There are a few purply-grey clouds to the northwest,
whence cometh the next big front.
This time tomorrow the view could be very different than
the peaceful pretty scene that
unfolds before our eyes today. All is bathed in beautiful
warm morning light; cornstalks
show that elusive metallic sheen that is so hard to
capture on canvas, and even the grey
dried-out goldenrod spires are aglow with the memory of
their former flaxen glory.
Seven blackbirds are gathered in the tree by the barn,
loudly chattering, hissing, click-
ing and whistling, panhandling for toast crusts and
culled cranberries. A big black and
white cat (I hope it’s a cat...) has moved
into the barn, anticipating a change in the
weather. A three-quarter moon is getting ready to
disappear into the clouds, and that
is probably the last we shall see of that heavenly body
for a while. Sometime around
midnight, winter will come a-knocking with the hiss of
sleet and freezing rain, maybe
even just snow at this altitude. Keep those pails of sand
and shovels handy;
tune in tomorrow to see if the forecast was accurate.
Enjoy this beauty of a day,
Daisy
~
When we retired last night the wind was howling and snow
was flying sideways
across the yard. I was certain that we would awaken to a
wonderland in white. Alas,
there is not even one flake on the ground. It is a lovely
clear cold morning, graceful
clouds framing a large expanse of blue sky with a
dazzling sun in the middle. During
the winter months I have to drop the curtain at the
southward-facing window in front
of my desk. This daily journal has shown me what a wide
path the earth makes on it's
annual trip around the sun. In late spring we will have
to hang a shade on the eastern
window or we will be blinded by sunshine at breakfast.
This morning the weathered
barn siding was bathed in a beautiful tangerine glow as
the sun cast its first golden light.
Six months from now, little of that first light will fall
upon the barn; instead the new grass
of the western meadows will be aglow with warm shimmering
beams. As we approach
each solstice, the position of the sun’s first light
nears its most extreme boundaries.
Sometime around Christmas the beautiful fireball will
start to ease its way back to the
point where (sometime in March) I will have to crane my
head around to catch a glimpse
of it from my desk at all. It is easy to see why our
ancestors thought the Earth was center
of the universe, and that it was the sun who did the
moving, a fiery chariot rising early and
dropping off the edge of the flat Earth at day’s end.
There is an organization called the
Flat Earth Society that insists the Earth is not a globe
at all; for more on this subject, visit flat-earth.org
(I personally think this group is a bit tongue-in-cheek.
What do you think?)
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, November 28, 2004 8:30 a.m.
38 degrees, windy, raining
It is a blustery raw morning here on Tug Hill. A fierce
west wind kicked up its heels in
the middle of the night and rain soon followed, not the
roaring deluge of earlier in the week,
but steady and loud on the tin. The night started out
with a waning full moon rising gleaming
white over a low bank of clouds, arcing its way across a
starry sky. A walk at eleven-ish
showed the moon straight overhead, thin high clouds
sweeping across its shining face. It was
a little breezy, but not uncomfortable. Right now small
branches are coming off the big maple
trees, and rain is pelting the windows on the northwest
side of the house with great force. It's
a good thing we had a good hike yesterday; we walked
around the short block, a distance
of about two miles, but much of that is vertical. The
return road follows a small stream, banks
laden with glossy dark green myrtle and delicate ferns.
Where the water’s fall was steep
enough for splashback, overhanging branches and shrubs
had frozen the airborne droplets
into icy stalagmites, every icicle exactly the same,
spread out the length of the branch and
resembling big frosty toothbrushes. When we reached the
top of the Hill and left the pro-
tection of the creek’s gorge, there was a marked
drop in temperature and we were happy
the wind was at our backs for the rest of the journey. We
had planned a hike for later today,
but with 50 mph wind gusts predicted it seems like indoor
activities might be more prudent.
As the temperature drops we may see our first real snow
of the season, yippee !
Have fun, whatever you do,
Daisy
~
An hour ago the full moon was lowering its huge body
beyond the treeline
to the northwest as the sun made a majestic ascent to the
southeast. Sunrise in a
cloudless sky is seldom spectacular, and many layers of
clouds to the east brought
out the full beauty of this morning’s rising orb.
Wavy ripples of low clouds pulsated
with neon orange and pink for a long time before the sun
finally appeared, huge and
too bright to look at directly. Almost as soon as it
appeared it fell back behind a thick
opaque layer of heavy clouds, and hasn’t been seen
since. There are several patches
of blue sky overhead, slowly being encroached by a front
from the west. There is a
chance of a flurry or light rain today, rain tomorrow,
then snow off and on for the entire
week. It’s about time. If we are going to have such
cold weather, the least we can hope
for is some snow to go along with it. Ah, now the sun has
found a cleft in the clouds, and
silvery rays shoot straight down to the ground. This is
the cold light of November, all steel
and pewter, the brittle brightness of fine crystal
lacking the fiery radiance of a summer
sunbeam. The sky has provided a good show this morning, a
fine start to the day !
