Seasonal adjustments

According to our copy of the Minnesota Weather Guide, the normal high temperature this week is 82℉ and next week it’s 81℉. The ten-day forecast doesn’t have a high of 80℉ or more. Early Autumn on the horizon? More mice have been showing up in the mouse traps this month. For some of us, especially me, Autumn’s early arrival would be a pleasant surprise, as long as we don’t revert to 90’s next month. The last time I checked, the average number of days in the 90s in Minneapolis is 13 but

As of August 6, there have been 6 days this year where the high temperature has reached at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

The last time it reached at least 90° F was August 2, 2024.

We’ve been enjoying letting fresh air into the house today. With Summer temperatures, air conditioning, and windows closed, after a while the air does tend toward stale.

local trout stream at "normal" flow

Photo by J. Harrington

The rains and more rains have repeatedly spiked the flows in our local trout streams. Maybe the next week or so will provide better conditions to check out in person how they’re flowing. I may even bring along my Tenkara rod to play with. The simplicity of that approach appeals to me, at least enough to give it a try. The rod has sat in a corner for a couple of years now.

Despite being retired, I’m running into a time and energy crunch. There are a couple of other writing projects I’d like to get started on but posting here on a daily basis, and doing enough from time to time to post about, has been getting in the way of my getting started on those other projects. So, I’m considering going to less than daily here, maybe even once a week for awhile. When and if I get those other projects rolling, I may return to daily here, or not. We’re almost at 825,000 posts and many of our page views appear to be from bots, which isn’t very satisfying as far as I’m concerned. Plus, Blogger is again failing to upload images. [The image  above was added the day after original posting. I don't know what changed.]

The Trout

Amy Lowell
1874 – 1925

          Naughty little speckled trout,
          Can't I coax you to come out?
          Is it such great fun to play
          In the water every day?

          Do you pull the Naiads' hair
          Hiding in the lilies there?
          Do you hunt for fishes' eggs,
          Or watch tadpoles grow their legs?

          Do the little trouts have school
          In some deep sun-glinted pool,
          And in recess play at tag
          Round that bed of purple flag?

          I have tried so hard to catch you,
          Hours and hours I've sat to watch you;
          But you never will come out,
          Naughty little speckled trout!

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Allee allee in free?!!

Today’s weather, and the state of the country’s and world’s politics, have me waxing nostalgic for times that at least seemed simpler and more sensible. It’s been raining and pouring intermittently all day. Dog walks have been scheduled between downpours but the dogs would prefer to wait until it’s dry so they can sniff better. Today’s “poem” takes me back to high school and college days, and before. I hope you enjoy it.

rain clouds overhead, and on the horizon?

Photo by J. Harrington

Our governor is reported to be one of the two remaining candidates for Madame President’s VP pick. I have mixed feelings about that. Minnesota’s loss being the nation’s gain, etc. The reality is it will be interesting to see what happens if he’s selected and we end up with a Native American woman as governor. I’ve just about reached a point where I believe we can survive almost anything but #45 becoming #47, or would that be #45a and b?

The last line in the lyrics below is how I remember ending hide and go seek games when I was a kid in Dorchester, a Boston neighborhood. My mother used to claim she could tell whose back yard I’d been playing in by the way I smelled. The phrasing differs from the Kingston Trio’s Ally Ally Oxen Free. I have no idea what may be the real etymology of the phrase. Do you?

It's Raining

Song by Peter, Paul and Mary

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring

Bumped his head and he went to bed

And he couldn't get up in the mornin'

Rain rain, go away, come again some other day.

 

"hey I got an idea ... we could all play hide and go seek inside,

Now everybody hide and I'll be it!"

 

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

Wish I may, wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.

 

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring

Bumped his head and he went to bed

And he couldn't get up in the mornin'

Rain rain, go away, come again some other day.

 

Five ten fifteen twenty.

Twenty-five thirty. thirty-five forty.

 

Lady bug, lady bug, fly away home.

Your house is on fire, and your children,

They will burn, they will burn.

 

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring

Bumped his head and he went to bed

And he couldn't get up in the mornin'

Rain rain, go away, come again some other day.

 

Forty-five fifty. fifty-five sixty.

Sixty-five seventy. seventy-five eighty.

 

Won't be my father's jack,

No I won't be my mother's jill,

I'll be a fiddler's wife and fiddle when I will.

 

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring

Bumped his head and he went to bed

And he couldn't get up in the mornin'

Rain rain, go away, come again some other day.

