Sunday, October 31, 2004, 7:30
a.m.
48 degrees, calm, overcast
Except for one torrential downpour late last night, the
rain that had been forecast
for the weekend never materialized. Yesterday was even a
little balmy, a warm breeze
cutting through daylong fog to try and trick us into
thinking it was spring. We kept close
to home for the most part, not wanting to be mistaken for
fair game in the limited visibility
the unending thick mist provided. There are still a
few garden chores left before we put
the plots to bed for the winter. I stripped brussels
sprouts off their thick stalks with great
difficulty; who knew what a tenacious grasp these little
green balls would have, breaking
free only after much pulling and twisting. The crop is
very dense this year, with little space
to work my fingers in between the sprouts. It would be
easier to pull up the whole plant
and set the sprouts free with a cleaver, but these plants
are still actively growing, with new
sprouts swelling to maturity as soon as the big ones are
harvested. I also picked a bucketful
of scarlet runner beans, their pods still green and
leathery even after several frosts. We grew
these old-fashioned legumes for their beautiful crimson
blossoms, and were rewarded by a
neverending supply of color until just a few weeks ago.
We were going to leave the seedpods
for birds, but they don’t seem to be interested in
them. I spent a pleasant hour splitting the
tough sheathing and thumbing out huge red and brown
striped beans, as big as lima beans
but much prettier. I’ll bet these will cook up into
some of the best baked beans we ever had.
Today is Hallowe’en, which also marks the onset of
the Goddess month of Samhain. A darker,
more introspective season is now upon us. By coincidence,
daylight savings time also ended
this morning, making our mornings brighter but cutting
short the natural light available
at the end of the day. It’s a trade I can live with,
being a morning person and all.
Have a day full of treats and a few tricks,
Daisy
~
Saturday, October 30, 2004, 7:30 a.m.
50 degrees, breezy, foggy
It is very foggy this morning, so foggy that the cats
took one look outside and went
back to bed. I had been invited to hike in the High Peaks
this weekend and am glad I
declined. Intense thunderstorms are predicted for the
entire weekend, and the last place
I would want to be is climbing Mount Marcy; it’s
hard enough when the weather is fine.
As long as it stays foggy we will pretty much stay
indoors, as the entire Hill has been
surrendered to hordes of hunters, many of whom arrived as
early as Thursday to start
their weekend deer harvest. Even our international dayglo
orange vests won’t show up
in this pea soup. I hope the herd gets a good thinning
this season; the only gardens that
escaped damage this summer were those with ten-foot
fences surrounding them. When
deer are driven from the safety of their natural food
supply to invade property that has
dogs and watchful tenants brandishing paintball guns, it
is certain that forage has become
scarce. (If anyone takes a deer with a big orange stain
on its flank, it may taste strongly
of broccoli...) In a year with an overabundance of wild
apples and other fruits and nuts,
we didn’t expect to have so many deer boldly
strolling around the yard in broad daylight.
Happy hunting to you all, and stay safe...
Daisy
~
If this were August I would say we will be having a
scorcher of a day. The morning
air has a breath of heat to it, sweetened by the scent of
leaf piles come and gone during
yesterday’s cleanup effort. Hazy sunshine and misty
high clouds predict a change for the
warm is coming, and everything has a dewy, anticipatory
sheen as if awaiting some big news.
The front that is on the way will indeed warm things up,
but it will also bring along some gentle
rain while it’s at it. Last night’s hunter’s
moon was memorable, rising huge and orange above
the mountains, its round outline appearing bumpy and
wrinkled as it slowly ascended. A walk
after dinner was chilly but very beautiful; all was quiet
as a churchyard, no bird, beast or breeze
disturbed the utter silence. Moon and stars alike were as
bright as I have ever seen, and we all
cast shadows as we trod the paths. We tied a glowing ring
to the dog’s collar, and it flashed
under his fluffy hair as he zigzagged from one side of
the road to another, sniffing good
nightsmells that disappear during daylight hours. It was
a splendid night to be outdoors,
surrounded by the total peace and quiet the Tug Hill
Plateau sporadically offers.
Have a peaceful day,
Daisy
~
Last night was the coldest so far this autumn, with the
temperature dropping to
thirty degrees. Frost sits so thick on the ground that it
almost seems like a layer of snow.
It was a lovely clear night with an almost-full moon, and
a total lunar eclipse was the icing
on a chilly cake. We were at the Syracuse airport for
much of it, and there is not one window
to look out of at that security-conscious place. We could
keep track of it through the car’s
moon-roof on the ride home, and by the time we finally
pulled into the yard there was about
1/3 of the moon still covered by Earth’s shadow.
