This is only a test

The universe is estimated to be almost 15 billion years old; the Earth about 4.5 billion; humans (Homo sapiens) less than a million. I need to remind myself of this so I can keep in perspective that we are, literally, not only "a child of the universe,” but children on a universal timescale. Is it any wonder that we continue to make monumental mistakes? Plus, there are indications that this whole existence thing is just an experiment, to see if it works. Maybe, by the time time has run its course, everything will just disappear into a last singularity, a mega black hole.

Meanwhile, I don’t give a damn about a cage match between X-man and Zuckface. I do need to do more to break my current pattern of awakening in the morning, walking dogs, getting coffee, checking local and international news, watch my mood go to hell again, check social media, watch my mood worsen. If I reframe life as an experiment in which I (and you) are involuntary participants, and realize how many failed experiments often precede any kind of success, it doesn’t all seem as bad.

Leopold shack and pines

Photo by J. Harrington

An example? from Estella Leopold’s Stories from the Leopold Shack, 

“The first phase of the family’s annual pine planting ran from spring 1936 until spring 1939. Those were the dust bowl years, and during the first droughty summer of 1936 almost all the little pines died....

We continued to plant thousands of pines the next year, and most of those died, ...” 

These days, the pines that finally made it are being thinned so the mature trees can be replaced with seedlings.

There are also stories about Edison and his inventions that highlight the nature of experiments: “‘Results! Why, man, I have gotten a lot of results! I know several thousand things that won’t work.’” I think you get the picture.

So, much as I find it challenging to accept, henceforth, I shall spend less time doom-scrolling and more time rereading this:

Desiderata: Original Text

This is the original text from the book where Desiderata was first published.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

by Max Ehrmann ©1927

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

Treed!

It’s Arbor Day. Purely guesswork and speculation on my part, but it may be one of Katie Holten’s favorite days. I have a copy of, and have read, one of her earlier books, About Trees. I’m also most of the way through Suzanne Simard’s Finding the Mother Tree.

We’ve planted, and replanted, fruit trees a number of times on our little corner of the Anoka Sand Plain. If the deer don’t browse them, winter scald gets them or the pocket gophers eat the roots. We have one pear tree that may come into blossom soon. Last year it attracted no pollinators we could see and produced no pears. As noted elsewhere in these postings, I’m much more of a hunter-gatherer than a farmer-gardener. I have the failures to prove it.

pear tree in flower

Photo by J. Harrington

Back to Katie Holten. We have one of her tree fonts installed on the laptop that regularly helps us produce this blog but it’s not readily available through our blogger software so you should visit her web site for examples. Trees are one of several different alphabets she’s created. I’ve found the prospect interesting but not terribly useful, since most of us are limited in our ability to read “trees.” 

Without trees, we’d have no place to put tree stands; places to hang swings would be severely limited; almost all leaves would have no place to grow above ground level; and lots of birds would be without places to builds nests. Anything else? Oh, yeah!! Humans and other oxygen-breathing animals might be in a bit of trouble without trees. The other thing we haven’t much touched on here is the John Muir concept that: "When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” Simard explores variations on that theme in her book.

Last autumn we had several trees removed from in front of the house. Oak wilt and some disease that killed our large pine (and several others in the neighborhood) had turned the trees into a hazard. We’ll watch and see how the pear tree fares this spring and clean up the piles of dead branches that came down during the winter. As we keep at it, we’ll try not to think of our efforts as “love’s arbor lost.” 

Tree

By Jane Hirshfield

It is foolish

to let a young redwood   

grow next to a house.

Even in this   

one lifetime,

you will have to choose.

That great calm being,

this clutter of soup pots and books—

Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.   

Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.

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

bring on the Christmas season, please

Today saw the tractor get its oil changed and other winter maintenance like freshening the mouse repellant sachets. We’ll install the back blade one day soon and be as ready for winter as we can be. As much as these chores are annoying, the bright side is they keep us away from news reports and social media so we’re getting annoyed by something within our control. Getting those chores done leaves us in good shape to enjoy the Christmas season and staying away from most news these days leaves us in an even better mood.