Look out,
Daisy
~
Nearly an inch of snow fell during the night to add to
yesterday’s light dusting.
The town truck came by an hour ago, plowing and spreading
sand coming and going.
Thank goodness for these guys, always there when we need
them! We went on two walks
yesterday, and it was like two different worlds. In the
morning we trod the meadow paths,
soggy from recent rain and full of muddy fragrances in
the warmish air. The dog was going
crazy with scentsory overload. Fresh coyote signs showed
slim pickings in the rodent and
bunny department, the hard twisty scat piles hair-free
and full of apple skin and seeds. It
isn’t unusual for wild dogs to eat fruit, veggies,
nuts and berries. Coyotes are omnivorous,
and even wolves have been known to eat fruits to
supplement a diet heavy on dead meat.
We saw no deer sign on the morning walk, even though we
took a detour through a neigh-
boring cornfield: no tracks, no scat, no clues at all.
Except for the utter lack of colorful
leaves above, it could have been a misty September morn.
After a wonderful turkey dinner
with all the fixin’s, we headed out again at four o’clock
to help settle the meal. The temp-
erature had dropped 25 degrees and a stiff wind was
blowing from the north. The road
was slick with black ice, so we traveled on the grassy
berm. After twenty steps into the
wind, I suggested we turn around and forget about it.
“It won’t be so bad once the wind
is out of our faces...” (famous last words) so we
forged on. When we turned west, the
wind was no longer stealing the breath from our lungs,
but it was quickly numbing my right
ear (through a winter hat) and turning my right eyeball
into a tear filled popsicle. I zipped
my winter parka all the way up and withdrew my head into
the padded collar like a big
old turtle. The dog was so caught up in some enticing
odor that he strained at the leash
and ignored the bitter cold. We walked only as far as
Horsey Creek before turning around.
The water was up over the normal boundary and crispy with
ice around the edges. On
the return trip, the wind stopped abruptly for about two
minutes, then resumed even stron-
ger than before, this time powering hard little pellets
of snow horizontally with stinging speed.
The warm kitchen has never been so welcoming, still
redolent with the rich fragrance of sage
and onion. We settled in for the night, expecting some
lake effect snow to follow the abrupt
change in the weather. However, when we went out with the
dog one last time just before
midnight, a nearly full moon was smiling down on the
lightest blanket of snow, just enough
to reflect the glow far and wide. I think most of our
snow is falling south of here,
but it is still early in the season.
Let it snow !
Daisy
~
An absolute deluge pounded the house in the middle of the
night, one of the
hardest rains that ever fell in my long lifetime. It
lasted all of two minutes, but in
that short time deep furrows grew in the bare soil of the
gardens, and the surface
of new flower beds became pocked into sharp peaks and
small valleys. A couple
of lesser rains also passed through, nothing as all-encompassing
as the first blast. It
rained hard all of yesterday, a day in which I had
errands in the city and got soaked
every time I left the car. At least it wasn’t too
cold. Imagine if all that rain had been
snow! We will see some of that lovely white stuff later
today, just about the time we
sit down to our Thanksgiving feast. It is a pity that
this nation only sets aside one day
a year to embrace our many blessings. Every meal we
enjoy, every time we snuggle
down into our cozy beds, every glass of pure fresh water
that flows so freely from
our taps... there is much to be grateful for, every
single day of our lives. Every day
we should thank the Spirit in our lives for all of the
gifts that have become common-
place, and thank our friends and family for their love
and support. Start tomorrow;
as you turn that leftover turkey into salad, casseroles,
sandwiches, whatever,
take a moment to feel the blessing of such abundance.
Thank you for reading this,
Daisy
~
Last night’s bright moon and random scattered clouds
belied the fact that light rain was
falling. Stars spread pinpoints of light all across the
sky, and my upturned face soon be-
came slick from the gentle night rain. The effect was
strange, and I found myself searching
the valley for a moonbow. It is drizzling this morning,
but this is not surprising, as the sky
is heavily overcast and a thin veil of fog seems to hold
the rain in suspension. There was
no visible sunrise; the blackbirds must be guided by an
internal clock, for just after 7:00
they all burst into song. (Sunrise was at 7:07 today.)
When I took the dog out just before
seven, I thought it odd that the trees were bare of birds.
As we passed under the biggest
tree on our return to the house, blackbirds materialized
seemingly out of thin air, took up
their usual high perches, and sang their hearts out. Each
bird sang a tune, no rambling
patterns of clicks, chirps, or chatters as they sometimes
do. All their voices blended to-
gether in a pleasing way, even if they weren’t all
on the same page. If you are having a
large gathering of family and friends during the next few
days, remember that you
don’t all have to be on the same page to have a
harmonious and festive day.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
The top of Gomer Hill is an island in a sea of fog. The
mist must have been up here
as well earlier, as everything is frosted with a thin
layer of ice, from twigs to clotheslines,
every blade and leaf as brittle as glass. So far it hasn’t
even begun to melt in the brilliant
sunlight, and my whole view is almost unbearably shiny. A
few clouds are gathering in
the west, otherwise the sky is deep blue. Yesterday we
took a walk through some old
farm meadows to a nearby pond, a local watering hole for
several different species of
critters. We expected to find a wealth of tracks, but saw
only a few small deer prints.