Stars were amazingly bright even with the
subtle glow of the moon illuminating the heavens. It was
really cold, but we had to stay out -
doors for a bit, gaping up at the show as our ancestors
must have done thousands of years
ago. It looks like it will be a spectacular day; the sun
has heated the air ten degrees in the
last hour, and frost is slowly giving way to dew as we
watch. Blackbirds are all lined up on
one branch shooting-gallery style, singing and merrily
yakking it up on this fine fall morning.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, October 27, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
42 degrees, breezy, very foggy
A dense fog advisory has been posted for this area and I
am happy I don’t
have to drive anywhere this morning. I can barely see the
barn across the yard.
Nine blackbirds moved down to the lowest branch of our
big maple so I could
greet them properly; I tried to copy some of the sounds
they made, and probably
whistled something like I admire the stink of your
swift weasel... Anyway, it felt
good to join in, no matter how it translated. We walked
the meadow paths late
yesterday and there were plenty of flowers to gather;
purple coneflower, golden-
rod, queen anne’s lace, and red clover blend
perfectly with red forsythia leaves for
a lovely autumn bouquet. I was also able to find two
dozen late-blooming gloriosa
daisies (fancy black-eyed susans) that were protected
from frost by a nearby over-
hanging hedge. Pansies and violas are scarce but
beautiful, and three gladiolas
bloomed in the dead row as a big surprise to all. I am
amazed to have fresh
flowers this late in October, just another sweet gift
from Mother Nature at
the end of a very odd growing season. Bring a little of
the outdoors in;
even a glass bowl full of brilliant leaves will brighten
a room.
Gather in some autumn,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, October 26, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
46 degrees, breezy, overcast
Fog hung around the Hill all day yesterday and I never
really got out to enjoy it.
It’s my own fault; I got caught up in indoor work
and before I knew it, it was time to
leave for work. Walking in fog is very satisfying, and
the imagination tends to run wild.
Many things are heard and few things are seen, and we can
turn the soft rustle of a passing
squirrel into the careful stalking movements of a cougar
with just a few overactive right-brain
cells subconsciously writing the script. We can dream up
fairies, trolls, talking wolves, even
Bigfoot if we just unhook the leash on our mind’s
eye. On a clear day, this is nearly impossible;
it is obvious there is no ogre leering at us from behind
that giant maple tree, just take a look.
In the dreamy mist of a foggy fall morning, just about
anything seems possible. I’m sure
there will be plenty of opportunity to hike in the fog
during the coming month, when
November’s low grey clouds help prepare us for
winter’s monotone landscape.
Have an imaginative day,
Daisy
~
Monday, October 25, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
36 degrees, breezy, foggy
I can’t see blackbirds this morning, but I can hear
them in the tree by the barn.
They are in fine fettle in spite of a cold, damp aspect
the day presents so far. It is
a small flock; it may be the same birds that hang around
all winter to greet us each
morning when we let the dog out. I don’t know the
lifespan of a starling, if it is even
possible the same birds have been there for three years,
or if the tradition of hanging
around year-round is passed on from generation to
generation, a learned skill like flying
or pecking up bugs. “Son, your mission (should you
decide to accept it) is to hang around
this windswept frigid territory all winter long and make
encouraging noises to that woman
standing down there grinning up at us. It is our job to
bring a smile to her face each and
every morning with our mindless chatter and wacky antics,
to cheer her with the big picture,
and occasionally dive-bomb the cats that show up. You in?”
The fog is less foggy for their
presence, and indeed they remind me every day of the big
picture, the one that includes
small miracles like birdsong and doggie licks that help
balance the morning’s complaints
and challenges. No matter what the weather, these lively
birds greet most days
with song and happy conversation, as should we all. Good morning,
Daisy
~
The sunniest part of the day may have already passed on;
clouds gathered from
four corners and now dominate the sky, with just a few
random sunbeams leaking
through now and then. There was plenty of traffic on our
road before dawn; this is
the second day of deer/rifle season. Yesterday we went
walking quite a ways down
a seasonal road, and the dog was very restless. Every ten
steps he had his nose to
the ground and his tail in the air, snuffling through
deep leaves at the edges of the road.
When he wasn’t plowing foliage, he was standing on
his hind legs sniffing the air and
staring into the woods. I finally shortened up his leash
for a little citified walking at heel,
and he calmed down. As the moon rose higher and the sun
sank lower I guessed it was
time to turn around and head home. As twilight turned to
dusk, shadowy figures trickled
out of the woods and towards their camps, barely seen in
their head-to-toe camouflaged
gear, each one carrying a rifle. I had been blissfully
unaware that it was opening day, even
though the dog’s behavior should have told me that
something was up. Time to drag out
the blaze orange safety vests and tie a length of
surveyor’s ribbon on the dog’s collar,
and to sing loudly as we walk the wooded trails.
