True sunrise was half an hour ago, but old Sol is only
just now making an appearance
between layers of thick cloud cover. The entire sky is
grey except for the space where the
sun has turned cloud edges pink and orange, with cold
gold right where the beams leak out.
Last night’s waning near-full moon rose early into a
clear sky but was soon obscured by clouds,
which dimmed its bulb only a little. It was bright enough
at midnight to cast my dim shadow on
the ground as I restlessly strolled a little way up the
road, looking for our white cat who hadn’t
come in at dusk. Crickets were silent, probably huddled
for warmth under some thatch or leaves.
A few bats were actively patrolling above the edge of the
forest, and I turned around at the creek,
remembering the pack of coyotes that had passed close by
the night before. I heard no geese as
I walked, although the sky had been full of them during
the daylight hours. There were no cars,
no barking dogs, no howling cats, just the gentle ripple
of the creek and the soft sigh of the wind
ruffling the tall trees’ leathery leaves. As I
approached the house, our beautiful green-eyed cat
streaked across the yard from the barn and greeted me
with a loud purr and hearty head-butt
against my leg. She is pure white and glowed in the
moonlight, easy prey for any owl or coyote;
I was happy to see her. It is a chilly morning and she is
curled up under the hot wood range,
content to stay put for now. The heat feels good to us as
well, and someday soon I will have
to keep the woodbox full. For now, random chunks and shed
sweepings are enough to keep
the house warm and cheerful. Soon the aroma of cookies
will waft through the house, mixing
with the spicy scent of salsa and dill as I slice, dice,
simmer and stir my way
through another Tug Hill autumn morning.
Have a grand day,
Daisy
~
What began as a rather calm warm day yesterday changed
dramatically in late afternoon
with gusts of chilly air being drawn down from Canada,
pushing thousands of geese along
ahead of the front. I needed a jacket by the time I
finished work at 7:00, but hadn’t thought
to throw one in the car as it was so muggy when I left
the house. We never saw any rain in
Turin but I believe counties to the south had quite a bit
of it. The full moon rose huge and orange
through layers of backlit clouds, peeking in and out of
them all night long and illuminating the land
as if it were twilight. Geese were on the move all night
long; we could hear them honking through
the open windows, a neverending stream of southbound
birds. One noisy group of coyotes passed
close by just before dawn, moving east to west with their
yips and howlings dream-like, barely
heard at first, swelling to a rich crescendo, and growing
faint once again as they raced into the
forest. I’ll bet I can find tracks in the dew behind
the barn. I hope they ran right through the sweet
corn, leaving predatory scents to keep the raccoons away
for just a few more days. So far we
have only lost a dozen perfect ears of corn to the coons;
they are welcome to all of the smaller
malformed ears that we toss aside; perhaps they have
learned to accept that sweet libation in
place of pulling down every stalk and taking the best
ears, as they have done in years past. I
know there are coons around, we have seen them waddling
along the roadside in the wee hours.
If we can escape frost for a week more our fifth and
final planting of corn will give us some lovely
October ears. It’s a gamble planting corn in July,
one that often pays off by extending the fresh
corn season by at least a month. What could be better
than a roast chicken dinner complete
with sweet acorn squash, succulent ears of lightly
buttered corn, wild applesauce sprinkled
with cinnamon, and a mound of fluffy mashed potatoes!
Ahhhhh, last night’s harvest moon over-
saw such a feast, and this year's bounty is amazing in
spite of the odd weather we have had.
We are blessed,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, September 28, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
58 degrees, calm, overcast
Our trees are sort of half-changed into their fall
wardrobe. The bottom half of the
maples right outside the window are dark green, and the
tops are enrobed in bright
orange. It is a windless morning, but the branches are
filled with blackbirds and each
leaf responds to every little shift of wing or tail.
Indeed, the leaves may very well be
vibrating in response to the dozens of conversations
going on all at once, chit-chat and
exclamations that don’t resemble birdsong one bit. I
can only guess that they are discussing
which of them will remain behind to keep me company this
winter as they have done for the
past two years. “Sure it’s cold and windy,
and the snow is unbelievable, but the look
of joy on that woman’s face when we greet her each
morning makes it all worth it...
and some mornings she gives us toast...” I could
sit on the back step all morning and listen
to the birds, but there is work to be done, so I will
hold the sights and sounds of the morning
close to my heart for the rest of the day. At the end of
the day I like to think back over every-
thing that happened, and bring back to mind one
particularly beautiful part... a smile, a child’s
joyful play, a romping dog, or a flock of merry birds...
The mind’s eye can be a real treasure
chest, if only we remember to peek inside once in a while.
Have a wonderful day,
Daisy
~
A fresh breeze causes colorful leaves to dance and twirl
earthward,
and a thin carpet of orange already covers part of the
lawn. A large flock of crows is
circling noisily over the eastern hedgerow, and honking
geese are once again on the move.