Tomorrow the Better Half and I will visit a couple of local fly-fishing shops to tackle some stocking stuffer shopping. (See what we did there? “tackle” heh, heh) Then we’ll pick up a bunch of cup cakes the Daughter Person wants for her birthday. Should be a fun, extended, weekend. In fact, the whole month is looking decent as long as we stay away from crowds. That’s where my misanthropic leanings come in handy.

a white pine from Christmas past

Photo by J. Harrington

While I was out playing with my “boy toys,” the Better Half was putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree. For a scrawny, underdeveloped white pine it’s looking pretty good. I hope we end up being able to say something similar about the whole season.

The Littlest Christmas Tree

By Amy Petersen

The littlest Christmas tree
lived in a meadow of green
among a family
of tall evergreens.
He learned how to whisper
the evergreen song
with the slightest of wind
that came gently along.

He watched as the birds
made a home out of twigs
and couldn't wait till
he, too, was big.
For all of the trees
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who's so strong.

"I hate being little,"
the little tree said,
"I can't even turn colors
like the maple turns red.
I can't help the animals
like the mighty old oak.
He shelters them all
in his wide mighty cloak."

The older tree said,
"Why, little tree, you don't know?
The story of a mighty king
from the land with no snow?"
Little tree questioned,
"A land with no snow?"
"Yes!" said old tree,
"A very old story,
from so long ago."

"A star appeared, 
giving great light
over a manger
on long winter's night.
A baby was born, 
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love
over all things."

"He lived in a country
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life
to save all of man."

Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the 
happiest grin,
"We're not just trees,
but a reminder of that day.
There's a much bigger part
of a role that we play!"

"For on Christmas Eve,
my life I'll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they'll adorn me in trim.
This all will be done
in memory of him."

"Among a warm fire, 
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I'll find my great end.
Then ever so gently,
He'll come down to see
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me."

"So you see, little tree,
we are not like the oak
who shelters all things
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
whose colors leave many
standing in awe."

"The gift that we give
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him."

The little tree bowed
his head down and cried
and thought of the king 
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift
can anyone give
than to lay down your life
when you wanted to live?

A swelling of pride 
came over the tree.
Can all of this happen
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind
that he's never alone?

With this thought, little tree
began singing with glee.
Happy and proud
to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas
and that one holy night. 

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

Pining for Christmas

The Christmas tree, a young white pine, is (cut) down. The tree is up (in its stand). We’re several steps closer to Christmas decorations being in place, accompanied by the traditional cursing and griping from the senior male in the household, who once again has discovered that tools were not where he left them, even the ones he used last. New this year: the entire process of of adjusting the tree in the stand was accompanied by blood-curdling, heart-rending howls from Harry the beagle, the Better Half’s most recent rescue, who thoroughly disapproved of being left out of all the fun, especially if food might be involved.

one of our own white pines, decorated for Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

Young white pines have very flexible, springy, branches. They won’t hold heavy light strings nor as many decorations as balsam and fir trees. But they’re home grown and attractive in an etherial way. (Plus, the Iroquois consider the White Pine the Tree of Peace.) Today we’ll just water the tree. Lights will go on tomorrow. After that, the decorations can be hung with care. The need for sparser decorations fits nicely with the fact that the Daughter Person [DP] and Son-In-Law [S-I-L] “inherited” many of the ornaments we’ve collected over the years. Passing such things on is a tradition some families follow to honor continuity, right? 

Based on photos shared via cell phone, DP and S-I-L have their tree up and decorated, but I don’t think they’ve enjoyed the satisfaction of gowing it on their own property. On the other hand, they have a one year old with whom they can share all the wonders and joys of Christmas time. Childhood, for us lucky ones, may be the best Christmas present of all. Wouldn’t it be great if we all lived in a world in which all children were healthy and happy? Shall we put that on our lists for next year and start working for it now?

