A rare day

It’s been a productive day. The Better Half and I acquired resident (MN) fishing licenses to go with yesterday’s acquisition of non-resident (WI) licenses. Now we need to get out and get our money’s worth by going fishing. We (I) also confirmed sightings of trilliums in bloom and Canada goose goslings along the roadside near the Carlos Avery Sunrise River pools. For reasons that aren’t clear, someone had decided to brush out the understory where the trilliums grow and wiped out many wildflowers in the process. Sigh!

a trillium covered hillside before “cleanup"

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning I noticed a ruby-throated hummingbird checking the outside of a window where we had a feeder last year. I’ll mount and fill one over the weekend. We seem to have distinct front hummers and back hummers who are dedicated to chasing each other away from feeders. There’s also a pair of Baltimore orioles enjoying the grape jelly feeder when it’s not occupied by male rose-breasted grosbeaks.

At the risk of jinxing us, this may be the one year in 10 or 25 that Minnesota experiences actual Spring-like weather. It’s been a mild roller coaster warm-up with some rain. The first plantings of bergamot seeds failed. A weekend’s task is to replant and hope the late May weather is more conducive, due to more warmth, to successful germination and growth.

May to April

Philip Freneau
1752 – 1832

Without your showers, I breed no flowers,
    Each field a barren waste appears;
If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep,
    They take such pleasures in your tears.

As your decay made room for May,
    So I must part with all that’s mine:
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees
    To torrid suns their sweets resign!

O’er April dead, my shades I spread:
    To her I owe my dress so gay—
Of daughters three, it falls on me
    To close our triumphs on one day:

Thus, to repose, all Nature goes;
    Month after month must find its doom:
Time on the wing, May ends the Spring,
    And Summer dances on her tomb!

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New and improved?

It’s the time of year when many waterfowl, such as Canada geese, are molting. Several years ago, before the county rebuilt the bridge on Hwy 36 over the Sunrise river, and “improved” the shoulders of the road by removing some trees and extending the guard rails, molting adults and fledglings still growing flight feathers would sit around roadside and, too often, wander into the road. Those scenes looked like this.

Canada geese loafing along Hwy 36

Photo by J. Harrington

For a few years, we didn’t see any geese hanging around the edge of the road near the bridge. We assumed the guard rail deterred them. This morning, we noticed a flock of geese near the end of the guard rail. We also noticed what looked like a road killed goose body near the centerline. Maybe we’ll at least have fewer goose fatalities with the roadway “improvements.” I would have settled for no sightings as a tradeoff for no collisions but that was obviously too much to hope for. Let’s just hope that whatever scavenges on the roadkill goose doesn’t become another victim of a road made safer for vehicles in the middle of a wildlife management area. Maybe the county can at least put up some “GOOSE CROSSING” signs someday soon.

In happier news on the backyard feeder front, the glass dish for the grape jelly feeder magically appeared today as the sun was at a better angle to reflect off it. [Yesterday, we theorized the squirrels had absconded with  it.] It’s not going to be returned to service until and unless we figure out a way to keep the squirrels from dumping it again. That may be easier said than done, plus, the young orioles seem to be acclimating nicely to the sugar water feeder.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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The fields are alive with the sounds of ...

As the dogs and I were taking their after lunch walk along the road today, we got yelled at. No, not by an irate motorist but by a pair of sandhill cranes walking through the neighbor’s hayfield across the road. Apparently we were getting too close for the crane’s comfort so we slowed down and gave them some time to increase the distance separating us. The dogs then finished their business, we turned around and headed back toward the house, and the cranes continued whatever business they were on without further comment.

neighborhood field, sandhill cranes

Photo by J. Harrington

Living where we do, cranes are frequently seen in the neighborhood. We’ve not yet, to our knowledge, had them visit our property. Although that would be nice, and we’re mildly jealous that the neighbors properties are more appealing to cranes than ours have been, seeing cranes up close fairly regularly is a wonderful enrichment to our day-to-day activities.