Better safe than sorry,
Daisy
~
Saturday, October 23, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
39 degrees, calm, sunny
Even though the temperature did not drop below thirty-four
degrees last night,
the meadows are white with frost this morning. We still
haven’t had a hard freeze on
this part of the Hill, but last night’s frost was
unexpected, and the tomatoes we neglected
to cover with blankets will surely die when the sun hits
them later. No worries though;
there are four boxes of tomatoes in all colors waiting to
ripen indoors, fresh for salads
or sauced up for pasta. Some folks say to take extra
care, wrapping each one in news-
paper and making sure they don’t touch each other in
storage. We just pack them in
layers, greenest on the bottom, most ripe on top, making
sure the stems are turned out
so none of the fruit gets holes poked in the skin as it
softens. Every few days we use our
noses to tell us if any fruit is going bad, and pull out
one or two that show signs of spoilage.
Today there are enough ripe to make marinara sauce, using
basil from the windowsill and
oregano that is still good until snow buries it. As long
as the sauce is a-bubblin’, might as
well dig deep into the freezer and use up the rest of
last year’s venison to make meatballs,
full of garlic and romano cheese. It is a beautiful day;
with all of the good kitchen work
to be done, we will still be sure to make time for a walk
in the cool clear autumn air,
even if it means dropping everything for an hour.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
The sun came up with a fanfare of pink, magenta, and
orange, and some color still tints
slow-moving wispy clouds to the northwest. A gleaming
ribbon of fog follows the Black
River with a big puff of steam rising from the co-gen
plant at Lyonsdale. Another plume of
smoke or steam is rising high above the river farther to
the south towards Boonville. I hope
it is merely someone burning brush. It is a beautiful
morning with blackbirds chattering away
right outside my window, music to my ears. Two large
maples in the yard are nearly bare,
but several smaller ones are clinging tightly to their
leaves. It would be fruitless to do any
raking until all of the leaves come down. The hedgerows
gleam golden where aspens are in
their autumn glory, and woodbine vines stitch a ruby
pattern wherever they ramble. I love
this time of year, the deep rich colors and pungent spicy
aromas that are the same year after
year. It doesn’t matter what summer handed us: wet,
dry, raining frogs or blowing dust. Autumn
is constant in her lovely crunchy leaves and fragrant
apples and fungus, earthy and touching
primitive centers in even the most civilized of creatures.
Who among us isn’t tempted to swim
through a dry leafpile or hold a spicy slightly fermented
apple close to inhale its intoxicating fumes ?
Get out this weekend and fill your senses with fall, seek
out the beauty
and hold it close as long as you can. Life is short;
don’t waste a day,
Daisy
~
Thursday, October 21, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
38 degrees, windy, raining
This morning’s gloomy facade must have been planned
to perfectly balance the
breathtaking sunbeam ballet of yesterday. It is mornings
like this that allow us to
appreciate the simple comforts of home even more than we
already do. Coffee tastes
better, the wood burns a little warmer, and even though
my high-protein high-fiber cereal
still tasted like cattle fodder, I enjoyed it by the
kitchen range and basked in its cozy radiance
while big raindrops battered the window. Huge fat drops
started to fall yesterday afternoon,
and I scrambled to bring laundry in and get the rest of
the onions under cover. Soon the kitchen
floor will be a mess of onion tops and roots as the fat
bulbs get their final trim before winter
storage. I managed to finish about a bushel of them
before the rain began, and many are double
or have started to split on the root end, signs of a wet
growing season. We will have to use
those first; not a problem, since onions make just about
every main dish more savory. Good
solid single bulbs will keep in our cold cellar until the
first green onions are ready in May. We
plant Stuttgarter variety, a yellow onion known
for its good long-term storage capabilities.
One year we planted WallaWalla, a long-day variety
that is equal to the southern grown
Vidalia in sweetness, but the bulbs didn’t grow
very large or store at all well. We still
have to dig carrots and parsnips, and after today the
weather will be just fine for that.
Now off for a second cup of coffee before the day’s
work begins.
Have a cozy day,
Daisy
~
It is an absolutely gorgeous morning !
The sky is striped with many different types of cloud,
and the sun shines down on all
with such brilliance that each dewy leaf and blade is
edged with a halo of light. It is as if the
energy of every living thing is totally visible, each
aura showing itself in the pure morning air.
When a cloud passes over the sun, the hill is plunged
into cold shadow; soon the clouds move
on, and dappled leaf patterns dance on the hanging
laundry like a laser show from some cosmic
FX factory. Even indoors we are touched by this awesome
light show, as the rays pass through
prisms hung in the east windows and cast dozens of
rainbows fluttering about the kitchen.
It just doesn’t get much better than this !
Have a beautiful day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, October 19, 2004, 8:45 a.m.
38 degrees, calm, cloudy
A little slice of pink graced the sky above the
Adirondack Mountains earlier,
and I could almost see the sun rise, but clouds closed in
just at the last minute.
The sky is full of bright backlit clouds in many shades
of grey, silver, and white.