 

Eighty-five, ninety. ninety-five, a hundred.

 

anyone round my base is it! ready or not, here I come!

allee allee in free!

Songwriters: Allen Toussaint / Naomi Neville 

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More than one reason for “No Mow"

The power went out for no more than two seconds in one of last night’s thunderstorms. That was just long enough to require the microwave and stove clocks to be reset, but not the clock/timer in the coffee maker. WTH? It also caused an instant shut-down on my desk computer and when I rebooted that, it auto-selected a wifi network that doesn’t work with Gmail. Today I figured out how to solve that problem but am left wondering if our increasing reliance on less than totally reliable technology is worth it.

back yard "lawn" and wet spot in mid-Summer

Photo by J. Harrington

The back yard doesn’t need mowing as much as the front and North side. The rain made the front “lawn” area too wet to mow, although I tried. Damp soil and mole tunnels made for uneven cuts and poor bagging of the leaves left from Spring. Rain is forecast again tonight and tomorrow. In our area, we’re approaching the wettest year to date precipitation totals. Maybe raising goats would be less trouble and they could munch on the buckthorn in the woods too. At least I’ve never been overly concerned about having the greenest and best lawn in the neighborhood, so it could be worse.

Finding a balance between backwoods rustic and republican suburban is really challenging. More so if one doesn’t have a background in agroforestry or something like that and would really rather be fishing or reading poetry. After all, wild turkeys have moved into the Twin Cities so what’s the advantage of exurban living, especially with more and more tRUMP lawn signs popping up and no metropolitan mosquito control district to help thin out biting insects? Ah, yes -- fewer neighbors overall, except for biting insects.

Grass

By Joyce Sidman

I grow in places

others can’t,

 

where wind is high

and water scant.

 

I drink the rain,

I eat the sun;

 

before the prairie winds

I run.

 

I see, I sprout,

I grow, I creep,

 

and in the ice

and snow, I sleep.

 

On steppe or veld

or pampas dry,

 

beneath the grand,

enormous sky,

 

I make my humble,

bladed bed.

 

And where there’s level ground,

I spread.

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Strange times on turtle island

The Better Half wanted to show me a turtle she noticed in the driveway yesterday. By the time she got the dogs back into the house and her spouse out into the heat and humidity, the turtle had disappeared. Where it went is unclear. I poked around the drive’s edges a little with no sign. I mean, how fast can a turtle move and why would one move very fast anyhow? Once again Nature has left me scratching my head especially since I think turtle nesting season is more in June and early July and the reported size was considerably larger than a hatchling. I’m also pondering why a turtle would have wandered onto the drive since the nearest real water, not counting the “wet spot" in the back yard, is about a quarter of a mile north of where s/he was observed.

where turtles belong in mid-Summer, sunning on a rock

Photo by J. Harrington

Also yesterday, during the evening, one of our dogs, I believe mine, made a puddle on the carpet. SiSi has lived with us for a decade and knows better. I don’t know what happened with her nor is it clear why her four-legged housemate would have thrown up several partially digested doggie treats midday today. If most things made sense, where would be the fun, right?

When I peeked at the forecast a bit ago, we’re supposed to be getting thunderstorms for about 24 hours, from 6 or 7 this evening through the same time tomorrow. I hope that’s inaccurate. My dog in particular, and the Better Half’s beagle less so, gets agitated by thunder and lightning. I don’t want to have to spend the night holding the paws of an aging yellow lab crossbreed instead of getting my much needed beauty rest.

May next month be filled with better news and activities.

The Little Turtle

By Vachel Lindsay

There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn't catch me.

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The reign of rain

Well, we now know what it’s like to be the recipient of almost 3.5 inches of rain in less than 24 hours. Just to our west, and again to our south, reported amounts were less than a half inch and a little more than an inch, respectively. One might almost begin to believe the weather has become hyper-volatile, almost as if we were experiencing anthropogenic climate change, but Americans would have to be hyper-gullible enough to vote for a known con man as POTUS, believing that someone inept enough to bankrupt a casino is actually a successful business man, for that to happen, right?

this driveway was dry a few hours ago

Photo by J. Harrington

Anyhow, after our overnight deluge, we were visited this morning by a couple of whitetail bucks with antlers in velvet, a doe, a fawn who has lost its spots, and a flock of half a dozen or so turkey hens, but no poults that we could see. Yet another example of feast or famine? Each day there are hours and hours with no signs of wildlife in the fields behind the house other than the birds coming to the feeders. Some seasons, like late autumn through deep winter, there are weeks and months with little, if any, views of critters other than at the feeders.