A tractor had recently been over the old dirt road, but
even at the edges there were no
prints in the soft mud. It seems odd that there would be
such an abundance of sign and
spoor in the woodlot, and zilch in an area previously
rich with clues, especially those of
skunks, coons and coyotes. What has changed on The Hill
to alter the moseying paths
of so many animals? Not just tracks, but wildlife
behavior has been changing as well.
Yesterday afternoon a single coyote spent half an hour
hunting in our east meadow, a
hundred yards from the house. He sniffed, trotted, crept,
and pounced on little rodents,
then moved on to the next tidbit, paying absolutely no
heed to humans who watched his
antics through binoculars. How is it that ravens have
shown up in the forest this year, and
feel enough at home to hover close as we walk, murmuring
entire poems to us? The white
skunk that turns the compost heap over for us, when did
he stop feeling threatened ? Now
he hardly even glances up from his meal when we approach
with a fresh bucket of peelings.
Most strange is the lack of luck hunters have been having
providing venison for the family
freezer, something I wasn’t really aware of until it
was discussed at work yesterday. No
one in my field of acquaintance has managed to bag a buck
yet this season. Nobody I
know has even seen one... and this in a year where
deer damage was high in gardens
all over the county. There is mystery afoot here, and
perhaps the answers will
become more obvious as time passes. Time to start
gathering clues, eh?
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
Thin clouds surround Gomer Hill but the sun has been
shining steadily since it rose. The
edge of the Black River Valley blurs into haze, and the
Adirondack Mountains are lost
to us for now. Pockets of dense fog nestle among the
foothills, and a ribbon of white
follows the contour of the river. The air is cold and
fresh, and this is a day when the term wind-chill factor might actually be meaningful. We
will definitely dress in layers for our
morning walk, hat and gloves included. Yesterday was a
day of mixed precipitation, some
misty drizzle mixing with occasional light flurries. It
didn’t seem to be cold enough for snow,
but it showed up anyway. A short walk after dinner took
us out under a milky white wax-
ing half-moon, illuminating the land as if it were full.
Clouds rippled across the moon’s face,
creating pulsations of shadow, echoing the very heartbeat
of the universe. I tipped back
my head and howled, feeling the need to share my
happiness at the whole scene. I howled
with a full charge of joy, letting the sound bounce
around in my head for a while before
finally leaving my mouth. (It doesn’t hurt to let
the animal inside out for a bit, as long as
no animals are harmed during the production... ) Just as
we returned to the yard, the wild
dogs answered my call, a little too close for comfort. I
am sure I heard a wolf among the
coyotes this time, its full-throated song a beautiful
alto counterpoint to the high soprano
coyotes’ scattered melody. They kept it up far into
the night, where we could enjoy the
serenade from the comfort of a deep nest of quilts. What
a wonderful thing it is to be
able to hear the ancient voices, timeless in their beauty
!
Have a beautiful day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, November 21, 2004 8:00 a.m.
46 degrees, breezy, mostly cloudy
Clouds move rapidly from west to east, and there are
several clear blue windows
slowly opening all about the sky. The sun vibrates within
fat raindrops suspended from
every branch and blade, and the road is a darkly
glistening ribbon of tarmac. A cold rain
fell most of yesterday afternoon, but the morning hours
were beautiful. We walked on an
atv trail beside the creek that flows next to Snow Ridge.
The path was very muddy and
eroded in several places, making the footing a little
tricky, but we were rewarded by the
sight of steep shale slopes covered with lush ferns,
still green after all the freezing nights.
There are two small reservoirs damming up the stream, and
one of them was stiff with ice.
I tried lobbing a few rocks through the film, which
appeared thin and transparent. Shale
merely shattered on the surface, and larger granite
golfballs and baseballs mostly bounced
a few times and then slid to a stop. Finally a bowling
ball sized stone made a satisfying hole
in the ice, and we could see it sink slowly to the bottom.
Ripples flowed from the edge of
the ice to the inflow, making a crazy pattern of lines
and circles on the water. Now that we
had a hole to aim for, we chucked stone after stone and
enjoyed the play of light on the re-
sulting ripples, which clearly followed some law of
physics, as they made the same design
every time a missile found its mark and sank to the
bottom. Their size and speed varied
with the size of the rock, but the pattern remained
constant. I am an artist, not a scientist,
so I will leave the explanation for the pros. For me,
“I guess that’s the way that works”
is good enough. We passed a couple of really huge piles
of hardwood, all bucked up and
beginning to crumble from the ravages of time. We figured
whoever cut it had either moved
away or died, as no one would willingly go to all that
work of felling, skidding, and cutting
and then willingly leave it to rot. The stream finally
petered out to a thin trickle and we pas-
sed a couple of rustic cabins set away from the trail,
signs that we were drawing near to
Carpenter Road, so we turned around for an easy downhill
trek. We passed a lone hunter
and were glad we remembered to don our bright orange
vests; usually around here, for
every hunter you see, there are ten you don’t. It
was a fine day to be outdoors, and
the first drops of chilly rain fell just as we returned
to the yard: perfect timing.