Just to the south of here it is raining, but we are not
expecting any precipitation
in our neck of the woods today. A revised forecast
indicates several sunny days
are in store for us, and temperatures will be appropriate
for mid-autumn. We are
looking forward to some good hikes through the backwoods,
free of mosquitoes
as we shuffle through crispy colorful leaves. We will
have to keep a close watch on
the dog; dozens of skunks have been seen in the area,
including one that surprised
us as we cleared rubbish out of the barn on dump day. He
has not been seen lately,
and a new crushed stone floor in the barn cellar has
closed off all of the holes that he
may have used as an entrance. The white skunk that hangs
around our compost pile
hasn’t been around for a while; perhaps that one has
moved on. So far we haven’t
had one let loose on us or our pets, so we just leave
them alone and respect their
right to wander nearby. When we see one, we back away
slowly and all is well.
A skunk will stamp his hind legs as a warning before
releasing its malodorous load,
and it can hit a target from as far away as twenty feet.
The trick is to remain calm and move quietly, whispering thanks
a bunch as you retreat.
This strategy would also work when trying to avoid toxic
people, don’t you think ?
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
We have had a gorgeous morning on Tug Hill, with dark
clouds moving in from the
northwest gradually replacing bright sunshine. For a
while everything was bathed in ultra
clear light against a backdrop of purple-grey clouds,
remnants of foliage brilliant against the
dark curtain. The sun is becoming more scarce as time
goes by, but now and then it pops out
between the clouds and sends intense rays down to a
little piece of meadow or forest, a brief
spotlight on shiny wet hues. Yesterday the air was filled
with flurries off and on, the first snow
of the season. Snowbirds mingled with bluebirds on the
short grass of the lawn, looking for bugs
rendered torpid by the cold. A stiff south wind drove
yesterday’s damp air right through layers
of warm clothing, and even our magic socks came up short
during the four hours we stood on
wet cement and eased two dozen chickens from this life
into the next, which in this case means
becoming part of our energy as we enjoy them during the
coming year. For us, eating chicken
means taking responsibility for them from tiny fuzzy day-old
chicks until they reach full size at
12-14 weeks. Many of our friends ask, “How can you do
that?” I reply, “How can we not?”
The life of a factory-raised chicken is horrible; they
live three or four to a small cage, and are fed
hormones to promote fast growth. They are also fed
pesticides (such as arsenic) and antibiotics,
and their flesh is permeated with these substances when
they go to slaughter after only six weeks.
The meat is drenched in a chlorine solution to kill
salmonella on the surface before going off to
local markets, where it may sit in the butcher’s
cooler for as long as a week before being
wrapped for sale. Fresh chicken? Now, those ten
pound birds chilling in a barrel
of icewater in the barn, those are fresh! Chicken:
it’s what’s for dinner !
Daisy
~
Sunday, October 17, 2004, 7:00 a.m.
36 degrees, windy, overcast
Just five minutes ago it was black as night outside, but
the sky is gradually growing lighter,
although there is no sign of the sun. Last night was
turbulent, full of thunder and lightning.
High winds drove sleet and hail up against the windows
with a loud hiss and rattle. Rain fell
off and on all night, and we were just two degrees away
from waking up to a hill full of snow.
In the dim light I can see that our big trees are half
bare, and the hedgerow is skeletal in places.
It is too dark for the blackbirds to notice I was out
with the dog; I will happily trade the extra
light at the end of the day to have our bright mornings
back. One of the old-timers on the hill
didn’t believe in Daylight Savings Time, so his
clock was always on Eastern Standard Time.
He felt that the cows got too confused when you messed
with time. I do notice it takes a
few days for our pets to adjust to the change. We have
two more weeks of dark mornings,
and then we can set our clocks back. It is 7:15, and the
sun is staying hidden for now.
I guess we will have to brighten our own corners for now,
eh?
Have a sunny disposition and a bright outlook,
Daisy
~
Saturday, October 16, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
44 degrees, windy, cloudy
A blizzard of maple leaves streaks past the window, borne
horizontal by a stiff wind.
Heavy rain last night has soaked the foliage, and it
doesn’t drift, float, or lazily swirl to earth;
these heavy leaves have the speed and intention of a race
horse headed for his oat bucket. If
the wind keeps up, there will be less stuff to rake up
during the next dry spell. Yesterday we
finally finished moving firewood into two woodsheds and
the barn. Someone asked me how
many cords we burn every year, and I had no answer. We
heat and cook with wood, and burn
an awful lot of it, but a cord is measured differently up
here. A full cord is 8x4x4 feet, but folks
around here will tell me they burn six cords in their
parlor stove, and I think they are talking
about a face cord, which is 4x8 by however long
the firewood is, usually 18 inches. So, a full cord has about as much wood as three or four face
cords. Some day I will measure our
storage areas and calculate how much wood we burn. We
never use all of what we store, but
in a cold year we come close. We seldom use the oil
furnace; it is nice to have as backup if we
go away for a weekend during the winter. Right now there
is a hot fire burning in the kitchen
range, and apple pancakes have come and gone. The oven
will see extra duty today as I bake
bread for the coming week and a cake for a gathering of
friends tomorrow. I will also finally get
to the last bushel of apples, turning the sweet fruit
into fragrant applesauce. I have no reason
to venture outside today; if the wind dies down we will
take the dog for a romp.