Canada goose/gander with goslings

Photo by J. Harrington

Before the county “improved” the Hwy 36 bridge over the Sunrise River, and the adjoining roadway, we used to be able to watch for geese and goslings near the bridge at this time of year. An extended guard rail cut off the small piece of field between the road and the marshes, so the geese have gone elsewhere to nest and we no longer get to enjoy watching goslings grow. On the other hand, partially grown goslings are no long as likely to be struck by a passing vehicle doing 55 mph or so. Better for the geese if not for would-be naturalists.

The Sandhills

By Linda Hogan

The language of cranes

we once were told

is the wind. The wind

is their method,

their current, the translated story

of life they write across the sky.

Millions of years

they have blown here

on ancestral longing,

their wings of wide arrival,

necks long, legs stretched out

above strands of earth

where they arrive

with the shine of water,

stories, interminable

language of exchanges

descended from the sky

and then they stand,

earth made only of crane

from bank to bank of the river

as far as you can see

the ancient story made new.

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Spring migrants arrive preseason

This morning, as we drove through the Carlos Avery marshes along county road 36, we saw:

• three Canada geese (in the air)
• one swan (in the air)
• two sandhill cranes standing in the frozen marsh
• one fox hunting on the frozen marsh

There’s no sign yet of open water along the Sunrise river, but maybe within the next week or so....???

water starts to open and flow

Photo by J. Harrington

The “pond” north of our property is slowly showing an open intermittent channel of water. Some week soon it should look like the picture above. Most years it gets visited by waterfowl headed north or just arriving in the neighborhood. No sign yet of water in the  “wet spot” behind the house. More, much more, snow melt will be needed for that to become visible.

The National Phenology Network notes that, to our south, spring is arriving early, for the most part. Other than the early bird returns of southern migrants, we’re still waiting for an extended period of above freezing temperatures. While writing this post, we saw a northern-drifting turkey vulture pass over the house. Maybe the birds know something we only suspect. Soon it will be Spring! If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to go watch some snow melt.

The Thaw

Henry David Thoreau - 1817-1862

I saw the civil sun drying earth’s tears —
Her tears of joy that only faster flowed,

Fain would I stretch me by the highway side,
To thaw and trickle with the melting snow,
That mingled soul and body with the tide,
I too may through the pores of nature flow.

But I alas nor tinkle can nor fume,
One jot to forward the great work of Time,
‘Tis mine to hearken while these ply the loom,
So shall my silence with their music chime.

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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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Enjoying Autumn?

Summer’s gone. By week’s end, September will join the past and October will hold the near future. Tomorrow is World Rivers Day and this morning I stumbled into some river resources I should have known about but didn’t. I’ll share them tomorrow.

Today is, among other things, National Public Lands Day. I sent emails to my congressperson and two US senators asking them to support additional funding for national wildlife refuges. The US Fish and Wildlife Service lists 21 facilities in Minnesota. The Star Tribune, several years ago, published a guide to 13 national wildlife refuges in the state. Full disclosure: almost all of my Minnesota goose hunting has been done at a state wildlife area/refuge, Lac qui Parle, in western Minnesota.

Carlos Avery, Canada geese, 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

Minnesota’s regular waterfowl season opened today. I didn’t hear much shooting this morning, which isn’t a surprise since I’ve not seen many birds around Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area, which is, literally, in our back yard.

Since today is Public Lands Day, I’m going to close with the full version of a Woody Guthrie classic, but not until I’ve noted that the indigenous inhabitants of this land were driven from their homes to make public lands. Treaties Matter.

This Land Is Your Land

Words and Music by Woody Guthrie

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York island,
From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters; 
This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway 
I saw above me that endless skyway; 
I saw below me that golden valley; 
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps 
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts; 
And all around me a voice was sounding;
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling, 
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling, 
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting: 
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there,
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing." 
But on the other side it didn't say nothing.
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people, 
By the relief office I seen my people; 
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking 
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me, 
As I go walking that freedom highway; 
Nobody living can ever make me turn back 
This land was made for you and me. 