Gidiskinaadaa Mitigwaakiing/Woodland Liberty

Margaret Noodin

Apii dibikong gaashkendamyaan miinawaa goshkoziyaan
When in the night I am weary and awake wondering
endigwenh waa ezhichigewag bagoji Anishinaabensag odenang,
what the wild young Anishinaabeg of the cities will do,
mitigwaakiing izhaayaan miinawaa anweshinyaan.
into the woods I go and rest.
Nimawadishaag zhingwaakwag miinawaa okikaandagoog
I visit with the white pines and the jack pines.
Nibizindaawaag zhashagiwag miinawaa ajiijaakwag.
I listen to the herons and the cranes.
Nimaatookinaag zaagaa’igan ogaawag miinawaa apakweshkwayag.
I share the lake waters with the walleye and the cattails.
Niwaabaandaanan wesiinhyag-miikanan miinawaa nakwejinaanig
I marvel at the complexity of wild paths and webs woven.
Miidash apii bidaaban niswi giosewag miinawaa
Then when the dawn hides the three hunters
niizhwaaswi nimisenhyag dibiki-giizhigong gaazhad
and seven sisters of the night sky
baabimoseyaan nikeye naawakweg zoongide’eyaan.
I walk bravely toward the noonday.
 

This poem was written in response to "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry.

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

Signs of the changing seasons

We’ve gone from a misty morning to a long, soaking, much needed rain. Perhaps soil moisture and groundwater levels may approximate where they need to be before the ground freezes. As of the end of September, our area was still in moderate drought.

With luck, today's additional moisture may coax another blossom or two from the aster that miraculously bloomed the other day after disappearing all summer.

pine tree in midst of needle drop

Photo by J. Harrington

Although many of us don’t think that conifers change colors during autumn, this is a time of year when the local pine trees drop many of their needles after they’ve changed from green to golden. On the other hand, we’ve not noticed any signs of color change in the local tamaracks. We’ll look for that later this month, about the time we reach peak color on the maples and the oak leaves begin to really change from green to metallic colors.

This week past both corn and soy bean harvests have started. The range in maturity of local corn fields is startling. Many are tan and drying, others still mostly green. Some may not get harvested until after spring’s melt.

Fall Song

by Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures. 

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

A different kind of Christmas bird

The Daughter Person and Son-In-Law just stopped by, looking for some bits and pieces for a Christmas project they're working on. Christmas is family time in more ways than one. The lights are on on the tree and Sigurd, the canoeing Christmas voyageur has a string of lights brightening his canoe. We're doing well for happy holiday vibes as long as we don't look outside at yet another gray, dreary, sky or at the thermometer, which barely made it into double digits this afternoon. It would seem even more Christmasy if a white pine had the fragrance of a balsam or a Fraser fir. Maybe a scented candle will be brought by a ghost of Christmas future.

our home grown tree with lights, no ornaments yet

Photo by J. Harrington

Those who track such things tell us that Minnesota is getting warmer and wetter. They even have a neat graph showing how our Winters actually are warming.

Most of Minnesota’s observed warming has been when it’s coolest. Since 1970, winter has warmed 13 times faster than summer, and nights have warmed 55% faster than days. The frequencies of -35F readings in northern Minnesota and -25F readings in the south have fallen by up to 90%. We don’t get as cold as we once did, and even though Minnesota always will see periodic severe cold spells, the long-term decline in cold extremes is all but guaranteed to continue.

a Christmas cardinal, Mr.  Red Bird

Photo by J. Harrington

I suspect the fact that we're no longer as young as we used to be, and our joints aren't as spry as they once were, may have a lot to do with our inability to appreciate the good points of our warming trend. Or, gaining from -25℉ to -20℉ or even -15℉ might be akin to what our lawyer friends refer to as a distinction without a difference. Fortunately, there are occasional surprises that brighten the prospects, even on yet another dreary day. A male Cardinal, perched on an oak branch, or the sunflower seed feeder, is enough to bring a piece of the Christmas spirit to the neighborhood, regardless of whether the neighbors have put up lights. We got lucky with our camera the other day and captured the shot above.

Red Bird

by Mary Oliver

Red bird came all winter

Firing up the landscape

As nothing else could.

Of course I love the sparrows,

Those dun-colored darlings,

So hungry and so many.

I am a God-fearing feeder of birds,

I know he has many children,

Not all of them bold in spirit.