It is a great day to stay in and fill the house with good
home-cooked aromas.
Mmmmmmm... cake!
Daisy
~
Friday, October 15, 2004, 9:30 a.m.
51 degrees, breezy, cloudy
The sun has made a few very brief appearances during the
last hour, just enough
to brighten my outlook. Big grey clouds fill the sky, but
they are scooting quickly from
west to east, which makes this day cloudy and not overcast.
No rain so far, but the next
week looks like it could get a little juicy. I can’t
believe how beautiful and long-lasting this
year’s fall foliage has been. The big maples in the
yard currently boast all imaginable hues: red,
orange, gold, yellow, and green. Usually they just
transition from green to orange and that’s it.
Ash trees are already bare, and aspens are just beginning
to radiate buttery yellow vibes. Since
we haven’t had a really hard freeze yet, the meadows
are still lush green with red sweet clover
accents. Even though today has a seemingly unending list
of chores and projects, we must make
time for a ride around Tug Hill to see the last of this
season’s great show before high winds
strip it all to the ground tomorrow night. Celebrate the
end of leaf- peeping season,
and raise a glass to the start of the beautiful burnished
pewter month(s) yet to come.
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
The sky is optimistically bright to the east, but dark
clouds are gathering to the west, giving
the lovely trees a rich depth of color when the sun
shines for a few moments. There is rain on
the way for several days, beginning this afternoon. This
means another physically challenging
day of moving firewood indoors for winter storage. When
the kids still lived at home, this was
a much easier task; sometimes my only job was to keep the
cookie jar full for the boys and their
friends. Now that it’s just two of us, it goes more
slowly and takes several days to accomplish
a chore that used to seem effortless in a weekend. We
burn all kinds of hardwood, some culled
from our hedgerows, and some cut on state land by
contract. We buzzed the smaller wood into
kitchen range lengths last spring, so at least that
tedious work is out of the way. One more pickup
truckload and the back porch will be gone, buried under
neat rows of maple, beech, cherry and
yellow birch. We even burn some aspen (locally referred
to as popple) which makes a fast hot
flame, good for bringing the oven up to temperature in a
short time. Last year we cut several apple
trees, and I look forward to burning that beautiful wood
for the sweet scent it releases. I like to
toss a piece of fragrant birch into the range just before
going outdoors; this year we will have also
applewood whiff to fill our heads as we shovel snow or
wax our skis. It appears that we will have
ample opportunity to burn wood during the next several
days, not just for cooking dinner, but to
keep the house warm Saturday will be cold, rainy, and
very windy,
so get out and enjoy the fall colors while they still
cling to the trees.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
A huge flock of geese lifted off from the cornfield that
borders our property, rising into
a crisp clear morning sky with deep wingbeats and lots of
conversation. They took off heading
due north, and eventually got turned around 180 degrees
and are probably now following the
Black River southward. Last night I saw a flock of geese
in a classic v-formation, but the point
of the v was at the tail end, and both legs were
proceeding forward. I thought, “gee, they must
be visiting from one of those backwards countries...”
Maybe they were just giving the lead goose
a chance to glide in the draft of the rest of them,
instead of making him do all the work. At any rate,
geese have filled the skies the last couple of days,
hurrying to get out of town before snow moves
in and the open water freezes between here and Chesapeake
Bay, where most of the waterfowl
from this neck of the woods call home for the winter. No
doubt we will see and hear thousands of
birds today as we move firewood, making it a nearly
perfect fall day, full of fresh air, hard work,
and roast chicken at the end of it all. Rain, wind, and
even snow are in the forecast for the week-
end, and the beautiful multicolored leaves are bound to
come down during one storm or another,
so make the most of this gorgeous day.
Wallow in beauty,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, October 12, 2004, 7:45 a.m.
38 degrees, breezy, overcast
The sky is clear just at the horizon, and the Adirondack
Mountains have a coppery strip
of sky separating the peaks from grey clouds that stretch
all the way to Tug Hill and beyond.
The sun is supposed to come out later, and the first of
many loads of laundry is sloshing away
in the Maytag. We have two dry days and then the
possibility of rain showers returns. This time
of year the weather dictates much of what we do. Today we
will begin to move firewood into the
storage shed from the neat rows that have stood beside
the woodlot for the last few years. This
chore must be done during a dry spell; otherwise the wood
will develop some unpleasant mold
while it is stored for the winter. If there is time left
from that monumental task, carrots and parsnips
will come out of the ground to cure in the barn for a few
days before being packed in dry leaves
for the root cellar. In a pinch, we can collect dry
leaves in big bags and pack the veggies away on
a rainy day. Brussels sprouts are still on the stem, but
picking them is a job that can be done rain
or shine. It’s just a little more pleasant on a fair
day. Last year I picked them during a light snowfall,
gloved fingers making it a clumsy task indeed. Things are
definitely winding down for this growing
season, and we are looking forward to the lull between
the final harvest and the busy ski season.