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Once we were young and the world was new

We picked up this morning our first autumn share of the Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] program of which we’re members. In the box were:

• BUTTERCUP SQUASH
• COLLARD GREENS
• CUCUMBER
• EGGPLANT
• GREEN PEPPER and
• TOMATOES

[The squash has already been turned into part of Thanksgiving dinner by the Better Half. It’s been processed and frozen.]

A couple of the farm fields we drove past had large flocks of Canada geese feeding in them. They’ll probably hang around our North Country until any possible food is covered with snow, which often happens about the time that almost all open water becomes covered with ice in late November or early December.

late August: drought stress?

Photo by J. Harrington

More maples are showing gold-flame-scarlet leaves. Others, I think beech, have traded green leaves for yellow. Colors are still spotty and sparse overall. Real color will come after Autumn Equinox this season. Last year colors came early due to drought. It’s possible what we’re seeing so far is due to this year’s drought stress.

First Fall

By Maggie Smith

I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark

morning streets, I point and name.

Look, the sycamores, their mottled,

paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves

rusting and crisping at the edges.

I walk through Schiller Park with you

on my chest. Stars smolder well

into daylight. Look, the pond, the ducks,

the dogs paddling after their prized sticks.

Fall is when the only things you know

because I’ve named them

begin to end. Soon I’ll have another

season to offer you: frost soft

on the window and a porthole

sighed there, ice sleeving the bare

gray branches. The first time you see

something die, you won’t know it might

come back. I’m desperate for you

to love the world because I brought you here.

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Summer goldrums

My favorite time of year usually starts when the local New England asters come into bloom and lasts through leaf fall on the maples. (Our local oaks drop their leaves up to and including leaf out next spring, so there’s almost no end to their leaf fall season.) During this period, Canada geese start their goslings on training flights to develop flight muscles and chevron practice. The local sandhill cranes begin to assemble in larger and larger flocks in anticipation of their migration south. We’ve already seen some crane assemblies as the small grain fields get harvested and cranes begin gleaning and feeding where the harvest is completed.

Canada geese: training flights begin soon

Photo by J. Harrington

If our township hasn’t mown them into extirpation, the local roadside asters should start showing their lavender flowers in the next week or two (or three). Over the years, I’ve planted a half dozen or so New England asters around our property. So far, none have survived more than a year or twos of my benign neglect. Maybe we’ll try again this year. At least we can enjoy them during this autumn.

According to my cheat sheet from a local orchard, apples won’t be ready for picking until near month’s end. We’ve noticed that honeycrisps grown elsewhere are lacking in something compared to the Minnesota homegrown variety. This apple season offers me yet another chance to take notes on my preferences among apple varieties. For the past several years I’ve intended to but you know what they say the road to hell is paved with, right?

For the most part, today’s rain has been more gentle showers than downpours. There’s been enough rumbles of thunder to get SiSi’s attention, but not enough to make her really nervous. With luck, this afternoon’s, evening’s and tomorrow’s precipitation will be no more severe. The plants seem much happier than this time yesterday.

The Sandhills

By Linda Hogan

The language of cranes

we once were told

is the wind. The wind

is their method,

their current, the translated story

of life they write across the sky.

Millions of years

they have blown here

on ancestral longing,

their wings of wide arrival,

necks long, legs stretched out

above strands of earth

where they arrive

with the shine of water,

stories, interminable

language of exchanges

descended from the sky

and then they stand,

earth made only of crane

from bank to bank of the river

as far as you can see

the ancient story made new.

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It’s gosling season #phenology

The water is very high in theSunrise River pools along highway 36 in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area [WMA]. In fact, it’s high enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if some waterfowl nests have been flooded. I certainly hope that any flooding occurred after the eggs hatched and the ducklings and goslings and cygnets could paddle to some safe location.