By this point in the summer last year, we had had almost a couple of dozen days in the 90’s. This year there’s been two. There’s only one more in the ten day forecast. Which year should we consider “normal,”  or dow we average the two as normal? I think I’m trying to raise the issue of times of tempestuous change make it difficult to establish a new baseline that we can at least consider “normal.” Even if meteorologists use something like a 30 year rolling average for some factors, if we continue to experience the “hottest day on record,” year after year, that’s not going to tell us what humans used to consider normal before we created the Anthropocene. We all need to do more to keep context in mind. For more, check shifting baseline.

to the orange still green

Patty Seyburn

Your desire for metamorphosis heard and filed away:
frustration noted, conveyed to proper authorities,
soil and rain. Issues of identity never so labored as today.
I have heard, however, if you hail from Valencia,

it’s quite normal, and as far as dye—why would you
tamper with natural beauty in search of convention, 
in this state where the prophetic sun anoints every
being? Merely for the sake of reinvention?

O Orange, unmatchable trochee except by slant,
by dint of the imagined word, yet to be created,
word of a new world, green world, seamless sphere
content, unbruised by fear of being belated,

join the trend—shed your insecurity, take pride
in the mother country, Brazil, in the year yours arrived
here, 1873, planted by the future scions of Riverside.
Rumor has one of three founding trees still alive,

and that could be your branch, your seed—while my kin
found themselves in Jersey City, trying their damndest 
                                             to speak American.

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What if “highly irregular” becomes the new regular?

The good news is I wasn’t in the midst of yard chores, or standing in a river waving a stick, when the down pour let loose. A few rumbles of thunder, but no lightning that we saw, accompanied the rain. If I had been wading, I probably would have to have fallen into the river to get any more wet than the  “showers” would have left me. Then, it was all over in ten minutes or so. Will there be more today? Who knows? Certainly not the meteorologists who cover themselves in glory with a forecast that includes “isolated thundershowers” or “scattered thunderstorms.” 

our wildflower meadow, late June 2024

Photo by J. Harrington

At the moment, there are no rain events in the 10-day forecast, except for today. The (abnormally) wet weather we’ve had so far this summer created some beautiful patches in the fields behind the house. [see above.] To paraphrase a line from an old Tom Paxton song, “I can’t help but wonder where I’m [it’s] bound.” After all the years we’ve lived here and let much of the property enjoy benign neglect, this summer’s rain has transformed the fields from scraggly grass and sedges into wildflowers and/or weeds, depending on your perspective. What will be growing next year and where are this year’s mulleins? [Until today, I had no idea that mullein has so many medicinal uses.]

Some of us suspect that what we’re seeing this year may be the results of intermittent seedings over the years finally getting enough water to trigger germination. If that’s the case, and we refuse to install an irrigation system, will next summer provide only scruffy grass again? Last summer the extended drought triggered massive fields of yellow flowers in several local wetlands. So far this year, we’ve seen no sign of them but the season’s not over yet.

All of this makes me wonder what life may be like if the “new normal” doesn’t provide regular patterns and rhythms as much as it offers persistent inconsistencies in weather.

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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June showers bring summer flowers

I was distressed that the city’s ditch mower had knocked out every milkweed plant growing between our driveway and the field entrance on our property, until this morning when I noticed how many milkweed plants are growing in the field behind the house. Rarely have we seen many milkweed plants growing in those fields, but this year’s rains have been far more than normal. Will that bring pollinators back to our property? We’ll see. Once again our pear tree, which was covered with blooms earlier this spring, has no fruit that I can see. I believe it’s due to a lack of pollinators but it could also be that there’s nothing to cross pollinate with, or both. Anyhow, our fields are full of rarely seen wildflowers and that pleases me more than the rainy, cloudy days have annoyed me.

back yard pear tree in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

The blossoms on the elderberry bush are looking much more abundant than usual. If any pollinators arrive in time, we could have a bumper crop of elderberries. Again, we’ll see. As we move into a less rainy pattern, I have to keep reminding myself that living here and managing the property is a life style, not a series of chores to get done. I “decided” toward the end of winter that I was going to take a more relaxed, less middle-class suburbanite approach to yard work. We can add one more to the list of easier said than done. Can you say OCD-type symptoms?