There is no rain in today’s forecast;
where are you headed ?
Daisy
~
It is a clear morning even with 99% cloud cover. The
Adirondack Mountains are visible
in the distance, and little plumes of smoke hang over
chimneys in the valley. Details of
every twig and dried weed stand out with sharp precision,
and the rusty muted colors
of late fall blend together to form a crunchy carpet
underfoot. There are many bright
spots in the sky, the source of a wonderful artist’s
light this fine morning. A friend called
from Massachusetts last night to tell us she had just
seen a weather report on national
television that predicted the only place in the east to
have snow on Thanksgiving Day
is Boonville, New York. We will just have to wait and see
on that one, I guess. Yes-
terday we rambled around in the woods and found more
coyote scat and tracks than
I have ever seen in one place. Their howls have awakened
me every night for a week,
and last night they sounded like they were right in the
yard. I was too comfy to leave
my bed to look; it sounded like only one or two animals,
yipping and yapping by the
light of the half-moon. We also saw plenty of deer
tracks, as well as several hoof-
scrapes in the black soil and rubs on trees. It is
amazing that all those tracks are there
and yet we saw no critters, not even a little squirrel or
two. Of course, this is the season
of camouflage, with dun-colored duff hiding even my
little dog from view now and then.
He sniffed up a bunch of game trails, but stayed close to
me most of the time; perhaps
intuition told him some of those scents could be
dangerous for a little nine pound pooch. I
believe we have time for a hike this morning before rain
moves in. Take advantage of these
last few days of bare ground; soon it will be all about
warm socks, galoshes and gaiters.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Dark heavy clouds move quickly across a pale sky; washed-out
luminescent
blue patches grow larger by the hour. Yesterday’s
rain sifted down quietly all
day long but never amounted to much, barely moistening
the inside of a laundry
pail left outdoors. It was a damp day, and we couldn’t
walk fast enough to gen-
erate the kind of heat needed to balance the chill that
seeped in through our rain-
gear. With no professional employment opportunities
interrupting today’s schedule,
I am looking forward to whatever the day offers; there is
no plan, so anything is
possible. The valley is slowly emerging from its foggy
shroud, and the sun has
finally decided to shine for a moment on the glistening
meadow.
It is a good day for adventure any way you slice it.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
Thursday, November 18, 2004 8:00 a.m.
42 degrees, breezy, drizzle
Very light rain falls on this misty moist morning,
carrying with it the fragrance
of mud and moldy cornstalks. Last night coyotes were very
close to the house,
and their shrill cries were joined by those of (what
sounded like) a wolf. It may
have been a feral hound dog raising its voice with the
pack, but it had the primal
eerie hollow tone of a wolf. This is two nights in a row
of frenzied wild dog activity;
I wonder what has set them off? At one point during the
night all of the neighborhood
dogs were barking, including ours. It was just like a
scene from Lady and the Tramp. Yesterday we finished planting a mess of bulbs,
tulips and daffodils and crocuses and
various little purple and blue things, all picked up at a
fraction of their original price.
This is a great time of year to bargain-hunt for bulbs;
stores are practically giving them
away. The soil is very wet, and it was muddy work indeed
digging new beds. The pay-
off will be in the spring, with wonderful new varieties
of tulips (black!) and tall golden
double daffodils brightening the lawn. We also rescued a
few ears of ornamental corn
from the dried stalks left in the garden I had not
thought there would be any mature ears,
as the first planting didn’t germinate and the
second crop went into the ground in late June.
This variety of corn requires 110 days to form the
signature multicolored flint corn often
referred to as Indian corn. What a wonderful
surprise! As I carefully peeled back the
lovely purple husks layer by layer, every color of the
rainbow was revealed; one ear was
a spectacular deep ruby red, several were butterscotch
and rose, and the rest were a carn-
ival of colorful hues all jumbled together. All in all we
got a dozen ears. They had been
frozen several times, nibbled by mice, and
left in the wind and rain, and still we will have
enough to make a festive centerpiece for our Thanksgiving
table next week. It never ceases
to amaze me how tough and resilient some things can be.
Next year I will plant ornamental
corn earlier; I had forgotten how much fun it is to
unwrap each ear and reveal the beauty
within. Look around outside today; perhaps you will find
a surprise or two of your own.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, November 17, 2004 9:00 a.m.
40 degrees, breezy, overcast
It was a very noisy night here on Tug Hill. Coyotes ran
all night long, and we heard
their high-pitched howls and yipping both near and far.