Canada goose with goslings

Photo by J. Harrington

There are several small ponds away from the main flow of the river and its surrounding marshes. One of these ponds is in the front yard of a house located just beyond the WMA boundaries and almost each and every year we see at least one pair of Canada geese raising a brood of goslings. This year is no exception. Over the next few months, the goslings will grow and by (late) August will be testing their flight feathers in practice for a migration to warmer climes.

While driving through the WMA today we noticed one pair of swans. At least we presume it was a pair and that they’re raising a family somewhere in the nearby marshes. I don’t recall seeing any swan families in the many years we’ve lived here. That makes me think swans tend toward nesting in more remote areas than geese or ducks. Maybe one day soon I should go and spend some time looking around more carefully than it’s safe to do on a drive through. That makes a nice addition to my “To Do” list.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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As June arrives...

We have seen the end of (meteorological) spring and the start of summer. Astronomically speaking we won't celebrate the Summer Solstice until Sunday, June 20, 2021 at 10:32 pm CDT. Between now and then, we can expect to see beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus) come into bloom. This year the solstice and Father's Day occur concurrently.

beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus)

Photo by J. Harrington

Somewhere around the solstice, if not sooner, we can look for Canada goslings being watched over by their parents and we'll also keep our eyes open for whitetail deer does accompanied by fawns later this month. Days will get longer for most of the month. Temperatures will rise. We'll begin to enter peak summer by month's end.

Canada goose and goslings

Photo by J. Harrington

Unfortunately, accompanying June's delights (have we yet mentioned bbq's and ice cream cones?) come  mosquitoes, biting flies and multitudes of ticks. Then again, it's highly improbable we'll have to shovel or blow any snow for at least the next few weeks, maybe even months, and the dragonflies will help thin out the flying, biting, bugs.

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

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Any day now ...

We're pleased to report that both ponds up the road are now ice free. Open water season is beginning. We've seen speculation that ice out on area lakes may be a week or ten days earlier than usual this year, The pond on the West side of the road held a pair of wood ducks this morning. Perhaps it's the same pair that set up housekeeping somewhere in the neighborhood last year.

early April flock of wood ducks on a local pond

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday we managed to prune several dead branches from a large pine tree in front of the house, plus three or four branches from an oak behind the house. The oak branches kept catching the ROP bar on the tractor every time we tried to mow under them. That wasn't good either for the tractor or the branches and we wanted to be sure to finish that chore, and any related oak pruning, before the oak wilt unsafe season begins in April.

We've not yet seen hide nor feather of a red-winged blackbird nor a robin, nor any pussy willows. Perhaps, if we go for a local drive this afternoon...? It seems as if the sudden outburst of warmer than usual temperatures, coming close on the heels of a polar vortex, caught many of the Spring transitions off-guard, although we've read reports and seen pictures of huge flocks of snow and white-fronted geese moving north across western Minnesota and large flocks of sandhill cranes heading north over western Illinois and central Wisconsin. We've seen a few small flocks of cranes, don't expect to see any snow geese in our neck of the woods, and believe (hope?) the bulk of the waterfowl migration will arrive soon.

Spring

In the north country now it is spring and there 
Is a certain celebration. The thrush 
Has come home. He is shy and likes the 
Evening best, also the hour just before 
Morning; in that blue and gritty light he 
Climbs to his branch, or smoothly 
Sails there. It is okay to know only 
One song if it is this one. Hear it 
Rise and fall; the very elements of you should 
Shiver nicely. What would spring be 
Without it? Mostly frogs. But don’t worry, he

Arrives, year after year, humble and obedient 
And gorgeous. You listen and you know 
You could live a better life than you do, be 
Softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will 
Be able to do it. Hear how his voice 
Rises and falls. There is no way to be 
Sufficiently grateful for the gifts we are 
Given, no way to speak the Lord’s name 
Often enough, though we do try, and

Especially now, as that dappled breast 
Breathes in the pines and heaven’s 
Windows in the north country, 
Now spring has come, 
Are opened wide.

Mary Oliver

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The geese are back!