The tray of bergamot seedlings continues to look happy. Some day soon the Better Half and I will sketch out where we want to plant them but that’s a challenge for another day especially since the guides I’ve seen suggest planting them 18 inches apart and we have almost three dozen “cubes" of seedlings in the tray. This is beginning to remind me of the story of The Man Who Planted Trees.

Come slowly – Eden! (205)

By Emily Dickinson

Come slowly – Eden!

Lips unused to Thee –

Bashful – sip thy Jessamines –

As the fainting Bee –

Reaching late his flower,

Round her chamber hums –

Counts his nectars –

Enters – and is lost in Balms.

 

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It’s Alban Hefin!

That’s what Druids call Summer Solstice, which occurs in our neck of the woods at 3:50 pm today. The persistent rainy days we’ve been experiencing, broken by cloudy days with less rain, make it hard to accept that this is the time of maximum light. We are about to enter the waning half of the year, as we in the Northern Hemisphere do every year after Alban Hefin. South of the equator, our wane is their gain.

magical summer sunrise in June

Photo by J. Harrington

I have discovered that an excess of books to read, coffee to drink, munchies to snack on and great company [Better Half and two dogs] to share the days with are insufficient respite to those of us who experience seasonal affective disorder during the shorter days of winter. Lack of sunlight in June isn’t much different than lack of sunlight in December or January, except that, so far, I’ve not had to shovel the precipitation.

I’m adjusting my focus to concentrating on surviving this dreary spell in hope and expectation that thriving may well follow, but not without survival. Meanwhile, the Better Half and Daughter Person are checking out several local riding instructors and stables. I’m starting to make a dent in (re)organizing my stacks of books into something more coherent. When the rains abate, I’ll be off to a local trout stream in an effort to thrive. Meanwhile, it looks like this isn’t going to be the year I try planting a three sisters garden. As Minnesota’s sports fans get to say all too often, “Maybe next year!!” In today’s poem, the late Jim Harrison has nicely captured the times we’re living in.

Solstice Litany

By Jim Harrison

      1

The Saturday morning meadowlark

came in from high up

with her song gliding into tall grass

still singing. How I'd like

to glide around singing in the summer

then to go south to where I already was

and find fields full of meadowlarks

in winter. But when walking my dog

I want four legs to keep up with her

as she thunders down the hill at top speed

then belly flops into the deep pond.

Lark or dog I crave the impossible.

I'm just human. All too human.

      2

I was nineteen and mentally

infirm when I saw the prophet Isaiah.

The hem of his robe was as wide

as the horizon and his trunk and face

were thousands of feet up in the air.

Maybe he appeared because I had read him

so much and opened too many ancient doors.

I was cooking my life in a cracked clay

pot that was leaking. I had found

secrets I didn't deserve to know.

When the battle for the mind is finally

over it's late June, green and raining.

      3

A violent windstorm the night before

the solstice. The house creaked and yawned.

I thought the morning might bring a bald earth,

bald as a man's bald head but not shiny.

But dawn was fine with a few downed trees,

the yellow rosebush splendidly intact.

The grass was all there dotted with Black

Angus cattle. The grass is indestructible

except to fire but now it's too green to burn.

What did the cattle do in this storm?

They stood with their butts toward the wind,

erect Buddhists waiting for nothing in particular.

I was in bed cringing at gusts,

imagining the contents of earth all blowing

north and piled up where the wind stopped,

the pile sky-high. No one can climb it.

A gopher comes out of a hole as if nothing happened.

 

      4

The sun should be a couple of million miles

closer today. It wouldn't hurt anything

and anyway this cold rainy June is hard

on me and the nesting birds. My own nest

is stupidly uncomfortable, the chair

of many years. The old windows don't keep

the weather out, the wet wind whipping

my hair. A very old robin drops dead

on the lawn, a first for me. Millions

of birds die but we never see it—they like

privacy in this holy, fatal moment or so

I think. We can't tell each other when we die.

Others must carry the message to and fro.

"He's gone," they'll say. While writing an average poem

destined to disappear among the millions of poems

written now by mortally average poets.

      5

Solstice at the cabin deep in the forest.

The full moon shines in the river, there are pale

green northern lights. A huge thunderstorm

comes slowly from the west. Lightning strikes

a nearby tamarack bursting into flame.

I go into the cabin feeling unworthy.

At dawn the tree is still smoldering

in this place the gods touched earth.

