Lies, damned lies, and statistics!

The sky is bright blue and cloudless from where I sit. Warm sunshine contributes to above seasonal temperatures. Almost all of the snow from earlier this week has melted. The Better Half and the two dogs are napping. I’m sitting here trying to figure out what happened to the bat house. I noticed this morning that the front is missing. Also, the box is now hanging by only one screw and I think part of the roof is missing.

bat house when new

Photo by J. Harrington

Earlier this year one of the bluebird houses got destroyed by what I believe was a bear. Unless the unseasonable weather prompted one out of hibernation, I don’t think it was a bear that dismantled the bat house, but there haven’t been any recent lightning strikes in the neighborhood either. I suspect we get to just chalk it up as another mystery of country living.

Actually, thanks to a recent annexation, technically we now live in a city, but in the rural portion. At the county level, according to the American Communities Project, we live in a “Rural Middle American” county: "Largely rural and white communities. Middle income and average educational attainment." [That doesn’t help explain the Trump signs we see driving around, unless educational attainment averages have plummeted recently.] Anyhow, the ACP uses fifteen different categories of community types. That certainly seems to complicate any urban-rural divide. I’ve become more and more interested in the emphasis being placed in the media on what divides US rather than what unites US. For next year, I’m thinking seriously of exploring such questions. As an example, when one thinks of rural areas, the role of the arts doesn’t often come to the fore, and yet, there’s Resounds: Arts and Culture on the High Plains.

Perhaps as a holiday present to ourselves, and a New Year’s Resolution, we could check our stereotypes at the door and learn more about the actual people who live in various parts of our country. Waaay back when I was in college, I learned in a sociology course that there are three kinds of lies. See today’s title.

Christmas Mail

By Ted Kooser

Cards in each mailbox,

angel, manger, star and lamb,

as the rural carrier,

driving the snowy roads,

hears from her bundles

the plaintive bleating of sheep,

the shuffle of sandals,

the clopping of camels.

At stop after stop,

she opens the little tin door

and places deep in the shadows

the shepherds and wise men,

the donkeys lank and weary,

the cow who chews and muses.

And from her Styrofoam cup,

white as a star and perched

on the dashboard, leading her

ever into the distance,

there is a hint of hazelnut,

and then a touch of myrrh.

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Frost, freeze, frozen...

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

woolly bear September 26, 2022

Photo by J. Harrington

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

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

busy bees belaboring blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

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

When the Frost is on the Punkin

James Whitcomb Riley - 1849-1916

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

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

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

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

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

Mysterious blooms in October #phenology

Mid-October+, high temperatures in the low 70’s, and fresh blossoms where we’ve seen none all growing season! Welcome to Minnesota’s autumn in the midst of our global warming climate breakdown!

since when do first blooms occur in October?

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning I stepped out the back door of the garage to fuel the tractor and saw a daisy-like flower. As I moved closer to inspect, the pink flower behind the one I first noticed became more evident. There have been no blossoms like these during spring, summer or early autumn. I have no idea what’s going on, do you? Reports on the effects of climate change in Minnesota claim our winters are warming the most, but spring is the primary season for blooming, isn’t it? A quick check of Minnesota Wildflowers' list of plants blooming in the third week of October showed nothing that looked to me like our two late bloomers.

All-in-all, my starting chores for our usual seasonal transition has been rocked on its heels by this morning’s discovery. Maybe we have moved into an alternate universe, since the Vikings won in OT yesterday. I’ll keep my eyes on the skies to be sure the birds are headed south and not north, but it must be autumn because the woods are showing more and more florescent orange vests and hats and we do hear the occasional gunshot. Just to be on the safe side, this morning we gassed up the snowblower and made sure it started. Now we just need the Better Half to watch the auger, since our arms aren’t long enough to hold the control and look at the front of the machine.

[UPDATE: The Better Half informs us that last May she planted cosmos seeds last May. According to this description, they should have bloomed a couple of months ago, in August. Our world continues to grow strange.]

Characteristics of Life

Camille T. Dungy - 1972-

^{A fifth of animals without backbones could be at risk of extinction, say scientists.
—BBC Nature News}

Ask me if I speak for the snail and I will tell you
I speak for the snail.
                          speak of underneathedness
and the welcome of mosses,
                                        of life that springs up,
little lives that pull back and wait for a moment.

I speak for the damselfly, water skeet, mollusk,
the caterpillar, the beetle, the spider, the ant.
                                                        I speak
from the time before spinelessness was frowned upon.

Ask me if I speak for the moon jelly. I will tell you
                        one thing today and another tomorrow
        and I will be as consistent as anything alive
on this earth.

                        I move as the currents move, with the breezes.
What part of your nature drives you? You, in your cubicle
ought to understand me. I filter and filter and filter all day.

Ask me if I speak for the nautilus and I will be silent
as the nautilus shell on a shelf. I can be beautiful
and useless if that's all you know to ask of me.

Ask me what I know of longing and I will speak of distances
        between meadows of night-blooming flowers.
                                                        I will speak
                        the impossible hope of the firefly.

                                                You with the candle
burning and only one chair at your table must understand
        such wordless desire.

                                To say it is mindless is missing the point.

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