When we walked the meadow
paths yesterday we found several piles of scat, fresh,
firm, and full of hair from small
mammals. There were also apple seeds and choke cherry
pits embedded in the piles,
evidence that they had been feeding on deer and large
birds like turkeys. The signs
indicate the presence of healthy well-fed animals. It
sounded like there were a whole
lot of coyotes on the move, or it may have been just a
few loudmouths echoing off
the gorge walls. It’s been a while since I saw any
of these sleek canines; last spring
four of them crossed the road just a few feet from the
house in broad daylight. They
are pretty bold, and although I have not heard of any
attacks on humans, we are care-
ful to bring our cats indoors every night. Eastern
coyotes seem to be more stealthy
than their western cousins. It is common to see them
picking through garbage early
in the morning in the small Colorado town I visit each
summer. The first time I saw
that, I assumed they were domestic dogs out for their
morning stroll. They paid me
no heed whatsoever. Any time I have seen a coyote on Tug
Hill they have beat feet
away from me as fast as possible. Last night marked the
start of this year’s Leonid
meteor shower activity. A slim crescent moon set just
after 9:00 and the sky was
beautifully clear and full of stars, but I did not see
one single shooting star. Leonid
meteors are generally more active towards dawn, but at 4:00
the sky was full of
clouds. We will give it another try tonight, but clouds
are in the forecast. For more
information about this annual heavenly event, visit this page on space.com
.
Have a wonderful day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, November 16, 2004 8:30 a.m.
34 degrees, calm, cloudy
The valley is filled with fog but the Hill is merely
cloudy. Scattered frost sits like
vanilla icing on garden soil and is nearly invisible on
the short grass in the meadows.
There is no breeze on this cold grey morning, no wind to
shake the remaining few
leaves from various stubborn twigs. Blackbirds are
chattering noisily in the biggest
maple tree, no chickadees or woodpeckers to interrupt
their lively conversation this
morning. A single crow bobs and weaves through furrows in
the bare garden, trying
to find tidbits leftover from last month’s abundant
harvest. A few turkeys move slowly
along the edge of the east meadow, looking like a
cloister of nuns in their dark feathers,
heads bowed low. The air is hardly ever this still on Tug
Hill; there is a feeling of expect-
ation imparted by the absolute lack of wind. The cats sit
in a green-eyed row by the barn
door, waiting for... what ? Do they see something in the
midst of all this peace and quiet ?
They have been gazing at something for several minutes,
not twitching a whisker.
It is time to bundle up and join them, a little vacation
for my overworked brain,
just sit still, breathe in and out, and look at... what ?
Have an interesting day,
Daisy
~
The frost is so thick that it almost looks like snow.
Even the pavement is pure white,
and the painted wood surface of our back porch floor is
treacherous with ice. The
school bus is creeping down the hill at a snail’s
pace, red lights flashing a warning.
The sun is a silver disc behind a massive cloud bank
scutting up from the southeast.
Yesterday we walked crosslots to a stand of ancient
enormous maple trees. The last
time I saw these behemoths was late last winter; their
grand presence is a popular
resting spot for us after a day of back country skiing.
The biggest of the three trees
had been knocked down, probably twisted right off its
rotten trunk during one of the
fierce winds that blew this fall. What a loud crash that
must have been! It had been
hollow all the way through its massive trunk, and one big
horizontal branch had led
our kids to refer to it as the panther tree. They
said that many times in the winter
they had noticed the snow packed down on that branch, as
if occupied by a large
cat at rest. One of the two remaining trees looks to be
in pretty rough shape as well;
two severed branches lean drunkenly against the hollow
split trunk. I doubt that many
folks have had the pleasure of seeing even one of these
grandmother trees; to most
people a big tree is one that would leave a stump a yard
across. These trees are so
huge that three adults cannot reach arms around it and
clasp hands. We will keep a
close eye on the survivors, and take care not to visit
them during a high wind. Are
there local landmarks important to you? When is the last
time you paid them a visit;
don’t wait too long.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
The sky is April blue on this cold November morn.
Although the temperature
is already one degree warmer than yesterday’s high
of 37, a stiff northwest wind
ruins any other illusions of springtime. It was a very
cold night; the coyotes I heard
in the wee hours may have been running laps just to keep
warm. Just before dawn the
frantic call of a single crow startled me awake as it
streaked past the open window.
Last week I noticed a big flock of crows was being chased
around by a raven, similar
in appearance to a crow but half again as large. There
may be some kind of range war
going on between these two species, a competition for
winter hunting grounds. A pair
of ravens has been living in the woodlot across the road
since last spring, the first to take
up residence in our neighborhood since we came to Gomer
Hill. Every winter several
crows have made that part of the forest their home; birds
with such similar habits should
be able to share their space, but I am beginning to think
otherwise. I have enjoyed the
company of ravens for these past months, their hearty
raucous cries and murmuring con-
versations seemingly meant just for my ears. The crows,
however, have often been my
only companions on many ski adventures. When my human
friends are too busy to
head out on a cross-country jaunt, I can depend on the
crows to show me an
interesting site or two that I would never have found on
my own.
