A day full of promise

Yesterday we enjoyed our annual Spring sighting of a barred owl perched in (on?) a tree on the north side of the house. It’s mildly reassuring to experience some repeating patterns these days. On the other hand, yesterday afternoon a gray squirrel appeared to be trying to chase all the birds out of the yard so s/he would be the only one to munch on all the droppings from the bird feeder. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything quite like that before.

Male goldfinches are showing their chrome yellow mating colors although mating season won’t be for several months. I suppose that’s what happens if molt occurs but once a year. I wish our dog, SiSi, would only shed once a year. It’s beyond my comprehension why she isn’t bald, what with all the blond hairs all around the house, no matter how often we vacuum. It’s worse in Spring but never seems to stop.

bergamot seed trays in the sun

Photo by J. Harrington

Today is the tenth day after planting the bergamot seeds. The germination period is reported to be ten to fourteen days. My anticipation levels are climbing although the temperature where the planting trays are kept is at the lower end of a preferred range, so we’ll have to just wait and see. I may consider putting a heating pad under one of the trays come midweek if nothing is rising through the planting medium but have doubts that it would do much because of the drainage space between the tray and the underliner. Plus, I know that water and electricity don’t mix very well and I’m occasionally sloppy when I water the trays.

I’m not sure why the flocks of dark-eyed juncos are still hanging around the back yard instead of heading north. My fingers are crossed that they’re just being dilatory and not that they know something we don’t about winter hanging on.

An April Day

Joseph Seamon Cotter Jr. 
1895 – 1919

On such a day as this I think,
      On such as day as this,
When earth and sky and nature’s whole
      Are clad in April’s bliss;
And balmy zephyrs gently waft
      Upon your cheek a kiss;
Sufficient is it just to live
      On such a day as this.

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Cooling it

Local waters that were open over the weekend are now covered (again) with ice, which is covered with snow. We haven’t checked larger waters since the beginning of the most recent really cold spell, which continues to linger. All morning we had snow showers and around mid-day a couple of sun snow showers. We don’t yet seem to have reached the “all is calm, all is bright” phase so there’s something to look forward to.

a member of the local red squirrel band

Photo by J. Harrington

The local band of red squirrels seems really appreciative of the heated bird bath as a source of drinking water. Black-capped chickadees more than other bird species also stop frequently for a quick sip. Without birds at the feeders and squirrels in the trees and on the deck, winter would be almost too dismal and dreary to open the drapes to look out. (Can you tell I’m not a winter person?)

black-capped chickadee in line for feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been practicing, albeit very imperfectly, themes of mindfulness such as acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (‘letting go”), and compassion. It seems to help quite a bit in coping with the state of the world these days. In fact, this practice reminds me of something I learned long ago when I was much younger. There is no good reason to wander the world with all your hot buttons held out so anyone and everyone can punch them. Gather them up and keep them in your pocket or back pack so you can be an actor rather than constantly being a reactor after someone has punched your button. Other folks might refer to such behavior as practicing self control. Do you do that? What do you call it? Does it help?

Sapphics Against Anger

By Timothy Steele

Angered, may I be near a glass of water;

May my first impulse be to think of Silence,

Its deities (who are they? do, in fact, they

Exist? etc.).

May I recall what Aristotle says of

The subject: to give vent to rage is not to

Release it but to be increasingly prone

To its incursions.

May I imagine being in the Inferno,

Hearing it asked: “Virgilio mio, who’s

That sulking with Achilles there?” and hearing

Virgil say: “Dante,

That fellow, at the slightest provocation,

Slammed phone receivers down, and waved his arms like

A madman. What Attila did to Europe,

What Genghis Khan did

To Asia, that poor dope did to his marriage.”

May I, that is, put learning to good purpose,

Mindful that melancholy is a sin, though

Stylish at present.

Better than rage is the post-dinner quiet,

The sink’s warm turbulence, the streaming platters,

The suds rehearsing down the drain in spirals

In the last rinsing.

For what is, after all, the good life save that

Conducted thoughtfully, and what is passion

If not the holiest of powers, sustaining

Only if mastered.

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Seasonal change-up

Today, much more time was spent outside getting caught up on seasonal chores than inside staring at a screen. Psychologically and emotionally I feel better for it. Physically, I feel it in most of my muscles. Several folks have recently been  pushing the idea that queen bumblebees overwinter in leaf piles. We took that into account as we collected leaves from parts of the yard, and left small windrows and piles elsewhere. Other  folks have noted that some bees need bare ground to build their winter quarters. We’ll have plenty of bare patches once we’ve dragged a tine harrow over the pocket gopher mounds to help level them. Then we’ll scatter wildflower seeds on them for next spring’s meadow flowers, unless the pocket gophers eat the roots first.

