And the seasons, they go round and round...

Some of the trees in our neighborhood have almost completely changed color. In anticipation of Autumn Equinox? Due to drought stress? We may never know for sure. but that doesn’t keep us from appreciating their beauty.

maple turned maroon

Photo by J. Harrington

I doubt very much I’d ever be happy living somewhere that didn’t have four seasons. I’ve lived all my life in either New England or Minnesota. Each has the requisite seasons and, I may be biased, but I believe New England does a better job of it. Minnesota rarely, if ever, has a Spring worth celebrating. It’s usually short, full of mud and unseasonable snow storms and ends abruptly with a series of days in the upper 80’s or low 90’s. Climate change now seems to be messing with autumn. Of course, since I’ve not lived in Massachusetts for some decades, I can’t be sure seasons there haven’t deteriorated too.

All of the preceding has me wondering if I would enjoy and appreciate living with something I just learned about last night. While reading a book the Better Half lent me some weeks ago, I discovered that the Japanese take the same four seasons and subdivide them again and again, ending up with 72 seasons, each about 5 days long.

On one hand, the more I learn and experience in phenology, the more I enjoy seasonal change. On the other hand, I’m not sure how I’d respond to having a new season once a week. I’ve been getting accustomed to the Celtic/Druid eightfold wheel of the year, but it’s a big, big, almost ten fold, jump from 8 to 72. What I am now really curious about is if local phenology can provide some sort of equivalent to the Japanese microseasons. I think I’ll see if I can cobble something together. There’s an Aldo Leopold Foundation phenology calendar and the Journey North web site for resources. There’s also the Minnesota Weatherguide calendar and a handful of local books about seasonal events sitting on my shelves (the books, not the events).

[If you’re curious, the book that started all this is Seed to Dust by Marc Hamer.]

The Human Seasons

By John Keats

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

     There are four seasons in the mind of man:

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear

     Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously

     Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves

To ruminate, and by such dreaming high

     Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings

     He furleth close; contented so to look

On mists in idleness—to let fair things

     Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,

Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

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September “Summer” #phenology

We are enjoying the gift of another beautiful late summer, early autumn day. I noticed the female and/or juvenile ruby-throated hummingbirds are still around. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen a male. A day or so ago I saw a small dragonfly along the road’s edge. Still no sightings of woolly bear caterpillars. For nimrods, ruffed grouse season opens Saturday when it’s forecast to be thunderstormy and 80℉. That’s not the kind of weather I’d enjoy hunting grouse in.

Northern Minnesota ruffed grouse

Photo by J. Harrington

The asters and mums we planted are settling in nicely and brightening the place even more. Thursday or Friday we’ll collect the first box of our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] autumn share. This morning I managed to dig up about half the bed where the Better Half wants to plant peonies. With luck, I’ll finish digging tomorrow and then work in a summer’s worth of compost.

It is hard to believe that we’re almost halfway through September, but I’ve noticed that I’m getting back into a baking-bread-more-frequently routine. That corresponds with fewer salads and more warm dinners showing up in the household supper/dinner menu. We’re not quite back to the soups and stews season, but I think I can see it from here unless, of course, the weather becomes as messed up as the stock market is these days. Admittedly, the stock market isn’t the economy, but it appears the Fed’s determination to put a stake through the heart of inflation may lead to an example of “the operation was a success, but the patient died” condition.

And Now It’s September,

By Barbara Crooker

and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled

and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse

on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last

blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant 

asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving

in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes.

The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed

in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days

are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck

and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle

in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly,

they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate,

and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits

patiently in a long, long line.

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