month is half gone. According to my copy of The Pagan Book of Days, “In ancient Rome, the tradition of Winter’s Day was held a day later than in the north. Here, the season of combat ended, and weapons were put away until the following year.” I don’t like pondering about the kind of world in which combat had a season. It seems to imply combat always occurring somewhere but perhaps it was like boxing under the Queensbury rules.

October’s fields

Photo by J. Harrington

Once again this week I neglected to post the contents of our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] share box on the  day we picked it up. The excitement of the season’s first snow fall took precedence so here’s the list of goodies we got yesterday, in our penultimate share:

• APPLES
• CABBAGE, CAULIFLOWER, or BROCCOLI [we got cauliflower]
• DELICATA SQUASH
• GREEN ONIONS
• GREEN TOMATOES
• RAINBOW CHARD and
• WINTER SQUASH SURPRISE [blue hubbard, red kuri, or turban]

Next Friday we collect the final box of veggies. It truly marks the end of summer and this year’s growing season. We could be sad, and we may let such feelings prevail for a day or two, but we’ll be quickly moving into a period full of holidays, plus the insanity of the upcoming election, so the philosophy of “life goes on” will soon dominate. There’ll be Halloween candy to eat and share at Samhain, drumsticks at Thanksgiving and presents to share at Christmas, plus whatever the Pagan Book lists during the next several months. We’re not Caesar, the Ides aren’t yet falling in March, so we’ll cross our fingers, hope for the best, and enjoy as much as we can of the rest of the year.

Late October

By Maya Angelou

Carefully

the leaves of autumn

sprinkle down the tinny

sound of little dyings

and skies sated

of ruddy sunsets

or roseate dawns

roil ceaselessly in

cobweb greys and turn

to black

for comfort.

 

Only lovers

see the fall

a signal end to endings

a gruffish gesture alerting

those who will not be alarmed

that we begin to stop

in order simply

to begin

again.

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Transience of beauty; beauty of transience

We live in a beautiful part of the world. If it had stonewalls, an ocean (specifically, the northern Atlantic), and were more blue than purple, it would be close to ideal. This morning’s drive to pick up this week’s Community Supported Agriculture share, in the midst of the  season’s first snow showers, was absolutely delightful, and I don’t like winter. I had enough sense to take my good camera. Enjoy some of the results.

always scenic red barn

Photo by J. Harrington

whitetail doe in snow

Photo by J. Harrington

ridges near the St. Croix river

Photo by J. Harrington

three sandhill cranes in snow

Photo by J. Harrington

The snow is all gone. Colder than normal temperatures remain for now. If you’re familiar with the debate about not confusing correlation with causation, you can decide for yourself whether our calling out the prospect of snow earlier this week was coincidence (correlation) or it triggered the weather gods (causation). I’m glad we got to enjoy the beauty and equally glad for the melting. Snow is not anything to which I want to become acclimated. I’m already starting to look forward to next year’s road construction season.

Early October Snow

By Robert Haight

It will not stay. 

But this morning we wake to pale muslin 

stretched across the grass. 

The pumpkins, still in the fields, are planets 

shrouded by clouds. 

The Weber wears a dunce cap 

and sits in the corner by the garage 

where asters wrap scarves 

around their necks to warm their blooms. 

The leaves, still soldered to their branches 

by a frozen drop of dew, splash 

apple and pear paint along the roadsides. 

It seems we have glanced out a window 

into the near future, mid-December, say, 

the black and white photo of winter 

carefully laid over the present autumn, 

like a morning we pause at the mirror 

inspecting the single strand of hair 

that overnight has turned to snow.

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