November 2020 flying squirrel visitors

Photo by J. Harrington

Since we’re half way through  the first week of November, it’s time to wonder if the  flying squirrels that visited us last winter will return. We’ll fill a different feeder, one they seemed to like last year, to make the deck more inviting. Perhaps that feeder will prompt a cardinal or two to visit. We haven’t seen any cardinals for weeks. The “squirrel-proof” feeder we’ve been using all summer and fall has a cardinal ring on it, and a cardinal or two showed up for a while after the changeover, but none have been around since late summer, early autumn. Bright red feathers look so festive against a snowy background.

where have all our cardinals gone

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re more than a little grateful for the intermittent warm spells we’ve been enjoying. Running behind on prepping for a North Country winter provokes a little anxiety. If the snow holds off and the weather cooperates for the next week or so, we’ll have the grass cutter put away, the snow blower ready, and the mower deck off the tractor and the snow blade on. If all of this goes with minimal problems and aggravations, we’ll have even more to add to our Thanksgiving gratitude list.

Autumn's Way

By Charles Ghigna

In their yellow-most goings,

leaves of maple

ride breezes to the ground.

You can hear their sound

each autumn afternoon

as the crisp air cuts

through the trees

and hurries us along

the golden sidewalks

home.

 

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Happy May Day and Beltane blessings!

We've no livestock ro turn out to summer pasture, so our Beltane bonfire was subdued, but we did one. The winter Solstice greens by our stoop finally have been replaced with spring and summer flowers. As we broke winter's fallen branches and added them to the fire, we thought about the recent Minnesota Depaertment of Natural Resources request, that folks chip and/or compost, rather than burn, leaves and brush . We bet whoever wrote that didn't live where there's lots of older oak trees doing their self-shading routine. We pictured ourself trying to feed our dead oak branches "brush" into a chipper's chute and had a good laugh.

Later, while taking a look at our compost tumbler, we noticed a large pile of this spring's bear scat near the tumbler. It was full of the seeds of something, but we couldn't identify what, unless it was last autumn's blackberries. Two years ago the neighborhood bear tipped the tumbler over. This spring almost all that's still in it is now composted, more dirt like than garbage. Country living can get complicated. A bear-proof compost bin would have to be about as sturdy as a bear-proof chicken house, we imagine. Have you noticed how messy Mother Nature often is?

squirrels have been eating oriole's grape jelly

Photo by J. Harrington

No bluebirds in the bluebird house, but no one else is in it either. Still no orioles, hummingbirds, etc. The Better Half gave us an early birthday and/or Father's Day present, a "squirrel-proof" bird feeder to replace the one we lost a couple of years ago when one of the local whitetails got annoyed that it couldn't readily feed on the sunflower seeds and bent the hanger and smashed the feeder. It's been interesting watching the reaction of the birds to the "new? style feeder. Chickadees were the bravest in checking it out first, followed by goldfinches and, eventually, a female cardinal.

will a "squirrel-proof" feeder succeed?

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow we'll add to the branch pile (it doesn't fit our idea of "brush") when we pick up some more of the winter's windfall branches. We'll also drag harrow the fresh collection of pocket gopher mounds and try to decide where to till for the three sisters garden we want to grow this summer.

May Day

Sara Teasdale - 1884-1933

A delicate fabric of bird song
  Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
  Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple
  Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
  The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by
  Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
  The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure
  I shall see again
The world on the first of May
  Shining after the rain?

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Help solve a "holey" mystery?

 First, let me wish everyone a fun-filled, safe and healthy holiday weekend to unofficially end Summer. Today's posting will be abbreviated in honor of Labor Day.

We've lived in our house for about a quarter of a century. Until this year, we've not seen the likes of the holes that have appeared along the South side, North facing, edge of our drive. We've plenty of ideas of what might be making them, but aren't sure specifically who to blame. We have living in the neighborhood: red and gray squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, field mice, moles, voles, shrews, etc. The prime suspects are red squirrels and / or chipmunks.

who made these holes?

Photo by J. Harrington

who made these holes?

Photo by J. Harrington

Here's the stumbling block. All the tunneling, burrowing, hole-digging critters listed above have been here in varying numbers since we moved in. Not until this year did the number and pattern of holes appear as it has. What, or who, has changed? Why now?

