A mast-er-full Autumn #phenology

All week we've been seeing and hearing acorn after acorn dropping from our oaks, as the nuts and caps and leaves cover the drive, the deck behind the house, and the rest of the grounds, where they're less obvious. The dogs, each of which has a sensitive stomach, love to dash onto the deck, grab an acorn and gobble it down before we can deter them. At least locally, this is shaping up as a phenomenal "mast year." The red and gray squirrels, wild turkeys, whitetail deer, black bears and blue jays, among others, will be delighted.

the ground around the oaks is covered with acorns

Photo by J. Harrington

If oaks are as prolific in your region as they've been around here, it could be a great opportunity to collect an acorn or two to carry with you. We mention this because, since today is another #FolkloreThursday, we weren't surprised to come across this folklore nugget in our Twitter TimeLine:

For #FolkloreThursday

Carry an acorn to guard against illness and pain.

They were also known to aid longevity and preserve youthfulness.

one or two of these acorns may find their way into our pockets

Photo by J. Harrington

Other germs of acorn folklore can be found here. It's late for us to try to preserve youthfulness, but guarding against illness and pain is always prudent. We particularly like the folklore about oaks being a favorite of fairies. It fits nicely with our posting last Sunday, about fairies being responsible for changing the color of leaves in the Autumn.

Have you ever seen a lilac in Minnesota blooming past mid-September?

Photo by J. Harrington

While taking photos of acorns this morning, we noticed, much to our surprise astonishment, a clump of blooms on the lilac bush. Lilacs have always been associated with grammar school, end of school year and nuns issuing prohibitions on more bouquets of flowers that make students sleepy. We had a mid-Summer bloom on one of the lilac bushes in front of the house but attributed that to our cloudy, wet Spring and Summer. We've no idea what to make of a September lilac bloom unless it too has been caused by fairies.

The Song Of The Acorn Fairy

To English folk the mighty oak
Is England’s noblest tree;
Its hard-grained wood is strong and good
As English hearts can be
And would you know how oak-trees grow,
The secret may be told:
You do but need to plant for seed
One acorn in the mould;
For even so, long years ago,
Were born the oaks of old.

~Cecily Mary Baker

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How about a return to our original instructions?

I am once again enjoying a delightfully pleasant late summer / early autumn day. After much internal debate this week, I’m prepared to add to the pleasures of the season by finally letting go of the idea of ever again getting all caught up. There are just too many things that require attention, even with the kids all raised, and too many variables to track, and too many new disruptions to whatever used to pass as normal.

September lilac bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Here’s an example: a few days ago I noticed a cluster of blossoms on the lilac bush behind the house. Lilacs are supposed to bloom in May, not September. At least that’s the way it was the whole time I was in grammar school, many years ago. Since I’ve been posting daily to this blog for several years, a search turned up mention of September blooms on lilacs in 2017, 2019, 2020 and now this  year. Yet another example of the old normals no longer holding.

Now, unaccustomed as I am to playing devil’s advocate, I might point out that the “old normals” probably account for much of what’s brought US, and the rest of the world, to our current condition, with many, to most, to all lives being disrupted by one or more of the following

• a global pandemic, foretold on the pages of Foreign Affairs in 2005 by Michael Osterholm 
• multiple crises triggered by climate breakdown events, anticipated since the 19th century
• a “sixth extinction” recently flagged by scientists at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology

An extractive, capitalistic, global economy based on perpetual growth is the ideology underlining most of our current global problems. They’re exacerbated by unacceptable levels of greed and/or ignorance. As an alternative to living in a perpetual state of one or more crises, perhaps more of US should take a look at the Bioneers’ approach and/or read Original Instructions to look for a place or places to start positive changes in our systems and our lives.

Remember, being bent over with a head in the sand puts you in a near perfect position to kiss your arse goodbye.

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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It’s woolly thinking time

Today is the penultimate day of September 2024. Haven’t seen a hummingbird at the feeder all week. Wasps and/or hornets are about everywhere, building nests and being annoying. Temperatures have been running close to 20 degrees above normal this week past but are expected to become seasonable, or close to it, come mid-week, early October. This in a state that decades ago became famous for a Halloween blizzard. This morning I found a woolly bear showing four bands of ginger, of 13(?) total bands. It’s an unrepresentative sample size, but it may portend a winter thats more wintery than usual. Meanwhile, there’s at least half a dozen lilac bushes in the neighborhood that are in bloom.

woolly bear says winter will be ???

Photo by J. Harrington

In a typical year, we’d be looking toward peak leaf color over the next couple of weeks. It’s been very slow developing this year. September has been more like July, plus we keep discovering more lilac bushes in bloom. Birds and butterflies seem to be moving south, but that must be due to day length more than our weather. Did I mention all the lilacs in bloom? In September?

We aided and abetted our Granddaughter and her friends and relations celebrate a 4 year old's birthday last week. I had forgotten that just opening presents is considered as much fun as playing with or trying on what’s getting unwrapped, especially if there’s a big pile of presents to be unwrapped before we get to the birthday cake. There was a strong horsey theme since a certain 4 year old has been taking, and enjoying, riding lessons these days.