I hope they can settle their differences, just for me.
Peace,
Daisy
~
A few clouds hang over the Adirondack Mountains on this
beautiful chilly
morning. The sun came straight up, and the orange glow
bounced briefly off
of the clouds before illuminating the frozen meadows. It
looks like it will be a
fine day, if a bit nippy. The Hill is full of hunters
today, anticipating easy tracking
on a frosty fall forest floor. We haven’t seen too
many deer-laden trucks coming
off the Hill this season. I wonder where they are all
hiding? There were certainly
dozens of deer around all summer; perhaps not too many of
them are bucks. Just
yesterday there was a doe and two summer fawns nibbling
away on cabbage leaves
across the road, a real treat for them now that their
natural forage greenery has been
frozen. The fawns are nearly as tall as their momma, all
legs and ears, cute as buttons.
We have nearly come to the end of last year’s
venison, baked into tasty lasagna with
the last of our fresh tomatoes last night. Diced fine and
braised slowly, venison can
replace beef in just about any recipe. Deer are lovely to
look at and play an
important part in our north country environment;
still, there’s a hole in our freezer just waiting...
Happy hunting,
Daisy
~
Friday, November 12, 2004 9:15 a.m.
30 degrees, calm, overcast
I am not sure what the official difference is between a
cloudy sky and one that is overcast.
In my mind, clouds have distinct shapes and sizes and
move across the sky at various rates
of speed. When it’s overcast, the sky is more or
less a uniform shade of grey, some areas
brighter than others, but the edges all blur together
into one big canopy that stretches over
the entire view. Today it is grey, with an area just
underneath the sun that appears brighter
than the rest, almost silvery. It is not supposed to get
very warm today, but there is a poss-
ibility that the sun will shine in its full glory later.
Yesterday we took a long hike over some
challenging Tug Hill terrain. We started out crossing a
mown hayfield and then on through
a farmer’s woodlot roads, pretty tame so far. A
thick carpet of leaves was held together
by a webbing of frost and snow, and often completely
covered an oozing stretch of clay
quagmire, sucking at our boots and enticing shrieks of
surprise from an otherwise silent
group. We crossed a few creeks and ended up at the top of
Snow Ridge Ski Area, look-
ing out over the long Black River Valley to the
Adirondack Mountains far in the distance.
The trails are in good shape and ready for a winter of
fun. We decided to follow a new
logging road for a while, and that’s when the hike
got even more interesting. The road
came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a small gorge, so
we made our way down into the
gully, making use of roots and saplings to slow down
gravity’s insistent pull. We passed
a beech tree with the biggest artist’s conk fungus I
have ever seen. According to The
Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms this
species grows be-
tween two to twenty inches across. The specimen we saw
yesterday was nearly three feet
across, a true giant. We scrambled up the other side of
the deep ditch and followed a
ridge for a little while, then came to a real gorge.
Yikes! That was another tricky stumble
down a frozen muddy incline, only to come up against a
nearly vertical shale cliff on the
opposite side of an icy cold creek. We followed the
stream to a shallow spot and crossed,
holding on to an overhanging tree to help keep our
footing in the swift water. We finally
found a more user-friendly spot to ascend. Using climbing
skills that have lain dormant for
many years, we made it up the steep slope, only to find
ourselves amid a tangle of discarded
tree tops, burdocks, and blackberry canes. Boy howdy, do
we ever know how to have a
good time! After ducking under, climbing over, and
getting poked by various things of a
prickly organic nature, we finally found the other end of
the logging road and followed it out
to the field where we started our adventure. With the
truck in view a half mile away, it be-
gan to rain, hard frozen pellets that instantly turned to
steam as they hit our overheated heads.
This was a truly memorable walk in the woods, and we rose
to every challenge that turned
up. It would have been far easier to turn around retrace
our steps when we ran into the first
gorge, but then we would never have seen the world’s
biggest mushroom. We wouldn’t
have had the chance to test our limits of strength and
endurance that the arduous ascents
and descents provided, and the memories that we made will
last a lifetime. Every once
in a while it is good to see what stuff we are made of;
even though our youth may be
a thing of the past, our youthful spirits can still grant
a wish for adventure now and then.
Choose your own adventure,
Daisy
~
Thursday, November 11, 2004 8:30 a.m.
42 degrees, calm, cloudy
The sky is bright with many clouds, some dark and some
nearly transparent.
A little patch of salmon colored brilliance hangs over
the Adirondack Mountains,
leftover from this morning’s subtle-hued sunrise. We
took two good hikes yesterday;
the morning stroll took us past frozen puddles and the
blackened remains of wildflowers.