Added to this is the first tentative crowing of several
young roosters in our flock who have
been left to fatten up a little more, living their last
weeks with no thought for the future, pecking
happily away at sweet corn and dipping their beaks into
cold spring water. The major thing that
separates humankind from every other animal species is
the foreknowledge of our own mortality,
the idea that death is inevitable and eventual. Sometimes
we know it’s imminent, and other times
it is a total surprise. I’m not certain if this is
good or bad, but it doesn’t matter what I think; it
doesn’t change anything. I could live to be a
hundred or get struck down by lightning tomorrow,
the end result is the same. What matters is today, this
hour, this minute when I am certain that
my spirit is fully present in this physical body, which
is healthy and strong... for now. Do we tend
to take this for granted ? Do we often sleepwalk through
entire days full of routine and seemingly
tedious repetitive tasks, waiting for night to fall so we
can fall back into true slumber ?
~
Look here; from time to time, pinch yourself and bring
yourself into the present, the reality
of the moment. Live each day as if tomorrow is an
unexpected gift. Immerse yourself in the
most mundane tasks as if they were a trip to Disney. Give
thanks for the strength that our
frail bodies are capable of, and enjoy the challenges
that make our days more interesting.
When I count to three and snap my fingers, you will be fully
awake. Hugs to you all,
Daisy
~
Sunday, September 26, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
61 degrees, breezy, sunny
It is another beautiful morning here on Tug Hill, and I’m
afraid we are getting a little bit
spoiled by all of the recent good weather. Then I
remember that we had darned little of
the sunny stuff all summer long, and figure that if we
average out all of the dank and rainy
days with the past few spectacular weeks that it still
would stack up as being an overall
wet and chilly season. It doesn’t really matter;
crops thrive or fail, hikes are done in rain-
coats or in shorts, mountain bikes either kick up dust or
roost up mud, on and on and on...
the important thing is to immerse yourself in the day
whatever the weather. If we just sit
indoors and look out at the rain/ snow/ fog that spices
up our seasons then we shall never
know the joy of inhaling scents enhanced by 100%
humidity, or feel the primal intensity
of cold brought about by wind-driven snow finding its way
in-between layers of clothing.
Folks who only venture out to play when the weather is
picture-perfect are seeing half
of the picture. If every day were as perfect as this one,
life would be boring indeed.
Get out and enjoy this beauty of a day, but when the
clouds come back and the
north wind blows, bundle up and get out and enjoy that
day too. Carpe diem,
Daisy
~
It is a little bit foggy but early morning predawn colors
shine through the haze,
lovely horizontal stripes of pink and silver. Yesterday
was a perfect hot summery day,
right down to the hoards of mosquitoes that materialized
late in the afternoon. There
were many ripe tomatoes to pick, but it had to be done
one-handed, swatting away
buzzing disease-carrying pests with the free hand. Flies
and wasps were swarming
inside of the sunporch windows, and mosquitoes were
clouding the air outside; no safe
haven on that otherwise beautiful day. A short hike in
the morning was totally bug-free,
if you don’t count the crickets that scurried across
the path as we drew near. Heavy
dew didn’t burn off until after lunch, and our dog
became soaked to the skin as if he had
taken a dip in the pond. The actual pond was still,
overflowing its banks and covering the
trail. The resident muskrats were nowhere to be seen;
perhaps their burrows and den had
been flooded out by the heavy rainstorms earlier this
month. We may see a bit of rain today,
but no big storms are in the forecast for the coming
week, no frost either.
Whatever happens today, go with the flow.
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
It is a beautiful morning, sunny and calm. Faint
striations of clouds lent form and color
to the sunrise, which is a little bit later every morning.
Same with the sunsets; in midsummer
we can take a walk after supper to enjoy the color show,
but now we often watch it from
the porch as we dine. No doubt about it, we are on the
way to the season of short days and
long cold nights. Last night I had to pull off the road
on my way home from work to watch
the fabulous sunset over Tug Hill from Route 12D. The
same wispy clouds that grace this
morning’s sky were fanned out from a bright orange
setting sun, and were tinted salmon
and pink against a deep blue sky. The eastern sky over
the Black River Valley was aglow
with warm pastel hues, and the overall effect was
enchanting. By the time I arrived home
the purple hour had started, and there was time for a
short walk before nightfall. A bulging
half moon was surrounded by a glowing silver halo and
stars winked on one at a time. Two
geese flew over, making as much noise as an entire flock.
Today will be a hot one, with
temperatures becoming more autumnal as the weekend goes
by. This might be the final
push that tomatoes and peppers need to hasten them into
sweet ripe goodness,
along with the fall crop of sweet corn. Yum !