I admit I've not spent time checking the holes to see if they hold acorns. But if someone was burying acorns, wouldn't the holes be at least partially filled in? I'm totally stumped. This is more confusing than fairy rings. If anyone has a less speculative answer than those outlined above, please leave your assessment in the comments. That's all for now!

Like the Small Hole by the Path-Side Something Lives in

By Jane Hirshfield

Like the small hole by the path-side something lives in,

in me are lives I do not know the names of,

nor the fates of,

nor the hungers of or what they eat.

They eat of me.

Of small and blemished apples in low fields of me 

whose rocky streams and droughts I do not drink.

And in my streets—the narrow ones, 

unlabeled on the self-map—

they follow stairs down music ears can’t follow,

and in my tongue borrowed by darkness,

in hours uncounted by the self-clock,

they speak in restless syllables of other losses, other loves. 

There too have been the hard extinctions, 

missing birds once feasted on and feasting.

There too must be machines 

like loud ideas with tungsten bits that grind the day.

A few escape. A mercy.

They leave behind 

small holes that something unweighed by the self-scale lives in.

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Are Minnesota's woodchucks a protected animal?

There's an abode in the neighborhood that would be described as, at best, a "fixer-upper." A new neighbor has moved in sometime during the past week or so. We've not spoken yet but today we got a picture as s/he was bringing in some of the materials to make the place more homey.

our new neighbor, Mr. / Ms. Woodchuck

Photo by J. Harrington

According to Minnesota's St. Croix Valley and  Anoka Sandplain, A Guide to Native Habitats, there's no record of woodchucks in Isanti County  (really?), but they are recorded in the other five counties covered, including Chisago. I was surprised to find woodchucks listed under "Squirrels" and not under "Pocket Gophers and Pocket Mice." I was also surprised to find no listing of either woodchuck or gopher in the book's index. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources web site page on woodchucks informs us that they are deemed an unprotected wild animal but, when following the links on the page to the statute language, we learn that gophers, not woodchucks, are listed as unprotected. Further, the linked page on the DNR site is to a historic language version. The Revisor's Office most current (2019) language for the relevant section doesn't list either gopher or woodchuck as an unprotected animal. (There seems to be a similar problem with red squirrels, which don't appear to be listed as either protected nor unprotected.)

one of many red squirrels that live in the neighborhood

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm not sure how much the sources of this confusion lie with the DNR, with whichever legislator(s) were the chief authors of the bills in the House and Senate, or with the Revisor's Office staff. I am sure that it doesn't take a genius to realize that conflicting, vague, ambiguous statutory language doesn't incline the public to respect the regulatory agency involved nor it's employees who are expected to enforce such poorly constructed laws. If you think this posting is unfair, take a look at DNR's own web page guidance on Taking a nuisance animal. Feel free to comment if you find woodchucks, red squirrels or groundhogs listed there. Whatever you do, don't search for Minnesota gophers on Google, Duck Duck Go or any other internet search engine. You'll find yourself trying to drain an athletic swamp.

A Drumlin Woodchuck

One thing has a shelving bank,
Another a rotting plank,
To give it cozier skies
And make up for its lack of size.

My own strategic retreat
Is where two rocks almost meet,
And still more secure and snug,
A two-door burrow I dug.

With those in mind at my back
I can sit forth exposed to attack
As one who shrewdly pretends
That he and the world are friends.

All we who prefer to live
Have a little whistle we give,
And flash, at the least alarm
We dive down under the farm.

We allow some time for guile
And don’t come out for a while
Either to eat or drink.
We take occasion to think.

And if after the hunt goes past
And the double-barreled blast
(Like war and pestilence
And the loss of common sense),

If I can with confidence say
That still for another day,
Or even another year,
I will be there for you, my dear,

It will be because, though small
As measured against the All,
I have been so instinctively thorough
About my crevice and burrow.

-Robert Frost

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Making what we can of July

Today starts our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] farm's Summer Shares Season. I see it as the beginning of harvest season. The days are getting shorter, but not much cooler or less humid yet.  That's something to which we still look forward, along with, but hopefully arriving sooner than, leaves turning color.

mid-July acorn

Photo by J. Harrington

A replacement brush pile is almost in place so that, weather permitting, we can light it for celebrating "the time of Lughnasadh on August 1st...." (We'll not be sending a flaming wheel "rolling down the hillside at this time to symbolise the descent of the year towards Winter....") Acorns have started to develop in our oak trees. Last year we had an acorn mast drop the size of which we  hadn't seen in the quarter century we've lived here. This Summer we've seen a bumper crop of both red and gray squirrels. Several of the acorns tried to take root in the middle of some bare spots in the gravel drive. Buried by squirrels or pressed into the ground by vehicle tires? We've pulled each one that we've noticed so far. Oak acorns quickly develop tap roots that become near impossible to pull.