Recent temperatures in the single digits have effectively
removed every trace of summer
from the landscape, and the only bright spot of color was
the orange safety tape on the
dog’s collar. We checked out the newly-cleared path
through the woodlot; one day last
week was devoted to clearing away summer blowdowns to
open up the forest for cross-
country skiing this winter. Leaves underfoot were crunchy
with frozen snow, and tracks
of big deer crisscrossed the trails. Our afternoon walk
was more energetic, and took us
most of the length of a dirt road, conversation among
friends helping the miles disappear
underneath our boots. The dogs found many things to
explore along the roadside, and
even though we are in the middle of hunting season we
didn’t see another soul the
whole time we walked. We returned with our backs to an
unspectacular sunset,
a quiet disappearance of daylight until the cheery glow
from a kitchen window
was our only beacon. We took stock of November, and it
seems to be living
up to its reputation as a subtle month of transition from
fall to winter.
Have a fine day,
Daisy
~
It is a dull, cold morning, with clouds slowly filling
the sky from one horizon to the other.
Last night was very cold and clear, and we went looking
for the aurora borealis at about
ten o’clock. The entire northern sky was alight with
a slivery glow, and slender columns
of translucent crystal descended to earth from the
main layer of luminescence. The were
as yet no colors to be seen, and we finally returned to
the warmth of the house. Reports
on the radio this morning described intense colorful aurora
activity between eleven and
eleven thirty, so we were just a little too early for the
main show. We still have some snow
cover here on Tug Hill, with more on the way during the
next two days. I think I will bring
in our cross-country skis and get them all waxed up and
ready to go, just in case. The
smell of base wax as it melts in the path of an old
flatiron fills me with anticipation of
wonder-full winter rambles across fields and through the
dense forests of the North
Country. It’s almost as good as waking up on
Christmas morning as a young girl,
that first real snowfall with all of the adventures
implied in its pristine beauty.
It’s always nice to have something to look forward
to !
Have a wonderful day,
Daisy
~
It is a beautiful morning, but very cold. Our overnight
low temperature was
fourteen degrees, and a pot of marinara sauce left in the
woodshed to cool after
dinner has a thin layer of ice on top. The sky is blue,
and huge purply-grey clouds
are drifting from west to east, possible carrying some
more lake effect snow. Less
than an inch of snow accumulated yesterday, but the
roads were slick with black ice,
making for a long drive home from work. Reports of
northern lights led us out for a
walk before bedtime, but all we saw was a wealth of stars.
Conditions will be good
for another chance to glimpse the aurora borealis tonight.
Today marks the first real
day of the winter season for me; a fire is blazing away
in the big stove, the smell of
stove polish mingles with the sweet aroma of pine
kindling; heat radiates from both the
Kalamazoo kitchen range and the Ashley parlor stove, warm
air seeking out every
little crease and crevice where November chill could
possibly hide. Both woodboxes
are full of dry seasoned hardwood, the cellar is full of
food, and all is ready for winter.
Now, bring on the snow !
Daisy
~
Frost formed on every surface during the night, and it
may not become warm enough
today to melt it. Cold sunlight is slowly disappearing
behind clouds moving in from the
northwest, and for the first time in a week the air is
calm. The gathering of birds in the big
maple tree now includes a hairy woodpecker, alternately
drumming along a branch and
raising his voice in a crescendo of crazy shrill barks.
Seven blackbirds hold down the fort,
with a small accompaniment of quick-moving chickadees.
Juncos move in unison across
the frosty lawn, foreshadowing snow in the near future.
Radar shows two bands of lake
effect snow, one to the north and one to the south. The
sky has been empty of geese for
several days, indicating much colder weather to the north
of us. I thought we were done
with outdoor work, but we couldn’t resist buying
hundreds of heavily discounted spring-
flowering bulbs, everything from teeny little yellow
crocuses to big black tulips. One more
day with a pick and shovel, then it’s back to
settling in for a well-deserved winter slowdown.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, November 7, 2004 8:00 a.m.
43 degrees, windy, overcast
This morning is almost an exact repeat of yesterday,
weatherwise at least. Grey
skies slowly turned into blue, laced with clouds of every
description. The wind never
died down, but humidity was low and the temperature rose
to nearly fifty, so a late
afternoon walk was very pleasant. We bedecked ourselves
in blaze orange vests
and took off up a seasonal road. I reckon I have as much
chance of being felled by
a stray highspeed bullet in our yard as I do walking
along a Tug Hill back road during
hunting season. Maybe more, even; two shots kicked up
dirt in the driveway, missing
us by mere inches as we sorted pumpkins for sale several
years ago, and I haven’t had
that kind of near-miss on a dirt road. At any rate, if we
worried about getting shot this
time of year, we would miss out on some wonderful late
autumn hikes. We can’t let
our fear of what might be keep us from enjoying what
is. We returned late in the day,
walking backwards much of the time so we could bask in
the brilliance of a glorious
crimson sunset that seemed to go on forever. Right now
the sun is burning a bright
hole in a silvery cloud: another beautiful November day.
Get out and enjoy yourself,
Daisy
~
Saturday, November 6, 2004 8:00 a.m.