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Wow! What an absolutely gorgeous first day of autumn !
Yesterday was the official date of the equinox, which
occurred mid-afternoon in this
part of the world, but today is the first full day of
fall, and it is one of the loveliest days
we have seen since the snow left last April. A fresh
breeze keeps the sun from becoming
too hot, and we spent quite a bit of time this morning
wandering the meadow paths admiring
all of the red sweet clover that has enjoyed a vigorous
comeback since the hay was taken off.
Everything is in motion because of the wind; goldenrod,
asters, and clover are all rippling like
a huge patchwork sea. Sunlight is brilliant and every
shadow has the crisp sharp edges that
this time of year is famous for up here. Someone with a
talent for neo-impressionist painting
could spend weeks on Tug Hill capturing this rare quality
of light on canvas.
For the rest of us, holding it in our mind’s eye is
good enough !
Have a beautiful day,
Daisy
~
We just got back from a long drive around the area that
surrounds Tug Hill,
finding several little seasonal roads that we hadn’t
yet explored. Beautiful autumn
foliage colors are early this year, with about fifty
percent of the maple trees displaying
gorgeous shades of gold, orange, and crimson. Swamp
maples are fully scarlet, and
many of their leaves have fallen to make a solid red
carpet on the surface of the water.
Everywhere we turned we saw apple trees overrun with
sweet fruit in every color imaginable.
If we didn’t already have dozens of jars of
applesauce put away we would have stopped to
gather a few bucketsful. It is a warm day, and folklore
of all cultures proclaims that if it is
warm at the autumnal equinox, it will be a fine winter.
On the other hand, it is also said that
if there is an abundance of apples at fall harvest, it
will be a hard winter full of subzero
temperatures and fierce snowstorms. The wooly bear
caterpillars are solid brown with no
stripes, and that means something too; I have heard both
sides of the story there.
I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what
actually happens, eh ?
Enjoy this perfect day,
Daisy
~
We avoided another night of frost. There are two rows of
beans that just won’t quit,
and I think we will be eating fresh beans until the first
snowfall. There are hundreds of
slightly bitter round brussels sprouts waiting for chilly
nights to bring out their hidden
sweetness; carrots will also benefit from a little frost.
The cold night air has plunged me
into a state of autumnal torpor for the last several
nights, burrowing deep into the quilts
and sleeping through the alarm clock twice. Last night we
were startled awake by the
high-pitched screams of a large pack of coyotes passing
under the open window. Their
eerie cries were rowdy and chaotic, not the usual soprano
howls and yip-yapping of a
hunting pack. I wonder if something was hunting them
for a change. Today is supposed
to be surprisingly warm; the sun will have to make an
appearance in order for that to
happen. So far the only small patch of blue is off to the
west, from whence cometh our
good weather, so maybe I should plan to spend a few
minutes later today watching the
corn grow and storing up some summer sunshine before
autumn falls upon us tomorrow.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Monday, September 20, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
61 degrees, calm, sunny
We have already passed yesterday’s high temperature
by one degree.
While there was some frost on cartops in the valley, we
were relatively toasty up
here on the hill with a low of 39 degrees just before
dawn. Our late crop of sweet
corn is only two or three days away from being perfectly
ripe, so we are happy to
have escaped a killing frost. Many geese were seen and
heard yesterday; a stiff north
wind gave them good incentive to head for their winter
feeding grounds. We were
walking along a back road early last evening, and the
wind gradually stopped altogether.
The silence of the balsam forest was absolute, and all we
heard for a mile was the crunch
of our boots on the gravel and the pitterpatter of little
pooch feet through the roadside
leaves. We were surprised by a great blue heron taking
off a few yards away; he had been
resting in a large puddle at the end of a logging road.
His noisy flight shocked a half dozen
woodpeckers into motion, and this in turn released a
batch of chickadees who had been
nearly invisible until they took flight, chattering
excitedly to each other. What a wonderful
chain reaction of avian activity! The walk back home
among the trees was silent once again,
with a waxing crescent moon watching over our shoulders.
Crickets greeted us with a
constant whirrrrr as we passed through the meadows, and
one last flock of geese flew low
above the Mill Creek Gorge calling out goodbye,
goodnight, so longk-onk-onk... So long for now,
Daisy
~
Sunday, September 19, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
37 degrees, windy, overcast
Brrrrrrrrrrrr! We narrowly escaped frost in our neck of
the woods, with last
night’s low temperature dropping to 35 degrees. It
was windy all night, and I won’t
be surprised to find many of our tender plants dead from
exposure, not frost crystals.
