autumn 2014: postscript

red sunrise early this morning confirms what the forecast says: storms are coming and it's going to rain. this rain will quickly end our foliage season for good.

already, the end has begun, though. driving the back roads, leaves surge wildly through the air as the car passes through tunnels of trees. when i walk in the morning, i try to catch one before it hits the ground - for good luck, as told to me by savvy six year-olds. there have been several half-hearted attempts at raking, mostly just to make piles to jump into, throwing leaves into the air, and shrieking. but the heavy duty raking will be next weekend, after this rain, after all the maple and oak and birch leaves are down and the trees are winter bare.

my newest interesting word: abscission. the botanical term for leaves and other parts falling from a plant. it's what happens to deciduous trees in the fall. who knew there was such a fancy word for such a bittersweet ending?

autumn 2014

there's no better place to live in the fall than in new england. it's been beautiful here - although difficult for me to capture with the camera. i think i've been more content to just gaze and marvel at the beauty around me. today, it actually moved me to tears a bit - and that surprised me, a lot!

bittersweet morning

overnight, it's gotten cold and i wake to an early, spotty frost. even though it seems too soon in the season, i know it's time to go collect bittersweet for fall decorating. if i wait, cold will cause the golden casing on the berries to split and eventually fall off, and the remaining orange fruit inside will freeze and thaw continuously until it too drops. if i cut it now and bring the vines inside, the berries will pop in place, remain intact, and look colorful throughout the winter.

so i bring tea and off i go, wearing muck boots and flannel and my gardening gloves. for the first time this year, i can see my breath as i walk. the early morning is quiet with occasional blue jay shrill and solitary cricket song. already it's sounding like fall, feeling like fall.

i know just where the bittersweet is - i can see it from the road, its vibrant green leaves a dead giveaway even in this early light. i walk to the patch, balance my tea on a mossy spot, and i begin to cut.

i reach as far into the tangle as i can in order to get the longest vines. my clippers are newly sharpened, ready for the season's work, and they easily bite through the twists of vine. my sleeves catch on nearby rose hips, so i clip some of those, too, for the basket by the back door. i work silently, with last night's bothersome earworm, a children's song, my only distraction. as i cut, i gently pile the vines in an open spot so as not to disturb the precious berries. when i think i have enough, i pocket my clippers and stoop down next to the pile to begin the tedious job of stripping the leaves from the vines.

even though i'm good at this and can work quickly, it's still the most time-consuming part of the picking. bittersweet leaves are huge in comparison to the fruit. they dry brown and crumpled and look unsightly. so i begin pulling the stems from the vine, one leaf at a time, leaving only a few small ones to yellow and dry in place. slowly, the leaf pile grows and the vines become lost in it. i am at it for so long, i can feel the sun start to warm the back of my neck. i silently pray i'll be able to stand without support after stooping down for so long.

in the distance i think i hear the honk of geese. i look up and am disappointed to see no flying, no V formation. perhaps they are over the river, not yet ready to go. maybe this chill is just reminding them that their leaving time will come too soon.

finally, the stripping is done and i carefully bring the vines home. i lay them on an old bedsheet in the grass to contain stray berries lest they make their way into the soil around the house. i love bittersweet, but it's invasive and could climb and eventually overtake trees that i love more. best to leave bittersweet to the woods.

i lift the big trencher down from the top of the living room cupboard, carry it out into the bright morning light, and begin to load it with the prized vines. once i'm satisfied with the arrangement, it will be put back on the fireplace wall, high up near the beams. this time tomorrow, the berries will have popped and the brilliant gold and orange display will brightened this dark corner of the room. it will remain there, undisturbed, through the next chill weeks of autumn and the long, bleak, cold months of a winter yet to come.

monarch!

despite my best efforts at attracting them, again this summer i have had no evidence of monarch caterpillars or butterflies, nor have i seen any in my travels. so imagine my joy at spotting this one this afternoon, flitting among the zinnias in the cutting garden at a neighborhood farm stand. and she even had a few siblings with her!