Still, for whatever reason-

Perhaps because the winter is so long

And the sky so black-blue,

Or perhaps because the heart narrows

As often as it opens-

I am grateful

That red bird comes all winter

Firing up the landscape

As nothing else can do.

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

Cold weather seasonal adjustments

As of mid-day, I have a new pair of (faux) fleece-lined deerskin chopper mittens. Soon we'll have a brand new snow blower parked in the garage. The old one will be kept as a backup and shared with the Son-In-Law and Daughter Person. If we get no, or very little, snow this Winter, you can thank, or blame, me. Ever since I've moved to Minnesota, I've claimed that, if buying a new snow blower every year kept us from being buried in the white stuff, it would be a small price to pay. As for the cold, the Jeep I bought several years ago has the first heated steering wheel I've ever owned. It makes my fingers very happy come December, January and February. The snow blower we're considering also has heated hand grips. Winter in Minnesota might actually become tolerable.

trees in the background have few leaves left

Photo by J. Harrington

Many of Autumn's leaves and needles have left the aspens, maples and tamaracks. Lots of pines also have dropped the needles that are this year's discards. We know this because many of those leaves and needles, except the tamaracks', are all over our drive. We would very much appreciate a nice, sunny day with a gusty West wind some time in the next week or so. Then, what's covering our drive would end up in the ditch across the road. It that doesn't happen, we'll probably have to resort to raking and hauling leaves and needles to our compost heap.

golden needles will soon fall from the pine trees

Photo by J. Harrington

To be on the extra safe side, in light of the cold overnight temperature forecast, we disconnected the two hoses. Falling temperatures probably help explain why mice have been sneaking into the garage and getting caught in traps in near record numbers. A contributing factor is possibly that, over the Summer, we eliminated all the leaf cover on the ground around the outside of the garage. With fewer places to nest outside, the mice are now seeking cover inside. If they didn't have the habit of chewing through wiring harnesses or nesting in engine compartments, we'd be more tolerant of their invasive behavior.

Beyond the Red River

By Thomas McGrath

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south,

And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass

Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion,

Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves.

A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea,

A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses

Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping

An aging whiskey of distances and departures.

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave.

I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe,

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark.

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

We spent the afternoon in the gutter!

This beautiful Autumn afternoon, with essentially no breeze and no rain, turned out to be ideal for gutter cleaning. We hope that most of the leaves and acorns are now on the ground and that whatever rain and snow melt we get this Winter will flow freely, unless freezing rain storms clog everything up. The scheme of using an electric leaf blower worked well, if not perfectly. Much of what had accumulated on the gutters had turned into a mud-like coating which needed some additional encouragement. The end of the leaf blower tube served that purpose nicely. This chore was more easily attended to when yours truly was younger and dumber (and more agile). I want to acknowledge the ladder stabilization assistance provided by the Better Half, and also thank her for not refusing to help because I'm too old and feeble to do this kind of thing. Maybe next year, but for this year we're grateful to be safely back on the ground. Maybe I need to see if AARP offers classes on aging gracefully and intelligently?

rain? ok! snow? ok! freezing rain? not ok!

Photo by J. Harrington

Two weeks from now we get to trim the dead branches on the oaks. Both feet will stay on the ground for that chore. Now, if the weather cooperates so we can enjoy torching the brush pile at Halloween - Samhain, we'll be in fine shape going into Winter. That's all for today. We're tired, but we think we're almost ready for Spring!

we've reached the pot of gold (on the ground) at the end of a rainbow

Photo by J. Harrington

April Rain Song

By Langston Hughes

Let the rain kiss you.

Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.

The rain makes running pools in the gutter.

The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

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

#GreenFriday #OptOutside

We failed a little in our efforts to buy absolutely nothing today on #BlackFriday. We decided it was necessary to buy suet for the birds at the local IGA and the Better Half wanted to get some seasonal decorations at the local florist. We did much better as participants in #OptOutside and #GreenFriday. We moved the pumpkins from the porch to under the pear tree behind the house. We'll see if the local whitetails wanted to nibble on them. Several of the pines from the South side, and one small cedar from the North side of the drive have been converted to front porch Christmas decorations. (In recognition of our carbon footprints and climate disruption, we'll plant some replacement trees next Spring, but in a more sustainable location.) If today's rain doesn't short out the lights, we'll share pictures tomorrow of this year's front porch!