I haven’t talked to any friends in the valley yet
this morning, but I won’t be surprised
if their world was covered by a layer of icy
white when they arose. Yesterday we took
a long walk on a nearby seasonal road. The wind was less
noticeable when we left the
meadowlands’ wide open spaces, and we soon were
removing a layer or two of warm
clothing. I amaze people with my ability to remove a long
sleeved thermal shirt from under-
neath my sweater, producing it with a smiling ta-dah!
after a few contortions and still
preserving all modesty. The quality of afternoon light
was magical, and early fall colors were
especially vibrant in the clear cool air. Everything had
a gleam to it, as if coated with a thin
film of oil. New England asters in all shades of pink and
purple were offset by deep yellow
goldenrod, and queen anne’s lace filled out the
roadside display nicely. As we left the forested
roadway and returned to the meadows, it seemed as if a
new flower had appeared overnight,
bright yellow and low to the ground. All of a sudden,
hundreds of these gorgeous blooms lifted
off and formed a dense cloud of airborne color, small
butterflies on their way south to the tropics.
The sulphur butterfly summers here in the north country
in a larval state, and emerges this time
of year to form huge flocks that travel to the
rainforests of Central and South America. I had
never before seen such a large flock. I wonder what
surprises this beautiful day will hold ?
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
Saturday, September 18, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
44 degrees, windy, overcast
A stiff north wind has delivered a swirl of cold canadian
air to our region,
and unless the sun comes out pretty soon we will have to
break open the box
of winter hats and gloves before we begin the outside
work today. Frost is in
the forecast for some valley areas tonight, and even if
we miss it on the Hill we
will pick all of the peppers and tomatoes that are ready.
It is a good day to light
the wood range and put a big kettle of sauce on to
simmer, fresh tomatoes, onions,
garlic, peppers and herbs setting up a Pavlovian response
in all who enter. The
laundry will be put on hold until the north wind dies
down; otherwise we will be
picking garments out of the treeline. Once many years ago
I hung out a line full of
wet laundry and went off to work. The mercury fell below
freezing during the day
and a north wind gusted thirty miles per hour. I returned
home to a nearly empty
line and the meadow was dotted here and there with socks,
towels, and tee shirts.
My favorite cotton blouse was (unfortunately) still on
the line, a dismal fluttering
windsock of rags after the delicate fabric froze stiff
and was then shredded by the
wind. Today’s canadian clipper will no doubt bring
geese to the neighborhood,
issuing their bittersweet autumn cries that remind those
of a certain age that another
year is winding down, another harvest is underway, and
the candle that used to burn
so brightly from both ends is becoming short enough to
warrant a little more care.
Tend your flame carefully,
Daisy
~
It looks like the sun may appear at any instant; the sky
brightens a little,
then all is grey again. Rain is expected in the southern
part of the state, and
we may see a drop or two before settling into a gorgeous
weekend. My advice
is to leave the laundry for another day, one where it won’t
get a second unexpected
rinse of rainwater. Yesterday I cooked up a bunch of
little snow apples to extract
the lovely pink juice for jelly. These apples (also
called fameuse) are bright red on
the outside and have snow white flesh shot through with
veins of crimson. It is one
of the prettiest apples on the Hill, and there is an
abundance of them this year. Snow
apple jelly has a wonderful pungent apple flavor and is
perfect atop a lightly buttered
biscuit. It can also be substituted for duck sauce in any
asian recipe, and the price is
right. I have two quarts of elderberry juice waiting in
the fridge as well;
it will be a mighty sticky morning here in a steam-filled
fragrant kitchen.
Have a sweet day,
Daisy
~
Thursday, September 16, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
58 degrees, calm, overcast
A very small breeze tickles the aspen leaves into a
gentle flutter. The sun is
trying to shine through, and the air smells of autumn,
dried leaves and sweet pollens.
The stars were amazing last night, brilliant against an
ink-black sky, the moon on the
other side of the world. I saw two small shooting stars,
so suddenly surprising that I
didn’t come up with a wish for either one. Anyway,
at that moment, I believe all of
my wishes had come true: a peaceful night on the porch at
the end of a perfect day
full of friends and easy tasks, little dog curled up in
my lap, night-blooming flowers
sharing their sweetness, and endless stars watching over
all.
Life is good,
Daisy
~
We slept with the windows open last night and heard geese
as they made their way
to winter feeding grounds. One small group passed low
behind the barn on Sunday,
but not enough to qualify as a real flyover. The largest
flock of birds I have seen so
far this month was last night on the way home from
Boonville; thousands of blackbirds
were sitting wing to wing along the power lines for about
a half mile along route 12D.