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The rain on the plains has become a pain

We are under the second tornado watch declared within the past week. Tornado watches induce a similar level of anxiety in me that thunderstorms and lightning do the dogs. I haven’t yet tried one of their calming hemp seed oil treats, but I’m getting tempted. (Even with a calming treat, my dog, SiSi, was extremely anxious again last night during the midnight storms.) I honestly don’t remember an extended period of weather like we’ve been having the past few weeks during the 50 of so years I’ve lived in this state. It’s almost like we’ve disrupted the climate. If only the climate scientists had warned US that something like this could happen. Oh, wait!!!

backyard Iris versicolor (Harlequin Blueflag)

Photo by J. Harrington

There is some good news from all the rain. We have half a dozen or so blueflag iris blooming in the wet spot in out back yard. Although I don’t have a positive id, I’m going with Iris versicolor (Harlequin Blueflag) since the distribution maps show it in our county and the alternate species isn’t. This is the first time in several years we’ve seen blueflag blooms in the wet spot and the wet “summer” seems to be the major variable. I’ll drop the quotes from the season after the 20th of this month. As I’mmm sure you know, we’re in that shoulder season when the meteorologists have claimed it’s summer but the astronomical calendar hasn’t changed.

I’ve not got a close enough look to be sure which, but either a purple finch or a house finch has been visiting the feeder the past few days. That’s a nice surprise. The dragon flies seem to have thinned out the mosquitos a bit and the winds help prevent them from being able to land on me. I think it may be a good thing that I’m getting better at finding silver linings to our plethora of clouds, but wish I didn’t have so many opportunities to practice silver mining.

Praying

by Mary Oliver

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

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Recent sightings

On the way to pick up our box of community supported agriculture [CSA] shares this morning, there were several whitetail deer browsing along the side of the road, including one fork horn buck in velvet. Also sharing the road, ditches and adjoining fields were pheasants, turkeys, and a multitude of songbirds. Last night the Better Half and I sat patiently in the Jeep as a hen pheasant and more than a dozen chicks single filed across the road in front of us. There’s also been more than the usual number of cottontails and kits scampering along and across the road the past week or so.

In case it’s of interest, here’s what was in the CSA box this week:

• GREEN TOWERS ROMAINE
• KOHLRABI
• SPINACH
• BABY CARROTS
• MIXED RADISHES, and
• ARUGULA & CILANTRO BUNDLES

a woodcock enjoying the driveway puddle

Photo by J. Harrington

The thunderstorms earlier in the week refilled a puddle that lives in a low spot in our driveway. That puddle has recently been discovered by a handful of goldfinch males in bright yellow mating colors. Watching them thrash at water's edges and erupt into the trees has been an occasional source of beauty and pleasure. The same birds don’t seem particularly interested in the bird bath mounted on the deck railing, perhaps because it gets deeper too quickly?

The strangest sighting of the week came close to, in fact occurred inside, home. We’ve no idea where they came from, but yesterday I captured and released outside two bumblebees that were crawling sluggishly across the floor in the downstairs family room. Then, an hour or two later, I did the same thing with a third bee that was in almost the same spot as the first one. All I can say is “Go figure!”

While I have been writing this, rain has started falling again. It seems to be benefitting much of the local flora and fauna, particularly the non-human species. If I really wanted to live in this kind of climate, I would have moved to the northwest coast long ago. But, even such as I can only spend so much time sitting and reading. I’m looking forward to brighter days.

What Is June Anyway?

By David Budbill

After three weeks of hot weather and drought,

           we've had a week of cold and rain,

just the way it ought to be here in the north,

            in June, a fire going in the woodstove

all day long, so you can go outside in the cold

            and rain anytime and smell

the wood smoke in the air.

 

This is the way I love it. This is why

           I came here almost

fifty years ago. What is June anyway

          without cold and rain

and a fire going in the stove all day?

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Soggy is as soggy does

It’s wonderful that I have a stack of books to be read because we’re forecast to get almost an inch and a half of rain tomorrow and rain daily for at least the eight days following. This might explain the large wooden boat I saw one of the neighbors building in his side yard. There’s also been lots of animals walking by in pairs recently. I wonder if that could mean something.

a local trout stream in mid-June

Photo by J. Harrington

It looks like I may need to adjust my fishing plans if the local trout streams start flooding. Not much yard work will be doable. I may have to just relax, drink coffee, bake some more sourdough, and read. Could it be that Mother Nature is giving us an extended Father’s Day present? I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful, so I may squeeze in a reconnoitering trip to personally assess the wadeability and fishability of my home waters. Remember, last year many of us we experiencing drought conditions.