Franco is sure every day must be Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

After a morning's work by their owners, the dogs got a belated Thanksgiving treat (chopped up giblets etc. with their dry kibble) this day after Thanksgiving. Being dogs they asked how come they didn't get fed that way every day. We're starting to wonder if they've been reading Ray Bradbury's Dogs Think that Every Day Is Christmas. Maybe we should read it to both of them to be sure they pick up more of the spirit of the season. We're finding seasonal spirits to be a challenge for us today since the temperature is close to 50℉ and rain is forecast to literally put a damper on attendance at Taylors Falls Christmas Lighting parade this evening.

SiSi acts like every day is Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

The parade has lots of floats and participants wearing lights. We're not sure we want to be around to see how well they work when wet.

how would all these lights react to rain?

Photo by J. Harrington

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.

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

Pining for locally grown decorations

Rarely, but every once in a while, a small dash of common sense strikes us in a timely fashion. This week we're slowly getting Christmas decorations in order. Along the South side of the drive, a number of pine saplings have grown where we don't want them. They've sprung up close enough together to at least partially block the discharge from the snow blower. We've now decided some of them will get cut tomorrow to fill in gaps around the decorations near the front porch, the decorations that are under the net lights (see yesterday's photo). Until this morning we had just been contemplating cutting those pines and throwing them on the brush pile to be burned. We feel much better having thought of an interim use. Might be some of our old New England "use it up, wear it out" background getting satisfied.

at least some of these will help decorate Christmas this year

Photo by J. Harrington

To be honest, someone, probably the Better Half, used pine branches for filler last year (or the year before) in the decorations, so that's most likely where we got the idea. We're just pleasantly surprised that this year we thought of cutting some pines before all the Christmas decorating was done.

Today we were grateful that we were awake this morning and looking our the window in time to watch a beautiful sunrise climb up over a band of clouds. We played a little with our camera but weren't really satisfied with any of the results. There seems to be something about digital cameras that dislikes the reds of sunrises and sunsets. Whenever we take pictures, they look washed out. After watching the Eastern sky for awhile, we then enjoyed the sunlight slowly descending down the tree tops behind the house. That didn't happen until half an hour or more after the sun came over the Eastern horizon. Seeing the fresh start to a day is often one of the best times of day as far as we're concerned. We're grateful we saw the sun today for a brief while first thing.

Home

Bruce Weigl

I didn’t know I was grateful
            for such late-autumn
                        bent-up cornfields

yellow in the after-harvest
             sun before the
                        cold plow turns it all over

into never.
            I didn’t know
                        I would enter this music

that translates the world
             back into dirt fields
                         that have always called to me

as if I were a thing
              come from the dirt,
                          like a tuber,

or like a needful boy. End
             lonely days, I believe. End the exiled
                           and unraveling strangeness.

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

Pining for better weather #phenology

We've reached that time of year in which many of the local pines try to pretend they're deciduous trees. Their older needles change color from green to gold and then drop, leaving the younger, green needles still in place. The local roads recently have been coated with windrows of fallen pine needles everywhere there's a pine or two or three growing roadside.

golden needles ready to drop from a pine

Photo by J. Harrington

It isn't just us, as we confirmed this morning when we saw the Tweet (shown below) from the National Weather Service - Twin Cities. "Sixth wettest on record" we assume brought with the rainfall a corresponding increase in cloud cover. At least we've, so far, not yet received the snowfall that Northern Minnesota has "enjoyed."

When we glanced at some tamaracks yesterday, they still looked very green. We think it's a little early for them to turn gold and drop all their leaves/needles. Tamaracks actually are deciduous. Since there's no sunshine in the extended forecast, we'll see if we can figure out some way to convince ourselves we should go and check nearby swamps, even though it continues to be cloudy and dank and damp.

In "honor" of the weather, we're going to substitute lyrics of a song Paul Simon wrote in lieu of a regular poem today. His piece is titled, of course, Cloudy.