When a flock that size settles in your neighborhood,
their loud chatter drowns out all
other sounds and the mass of bodies blocks out the sun as
they lift off. So far we haven’t
seen them up here this fall, but the sight of all those
birds all lined up along the roadside
tells me our time will soon come. Sunset was one of the
prettiest ever, with streaks of
flamingo pink decorating a bright blue sky; shimmering
golden beams escaped briefly
from the edges of softly layered clouds. It was a fine
ending for a beautiful day.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, September 14, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
62 degrees, breezy, sunny
It is another beautiful late summer morning with clear
fresh air being driven along by
a bit of west wind. One of the maple trees we planted by
the road twenty five years ago
has a single branch of bright orange leaves, just like it
did last year. I wonder what it is
about that one particular branch that makes it stand out
from the rest of the tree ? Is it
genetic programming, or is it an act of will, an act of
rebellion, perhaps the first step in some
foliage revolution? As I personify that one branch, I
recall that plants do respond to outside
stimulation such as music and other noise. While this
doesn’t imply actual sentience on the part
of members of the plant kingdom, it does mean that plants
are able to alter their growth patterns
according to outside influences. Here’s an
interesting link that shows how water also responds
to various human vibes on a worldwide basis: http://www.wellnessgoods.com/messages.asp
.
Animal, vegetable, or mineral, the world hums along
sharing the same energy which is a
vital and important part of everything that exists. Tune
in to the music of the spheres,
and absorb all the good vibrations that you can. Think
about Mother Earth
as you read the immortal words of Brian Wilson and Mike
Love:
I
love the colorful clothes she wears
And the way the sunlight plays upon her hair
I hear the sound of a gentle word
On the wind that lifts her perfume through the air
I'm pickin' up good vibrations
She's giving me excitations
I'm pickin' up good vibrations
She's giving me excitations
Good good good good vibration...
Get in tune
with your day,
Daisy
~
Monday, September 13, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
56 degrees, breezy, fog
The fog is thin on Tug Hill and as my eye travels down
the road trees and buildings
disappear altogether. A small flock of full grown turkeys
strolls up a meadow path,
picking here and there at the ground for seeds that have
burst ripe from weeds and
grasses. A chickadee sits on the ladder outside my
window, peering in and regarding
me with glittering black eyes. A yellow bellied sapsucker
patrols one edge of the garden,
pulling worms out of the ground with ease, supplementing
his normally sweet diet with
a little protein. Yesterday held little outdoor adventure
for me other than several trips to
the compost pile to dump buckets of apple peelings,
tomato skins, pepper seeds and
onion peelings. The pedometer that I put on my waist in
anticipation of a walk after lunch
(which never happened) tells me I walked about two miles,
most of it in the kitchen fetching
and carrying jars, moving to and fro in the perfect slow
dance that home canning choreographs.
And now I have dozens of jars of beautiful amber wild
applesauce, hot salsa in carnival colors,
and fresh green sweet pickles shot through with slices of
ivory white onion, a still life on a
butcher block that any artist could put on canvas; but
this art is for eating: shplucked down
next to chicken and biscuits, spooned over a cheese
omlette on a lazy winter Sunday morn,
or piled on top of a veggieburger for crunch. The house
still smells faintly of onion this morning
with undertones of vinegar and apples. I will leave the
lovely jars on the counter until tomorrow,
“just to make sure the seals are set” I explain.
Truth be told, I just love the way they look,
as pretty as any flower arrangement and tasty besides.
Have a fruitful day,
Daisy
~
Shiny white clouds drift across a pale blue sky above the
Black River Valley,
and the air hasn’t started to warm up much. Patches
of autumn color are spreading
among the trees and shrubs, with swamp maples all a
brilliant fiery red, vibrating against
the deep green balsam forest. A flock of ravens has moved
into the neighborhood, raucously
proclaiming their presence from the deep woods.
Occasionally we see a half dozen of these
handsome birds riding the thermals, playing tag with the
wind and with each other. A raven
can do just about anything with its voice, and often it
seems as if one will speak an ancient
language that drills into my deepest primitive center. As
tricky as Coyote, Raven can speak
the truth if it wants to, but often he just likes to mess
with us. In folklore, Raven is always a
prankster, but usually the poor soul being tricked has it
coming for some reason or other. If
you are ever lucky enough to have a raven speak directly
to you, open your heart and drop
all of your guile by the wayside; absorb the message with
your entire being, to be treasured
as a rare gift and taken as a blessing. We are so
bombarded with meaningless sounds from
traffic, television, radiobabble, and workplace chatter
that we have forgotten how to listen to
what comes from the Spirit that dwells in the natural
realm. No matter what your fundamental
religious belief, everything on earth is connected by a
common energy source,
known as Spirit, God, Allah, the Big Giant Head, all are
the same.