clearing away the past

for several mornings this week, the little girl and i spent some time organizing her bedroom, a rather large space with lots of nooks and crannies. after breakfast we'd turn on the radio and start where we had left off the day before. as we worked we'd reminisce about toys and books she'd outgrown. we chose stuffed animals to donate to the thrift store. we made piles of action figures, legos, and plastic dinosaurs and found and labeled containers for each. sometimes we'd get sidetracked and have to snuggle on the bed to read parts of a book or get up and dance to a favorite tune. but we'd soon be back to sorting out broken crayons from the whole ones and tossing piles of old greeting cards and first grade artwork. we organized a desk space for homework with sharpened pencils, a ruler, post-it notes, and a few erasers - the best part of the room, she says! we set up a science center with her rock collection and a reading corner with some comfy pillows. it was a lot of work, but we both agreed it was fun and productive and she loves the grown-up space. when will we have to do this again, she asked. never? i replied.

after we'd finished, i brought home the bag of toys to donate and two bags of trash to take to the dump. tonight i was going through them both, just to be sure i wasn't throwing away some important part to a game or a landmark piece of first grade work. and deep inside a box of puzzle pieces, i found this. it's the lyrics to a silly song we made up and recorded one night after dinner years ago. i'm guessing she wrote this note two years ago. i have no idea why she chose to write down these lyrics. all i know is, finding it touched my heart so. and it came this close to going to the dump.

here's the song, as we recorded it that winter night long ago as we had ice cream for dessert.

hawk

earlier this month, there was a hawk hanging around the fringes of the woods. at first, i was excited and thought he was just passing through. but he stayed. sometimes i could see him but always, always, i could hear him. all day long. i thought he would drive me crazy with his constant shrill sounds. and then one day, it was too quiet, too still, and he was gone. and i actually missed him, worried about him a little bit. he probably just moved on to someone who appreciated him as much as i should have.

catch-up

playing catch-up tonight with blog posts from this month. photos uploaded here, notes made there, but nothing cohesive until i took the time to pull it all together tonight. i have one more post in process, one that's important to me and from june, actually. i've worked hard on half of it - i hope i can get the rest done as well. perhaps this is a new way to blog for me...catch (up) as catch can...

estimation

i'm a pocket person but i'm picky about what i keep in them. a beach rock, lip balm, a token from a friend, a flash drive. bills, neatly tucked up in a colorful paperclip. but seldom do i carry coins. it's just too much jingle. so, like many others, i toss them in a container and there they sit until they fill the thing up. for a while now, i've transferred the contents to a bigger container as i fill the smaller one. finally this week, the little girl and i decided to take them to the change machine at the bank.

what a wonderful opportunity for a lesson in estimation, thought the teacher in me. so we brainstormed ways to go about doing that. we decided to start by counting the change in one fistful of money. then she counted the number of additional fistfuls from the container. pencil and paper multiplying that was a bit beyond her abilities came last. we estimated that there was roughly $125 in change.

on the way to the bank, the little girl reminded me that the counting machine wouldn't take foreign coins. we decided there had to be some in our stash since we live so close to Canada, but we weren't worried.

at the bank, we dumped all the coins into the machine. we watched in awe as the coins dropped in and the displayed total grew larger. as the noise started to slow and the display finally stopped, we looked at each other in disbelief. $124.69. and in the coin return, a single shiny Canadian quarter. i was so dumbstruck, i didn't even think to take a picture of it!

we were so close!!

unseasonable

this has been a good summer. there have been warm days and comfortable nights, enough rain (i think), good beach days and lots of time to enjoy being outside. a few hot spells but not much humidity. it's been wonderful, but just not right. no monarch caterpillars or butterflies. crickets chirping since early summer when they usually chorus in august. early summer flowers blooming late and late summer ones blooming early. and now, shocking signs of autumn, earlier than i have ever noticed. and it's not even september yet.

afterward

after a fitful night's sleep, the day dawns clear and brilliant. the wind still howls and the weather vanes on cottages can't seem to make up their minds. down the street, the wind fights with a sheer curtain through the open window. the surf is pounding on the rocks. wild weather still!