It looks like, with two minutes to go in today’s game and a nine point lead, the Vikings are going to beat Green Bay and start the season 4 and 0. Our football fan son will be gleeful. I’m still touchy having rooted for a team that’s lost the Superbowl four times. (Final today: Vikings 31 Green Bay 29)

I’ve been working, without as much success as I’d like, at letting go of expectations and living in the moment. With the weather changes and the constant revisions in technology and business practices, that seems wise but requires the retraining of a lifetime’s conditioning. I have a book on order that should arrive this coming week, written by Jenny Odell, titled How To Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy. I’d been toying with reading it and, in one of the reviews I read, saw the mention of bioregionalism. I was hooked and look forward to reading about the combination.

The Woolly Bear

Along a silvan lane, you spy a critter
creeping with a mission, a woolly bear
fattened on autumn flora. So you crouch,
noting her triple stripes: the middle ginger,
each end as black as space. Her destination
is some unnoticed nook, a sanctuary
to settle in, greet the fangs of frost,
then freeze, wait winter out—lingering, lost
in dreams of summer, milkweed, huckleberry.
Though she’s in danger of obliteration
by wheel or boot, your fingers now unhinge her.
She bends into a ball of steel. No “ouch”
from bristles on your palm as you prepare
to toss her lightly to the forest litter.

She flies in a parabola, and lands
in leaves. Though she has vanished, both your hands
hold myriad tiny hairs, a souvenir
scattered like petals. When this hemisphere
turns warm again, she’ll waken, thaw, and feast
on shrubs and weeds (the bitterer the better)
then, by some wondrous conjuring, released
from larval life. At length she will appear
a moth with coral wings — they’ll bravely bear
her through a night of bats or headlight glare,
be pulverized like paper in a shredder,
or briefly flare in a world that will forget her.

by Martin J. Elster

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Out of phase, out of season #phenology

Yesterday we tied the 90℉ local record high temperature for September 23. Today is likely to meet or exceed the record high temp for the day. While enjoying cups of cappuccino at Coffee Talk, the Better Half and I were inundated with dry, falling leaves as we sat and sipped on the back patio. The scenic drive to and from gave us an opportunity to check on the status of local crops and the leaf colors.

Winterberries in fruit

Photo by J. Harrington

Except for those that have browned from lack of moisture and heat stress, there's some, but not really much, leaf color showing. Soy beans are maturing but not there yet. Most of the corn is mostly mature. In fact, today we saw our first of the year harvested cornfield. We also saw clusters of intensely purple asters along several roadsides plus a few pale lavender hosta flowers by Coffee Talk's patio, and more asters, shocking pink(?) in front. That's about it for local wildflowers. Local winterberries are already in fruit.

out-of-season lilac bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Now, all of the preceding seems to generally fit with the seasonal patterns we're familiar with, except of the heat and humidity, but, the Better Half alerted us to something that seems highly unseasonal. We've always associated lilac blooms with mid-May and sleepy grammar school classrooms, until today. We have, in front of the house, a lilac that's just come into bloom. We're not going to overreact and cut down a devil-possessed plant or anything like that, but we do want to note that the list of unusual to weird things keeps getting longer the more we experience climate change - global warming. We about ready to watch for a whole flock of black swans fly overhead.

                     Pass It On, III

By Rachel Hadas

Lilacs look neon in fading light.

Death makes life shine:

a tiredness, a flickering between

ages, which is each age;

a piling up to tottering

and falling back to sand.

So much for cycle. The front door lock

sticks each fall when we’re first back.

We are advised to oil it.

Olive oil in the keyhole:

again the old key turns.

Once again to meander

along the edge of water,

whether tideless sea or tidal river,

pushing the stroller, dreaming

oil in the lock; the key

dipped in lubricity

the boychild’s shining skin

me tired to the bone

Already summer’s over.

Goodbye, lilacs. Your

neon is past; you’ll bloom again

next spring. Past an age

each season feels like an end of summer

but still the tale’s to tell

over and over for those

lolling and snoozing in the stroller,

preparing to come after.

Tall house standing on its high green hill—

children, do you remember?

Lawns slant down to a stream.

Under a striped tent

a buffet’s spread in the sun.

Ideas of the eternal,

once molten, harden; cool.

Oil, oil in the lock.

The old key turns.

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Finding Autumn

Today the Better Half [BH] asked if I had noticed the blossoms on  the forsythia bush behind the house. Of course, since this is the 7th of September, I replied "No, I hadn't." By the same token, the  BH either hadn't noticed, or hadn't mentioned, the lilac blossom on the bush next to the forsythia. When I'm anticipating the arrival of Autumn, I don't expect to see Spring flowers in bloom, but there they were.

late-blooming forsythia

Photo by J. Harrington

late-blooming lilac

Photo by J. Harrington

As another indication that Autumn is arriving, the bluebird house today was inhabited by neither the tree frog nor the hornets or wasps that had been using it recently. Cooler nights may be encouraging some critters to locate closer to Winter quarters.

maple leaves beginning to show color

Photo by J. Harrington

mixed deciduous showing color

Photo by J. Harrington

May you enjoy a safe, healthy, enjoyable Labor Day. If you've come across the advice that suggests taking a walk in nature to reduce the chronic tension that seems to be going around these days, I can confirm, based on my walk-about today, that it's good advice, and true. I've been more rigorous about getting out and getting exercise by doing outside chores. I haven't been spending enough time wandering around just to see what's going on. I'll do better, at least until we need to start reporting on wind chills.