Today's posting will be brief. This morning we got our second shot of COVID-19 vaccine. Despite being only slightly sup-par so far, we want to report that on our drive to and from Minneapolis, we saw several small flocks of Canada geese along the mostly open water of the Sunrise River main channel just north and south of County Road 36 in Wyoming. We also saw a flock of 5 geese in the air as we headed toward the cities and, on the way home, noticed several small flocks of small ducks, species unidentified, mixed with the geese. The early scouts of the waterfowl world think it's Spring. Still no sightings of sandhill cranes, robins or red-winged blackbirds to report.

the geese are back!

Photo by J. Harrington

Over the weekend we hope to put aside the irrational exuberance we experienced due to the excessively warm weather over the past week or so. We're grateful most of the snow has melted and that last night's tornadoes weren't really close and the heavy snowfall stayed further North, where it belongs. Unfortunately, our dog SiSi was once again deeply troubled by the nearby thunder and lightening. We keep hoping she'll outgrow it and she keeps reverting to puppyhood whenever there's a thunderstorm in the area. Despite that, effective this afternoon, we're going to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, and not mess with Mr. Inbetween.

Spring Snow

By Linda Gregerson

A kind of counter- 

blossoming, diversionary, 

doomed, and like 

the needle with its drop 

of blood a little 

too transparently in 

love with doom, takes 

issue with the season: Not 

(the serviceberry bright 

with explanation) not 

(the redbud unspooling 

its silks) I know I've read 

the book but not (the lilac, 

the larch) quite yet, I still 

have one more card to 

play. Behold 

a six-hour wonder: six 

new inches bedecking the 

railing, the bench, the top 

of the circular table like 

a risen cake. The saplings 

made (who little thought 

what beauty weighs) to bow 

before their elders. 

The moment bears more 

than the usual signs of its own 

demise, but isn't that 

the bravery? Built 

on nothing but the self- 

same knots of air 

and ice. Already 

the lip of it riddled 

with flaws, a sort 

of vascular lesion that 

betokens—what? betokens 

the gathering return 

to elementals. (She 

was frightened 

for a minute, who had 

planned to be so calm.) 

A dripline scoring 

the edge of the walk. 

The cotton batting blown 

against the screen begun 

to pill and molt. (Who 

clothed them out of 

mercy in the skins 

of beasts.) And even 

as the last of the 

lightness continues 

to fall, the seepage 

underneath has gained 

momentum. (So that 

there must have been a 

death before 

the death we call the 

first or what became 

of them, the ones 

whose skins were taken.) 

Now the more- 

of-casting-backward-than-of- 

forward part, which must 

have happened while I wasn't 

looking or was looking 

at the skinning knives. I think 

I'll call this mercy too.

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Urge for going

After dutifully changing the oil and filter in the tractor this morning, we're listening to the second CD in the Joni Mitchell Archives - Volume 1, the early years (1963 - 1967). It includes two versions of the Urge for Going. Listening to a composer performer her works in different ways, showing the development and growth of talent, is a real treat. As much as anything, we're blown away by her guitar playing, enough so we finally looked up what the hell an "open G tuning" is. We suppose now we'll have to see what that sounds like on our long neglected guitar.

we read much more than we practice guitar

Photo by J. Harrington

The fact that we avoided disasters during the oil change was one of this week's other treats. Yesterday's delivery of a box of books from England, a package we weren't expecting until near the end of the month, is another one. This is shaping up as one of the better weeks in quite awhile around here. That brings us right back to the Urge for going.

Today's high temperature is forecast to reach 78℉. All week we've enjoy temperatures about 30℉ warmer than normal for this time of year. Next Tuesday, four days away, the high is forecast to be in the low 40's, accompanied by snow. Weather whiplash is on the way again. We've already had a week of freezing and snow late last month. This morning we saw a hornet for the first time in weeks. Local ponds that had frozen over are now, again, all open water. Firearms deer season opens tomorrow without a trace of tracking snow in the local woods.

geese, no chevron, with an urge for going

Photo by J. Harrington

[UPDATE: Bumblebees are going extinct in a time of ‘climate chaos’]

Farmers have used this week's weather respite to harvest more fields that hadn't been touched prior to the cold, snow and freezing spell. Some waterfowl are still hanging around but, we suspect that, come next week, they'll have an urge for going. Weather volatility, political volatility, public health volatility, they all, individually or collectively, may leave many of us one day next week facing something like this:

Urge For Going

by Joni Mitchell

I awoke today and found 
the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky 
then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold 
and all the trees are shivering in a naked row...

