“Late" autumn #phenology

By the calendar, we’re close to mid-Autumn but you wouldn’t know it by the weather. Normal temperatures for this time of year are ten to fifteen degrees higher than we're experiencing. Last night and this morning we were under a full moon known as the Falling Leaves Moon by both the Ojibwe and the Lakota peoples. Today’s leaf fall confirms their accuracy. When we noticed the setting moon this morning, it had a ring around it, which is often a sign of precipitation on the way. So far, much of the day has been partly sunny, a pleasant change, and partly cloudy, same old same old.

ice covered bird bath

Photo by J. Harrington

It’ll probably be a month, or six or eight weeks, before we see local lakes ice in. (The bird bath warmer has been plugged in to keep it ice free.) We’ll try to keep track of open water versus ice even though ice fishing isn’t our thing (flies and poppers just bounce on the ice when we cast) and we gave up ice skating many decades ago. We anticipated a major movement of waterfowl with the storm that came through last week, but so far haven’t noticed any signs of migration. I’m not sure there’s been enough snow and ice in Canada to move birds south.

The Better Half took on seasonal wardrobe change this past week. That’s a chore I’ve not yet faced up to. Maybe after Halloween I’ll sort out the “what to wear” tricks and treats. This is a time of year when I feel a need for three or four wardrobe changes during a single day since we start cold, warm up, cool off and end cold. That reinforces my belief that these are times I need to live one day at a time, except when it comes to sourdough bread, for which I have to plan several day’s activities to create the levain, then the dough, then fermentation and, finally, baking. We are definitely back in baking season.

As you can tell, we’ve nothing terribly exciting to report on the home front, for which we’re grateful. The Twins did a quick exit from the MLB playoffs. The Vikings are playing .500 ball going into today’s game and the Wild season has just begun. Our son is much more of a sports fan than I but I try to keep up for his sake.

Leaves

Lloyd Schwartz     1941 – 

                        1 

Every October it becomes important, no, necessary
to see the leaves turning, to be surrounded
by leaves turning; it's not just the symbolism,
to confront in the death of the year your death,
one blazing farewell appearance, though the irony 
isn't lost on you that nature is most seductive
when it's about to die, flaunting the dazzle of its 
incipient exit, an ending that at least so far 
the effects of human progress (pollution, acid rain)
have not yet frightened you enough to make you believe
is real; that is, you know this ending is a deception
because of course nature is always renewing itself—
        the trees don't die, they just pretend,
        go out in style, and return in style: a new style.





                        2 

Is it deliberate how far they make you go
especially if you live in the city to get far 
enough away from home to see not just trees 
but only trees? The boring highways, roadsigns, high 
speeds, 10-axle trucks passing you as if they were 
in an even greater hurry than you to look at leaves:
so you drive in terror for literal hours and it looks 
like rain, or snow, but it's probably just clouds
(too cloudy to see any color?) and you wonder, 
given the poverty of your memory, which road had the 
most color last year, but it doesn't matter since 
you're probably too late anyway, or too early—
        whichever road you take will be the wrong one
        and you've probably come all this way for nothing.






                        3 

You'll be driving along depressed when suddenly
a cloud will move and the sun will muscle through
and ignite the hills. It may not last. Probably
won't last. But for a moment the whole world
comes to. Wakes up. Proves it lives. It lives—
red, yellow, orange, brown, russet, ocher, vermilion,
gold. Flame and rust. Flame and rust, the permutations
of burning. You're on fire. Your eyes are on fire.
It won't last, you don't want it to last. You 
can't stand any more. But you don't want it to stop. 
It's what you've come for. It's what you'll
come back for. It won't stay with you, but you'll 
        remember that it felt like nothing else you've felt
        or something you've felt that also didn't last.

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