We're still looking forward to doing some fly-fishing. It seems as though every time the weather starts to cooperate, something else, like a CSA share pick up trip, comes along to disrupt the day and defer a fishing expedition. The streams we want to fish are about a 90 minute drive, one way, so, to make the ratio of fishing time to travel time reasonable, we want to be able to fish for at least a couple of hours. That requires better than half a day and this is not the time of year  when mid-day fishing is optimum. We know, everyone should have such problems. If the deer flies weren't as bad as they've been the past couple of weeks, we would at least have been in the  back yard practicing casting instead of inside reading about  fly  fishing. Have you noticed it's become more challenging to attain any kind of reasonable balance these days? Then again, the weather and the bugs have provided motivation to stay inside a cool, air-conditioned house as much as possible, which has helped limit our exposure to the COVID-19 virus. Would that we didn't have that silver lining to our clouds.

Black Oaks

by Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,

or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

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More signs of Spring #phenology

I am remiss by a couple of days reporting that a couple of branches on the forsythia in the back yard have blossoms. That bush gets way more sun than the ones in front which are partially shaded by a tall pine and have started leaf out but no flowers yet.

In another sign of the season, outside window washing started today. The upstairs (deck) and downstairs (screen porch / patio) walkout doors got the proverbial "lick and a promise" today. That activity was prompted by the dogs rediscovering how transparent the screen door is as they crashed through it to chase a squirrel that was on the deck starting to nibble on the leaves of the healthiest of the beach plum plants. Both dogs have been sent  to their rooms for a time out while walkout windows were washed and reinstallation of the screen door was accomplished. The reinstallation was significantly aided and abetted by my Better Half. I was too busy looking for the temper I had lost to be well focused on the details of putting the screen (and my equanimity) back on track.

SiSi at 1, seven  years ago

Photo by J. Harrington

One of the house-wreckers, my SiSi, had been celebrating her seventh anniversary living with us just prior to the screen door event. This after she had spent  the morning trying to hide in the pocket of my jeans. I had forgotten just how skittish she is around thunder. She finally decided that hiding in the corner behind me in my reading chair was her best option. Obviously, she had fully recovered her "playfulness" by the time she spotted the squirrel on the deck but failed to notice the screen door between her and the squirrel.

SiSi when not eating, chasing squirrels, or hiding from thunder

Photo by J. Harrington

If you have a dog, or have had a dog, or some day hope to have a dog, you will probably enjoy Mary Oliver's Dog Songs volume and, for some of the best writing ever about dogs and the people they own, take a look at any of Gene Hill's dog stories, for example Tears and Laughter. That pretty well covers what SiSi and I and our Better Half have been through today. Be well, stay healthy, enjoy Spring!

The Power of the Dog

Rudyard Kipling - 1865-1936

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie—

Perfect passion and worship fed

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find—it’s your own affair—

But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-time loan is as bad as a long—

So why in—Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

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Feeding "birds" in Winter

Goldfinches, still Winter-drab, squabble at the feeders, every so often exploding shrapnel-like into the air. But, do pigeons (squab) finchle as they peck at breadcrumbs in a park or beans at a silo? Why not turn the verb about?

goldfinches etc. at Winter feeders

Photo by J. Harrington

Woodpeckers, pileated, red-bellied, hairy and downy (in descending order of size, but not appearance at the feeders) pound on slabs of frozen suet and, occasionally, one or another of the smaller species will grab a sunflower seed.

downy woodpecker feeding on suet

Photo by J. Harrington

Chickadees briefly forego their "fee-bee" calls to land, grab and fly away with a sunflower seed. Several white-breasted nuthatches ("whi, whi, whi....") also appear, take a seed, and fly away. Cardinals, most notably a male showing bright red against white snow, have begun "what-cheer, cheer" Spring songs from near the tops of snow-covered trees. Then a male, sometimes accompanied by a female, will be seen feeding on the ground or at the copper feeder which has a tray on the bottom. The same feeder favored by local red and gray squirrels. (The whitetail deer prefer the tube feeder in front of the house.)

red squirrel approaching heated birdbath

Photo by J. Harrington

Some days we've counted as many as half-a-dozen red squirrels concurrently twitching their way across the snow surrounding the front feeder, the one nearest a wood lot of trees that provide a safety factor. Squirrels, aided and abetted by blue jays, are successfully clearing several inches of freshly fallen snow, accumulated on top of a number of branches. Smaller birds like chickadees and nuthatches then clear what's left so the perches soon become snow-free. Other branches remain untouched. We wonder why.