Meanwhile, yesterday and today I managed to make a little progress in restoring the yard to almost manageable conditions. When, if?, the rain stops we’ll get caught up on mowing, leaf cleanup, and torching a burn pile or two. This year is providing lots of opportunities for me to practice shaking my obsessive-compulsive need to get it done, NOW! and to do better at going with the flow (heh, heh). Maybe some of you will get to enjoy a Father’s Day weekend that isn’t too soggy and can share with some of us what that’s like.

Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón
1976 – 

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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Summer’s thunder songs

We got lots of lightning and thunder and rain last night, but no hail nor tornadoes. As the storm(s) were moving east, the sunset sky took on some of the brightest golden-rose colors I’ve ever seen. We’re filing the whole episode under “Count our blessings!” We hope you were as lucky.

Earlier yesterday, I finished baking a boule of “Everyday sourdough” following the recipe in Artisan Sourdough Made Simple. It turned out to be one of the best loaves I’ve baked in quite some time. Even the Better Half agrees. Sometimes, returning to your roots is helpful when learning to appreciate what you have. Artisan Sourdough was my transition from no knead artisan to sourdough many years ago.

one of this year’s whitetail fawns with mom

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we were gifted with another visit by a whitetail mom and her scampering fawn. This time we managed to grab a quick picture. Enjoy! We hope they become back yard regulars. It’s a treat watching young'uns grow up.

Have you marked your calendar to remember that Summer Solstice is a week from today? If you want to check the local time, try here. At least as important for many of us is Father’s Day this Sunday. All in all, after last night’s stormy excitement, I’m feeling summery lazy and sleepy. Until tomorrow.

Twelfth Song of Thunder [Navajo Tradition]

By Anonymous

The voice that beautifies the land! 

The voice above,

The voice of thunder

Within the dark cloud 

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land. 

 

The voice that beautifies the land! 

The voice below,

The voice of the grasshopper 

Among the plants 

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land. 

Source:The Mountain Chant: A Navajo Ceremony

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An early taste of summer

Hot and humid, that’s summer weather where I come from and that’s what we’ve had yesterday and today. More thunderstorms are forecast for this afternoon, tonight,  and tomorrow. The dogs are just recovering from all the thunder-boomers in the last batch of storms that moved through. The rest of the week shows some promise to be quieter and more seasonal. Once the rain stops, I’m going to need to catch up on mowing and may finally get the poison ivy dosed with a herbicide, if the wind dies down.

passing thunderstorm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been looking at the MNDNR’s Anoka Sand Plain conservation concerns report. I find it better organized and more useful than the book on Minnesota’s St. Croix River Valley and Anoka Sandplain, A Guide to Native Habitats. Neither is particularly helpful in identifying plants and ground cover appropriate to the sandy soils and ecological characteristics of our property. Minnesota’s Master Naturalist courses don’t seem to have one that’s a good fit with our borderline location between big woods-big river and northwoods-great lakes options. I’ll continue to poke around and see if there are resources I’ve missed. We’re exploring doing some conservation planting of about an  acre to improve ground nesting habitat and sources for pollinators and finding a most appropriate seed mix is a challenge.

Meanwhile, the purple vetch has come into bloom, and the large beardtongue is erupting into flower all around our fields. Turtles have been laying egges and crossing roads and sandhill cranes have been showing their colts around. Soon we may see some whitetail fawns’ spots bounding over the property. That’s what happens as spring turns into summer.

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren
1894 – 1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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No pain from the rain on the plain (yet)

As noted previously on these pages, we live at the easternmost edge of the well drained Anoka Sand Plain. We’re currently under a flood watch that’s been in place since yesterday and continues through late tonight. The Sunrise River pools and marshes have been as deep as I’ve seen them in all the time we’ve lived here and that was before the current storm pattern kicked in. On a brighter side, all the rain we’re getting is helping our plants to exuberantly burst into bloom and grow inches overnight. The lilac blossoms look absolutely giddy and the peony plants are about three times as big as they were a day or two ago. Unfortunately, all this wetness is keeping me from yard chores so I’m compensating by staying warm and dry, drinking coffee, and reading poetry because, in addition to the rain, strong winds and occasional lightning is keeping me from fly fishing. It’s heartbreaking, but I’ll manage.