Listen, and learn,
Daisy
~
Tug Hill is drenched in wonderful bright sunshine, while
the flatlanders
seem to be drowning in a sea of milky white fog. The air
is still, and flocks of birds
are doing their darndest to stir things up by their sheer
numbers and subtle flapping
of wings as they bank and turn to land in the middle of
our south garden. There are
mostly blackbirds, with huge quantities of them moving
around during the past twenty-
four hours. They don’t seem to be headed south; they
are merely grouping together
to make travel plans for the upcoming trip. Yesterday we
roamed the back roads of
the Hill in search of wild apples. We didn’t have to
look too hard; this year nearly every
tree is loaded with fruit. Like everything else, the
apples ripened early this season, and
the ground is littered with fruit that fell dead ripe to
earth. There were still tons left dangling
in clusters all along every branch, and soon our buckets
and bags were brimful with green,
yellow, and red beauties. We tasted many different kinds,
from hard and tart greenies
striped with red to overripe huge yellow fruits, soft
with age but indescribably sweet.
As we wandered from tree to tree, we stumbled over logs
and through dense thickets
of dogwood and other low shrubs, occasionally plopping
down into a stillwater puddle
leftover from Thursday’s heavy rain. Goldenrod was
just at nose level, and I never realized
how much this beautiful flower smells exactly like honey.
Today the kitchen will be merry
with bubbling cauldrons of applesauce and delicate pink
snow apple jelly, maybe even a little
pan of apple crisp sending wispy tendrils of cinnamon and
nutmeg throughout the house.
Take a little trip over the weekend to taste the true
flavors
of your neighborhood as this summer winds down.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
Friday, September 10, 2004, 8:45 a.m.
55 degrees, breezy, cloudy
The sky is a mass of clouds this morning but the west
wind is blowing dry air for a change.
Yesterday I went into the garden to cut broccoli for the
freezer and got thoroughly stuck
in waterlogged clay-based soil. I had on boots but every
time I stood on my right leg to try
and get the left foot out of the mire, that right foot
just sank deeper until I was eight inches
deep with both feet. I was pretty sure I would have to
holler for a tractor to come and winch
me out. Finally I gave a mighty yank and got one foot
loose, nearly losing my boot in the
process. After much effort the other foot pulled free
with a loud moist kissing sound. I sprinted
across the dirt, kicking up huge clods of mud as I ran,
but if I stopped for even a second I sank.
So now I have half of the broccoli gathered in; maybe if
I put down a plank or two I can get the
rest of it this morning. I have never seen the garden
soil this soupy before. These big poofy clouds
will part before long and the sun will soon shine to coax
excess moisture out of the ground. Dry
days will grace us for a little while, and the
temperature may even crawl back up into the 70s.
There is much to do outdoors, and it will be a joy to
work hard on a day such as this.
Look for a little sliver of moon to slide slowly across
the sky during daylight hours.
Lift your face to the breeze,
Daisy
~
Thursday, September 9, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
60 degrees, windy, raining
It rained hard all night long. The deluge rattled and
hummed on the tin roof and
sometimes hissed against the windowpanes when the wind
picked it up and hurled
it. My dog, who usually minds his own business until the
wee hours of the morning,
climbed under the quilts as soon as we went to bed. Not
one single bird graces our
maple trees this morning; everyone is waiting out the
storm. Strong wind is moving
sheets of rain around like some massive city fountain run
amok. Trees are thrashing
about and it is hard to tell from which direction the
wind comes; it seems to be every-
where at once. At some point I will have to suit up and
slog into the garden to pick
cucumbers and whack big bluegreen broccoli heads from
their stalks, but for now I
will head to the kitchen to make potato bread and
elderberry jelly. As the house
warms up and fills with yummy smells I may be more
inclined to take a brief
break from home comforts and plunge headfirst into the
rain-driven gale.
Keep a sunny disposition today; make your own bright spot
on the earth.
Take care,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, September 8, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
59 degrees, breezy, overcast
After one brief hard downpour last night, the weather has
settled down into
what has become a familiar theme for this summer: chilly
and damp. The sun never
really got going yesterday on the Hill, although when I
drove down into Boonville
there was a definite change to hot and humid conditions.
Must be we sat in a cloud
all day up here. The grey celestial ceiling parted just
enough to permit a very pretty
sunset to cap off an otherwise dull day. It is not
raining right now, but the air hangs
heavy with the promise of wetness yet to come. A family
of bluebirds is grouped
around the birdbath, drinking and splashing around, a
final party before their trip south.