Much of this posting has been written to establish that, with more and more bird species starting their Spring songs, and squirrels starting to chase each other around, we are not alone in looking forward to the transition from Winter to Spring. How do we know that the bird songs are actually mating calls and not complaints about the harshness of the season?

On the First Day She Made Birds

By Diana García

He asked me       if I had a choice

what kind of bird

would I choose to be.

I know what he thought I’d say

since he tried to        end

my sentences half the time

anyway. Something exotic

he thought. He thought

maybe macaw.

That would fit

all loudmouthed

and primary colored

he would think.

(He thinks too much

I always thought.)

But really       at heart

I’m more

don’t laugh now

     an L B J

          little brown job

except               except

I’m not the

flit        from

branch

to        branch        type

such a waste

of energy all that

wing flap

and scritch scritch scratch.

Really now

can you see me

seed pod clamped

between my beak

like some landowner,

Havana cigar

clenched

between his teeth?

No         I think         not

I think

green heron.

You ask why?

Personality

mainly.

That hunched look

wings tucked to neck

waiting        waiting

in the sun

on a wide slab of rock

alongside a slow river

like some old man

up from a bad night’s dream

where he’s seen his coffin

and you say to him

Have a nice day

and he says        Make me.

Oh          you want looks

I’ll give you

looks:

long olive green feathers

a trace of

iridescence

I could stand

going out       iridescent

chestnut sides and head

a black crown

yes        a crown

something regal

to flash when you get

too close

dark bill         bright

yellow legs

and that creamy streak

down my throat and pecs

good

        not great

but good         pecs

just enough for a quick

hop to the next.

The best part

no sexual dimorphism

male         female

both alike

endless possibilities.

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Approaching Winter Solstice

The squash and gourds that served as Thanksgiving table decorations are now scattered under the pear tree. Better the whitetails should munch on them than attack our low-hanging bird feeders. Several nights ago we forgot to bring in the sunflower seed feeder that hangs out front and, come morning, it was again empty with lots of seeds still covering the ground. One observation of a deer at the feeder this Winter, plus an abundance of deer tracks under the knocked-down feeder lat May, leaves us comfortable believing one or more deer are the perpetrators until and unless we get convincing evidence to the contrary. Meanwhile, back at the pear tree, frozen bits and pieces of the Halloween pumpkins were still lying on the ground. We'll see if we can check from time to time to keep track of what, if anything, lasts throughout the Winter.

Winter whitetail headed toward food?

Photo by J. Harrington

The tractor, once we cleared the snow off it, started right up and climbed our snow-covered hill with very little slippage. Driving the tractor seemed like it would be easier than lugging, on foot, a bag full of small squashes, plus, it was fun. Never before have we driven a tractor through a snowy field, in sunshine! The fact that the temperature is above freezing and the sun is shining added to the pleasure we took being out and about. Plus, at least locally, there was no freezing fog/mist this morning. Yesterday, some young fellow put his pickup on its side in a ditch a little North of the house. He said he was ok and that help was on the way, so we wished him well and continued, slowly, with our errands.

We've been noticing that our "failed" loaf of bread from a week or so ago is still sitting in the tray feeder, largely untouched. A couple of smaller woodpeckers hammered away at it once or twice. A gray squirrel snatched one separate slice this morning and ran away with it. Might be time to cut it into smaller pieces and see if they disappear.

Winter sky with moon and bare branches

Photo by J. Harrington

Winter Solstice is now just one week away. In our neighborhood, it will occur on December 21, 2018 at 4:23 pm CST. We're considering having our own little celebration, with a scaled-down bonfire, unless, of course, we get hit with some sort of blizzard. We're overdue. Some light snow flurries would be preferable, just enough so we don't have a brown Christmas, but we'll do our best to enjoy whatever Mother Nature shares with us. It's slowly sinking in that that's one key to a happier life, especially as the climate becomes less stable. We also might want to seriously consider adding a pinch of paganism, druidry, zen, and/or pantheism to whatever else we believe in, especially over the next twelve or so years.