I get the urge for going
But I never seem to go

I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down and winter is closing in

I had a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling's heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground
And bully winds came around
and pushed them face down in the snow...
He got the urge for going
And I had to let him go

He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
And summertime was falling down and winter was closing in

Now the warriors of winter give a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying all that lives is gettin' out
See the geese in chevron flight 
Flapping and racing on before the snow...
They've got the urge for going
And they've got the wings to go

They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down and winter is closing in

I'll ply the fire with kindling now
I'll pull the blankets up to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out
And I'll bolt my wandering in
I'd like to call back summertime
And have her stay for just another month or so...
But she's got the urge for going
So I guess she'll have to go

She gets the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire's falling down
And winter's closing in.

And I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is Falling Down.

This lyric has been formatted exactly as Joni preferred it to appear (capitalization, punctuation, line breaks, changes in wording, etc). Joni collaborated with Lisa and John Sornberger by making these changes for presentation in their book, Gathered Light.

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(un)seasonal(?) surprises

Probably the season, and the unsettled weather, had a lot to do with the number and kinds of wildlife we saw this morning as we drove to pick up a share box from our autumn Community Supported Agriculture farm. Several flocks of Canada geese traced their way high across the cloudy sky, looking for newly harvested fields that needed gleaning. Three whitetail deer were picking their way through what, a couple of weeks ago, was a soy bean field. Numerous flocks of migrating songbirds arose from roadside or fields' edge as we passed by, but the most astonishing of all we saw is what we've come to think was a family of bald eagles all perched, briefly, in the same tree.

When we first noticed them, we could view one obvious bald eagle (white head and tail) and what looked to be a larger bird that lacked the characteristic head and tail coloring. Could it be a golden eagle? There are several reports of golden eagles being observed in eastern Minnesota and western Wisconsin, especially at this time of year.

3 of 4 camera-shy eagles

Photo by J. Harrington

As we slowly drove past the tree holding the birds, we saw a second bald eagle, about the same size as the first, that also appeared slightly smaller than the all brownish one. While trying to get a picture, a fourth bird soared in. This one matched the coloring and size of the larger, brown bird. So, did we now have a pair of bald eagles and a pair of golden eagles or, was it a pair of adult eagles with their larger juveniles, a family of four? We'll never know for sure but, after doing some quick on-line research, we're leaning toward four of a kind rather than two pair.

snow showers: preview of coming attractions?

Photo by J. Harrington

As we drove home, snow flakes began to fall. For half an hour or so it felt as if we were inside one of those old-fashioned snow globes. The flakes were large and fell very slowly against a backdrop of varied colors of leaves still on the trees: bronze, brass, copper and gold. As we write this, the morning snow has melted and mid-day graupel is down-bursting. These previews of coming "attractions" briefly lent a magical patina to this morning's array of seeing some neighbors.

Eagle Poem

By Joy Harjo

To pray you open your whole self

To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you.

And know there is more

That you can’t see, can’t hear;

Can’t know except in moments

Steadily growing, and in languages

That aren’t always sound but other

Circles of motion.

Like eagle that Sunday morning

Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky

In wind, swept our hearts clean

With sacred wings.

We see you, see ourselves and know

That we must take the utmost care

And kindness in all things.

Breathe in, knowing we are made of

All this, and breathe, knowing

We are truly blessed because we

Were born, and die soon within a

True circle of motion,

Like eagle rounding out the morning

Inside us.

We pray that it will be done

In beauty.

In beauty.