Wild Geranium (Geranium maculatum)

Photo by J. Harrington

On the way to visit the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter yesterday evening, we noticed some pink wild geraniums where, in past years, we’ve seen only marsh marigolds growing along the township road ditch. In our own ditch, so far we’ve got only one milkweed plant growing amidst the mix. That’s not promising for attracting monarchs later this summer. We’ll cross our fingers that there are still some late emergers to show up. We’re still watching for swamp milkweed to bloom out around the wet spot behind the house.

I suspect that I end up saying something similar every year about this time, but the mosquitos are exceptionally thick and vicious this year. Where are the predatory birds, bats, and dragonflies when we need them? The dogs are managing to attract a few ticks. Does anyone know what feeds on ticks? Turkeys? Backyard chickens would probably be more trouble than they’re worth to minimize tick threats. Maybe if I didn’t feed the birds, they’d be more predatory but maybe seed feeders don’t also feed on bugs. There’s so much I don’t know about managing nature.

Rain

By Peter Everwine

Toward evening, as the light failed

and the pear tree at my window darkened,

I put down my book and stood at the open door,

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,

a smell of wet clay in the wind.

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain

drummed against our tent, I heard

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail

drifting across that remote lake—

a loneliness like no other,

though what I heard as inconsolable

may have been only the sound of something

untamed and nameless

singing itself to the wilderness around it

and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father

and of good companions gone

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know

whether it was grief or joy or something other

that surged against my heart

and held me listening there so long and late.

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Say “good-bye” to April, fools!

The roadsides have developed a rash of blue flowers that I can’t identify. I didn’t even manage to take a picture because I noticed them while walking the dogs. A leash in each hand isn’t conducive to good photos. I’ll do some checking in field guides later today but I don’t need to know a name to enjoy the beauty of a flower.

The Red Wheelbarrow, WiIliam Carlos Williams

Photo by J. Harrington

It’s been amost a decade since I drove by the barn outside Osceola, WI where the picture above was taken. It seems like a good way to close out the month of April and National Poetry month.

Back home, the year round effort to keep this place minimally decluttered was (re)engaged today. Christmas greens made it into the burn pit and the trailer we use to haul the tractor had the air pressure in its tires checked. The coupler needs some lubrication, and the hitch ball needs polishing. It’s covered in rust and may even need to be replaced. Back in the days when I was a practicing planner, from time to time I was known to observe that the problem with building infrastructure is that, once built it needs maintenance and politicians never held ribbon cutting ceremonies for resurfacing etc. At a personal level, I note that the more stuff we have, the more stuff we have to take care of. That’s not a complaint as much as it is an observation.

Tomorrow, April's showers turn into May flowers. National Poetry month will end for another year but we can, and should, make every day a poetry day. If you’ve not read the works of Heidi Barr, a local poet, I suggest you check them out. The last time I looked, a few weeks ago, Prairie Restorations in Scandia had copies on their bookshelves. She’s the source of today’s poem and if you follow the poem’s title link, you can check out two more.

RAINY DAYS IN SPRING

Rainy days in spring

are for walking quietly

through gently falling water

are for well-thumbed books

read in early afternoon

are for tea steeping

while drops drum the roof

are for land and sky

working together

through mess and necessity

to keep the world turning

ice and mud eventually coming

to an agreement that’s green

with potential for growing

with potential for blooming

with potential for feeding

weary souls wandering

on rainy days in spring.

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The reign of rain

Things the Better Half has heard me say in the past few days:

• We need the moisture to recover from the drought
• At least it’s not snow
• It’ll cut down on the wild grass fire danger
•  I hope this keeps up (then it won’t come down)

I can almost see the leaves growing as I look out the windows. The freshly opened buds glow with vibrant color. Come summer, green tree crowns will be old hat, but for now a transition from bare branches is new and refreshing. Our neighborhood is starting to look like this.

Spring leaf out and green up

Photo by J. Harrington

The wet spot in our back yard shows more water than is has for months (and months). Once the ground dries out a little, I’ll start to do a little tidying outside and hope for gentle breezes rather than howling ones. In the quarter century plus that we’ve lived here, the wind has been out of the east about a dozen times, four or five of them during the past couple of weeks. After a very unusual winter, spring has added a few surprises too.