Winter Branches

Margaret Widdemer

When winter-time grows weary, I lift my eyes on high
And see the black trees standing, stripped clear against the sky;

They stand there very silent, with the cold flushed sky behind,
The little twigs flare beautiful and restful and kind;

Clear-cut and certain they rise, with summer past,
For all that trees can ever learn they know now, at last;

Slim and black and wonderful, with all unrest gone by,
The stripped tree-boughs comfort me, drawn clear against the sky.

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A festival of lights

First, to those who celebrate Hanukkah, may you be blessed with gifts of love, peace, and happiness this Hanukkah.

At the risk of jinxing ourselves, we got just slightly more than a dusting of snow last night, maybe half an inch or so? It's made the Christmas lights outside the front door look especially seasonal.

festive, seasonal lights

Photo by J. Harrington

The picture below shows the "nesting" material some critter, we suspect red squirrel, has been stuffing into the space under the South edge of the deck joist. This is the second time this Autumn we've pulled a nest out of that location. We're probably not acting very much like the spirit of Christmas, but we don't remember any mention of squirrels in the stable.

squirrel nest in the joist?

Photo by J. Harrington

In a bit we're off to the airport to pick up the Better Half on her return from Paris. Yes, Paris, France. She assures us she stayed out of the riots and had lots of fun and good food. We do remember from the Viet Nam war protest days that at least some urban riots (Cambridge, MA) tended to stay localized. It is worrisome, though.

Unrelated to any of the above, but another chapter in our continuing battle with crappy technology and corporations, the Weather Underground app on our iPhone seems to have gone defunct. We found reports of others having this problem ever since IBM bought the "Weather Underground" company. Meanwhile, we've downloaded LibreOffice and will soon be installing it and learning how to use it since we're tired of Microsoft informing us that our version of MS Office for OS X is no long supported and may cease to function soon. Repeat after us: Too big to fail is too big. Neoliberal capitalist globalism (global capitalism?) sucks. Is it time to bring back "Power to the People?"

Light the Festive Candles

By Aileen Lucia Fisher(FOR HANUKKAH)

Light the first of eight tonight—

the farthest candle to the right.

Light the first and second, too,

when tomorrow's day is through.

Then light three, and then light four—

every dusk one candle more

Till all eight burn bright and high,

honoring a day gone by

When the Temple was restored,

rescued from the Syrian lord,

And an eight-day feast proclaimed—

The Festival of Lights—well named

To celebrate the joyous day

when we regained the right to pray

to our one God in our own way.

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

Naming Fall's leaf colors

While heading back to the house after walking the dogs midday, we saw something we've never seen before. Six red squirrels, all in a line, scampered across the road. Actually, five proceeded across and the last one turned around and disappeared into the woods in front of our house.

red squirrel looking down on Franco's deck domain

Photo by J. Harrington

We see red squirrels regularly. In fact, one of the joys that Franco, the Better Half's border collie cross, has is keeping "his" deck domain free of those dratted squirrels. Franco even recognizes the word unless we spell it out like this:  S-Q-U-I-R-R-E-L. As we watched the reds crossing the road, we could almost hear Franco's brain trying to process whether there was any way he could herd that many squirrels, since he hasn't yet signed up for tree climbing lessons. Watching all of them bounce across the road did look like something out of a Disney movie. We don't recall ever before seeing a squirrel family, never mind on crossing the road. Please don't ask why they were crossing.

Earlier today we ended up taking a long way around through northern Anoka County as we returned from a visit this morning. We remain surprised at how little we saw in the way of leaf color. The MNDNR's Fall Color Finder confirms our observations. There's a bizarre pattern around much of the Twin Cities East, North and West edges showing essentially no Fall colors yet. And as we think of Fall colors, take a look at these 11 Colorful Words for Autumn Foliage so you'll know what you're seeing when the local colors finally arrive.

MNDNR Fall Color Finder 9/23/18

Fall

Edward Hirsch, 1950

Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season 
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples 
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves 
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition 
With the final remaining cardinals) and then 
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last 
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground. 
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees 
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever 
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun 
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance, 
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud 
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything 
Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s 
Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment 
Pulling out of the station according to schedule, 
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It 
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away 
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet, 
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving 
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us, 
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets. 
And every year there is a brief, startling moment 
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and 
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless 
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air: 
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies; 
It is the changing light of fall falling on us. 

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