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Starting to close the books on September

Once again it's been several days since we've seen any ruby-throated hummingbirds at the nectar feeders. Add to that  the drop in temperatures and we think they're gone for the season. If we see any after this posting it will be the fourth or fifth time they've faked us out this season but, since we're at September's end, this time it feels real.

an interesting mix of cloud forms

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning the sky was full of fascinating and occasionally spectacular cloud formations. We didn't capture but one of them. The field is the same one on which the mist hung in last Saturday's posting. One of the fields in which last week we were seeing flocks of Canada geese feeding this morning had several sandhill cranes foraging.

can you see the three deer in this picture?

Photo by J. Harrington

Whitetail does and yearlings have been feasting on the pear windfalls triggered by recent gusty winds. Others have been lurking in roadside ditches, producing startle responses as the driver or passenger suddenly notices movement along or toward the road. We much prefer to see them under the pear tree or crossing the road well ahead of us.

Many of the maple leaves are now on the ground. The driveway is covered by a mixture of maple leaves, pine needles and a few oak leaves. The local oaks are just beginning to show some real color this year. The bright orange leaves of the black cherry tree near the back edge of the property haven't yet really mad an appearance.

Green Pear Tree in September

By Freya Manfred

On a hill overlooking the Rock River 

my father’s pear tree shimmers, 

in perfect peace, 

covered with hundreds of ripe pears 

with pert tops, plump bottoms,  

and long curved leaves. 

Until the green-haloed tree 

rose up and sang hello, 

I had forgotten. . .  

He planted it twelve years ago, 

when he was seventy-three, 

so that in September 

he could stroll down  

with the sound of the crickets 

rising and falling around him, 

and stand, naked to the waist, 

slightly bent, sucking juice 

from a ripe pear.

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"More important than television" (or social media)

 In my life, I have seen few things more majestic and stirring than a skein of Canada geese in flight. Nor have I seen many things much more humorous than flocks of geese waddling through harvested (or recently planted) fields as they glean their way to a full stomach. This morning, on the way to get our weekly Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] share, we got to watch the latter.

Canada geese gleaning a field

Photo by J. Harrington

For reasons I won't even try to guess, a large flock of Canada geese had landed in a field right next to the county road. You can see the edge of the pavement in the lower left corner of the photo. Just East of the geese [behind the jeep] were a pair of sandhill cranes. Perhaps one of the morning's cloudbursts had forced all of them out of the sky. Perhaps the field looked like the equivalent of an avian truck stop. I don't know. I do know that watching 25 to 50 or so geese hustle away from road's edge as the jeep slowed to a stop was better than an Abbott and Costello routine. (The camera I had handy couldn't quite capture all the geese in the field through the rain-washed windshield.)

sandhill cranes (not this morning's)

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday, or the day before, a pair of sandhill cranes stopped to explore and feed in the field across from our property. We've yet to entice either geese or cranes to land in our fields which attract mostly pocket gophers, rabbits, wild turkeys and whitetail deer. Having grown up in the city or near the ocean back in New England, wildlife sightings were rare. One of the real pleasures of country living are the frequent, serendipitous, views of the other than humans with whom we share the area. Joni Mitchell's song Big Yellow Taxi asks "Don't it always seem to go / That you don't know what you've got / Till it's gone..." 

Aldo Leopold raises a similar cautionary view with an equally lyrical but more specific phrasing

“Like winds and sunsets, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do away with them. Now we face the question whether a still higher 'standard of living' is worth its cost in things natural, wild and free. For us of the minority, the opportunity to see geese is more important than television.” 

We have reached the time of year when geese goslings and sandhill crane colts are grown and feathered. Practice flights, in training for Autumns migration, have begun. A new season approaches. Summer will soon be gone.

 

The Season of Phantasmal Peace

By Derek Walcott

Then all the nations of birds lifted together

the huge net of the shadows of this earth

in multitudinous dialects, twittering tongues,

stitching and crossing it. They lifted up

the shadows of long pines down trackless slopes,

the shadows of glass-faced towers down evening streets,

the shadow of a frail plant on a city sill—

the net rising soundless as night, the birds' cries soundless, until

there was no longer dusk, or season, decline, or weather,

only this passage of phantasmal light

that not the narrowest shadow dared to sever.