Make every minute count,
Daisy
~
Monday, October 11, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
38 degrees, breezy, cloudy
It is amazing how long leaves are clinging to trees in
spite of several recent gusty days. The
view from my window is just as pretty as it was a week
ago, with radiant orange predominating
the maples; accents of red, yellow and green keep it
interesting. Yesterday we drove south along
the mezzanine (East Road) and were stunned by neon red
wild sumac hedges, the perfect back-
ground for golden waves of corn. Misty rain really made
the colors vibrate, and everything stood
out in dazzling relief against the dark, overcast valley
sky. Friends came up with a truckload of
apples, and we passed a few pleasant hours making cider
in the barn. Gentle rain fell for most of
the day, intensifying the pungent aroma of sweet apples;
smoke from yellow birch logs imprinted
its heady incense in our memories. Some day, years from
now, I will sip a cup of cold sweet cider,
add a birch log to the fire, and return to that rainy day
on the hill laughing with good friends around
an old cast-iron and wood cider press. On this date in
ancient Rome, the festival of Vinalia took
place. It was a Bacchanalian tradition to celebrate the
harvest and taste-test new wine.
Even though it is Monday, this sounds like a plan...
Party on,
Daisy
~
Sunday, October 10, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
43 degrees, breezy, overcast
A little rain fell overnight and it is a cold wet morning
following a chilly clear night.
My car has one of those newfangled electronic displays
that shows the outside temperature,
and last night it dropped from 72 to 52 in the time it
took to drive from Albany to Herkimer.
A few small drops of rain hit the windshield, but by the
time I arrived home at 9:30 the sky was
a starry dome. I may have to put a piece of tape over the
temperature readout in the wintertime.
Driving home from work in the dark in a blinding
snowstorm is bad enough; do I really need to
know it’s twenty degrees... below zero? And yet, how
often do we let a little thing like ambient air
temperature spoil an otherwise perfectly good day? Three
years ago we spent most of Christmas
Day cross country skiing. The sun was out, there was no
wind, and it was ten below zero. Our
friends thought we were crazy for even setting foot
outdoors long enough to get in a car, let alone
spend several hours playing in the snow. “It’s
a dry cold,” I jokingly told them, but otherwise it
would have been an uneventful holiday sitting indoors
looking out at the frost-twinkling snowy
meadows, perhaps maudlin in the fact that none of our
children made it home for Christmas that
year. Instead we put down miles of silent tracks, enjoyed
a simple picnic lunch, and immersed
ourselves in crystalline cold air that was beautiful
beyond belief. A friend is visiting us for the
weekend, and when I remarked that it looked like we might
get some rain today, he said,
“All days are good. Sun, rain, snow, every one is
good.” Right on !
Enjoy this good day,
Daisy
~
The sky is the most amazing color to the east; towards
the horizon it is the color of a
red nasturtium, not crimson, not scarlet, but a warm
glowing red with just a hint of orange.
Clouds above the red are stripes of smoky mauve
alternating with nasturtium red, and all
ends abruptly at the magical place where the sky opens
up, impossibly blue. Here and there
dark pink wisps hang amid the blue, all the way to the
middle of the sky, where the colors
melt away into darkness to the west. I have been watching
this show for fifteen minutes, and
it just keeps getting better and better. Red sky at
dawning, sailors take warning, but I’m
not a sailor, so any rain that falls today need not
concern me at all. Yesterday we walked
along a seasonal road and found enough wildflowers that
escaped the frost for a fine bouquet;
small daisies, purple coneflower, yarrow, and one little
blackeyed susan are brightening
up the windowsill over the kitchen sink. Wow ! You should
see this sky !
Going outside now,
Daisy
~
As the sun slowly warms the enclosed porch, hundreds of
flies buzz loudly, seeking a
way out. This is the only room in the house that still
has original windows, and there are gaps
in the sash big enough to throw a squirrel through. If
the flies managed to find their way into the
porch, why is it so hard for them to find a way out? An
occasional wasp also wanders in, but
they all get sucked into the vacuum cleaner once or twice
a day. Flies that wander into the main
part of the house are nasty, landing on the rims of our
coffee mugs and occasionally inflicting a
vicious bite to a bare ankle. Housebound insects aren’t
the only bugs around this time of year.