Cloudy

The sky is grey and white and cloudy
Sometimes I think it’s hanging down on me
And it’s hitchhike a hundred miles
I’m a ragamuffin child
Pointed finger-painted smile
I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while

Cloudy
My thoughts are scattered and they’re cloudy
They have no borders, no boundaries
They echo and they swell
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell
Down from Berkeley to Carmel
Got some pictures in my pocket and a lot of time to kill

Hey, sunshine
I haven’t seen you in a longtime
Why don’t you show your face and bend my mind?
These clouds stick to the sky
Like floating question–why?
And they linger there to die
They don’t know where they’re going, and, my friend, neither do I
Cloudy
Cloudy

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

Approaching Father's Day #phenology

At some time during the past several days, the pines near the driveway dumped all their male pine cones all over the drive. Did you know there are male and female pine cones? We didn't, in fact never thought about it, until we moved to the property and lived with pines for a number of years. The male cone drop occurs days after the (yellow) pollen is released. Male cones are much, much smaller than the female cones. See!

male pine cones

Photo by J. Harrington

This afternoon there's an unusual wind, shifting back and forth between East and South, blowing moderately (15 mph) through the neighborhood. Cloud cover comes and goes. Temperature has climbed to upper 80's. (The butter cream cookies our sister sent for father's day arrived in a very, very soft condition. Glad we're not a mail carrier.) We may get some thundershowers, or not. We certainly could use more rain.

The kind of weather we're "enjoying" is an improvement over full-scale blizzards but it presents challenges trying to decide whether to do anything more than sit in the house with A/C on and read or write a blog post. The "breeze" is a bit much for fly-fishing and we've learned the hard way it also makes photography of critters and wildflowers near impossible unless we're trying to take "moving pictures."

doe and fawn

Photo by J. Harrington

Late yesterday afternoon we got another visit to the backyard by a doe and her fawn. This picture doesn't do them justice. They paraded around like they own the place. The doe is quite graceful and the fawn an absolute delight to watch as it trots about following (or leading) mom. We need to work on spending more time watching fawns or reading books and less time on Twitter, at least until there's a new administration and a fresh breeze blowing through both St. Paul and the nation's capital. Time to go see if the fawn's visiting the back yard yet this afternoon. (Actually, no fawn yet but a small flock of turkey hens.)

Summer Wind

By William Cullen Bryant

It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk

The dew that lay upon the morning grass;

There is no rustling in the lofty elm

That canopies my dwelling, and its shade

Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint

And interrupted murmur of the bee,

Settling on the sick flowers, and then again

Instantly on the wing. The plants around

Feel the too potent fervors: the tall maize

Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops

Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.

But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,

With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,

As if the scorching heat and dazzling light

Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,

Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven–

Their bases on the mountains–their white tops

Shining in the far ether–fire the air

With a reflected radiance, and make turn

The gazer’s eye away. For me, I lie

Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,

Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,

Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind

That still delays his coming. Why so slow,

Gentle and voluble spirit of the air?

Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth

Coolness and life! Is it that in his caves

He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,

The pine is bending his proud top, and now

Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak

Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes;

Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves!

The deep distressful silence of the scene

Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds

And universal motion. He is come,

Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,

And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings

Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,

And sound of swaying branches, and the voice

Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs

Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,

By the road-side and the borders of the brook,

Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves

Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew

Were on them yet, and silver waters break

Into small waves and sparkle as he comes.

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

Guarded by dragons / dragonflies #phenology

Several days ago, we marked, with old broken branches and bamboo sticks, the edge of an area we wanted to replant. It's way too steep to keep trying to mow. The sticks are set about three feet apart. Yesterday, and again this morning, many or all of the stick ends had a dragonfly perched on it. I'm not sure what, if anything, it means, but it's fascinating to see. I managed this picture of one of them.