And men could not see, looking up, what the wild geese drew,

what the ospreys trailed behind them in silvery ropes

that flashed in the icy sunlight; they could not hear

battalions of starlings waging peaceful cries,

bearing the net higher, covering this world

like the vines of an orchard, or a mother drawing

the trembling gauze over the trembling eyes

of a child fluttering to sleep;

                                                     it was the light

that you will see at evening on the side of a hill

in yellow October, and no one hearing knew

what change had brought into the raven's cawing,

the killdeer's screech, the ember-circling chough

such an immense, soundless, and high concern

for the fields and cities where the birds belong,

except it was their seasonal passing, Love,

made seasonless, or, from the high privilege of their birth,

something brighter than pity for the wingless ones

below them who shared dark holes in windows and in houses,

and higher they lifted the net with soundless voices

above all change, betrayals of falling suns,

and this season lasted one moment, like the pause

between dusk and darkness, between fury and peace,

but, for such as our earth is now, it lasted long.

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As time and the seasons turn

Welcome to June, the month of and for:

• whitetail fawns
• Canada goose goslings
• wildflowers
• thunderstorms
• Summer solstice
• father's day
• fill in your favorite June events.

wildflowers surround a fawn and doe

Photo by J. Harrington

We're still hoping to get a three sisters garden planted this month. The tiller is off at the small engine doctor to see if they can get it to run. We may not get it back until some time next week. We'll see how things turn out over the Summer and Fall growing seasons. If I look at it as a learning experience then the prospect of being rewarded with a bountiful harvest as a reward for our work becomes less important. After all, I spend time fishing and hunting without needing to kill fish or game as a reward. (In view of my success rate over the years, that's just as well.) If you can't quite grasp what I'm talking about, let me refer you to sone of Gene Hill's writings. He captures much of my meaning in this excerpt:

Remember when time was cheap? The songs we sang about it told us that we had time on our hands, that time stood still, that tomorrow would be time enough. And now we find it was not. Suddenly times to come have become times past, and we must hoard it and spend it cautiously as the tag ends of a small inheritance . . . which is what it really was all along—except no one told us.

next year's geese are this year's goslings

Photo by J. Harrington

You've probably read about and seen reports on the now worldwide protests against the Minneapolis police role in the death of George Floyd. I've no idea what songs or singers accompany any of the protestors. I do hope they have music as meaningful to their times and places as much of the folk music I grew up with was, and is, to me. One of the better examples, of many, was created by Pete Seeger from passages in the Bible’s Book of Ecclesiastes for “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain that which is to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time of love, and a time of hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

I sincerely hope that the turning of Spring into Summer, as May has turned into June, brings us times to embrace each other and the changes our country needs; a time of peace so that we may chose wisely and well come November; a time to heal between now and November; a time to rededicate ourselves to the purpose of this country's democracy in which all are created and treated equal. Let's let a young Mr. Seeger and Ms. Collins help us regain some perspective on where we are and where we're trying to get to (and how time can seem never-ending, never-changing).

At the Justice Department November 15, 1969

By Denise Levertov

Brown gas-fog, white

beneath the street lamps.

Cut off on three sides, all space filled

with our bodies.

       Bodies that stumble

in brown airlessness, whitened

in light, a mildew glare,

       that stumble

hand in hand, blinded, retching.

Wanting it, wanting

to be here, the body believing it’s

dying in its nausea, my head

clear in its despair, a kind of joy,

knowing this is by no means death,

is trivial, an incident, a

fragile instant.    Wanting it, wanting

          with all my hunger this anguish,

          this knowing in the body

the grim odds we’re

up against, wanting it real.

Up that bank where gas

curled in the ivy, dragging each other

up, strangers, brothers

and sisters.    Nothing

will do but

to taste the bitter

taste. No life

other, apart from.

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