As I passed tall goldenrod flowers late yesterday I
noticed that each bloom was covered with
honeybees, resting quietly among twilight shadows. There
were swarms of large wispy-winged
insects forming great swirling clouds and columns on
either side of the path, drifting only a few
inches here and there and silent as a thought. When I
brought laundry in off the line, I had to give
it all a good shake to dislodge flies and bees from each
garment. Crickets and grasshoppers are
all over the gardens, but so far this year none have made
it into the house. Or possibly they have
entered, only to be devoured by a cat before we catch a
glimpse. Wooly bear caterpillars have
been crossing the road and they are predicting a very
unpredictable winter, as they have either
been all brown, all black, or all manner of stripes. So
far this fall I have not seen any two the same.
Ladybugs are starting to nestle into tiny spaces and
remain unseen until a window is opened, and
there they are, all clustered tightly against the lower
screen edge. Be careful when bringing in your
outdoor potted plants for the winter; keep them separate
from your year-round indoor plants
for a week or two to make sure they didn’t give any
insect pests a free ride into your home. It
would be a shame to find your twenty-five year old banana
palm suddenly covered with aphids.
Have a lovely day; don’t let anything bug you,
Daisy
~
Thursday, October 7, 2004, 8:45 a.m.
60 degrees, windy, sunny
It’s a wild morning on Tug Hill; leaves are being
ripped from tree branches and are hurtling
through the air with enough force it seems a wall-aimed
one could poke your eye out. If we move
the cars from our yard the leaves should blow right on
through and settle down into the meadow,
and there will be less of them to rake up. It is sort of
warm outside, and the wind doesn’t carry
the northern chill of the past few days. I strolled
around the gardens yesterday to survey frost
damage, and all of the beans and peppers got toasted. The
tomatoes that we covered are doing
okay, but the ones left to the elements are becoming soft
and squishy surrounded by blackened
crispy leaves. Lettuce and spinach look better than ever,
and some of the cranberry runner beans
appear to be untouched by frost. We traveled to Watertown
yesterday, and the farther north we
went the less colorful the view became. We are nearing
peak coloration on the Hill, but it seems
as fast as the leaves turn today they are blown away. It
will be a good weekend to put out a
cartful of pumpkins for the leafpeepers to buy; however,
this year we haven’t raised any,
and I will miss chatting with passersby as they stop to
load up their trunks and truckbeds.
It is a fine day for a hike, so get out for a little
while and enjoy the fresh autumn air.
Step away from your computer...
Daisy
~
The valley has mist hanging over it, and in spite of this
we can see all the way to the
Adirondack Mountains. It is a dreamlike scene, one worthy
of a painter of the Hudson
River style such as Thomas Cole. I can almost see angels
taking form above the mist, as in Old Age from The Voyage of Life series. (To
view the awesome works of this artist, visit this website).
To see the entire Voyage of Life, take a
little field trip to the Munson Williams
Proctor Museum in Utica. The real thing is infinitely
more detailed than what you will see on
your computer monitor. I often wonder how artists from
various eras would portray what I see
every morning. An impressionist would be driven mad this
autumn trying to capture the quality
of light that reverberates from one tree to the next,
each leaf a study in color and its own peculiar
brilliance. A realist might look through a viewfinder and
paint just two or three of these gorgeous
maple leaves, crisp in outline and revealing the green
veins that still show through the flaming hues.
Ansel Adams would wander through the forest, enjoying the
play of light and shadow that the tall
trees form, capturing just the most perfect scenes on his
black and white photographic plates. Jamie
Wyeth, a fine portrait artist, would seek out the essence
of our three cats as they lounge about in
a sunny spot near the birdbath, looking hopeful and
relaxed at the same time. Jamie’s father, Andrew,
would paint the valley scene through the kitchen window,
with the vase of blackeyed susans and
quart jars full of tomatoes in the foreground. John James
Audubon would look at the chattering flock
of blackbirds hanging out in the ash tree, shoot one
down, stuff it, and paint a detailed illustration.
Different styles, different methods, all one view. This
is a huge concept that applies just as easily
to how Spirit in general is “seen”. Different
styles, different methods, all one Spirit.
It is important to find a style that is right for you,
using whatever method works.
It’s all good, Daisy
(Well, maybe not the part about shooting a blackbird...)