Meanwhile, today’s sourdough boule has come out of the oven looking good. We’ll taste it shortly after this is posted since it should be cooled enough by then. For years I’ve been trying to create a much more open crumb in my bread. Last week I bought a loaf from a local bakery. The crumb was so open the when I toast a slice, the butter drips through the holes. I’m reconsidering my wishes about a more open crumb. It’s a classic challenge of “be careful what you wish for, you may get it.”

The Call of the Wild 

Alexander Posey
1873 – 1908

I’m tired of the gloom  

In a four-walled room;  

Heart-weary, I sigh  

For the open sky,  

And the solitude  

Of the greening wood;  

Where the bluebirds call,  

And the sunbeams fall,  

And the daisies lure 

The soul to be pure.  

 

I’m tired of the life 

In the ways of strife;  

Heart-weary, I long  

For the river’s song,  

And the murmur of rills  

In the breezy hills;  

Where the pipe of Pan— 

The hairy half-man— 

The bright silence breaks  

By the sleeping lakes.   

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A corner turned

The fuel line shutoff has been turned off on the snow blower. The lawn mower’s electric start batteryis charging. I may even wash the Jeep one of these days. Although the record shows there’s only one month of the year in which we haven’t had snow in Minnesota, we’re declaring winter of 2023-24 over. The best times of the year (according to me) are ahead of us.

green is busting out all over

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning, as a band of rose began to brighten the eastern sky, we noticed three or four whitetails gnoshing their way through the narrow band of woods between the front of the house and the road. Today was the first time we’ve seen deer in that location. Yesterday afternoon a displaying tom turkey and his harem of hens were parading around the hill behind the house. It’s truly encouraging to see the country come alive. On my way home from an errand this morning I saw a fair-sized flock of what I think were teal zipping over the Sunrise River pools near HWY 36. The water there is up and flooding most of the surrounding marshes. If we get a bunch of rain (is “bunch" the correct technical term?) there may be some issues about where the water all goes before it flows to the St. Croix.

Leaf-out is becoming more prominent by the day. Dandelions are popping into bloom overnight. With the rain expected Friday through Monday, I won’t be surprised if we can actually hear trees, bushes and plants growing, sounding like a susurrating bowl of rice crispies. Spring can be an awesome time in the North Country.

At the Spring Dawn

Angelina Weld Grimké
1880 – 1958

I watched the dawn come,
    Watched the spring dawn come.
And the red sun shouldered his way up
    Through the grey, through the blue,
Through the lilac mists.
The quiet of it! The goodness of it!
    And one bird awoke, sang, whirred
A blur of moving black against the sun,
    Sang again—afar off.
And I stretched my arms to the redness of the sun,
    Stretched to my finger tips,
        And I laughed.
Ah! It is good to be alive, good to love,
    At the dawn,
        At the spring dawn.

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A secret spring? A spring secret?

Today is the first day of the last week of March, 2024. The full moon (Ojibwe: Snow Crust Moon; Lakota: Snow Blindness Moon) occurred at 2:00 am this morning. In our neighborhood, it was well hidden by snow clouds. Tonight the aurora may be visible well south of the Arctic Circle, but rain clouds are expected to obscure it/them. As this is typed. heavy, very wet, melting snow covers almost everything outside. More snow is expected tomorrow, after tonight’s rain. By Easter Sunday, the snow may be gone and life returned to local flora. My anticipated wander to look for, or at, emerging skunk cabbage is rescheduled for much later this week or, maybe, Easter Monday.

emerging skunk cabbage

Photo by J. Harrington

An updated drought map should be issued later this week. It’ll be interesting to see if there’s any significant change. At the moment, most of Minnesota is rated as low fire danger and much of the state doesn’t require burning permits. Where we are, everything is too wet to burn, although we have several brush piles to be reduced to ashes. Maybe next month.

Meanwhile, there’s been an unusually large number of blue jays around today. I saw more than half a dozen along the driveway after I’d cleared the snow. They’ve been flitting amongst the trees and one even arrived at the bird feeder, which is quite rare in my experience, unless it’s a tray feeder, which ours isn’t. As more and more unusual events occur, I wonder if we’re well past time to redefine “normal.”

Winter: My Secret

By Christina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:

Suppose there is no secret after all,

But only just my fun.

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;

In which one wants a shawl,

A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

I cannot ope to everyone who taps,

And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;

Come bounding and surrounding me,

Come buffeting, astounding me,

Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.

I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

His nose to Russian snows

To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

Believe, but leave the truth untested still.

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust

March with its peck of dust,

Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

Nor even May, whose flowers

One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,

When drowsy birds sing less and less,

And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

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