storms like last night's have such an effect on the beaches and the shore. at the sandy beach, lifeguards will not allow children to go into the water past their knees. the high tide is super high, it tries to take my shoes and it forces us and our blankets into the sand dune! but at the small rocky beach, it's a seaglass bonanza! never have we collected so much; never have i seen such a beautiful blue as this piece!

storm

Wild weather this afternoon with driving, windswept rain. even soaked to the bone, i stood at the rocks in awe of the color of the ocean, the power of the surf. tonight the wind howls so loudly through closed up windows, i must open them enough to quiet the noise so i can sleep.

at the beach

Some time away at the ocean, my happy place. salt air, crashing waves, herons on the marsh. visiting with family, reading on the deck, and falling asleep to the sound of the ocean. I love it here.

on the road

recently, i took a day trip to maine with a friend. a lovely day - and i'm so glad i brought my camera...

we visited an apple orchard to buy native blueberries. the apples there are already turning red!

a beautiful wall display of the old brass stencils they used to mark the apple crates for shipping. 

all manner of interesting things hanging from the beams in the barn. 

cutest little outhouse i've ever seen. 

i have been obsessed this summer with top story windows, especially those that are in the peaks of roofs. they're always a little different than all the other windows in the building. and they're often beautiful, like this one.

the sweetest little secret garden, with a twig fence and thyme-laced stepping stones up to the old grinding wheel. that gorgeous latch is on the outhouse.

we passed this old, neglected church on our way out of town. green corrugated metal covers up the steeple windows. i thought the building was sad and just wanted a shot of it. 

diminutive

the tiniest of poppies, not much bigger than a raspberry, blooming in my neglected garden. i glanced it, the speck of pink, on a window walk-by as i was on my way to something more important. a butterfly i thought, or a petal from geraniums. upon investigation, this surprise volunteer. i didn't plant it nor scatter seed in the spring. my only encounter with poppies was this partly successful attempt some years back. how can such tiny seeds survive for that long? and how can something so minute grow into something that complex?

the ride home

sunset, on the road home. all i had was my little camera and i was so sorry. it had stormed heavily and was just clearing as the sun set. the clouds over the river valley were magical. 

columbine

through the window, the garden calls. the spring pinks, blues, and purples are in bloom. lupine, iris, wild geranium - and the columbines nodding in the breeze. it's such a mess out here - last year's 'garden club' plants have multiplied wildly, there are still pots still to plant, stubborn weeds to eradicate, and a long-planned patio space to build. but in the early morning light, it's lovely nonetheless.

feels like summer

driving home this evening on the back roads, it finally feels like summer. the air is warm, clouds are puffy, and trees are all leafed out and throwing shadows. the tourists are back and boats are moored on the lake. i pass a wedding party gathering for pictures on a vast green lawn. families are out walking and folks are riding their bicycles. and, driving by the take-out restaurant, the smell of fried food wafts through the open windows.

memorial day weekend

after she told me all about the Memorial Day event at her school, the little girl and i went outside to add our flag to the front door wreath. once it was placed, she suggested we pledge allegiance to it, like they do in school. so we did, she and i. hand over hearts, nice and loud, right there on the front lawn in front of the whole neighborhood.

my favorite flowers

i love the flowers that grow this time of year - primrose, mayflowers, trillium and anemone. the delicate single petals, the soft muted colors. the but this year my favorite flowers are these - brightly colored tissue paper ones with pipe cleaner stems, made by the little girl and presented for my birthday. 

spring song

early this morning, with windows open without benefit of screen, i heard him before i saw him. a cheery song from the top of the birch tree at the edge of the woods. he was there for the longest time, chirping his greeting to the new day and the new season. and each time he flew to the next highest branch, tiny pollen clouds poofed from each catkin.

easter 2014 - a whole week late

i am busy, busy, busy. i forget to take pictures. and when i do, i forget to post. here are a few easter highlights.

finally, the snow melted and my snowdrops appeared, just in time for the holiday. as soon as the flowers have gone by, i'm moving these bulbs to a place that gets sun!