~
Tuesday, October 5, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
40 degrees, breezy, sunny
The temperature dipped to 31 degrees just before dawn,
and this was just enough
below freezing to put a thick layer of frost all across
our property. Water in the birdbath has
a half inch layer of ice, and the cars in the yard appear
to be coated with sugar. Yesterday we
scurried around to bring in tomatoes, little peppers,
beans, cukes and zukes, and all of the outdoor
potted plants. We snugged blankets around three tomato
plants that are still loaded with green fruit,
but everything else was left to chance, and chance
probably won. It is possible that a few things
escaped; only time will tell, as everything still appears
alive and healthy in spite of the frost. It isn’t
the freezing that kills plants, it’s the thawing
that does the damage, thin cell walls blasting into
shreds
as the ice crystals melt. This morning we will sort
through bucketsful of tomatoes and place them in
boxes to ripen indoors. They won’t be quite as good
as vine-ripened, but they will certainly be
tastier and juicier than any store-bought tomatoes a
month from now. We are usually able to keep
a few tomatoes until the middle of November, often having
fresh slices for Thanksgiving’s leftover-
turkey sandwiches. Today we will pick brussels sprouts
and prepare them for the freezer, a tedious
task but well worth the effort when we fix up a side dish
of sprouts smothered in cheese some cold
winter night. Carrots and parsnips will be the next thing
we harvest, packing them in dry leaves for
storage in the root cellar. Things are winding down and I
can’t say I’m too sorry to see this growing
season end. Every autumn we swear that we will plant less
stuff next year, but every spring we just
have to try new varieties and somehow more land gets
plowed and the cycle starts all over again.
It is a rhythm that fits, for now.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
This morning’s awesome sunrise lit a heavy dew with
adamantine brilliance,
every drop reflecting back the warm tones of the sun’s
first rays without conveying any
actual warmth. It is time to trade in the flipflops for
warmer footgear for that early little stroll
around the yard with the dog. Cold wind plus cold dew
equals really cold, almost numb toes.
The grass gathered moisture yesterday afternoon and will
take a while to dry out. Back when
we used to make our own hay it was nearly impossible to
get the second crop dry because of
the continual dews of September and October. Now that we
have a friend take the hay, he only
cuts first crop and our meadows are a rosy carpet of
second-growth red clover shining in the
morning sun. This is much more beautiful than the brown
stubble left behind in bygone years.
We traveled a bit south of here on Saturday and very few
leaves have started to show color in
Herkimer County. As we drove back up Route 12 yesterday
afternoon the colors intensified
into their complete autumn glory. Most of the swamp
maples on Tug Hill have already dropped
their leaves onto the water, crimson at the feet of
forest green balsam firs. How pretty !
Get out and do a little leaf-peeping before they are all
covered by white,
which may very well happen tonight.
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
Daisy has the day off... Here is a little something from
Henry David Thoreau
"We must learn to reawaken and
keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical
aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which
does not forsake us in
our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact
than the unquestionable
ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious
endeavor. It is something to be
able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue,
and so to make a few
objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve
and paint the very atmosphere
and medium through which we look, which morally we can do.
To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of
arts."
Henry David Thoreau
~
Saturday, October 2, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
52 degrees, breezy, overcast
It’s a soft little morning, not too cold, not warm
at all, and the breeze is pushing some
damp mossy air from the woods, smelling faintly of forest
duff and fungus. When we walked
along the meadow paths yesterday they were full of
crunchy leaves, making that wonderful
rustling sound if we dragged our feet. This morning those
same leaves are soggy with dew and
stick to our shoes. A cold front is coming through this
afternoon that may be preceded by a
thunderstorm or two, then the temperatures will plummet
for a couple of days. Scattered frost
is in the forecast, but it looks like if we escape it
this time we have another good week ahead
coming up. Our final crop of lettuce and spinach is
giving us lovely fresh salads every day, and
snow peas are ready for the wok. We’ve canned,
bottled and frozen spackle bucketsful of stuff
and a trip to the cellar fills us with pride in a job
well done. Carrots, parsnips and brussels sprouts
await the first frost to bring out their complex layers
of sweet flavor, and then the harvest will be
all in. So will we. I look forward to the colder days to
come, full of slow-simmered stews and
fragrant loaves of bread emerging from the wood range’s
large oven. The gardens will be all put
to bed and indoor pastimes and hobbies will be revived,
the summer mending pile reduced and
all of the nooks and crannies tidied up. For everything
there is a season, and the busiest season
of the year is finally winding up. We are heading off the
hill until tomorrow afternoon;
see you back on this page Monday morning.
Have a great weekend,
Daisy
~
Friday, October 1, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
54 degrees, windy, sunny
Soft blue fades to bright white as the sky meets valley
fog creeping up the side of Tug Hill.
Our treeline to the south stands out in stark silhouette
against the approaching dense curtain.
For now, all around the farm is bathed in brilliant
sunshine above the clouds. Orange and red
maple leaves are everywhere: on trees, on the ground,
filling the air as the stiff breeze teases
them one by one from the branch to float and spin briefly
on their way to earth. The forsythia
hedge is beginning to show crimson here and there, and
the whole thing is very shiny in the strong
morning light. I don’t believe autumn foliage has
been this beautiful around here for many years,
if ever. One ash tree across the road displays nearly
every color in the rainbow; if a bluebird
would perch in it, all hues would be represented. In
years past, our ash trees have been various
shades of brown in the fall, never this colorful before.
There is plenty of work to do today, but
we will find time for a walk through Mother Nature’s
beautiful patchwork forest at some point.
Get out and look around,
Daisy
~
~