Has winter arrived?

We have once again confirmed that getting off our duff and actually cleaning up some of the mess along the drive is much more productive than sitting on our duff in the house and complaining about the mess along the drive. We have also confirmed that, despite living in Minnesota for half a century, we’re still not acclimated enough to remember to wear warm boots or shoes when working outside and standing around in cold damp weather. Each of these observations further demonstrates the accuracy of the saying “We get too soon old and too late smart!” 

Does anyone have any hopes or expectations for an extended warm spell before we get a January thaw, if we get a January thaw? I don’t like these autumns when, within a day or two, we go from low 60s to low 30s and high 20s and then stay there. I feel as though mother nature owes me a couple of weeks in the 40s to get my outside chores done. [Even the Better Half has been discombooberated by this weather. She planted some peonies today but others are still en route. All were supposed to be planted end of October.] Autumn has become too much of a mirror image of spring when we do weeks in the 60s and then jump to the mid 80s and stay there.

pear tree, pumpkins, whitetails

Photo by J. Harrington

Despite my complaints, it felt good to be outside for more than  a quick dog walk. I used the fire pit to burn a bunch of the small branches left over from the tree removal on Tuesday. It’s been too long since I enjoyed an outside fire and the smell of woodsmoke. The pumpkins, all five of them, have now been deposited under the pear tree. Some time over the next week or two I expect the local whitetails to find them and feed on them.

Final observation on this Veterans Day: I remain very grateful that my Dad, Uncle,  Father-In-Law and their peers did such a great job stopping fascism through WWII. It will be even better if we can eradicate it from our country without another civil war.

Windigo

By Louise Erdrich

For Angela

The Windigo is a flesh-eating, wintry demon with a man buried deep inside of it. In some Chippewa stories, a young girl vanquishes this monster by forcing boiling lard down its throat, thereby releasing the human at the core of ice.

You knew I was coming for you, little one,

when the kettle jumped into the fire.

Towels flapped on the hooks,

and the dog crept off, groaning,

to the deepest part of the woods.

In the hackles of dry brush a thin laughter started up.

Mother scolded the food warm and smooth in the pot

and called you to eat.

But I spoke in the cold trees:

New one, I have come for you, child hide and lie still. 

The sumac pushed sour red cones through the air.

Copper burned in the raw wood.

You saw me drag toward you.

Oh touch me, I murmured, and licked the soles of your feet.

You dug your hands into my pale, melting fur.

I stole you off, a huge thing in my bristling armor.

Steam rolled from my wintry arms, each leaf shivered

from the bushes we passed

until they stood, naked, spread like the cleaned spines of fish.

Then your warm hands hummed over and shoveled themselves full

of the ice and the snow. I would darken and spill

all night running, until at last morning broke the cold earth

and I carried you home,

a river shaking in the sun.

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