Although we have not seen or heard any geese on the move,
many other birds are
flocking together and stuffing their crops with bugs and
seeds to fuel their flights to
warmer climes. Crows have been very vocal, and we can
only guess that they are
having their annual argument whether to stay or go. Many
of my human acquaintances
are seasonal, taking off for Florida at the first hint of
a snowflake in the air. Not me;
I enjoy watching the seasons come and go, and during this
busy harvest when there is
barely time to sleep at night I look forward to the
slowdown that comes with the first
real snowfall. When the cellar is well-stocked, the
freezers full, and the firewood
stacked there will be plenty of lazy mornings reading by
the fire. For now,
there are beans to pick before the rain begins.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, September 7, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
60 degrees, windy, overcast
This morning is a copycat of yesterday, and hopefully it
will eventually
become sunny like yesterday did. What a perfect day! We
dug the rest of
the spuds and put some corn in the freezer, then took a
ride on Tug Hill to find
elderberries for jelly and wine. This beautiful tiny
purple-black berry hangs in
heavy clusters from a lance-leafed shrub when perfectly
ripe; friends in the valley
report that their crop has gone by already, so we figured
the Hill berries would
be just about perfect. The first hedge we found had
several dead-ripe berry-filled
umbels that we snipped off with scissors, then we drove
farther back into the toolies
along seasonal dirt roads. We found scads of clusters of
hard green and barely red
elderberries, but dang few ripe ones. I believe if they
survive the hard rains coming
our way and the flocks of migrating songbirds that can
pick a copse bare in minutes,
we will have plenty in about a week. Some years there are
plenty for us mere humans,
other years the birds get them all. In years of drought
birds pick the green fruit off in
August, as there is so little of any kind of fruit in a
dry year. Elderberries grow in any
kind of soil and will tolerate wet as well as dry growing
conditions. The vibrant
magenta colored jelly is a favorite in our family,
slightly tart and wild tasting;
there is nothing like hot whole wheat biscuits with
butter and elderberry jelly.
Have a berry good day,
Daisy
~
Monday, September 6, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
57 degrees, windy, overcast
Nearly a dozen bluebirds are queued up on the clothesline
outside my window like
ducks in a shooting gallery. Their feathers are the only
bright spot of blue in the air this
morning, with a grey sky hanging over our entire view. A
stiff north wind reminds us that
one day soon a canadian clipper will bring more than just
a chill to the air. Trees are swaying
to and fro, and the aspen leaves are doing a frenzied
dance. We are hoping for a good warm
September to help ripen green tomatoes that swing heavy
on the vines. We deserve a few hot
days in a row to help us long for colder ones waiting in
the wings. One of the nicest parts of a
midwinter’s walk is looking back to remember how we
sweltered through long summer days.
Maybe this year we will have to recall past summers,
digging down deep for memories of sweat
stinging our eyes and a south wind blowing hot, like
opening the oven door. Many days have
been pleasantly warm this season (many more have been
warm and awe-fully wet) but I never
felt the need to come in and stretch out full-length like
a dog on the cool tile floor to escape
the blistering heat that Tug Hill often offers. We will
spend part of the day preparing
sweet corn for the freezer, warming the house and
ourselves with honest work.
Enjoy your day, whatever it may bring !
Daisy
~
Sunday, September 5, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
59 degrees, breezy, fog
I haven’t got much of a view today, as thick fog
moved in overnight.
I can barely see the perennial garden this morning,
the black eyed susans faintly
glimmering with yellow-orange vibrations at the near
edge, like a scene from Winslow
Homer’s imagination. Last night was clear and mild,
and for the first time ever I could
enjoy a music festival at Snow Ridge without longjohns,
wool socks, and a winter hat.
Good music under a starry sky is always better without
six layers of clothing. Even after
we made our way back up to the solitude of the back porch
we could hear the last set
borne on a light north wind. When the mist burns off it
will be another wonderful late
summer day full of friends and music; but first, there
are three spackle buckets full of
beans to put in the freezer. This season provides a
perfect balance of earthly chores
and frivolous pleasures, and the candle burns at both
ends as we fit everything in. We
can catch up on sleep when the weather is stormy and
special attractions are few.
As the saying goes, make hay while the sun shines...
or for now, twirl and dance while the music plays. Have a festive day !
Daisy
~
The wind is from the northwest this morning, and I swear
I can smell the
tang of ripe apples wafting down from the hundreds of old
abandoned orchards
on Tug Hill. Our own domestic tree had exactly three
apples this year, but the wild
ones down by the springbox are loaded with small sweet
fruit, suitable for making
tasty amber jelly but too little for pie. When the hustle
and bustle of the weekend
dies down we will have to hike back into a few of the old
groves and see what lies
in wait for our packbaskets. Blackberries should be
nearing their peak as well,
and it all grows wild and free for the taking. Late
summer affords such a rich
selection of wonderful things from our gardens or the
farmers’ market that we
often overlook the bounty that is all around us as part
of the landscape. Of course,
the hike on the Hill and search for goodies is part of
the fun. Blueberries and
raspberries have gone by, but there is still a chance
that the birds left us some
elderberries, and ah, the apples... I just know this will
be a good year for apples !