dragonfly guarding a flower bed

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night we got a little rain. It left pine pollen rings on the patio and around the puddles in the driveway. It also watered the new plants near the dragonfly perches. I don't recall previously coming across information about the nutritional and medicinal uses of pine pollen. I'm afraid we've missed harvest potential for this year, but I'll add it to the list of natural events to watch for next Summer. Maybe over the coming Winter I'll try (d/c)rafting a story about past hoards of pine pollen being guarded by a thunder of dragons, whose fiery breath can also open some kinds of pine cones, so those seeds can grow. And maybe they were sleeping Winter naps, or under a Winter witches spell when humans first discovered theKensington Runestone. Winter is a time for story telling.

post-July 4th local milkweed

Photo by J. Harrington

A brief while ago, I saw what I think was a monarch butterfly flitting about the yard. I'm still looking forward to seeing if any of last Summer's butterfly plantings develop blossoms this year. Lots of local common milkweed is growing but no bloom on them yet either. Soon, perhaps, although a few years ago we didn't have milkweed flowers in bloom until after July 4th.

The Vanity of the Dragonfly

By Nancy Willard

The dragonfly at rest on the doorbell—

too weak to ring and glad of it,

but well mannered and cautious,

thinking it best to observe us quietly

before flying in, and who knows if he will find

the way out? Cautious of traps, this one.

A winged cross, plain, the body straight

as a thermometer, the old glass kind

that could kill us with mercury if our teeth

did not respect its brittle body. Slim as an eel

but a solitary glider, a pilot without bombs

or weapons, and wings clear and small as a wish

to see over our heads, to see the whole picture.

And when our gaze grazes over it and moves on,

the dragonfly changes its clothes,

sheds its old skin, shriveled like laundry,

and steps forth, polished black, with two

circles buttoned like epaulettes taking the last space

at the edge of its eyes.

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

Autumn's golden days #phenology

In our neck of the woods, we've reached the time of year when even the "evergreens" are changing colors and dropping needles. If you look carefully, the tamaracks in the center of the picture below can be seen to show the beginning of their color shift. (A glimpse of the "bog" they live in can be seen in the lower right corner.) Soon the tamaracks will turn all yellow or chartreuse or something like that, depending on how your eyes see color. Then they'll drop their leaves and show us bare branches all Winter. There are several wetlands, that include tamarack bogs or swamps, in our neighborhood. They make for an interesting neighborhood and provide homes for even more interesting neighbors.

Autumn's golden sunlight on tamaracks and hardwoods

Photo by J. Harrington

Many of the pine trees scattered about the neighborhood are also displaying golden hues as they exchange old needle clusters for new. They don't attain the barren branches that the tamarack do, but their dropped clusters (five for white pine, two for red) make a noteworthy contribution to forest duff and acidic soils. How old were you when you learned that the Christmas tree (balsam or Frasier, right?) that dropped its needles on the carpet had cousins that do the same thing outside?

White pine shedding needles

Photo by J. Harrington

Another golden feature of this time of year (not counting aspen and birch leaves which are yellow in my book) is the light, especially late afternoon light that makes wild grasses and fallen leaves glow and shimmer in the slightest breeze and just glow when it's calm. There's no one reason that Autumn is my favorite season, even allowing the Spring relieves us of Minnesota's Winters, but the quality of light near day's end has to be included on my list.

Fall Song

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries – - -roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – - – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

- Mary Oliver

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

Pine cone, pollen and puddle time #phenology

male pine cones from driveway

Yesterday's torrential downpours must have knocked down whatever was left of any male pine cones from the white pines along the drive. The large puddle that forms in the driveway's low spot was surrounded by short, slightly curved cones about one-half inch long. It's become clear that the local flocks of goldfinches, grosbeaks and others have decided that the birdbaths are for drinking from, and muddy driveway puddles are for bathing in. This afternoon the dogs and I repeatedly scattered bathers from their ablutions as we took our afternoon constitutionals.

woodcock bathing in driveway, June 2015

Photo by J. Harrington

Last year yielded an even more pleasant puddle surprise when I noticed a woodcock bathing in the selfsame water-filled low spot, although not the same water, obviously. The "timberdoodle" didn't return this year, but then neither have the scarlet tanagers, nor, to any noticeable extent, have the orioles. So much of the world's beauty is so ephemeral we need to be more thankful when we do get to enjoy it.