Autumn

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - 1807-1882

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up
His bright inheritance of golden fruits,
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves; the purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings;
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

O what a glory doth this world put on
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks
On duties well performed, and days well spent!
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.
He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go
To his long resting-place without a tear.

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Autumn, approaching

I missed posting yesterday. The day was devoted to celebrating the birthday of a certain 5 year old granddaughter and I obviously failed to plan ahead and post on Saturday in anticipation. The celebration(s) was / were successful and everyone enjoyed the party, presents and cake, especially the guest of honor.

Over the past week or ten days I’ve noticed half-a-dozen or so new dandelion flowers along our roadway and three or four (common?) lilac bushes in bloom in the area. This is not the Minnesota I moved to about fifty years ago.

a hint of color tints nearby trees

Photo by J. Harrington

As we enter October in a day or so, temperatures are forecast to exceed 80℉ and approach ninety℉ by Friday.The regular waterfowl season opened Saturday last to weather too warm to get serious about duck hunting. Local leaf color looks to be about 5% so far, maples showing best. The bur oak at the end of our drive is dropping leaves faster than changing color.

Someone (deer?) knocked over and off the wire protector cage from one of the replacement serviceberry bushes. Neither bush is showing any color yet but at least they’ve lived longer than last spring’s plantings. Our fingers remain crossed these bushes will make it through the winter and beyond.

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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Blue vs. Red; urban vs rural

 In Minnesota, the Democratic Party is called the Democratic-Farmer-Labor (DFL) Party, but you probably knew that. What’s interesting is that farmers tend to vote Republican, while Labor leans Democratic, but not as much as  farmers lean Republican. [source] In the 2020 election, most of Minnesota’s counties voted Republican while Democrats are concentrated in urban areas. [source] Representative government, as I understand it, is supposed to represent people, not acreage, The principle is one person, one vote, right? Yes, there is an exception in the US Senate, but other than that, not so much.

Republicans claim to be opposed to socialism, but farmers are heavily dependent on government for subsidies that enable them to farm at a profit. Labor hasn’t seen an increase in the Federal minimum wage of $7.25/hour since 2009. President Obama and the Democrats "had “total control” of the Senate from September 24, 2009 until February 4, 2010. A grand total of 4 months.” [source] President Biden is faced with a couple of senators who are often Democrats In Name Only, and has to rely on the Vice President’s vote to have a majority vote in a Senate that, by its own rules, requires 60 votes to close debate on a piece of legislation.

I voted

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, at the national level, the Democratic National Committee and similar organizations seem more concerned about keeping the progressives in their place than in building grassroots support among labor or farmers. That’s one of the major reasons I can’t find it in my heart to support mainstream Democratic Party funding requests. I lean heavily toward the progressive end of the political spectrum, but I also live in an exurban/rural location in a metropolitan area and can confirm the DFL is in a minority, but, with “Farmer” as a constituency, don’t believe it has to stay a minority.

Democrats in Minnesota often win statewide races, but the legislature tends to be divided as often as not. Republican state senators are more representative of acres than people, similar to the pattern  at the national level. My  experience has been that the DFL focuses on sure things and hasn’t seemed willing to fight for every possible vote in close districts. That may well prove to be a losing strategy if the signs of disenchantment I’ve been seeing among progressive voters is an indication of how the midterms may play out.

But, you may well ask, aren’t we all better off if we vote Blue instead of Red? That question reminds me of the story about the local gambler who, when  asked why he  played every Friday night in a game known to be crooked, replied that it’s the only game in town. Would he and his family be better off if he found another hobby and a different way to spend Friday nights? Maybe it’s time to find out.

Politics

By William Meredith

Tonight Hazard’s father and stepmother are having

jazz for McGovern. In the old game-room

the old liberals listen as the quintet builds

crazy houses out of skin and brass, crumbling

the house of decorum, everybody likes that.

For decades they have paid for the refurbishing

of America and they have not got their money’s worth.

Now they listen, hopeful,

to the hard rock for McGovern.

The ceiling in this palace needs fixing,

the chalky blue paint is like an old heaven

but there are holes and flaking.

They had movies here when grandpa was solvent.

Hazard desires his wife, the way people

on the trains to the death camps were seized

by irrational lust. She is the youngest woman

in the room, he would like to be in bed

with her now, he would like to be president.

He has not been to his studio

in four days, he asks the bartender,

a college boy with a ponytail, for more gin.

He stands in the doorway. Forsythia and lilac

have overgrown the porch, there is the rich

smell of wood-rot. What twenty years will do

to untended shrubbery and America and Hazard.

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