lemon meringue pie. i've wanted this since january so i promised myself i'd make it for easter dinner. the last time i made lemon meringue pie, i forgot to bake the meringue and i served it to visitors from spain who could not speak english. to say the woman was puzzled is putting it mildly. "mer-en-gay???" she kept asking me. "si!", said i. 

carrots cut like flowers. because i don't have anything better to do at one in the morning on easter sunday!

confetti remnants in the yard from a the first annual confetti-egg celebration. the little girl read about confetti eggs in school and had to make some. she sure had a good time breaking them and watching the confetti fly!

and yes, my annual easter balloon was delivered in secret. again. 

i am blessed with a very good friend. :-)

april woodpile

not much left, and last night there was snow. 

this morning, cold and wind. 

but last night, i heard the first peepers of spring!

palm sunday

i go to mass and i get my palms for this year, flat and fresh and clean smelling. when i was a kid, i always thought palm-sunday-palms came from jerusalem since they symbolize jesus' procession into that city. at an older age, i figured jerusalem would be out of palms pretty quickly if they supplied fronds to all the catholic churches in the world so i decided they just came from the middle east somewhere. in my adult life, i just didn't question where they came from. but now, i know! on a tulip-buying trip to my local florist thursday, i found her standing at a counter covered in palm leaves, cleaning them with a white washcloth. palms come from the florist?? i asked in disbelief.  no, she said, palms come from mexico. and of course, it makes perfect sense.

pranked

a late april fool's day gift from the little girl. not a brownie, but a brown e. she thinks it's absolutely hysterical - and she almost got me.

needful things II

always, i've loved to burn candles - candles everywhere, all over the house! i like the light, the ambiance, the scent, the way a flame quiets the soul. but over the years, i've cut back on candles a lot. they sometimes leave soot on the ceilings. so much of the candle is wasted after the wick is gone and wax remains. and most candles have a link to petroleum products which feels wrong to me. i've replaced lots of candles with the newish battery operated ones and, from a distance, they'll suffice. but the one candle i won't give up is this soy one that i found years ago. heavily and heavenly scented, clean and slow burning, no waste, and i reuse the jars after they're cleaned. it's my other needful thing, my guilty pleasure. i allow myself one candle a month and burn it mostly at night, after the dishes are done and the kitchen's cleaned and dark. while i write or read or work nearby, the scent drifts out to me and the flickering light calms me. 

my order had arrived when i got home too late last night, and i waited until this morning, until i had my tea, to open the carton. i unpacked my april candle first and lit it, and the scent of a maple filled the kitchen. there were other candles as well - lavender lemongrass, chamomile, basil & berries, lemon drop, and for september - indian summer. before i stashed them away, i opened each surprise and i sniffed, a heady preview of the scents of my summer nights! 

robins!

robins, all over my yard! so many robins! in the patches of brown grass and earth, in the crabapple, all over the compost pile. there's so much birdsong and activity this morning, it makes me wish i had gone outside sooner.

morning light

this time of year, when the sun rises due east, i love to stand quietly for a minute and watch the morning light angle its way into the house. it looks hopeful, springlike. and this morning, i hear birdsong.

vernal equinox 2014

spring in new hampshire. 

overnight, nine inches more.  

longing to see green.

needful things

so much snow with the ides of march - but warming air brings melting and giant puddles of water with icy bases! i need spring now and hurry off late to see my friend, the local florist. she has tulips and daisy-like mums, shamrocks and roses. but my choice is stock, almost gone by, and she gives it to me at a bargain price. i love the pale yellow of the flowers, but i buy it for the smell. now, hours later, the heady scent of clove wafts across my desk as i write. just what i needed!

at the window

on the left, an old tool for grading maple syrup. the finished syrup was poured into bottles like these then held up to the light. the amount of light that passed through the syrup determined the grade.

on the right, a canning jar with lint from the drier tucked inside. i always start a jar like this at the beginning of march. when the weather warms and the birds come back, the little girl scatters the contents at the edge of the field, hoping someone will use it for nesting material.

outside the window, spring hasn't even thought about returning yet.