I enjoyed finally making it back to a more permanent pleasure, the St. Croix River Visitor Center. Today's trip was to do a little exploring outside and some note-taking on the interior exhibits for a writing project. No photos this trip, but next time for sure, when I'll also remember to bring a field guide plus a camera to identify and photograph what's blooming in their native plant garden restoration. Today I noticed several plantings of what I think are spiderwort and some yellow flowers that I don't think are brown- or black-eyed susans, goat's beard, or sunflowers, but what they are I obviously can't venture. This is part of the reason I plan on multiple return trips.

SAID THE TOAD

By J. Patrick Lewis

I was really in a muddle
looking over a mud puddle
’cause I didn’t have a paddle
or a twig to ride the reef.
But I said, Oh, fiddle-faddle,
this is just a little piddle
of a second fiddle puddle
so I saddled up a leaf.
I set sail on the puddle,
but I reached the muddy middle
and I rocked the leaf a little,
then I gave it all I had.
And I solved the mighty riddle
of the whole caboodle puddle
when I hopped up on the middle
of a beetle launching pad

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

Pine pollen time #phenology

The pines beside the driveway are coating everything beneath them with pollen. Last year's dump was a few days later in June.

pine branches reflected in driveway puddle

Photo by J. Harrington

pine pollen ring around driveway puddle

Photo by J. Harrington

I suspect these particular pines have been doing this around the first week of June since before the driveway was 'dozed in the late 1970's. When my life centered around a 9-to-5 job, I'd back out of the attached garage in the morning, near first light, drive to St. Paul, and upon return, pull into the attached garage late in the afternoon. During those days I don't think I ever noticed the pine pollen. James Wright offers a more mindful perspective that answers Mary Oliver's question:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

By James Wright

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,   

Asleep on the black trunk,

Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.   

Down the ravine behind the empty house,   

The cowbells follow one another   

Into the distances of the afternoon.   

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines,   

The droppings of last year’s horses   

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.   

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

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

Bird feeder phenology?

The chickadees, nuthatches and gold finches at the feeders are pretty nonchalant about movement inside the house. Not so the woodpeckers, especially the Pileated. I haven't any idea why woodpeckers are so much more twitchy than smaller (song) birds. If any of you can point to even a clue, please send a comment and I'll see what I can track down and share it here. Even if it weren't for the occasional appearance at the suet feeders, we could tell we have Pileated woodpeckers as neighbors by the rectangular holes in dead trees on our property.

Pileated woodpecker holes

Photo by J. Harrington

Pileated woodpecker at suet feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

Seeing this guy is a Winter treat. We don't put out suet feeders in the Summer, and I've yet to see a Pileated feeding on sunflower seeds, unlike the downy and hairy woodpeckers that show up from time to time in the warmer months. I know that, underneath the snow cover, there's lots of Winter activity that isn't readily visible. Signs of that are all around beneath the feeders, where moles and shrews and voles or whatevers are popping up through the snow to eat leftovers and droppings. That said, if it weren't for the birds at the feeders, gray Winter days would feel and look even more bleak and lifeless than they do. That kind of thinking probably means it's time to start planning for Valentine's Day. Maybe I'll get lucky and see some cupids at the feeders this year!

To Do

By Derek Sheffield

You’ve planted and weeded and wheelbarrowed,

           now tapping a pencil, trying to remember

the next thing—what was it?—when a shape

           drops from the sky, shudders and stops

at a tree—red blotch—whack, whack.

           A creature big enough on this slow spring day

to make you mutter, Ho-

           meric, exactly like the popeyed codger

in the John Wayne flick when he sees

           how the bride and groom have broken

their bed. A big, wild woodpecker. Imagine

           how it would feel to glimpse, like this,

an ivory-billed, that one they say

           (if that’s what they saw) is the last,

epic of the land, boomerang to be

           and not. But could it be

this one will make it for real?

           Make it beyond lit screens,

this pileated inkling now hopping into brisk beats

           of loopy flight. And now almost

in your grasp, the day’s next thing,

           when a rattled, rising shriek riddles the air.

Again. And again you’re just beginning:

           a nest of electric light, a boy

waiting for the bus and laughing

           at the cartoon bird laughing like crazy.

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