One a day keeps the blues away,
Daisy
~
Friday, September 3, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
67 degrees, windy, sunny
A true blue sky overhead fades into silver at the
horizon, and the Adirondack
Mountains are dim in the distance. Last night’s
sunset was rare and breathtaking.
As I drove up the road to the top of Gomer Hill the sun’s
late rays were slanting
through our row of maple trees, backlighting each deep
green and orange-edged
leaf with stark brilliance. A huge flock of blackbirds
swooped from the tree closest
to the house and flew with perfect synchronicity to the
powerline, where the vast
numbers formed into a mile of birds sitting wing to wing
on the tightly stretched wire.
They didn’t stay there long before massing into a
single entity once again and
disappearing over the hedgerow. All of this took place in
front of a backdrop of
incredible color; every imaginable hue the sun ever drew
from Earth’s palette was
represented in bright streaks and washes. By the time I
unloaded my gear and took
a seat on the back porch, the show had moved from the
western sky to encompass
the entire Black River Valley, plunging the view into
otherworldly pinks and pale blues
with dark green accents from the treeline. As the sun
disappeared, the deep purple of
twilight slowly enveloped the heavens, and stars appeared
one by one. Moonrise was late;
the waning moon rose with the majesty and deep orange
color one would expect of a full
harvest moon, which will take place later this month.
Take the time to enjoy both ends of
your day; now that daylight hours are growing shorter
there is plenty of opportunity to
watch the sky for the best show on the ticket, with no
reruns guaranteed.
If you haven’t seen it, it’s new to you...
Keep looking up,
Daisy
~
Thursday, September 2, 2004, 8:15 a.m.
66 degrees, breezy, sunny
It is very sunny with clear deep blue skies on Tug Hill
this morning. The valley is filled
with a long fluffy cloud, too dense and opaque to be
called fog. I wonder what it looks
like from underneath that shining expanse of milky
whiteness? Do folks in Lyons Falls
think it is a cloudy dull day? It was chilly last night,
and we have changed back to flannel
sheets. It looks like my one set of cotton percale sheets
will last a lifetime, receiving only
about two weeks of wear every summer. They are flapping
in the breeze, nearly dry already
in the low humidity that accompanied yesterday’s
cold front. We will have several excellent
days in a row, hot during the day and chilly at night,
perfect for the upcoming alternative music
festival at Snow Ridge Ski Area. For details of this
annual event, visit snowridge.com.
Yesterday we gathered red clover for a friend’s
winemaking. The work is tedious but pleasant,
and working alongside of a friend gave the morning wings.
Something everyone should do at
least once: stick your face in a bucketful of clover
blossoms and inhale deeply through your nose.
Such a sweet scent could never be duplicated in the best
Paris perfumery, an intoxicating aroma
even before fermenting into delicate blush wine. When we
sip this wine on a blustery February
day we will be transported back to a beautiful late
summer morn with the sun on our backs
and strands of flyaway hair tickling our noses, giggling
and telling tales while dancing
with honeybees, plucking blossoms from Mother Earth’s
beautiful garland.
Have a fabulous day,
Daisy
~
Welcome to September, the seventh month of our year. It
hardly seems possible
that the summer is nearly over, when it has been so
chilly and wet that it hasn’t even
really arrived yet. It has been a wonderful season for
potatoes and onions, but the
tomatoes and peppers are just getting started. We can
hope for a frost-free month,
else the salsa will be scarce on our winter omelets.
Beans are fully ripe, and today
will be a day of slicing and freezing bucketsful of
green, purple, yellow, and striped
beans of all sizes. A bunch of scarlet runner beans is in
full bloom, climbing the
teepee poles and brightening up an otherwise dull corner
of the garden. Yesterday
every housefly in the world appeared in our yard,
covering the barn and house with
loud buzzing swarms of blackness. Indoors was infested
with them as well; we haven’t
had an invasion of houseflies this bad since we replaced
windows and doors and
insulated the walls fifteen years ago. In those days, we
would swat hundreds of flies
every day in late summer, and sticky fly strips hung in
the corners of every room.
One female housefly will lay 5-6 batches of 75-120 eggs,
which will hatch within one
day’s time. They will be full-fledged maggots in
five days, and adult flies five days
after that. Every adult fly lives less than a month, with
females living about twice as
long as males. Flies play an important part in
pollinating certain flowers, but they
also can transmit typhoid fever, cholera, dysentery,
pinworms, hookworms, and
tapeworms. Yuck. Keep a lid on your coffee cup for sure,
and if you are one of
those folks who keeps a water glass next to the kitchen
sink to ensure you drink
eight glasses a day, place a napkin on top of it when you
aren’t using it. Cover
your garbage, and spread lime or diatomaceous earth on
your compost heap
to reduce the places that maggots can feed. Again I say, yuck
!
Have a great day,
Daisy
~