40 degrees, windy, overcast
A steely grey circle of sun is barely visible through
high thin cloud cover. It seems
that it may shine through a little stronger as the day
progresses. A high temperature of
fifty will make the afternoon very pleasant, even if the
wind doesn’t die down. Perhaps
we will venture off the Hill for a walk on the flats,
down out of the wind and away from
the thick of weekend hunting activity. A steady stream of
pickup trucks headed onto the
Hill before dawn, and I’ll bet more than one thermos
of hot coffee has been opened in a
treestand on this raw morning. A sparse array of flurries
blew by earlier, but now there
are a few blue spaces showing through the blur above;
there are even some faint shadows
being cast in the yard. Two cats have elected to stay
inside; the third can’t make up his
mind, and has been in and out a half dozen times. It
would be nice to have a cat door for
that little guy; trouble is, our dog is small enough to
fit through as well, and he can’t be
trusted to stick around the yard. I think that’s how
he ended up here six years ago, foot-
sore, raggedy and flea-ridden after his big adventure; we
never did locate his original family,
and have felt really lucky that he chose our porch for
shelter. After a lifetime of big working
dogs, it is a nice change to have a little eight pound
pal, easy to transport and snuggly in a
willing lap. If you are thinking of adopting a dog into
your family, I urge you to visit your
local shelter and rescue a homeless critter. Our little
guy wasn’t housebroken and had
terrible manners, but it didn’t take long to help
him learn some basic rules. Older dogs can learn new tricks, contrary to the old saying.
A mutt is more resilient to disease and
resistant to genetic deformities than a pure-bred dog,
and has the best characteristics of
several species built into its temperament. Our little
guy has the curiosity of a terrier, the
happy loyalty of a poodle, and the courage of his ancient
wolf ancestors. Even if you are
not in the market for a new canine buddy, take a trip to
the shelter with your old towels
and blankets for bedding, some pet food, or an hour of
your time to take a few dogs out
for a walk. Most shelters are severely underfunded, and
if your local place has a no-kill
policy, expenses add up to house and feed all those
animals. Another way we can help
is by making sure our pets are spayed or neutered, to
help keep the population in check.
Have a doggone good day,
Daisy
~
Friday, November 5, 2004 8:00 a.m.
31 degrees, windy, flurries
What a wild and wooly night ! Our bedroom window was open
about an inch, to let
in fresh air and keep rain out. Around midnight, wind
started to howl in from the north-
west and that small gap between sill and sash morphed
into a perfect aperture for the
biggest baddest flute on the face of the planet. Just as
a summer breeze plays over the
tops of bottles sunk into the ground (to keep woodchucks
away from the garden) and
creates a chorus of low whispery murmurs, last nights
fierce bluster shrieked, whistled
and roared into the room creating a perfect soundtrack
for various Hitchcockian night-
mares. We were snuggled down far into the quilts, cozy in
our jammies and moving in and
out of dreams, too comfy to get up and close the window.
We awoke to a beautiful sunrise,
streams of warm color pulsing between angry layers of
dark cloud. A little bit of snow has
accumulated in nooks and crannies, against buildings and
around the base of big trees;
flurries continue to move by the window at breakneck
speed now and then. It is a perfect
November day, hard-edged, wicked cold, and every
imaginable shade of grey. It is too
harsh even for my faithful blackbirds, who have taken
cover against the gale. The sun
has vanished for now, and I am happy that nothing compels
me to venture outside
this morning. It will be a comfortable day of baking,
mending, and sorting through
the clutter that has accumulated during a busy growing
season. Yep, as much
as I love being outdoors, today I will happily stay in.
Stoke the fire and enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
An hour ago it was mostly sunny, but high clouds are
moving in steadily from
the northwest, whence cometh the frigid air. Our
overnight low was 18, and it
doesn’t look like it will be very warm today at all.
Snow is in the forecast for later,
not much accumulation but enough to get us excited about
the skiing yet to come.
Frost is very heavy on every surface, and smoke from the
chimney is being driven
to earth by errant air currents. My blackbird gang has
accumulated a posse of chick-
adees, and all are very vocal on this icy morn. Yesterday
we drove along the northern
edge of Tug Hill towards Copenhagen and saw thousands of
geese circling in search of
a place to spend the night. There is little water up that
way, and most of them settled in
old cornfields, trying to find a snug spot among spiky
dry stalks and muddy tractor ruts.
What a difficult trip that must be, flying all day and
sleeping in the muck at night.
Give me a flannel quilt any day !
Stay snug,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, November 3, 2004 8:30 a.m.
30 degrees, breezy, cloudy
Clouds have been obscuring the sky since sunrise, which
was also invisible.
Rain showers ended in the middle of the night and the
ground is still white with
a combination of frost and frozen puddles. It isn’t
supposed to get very warm today,
but the sun is expected to make an appearance later.
There will be a hard freeze tonight;
perhaps the carrots that are curing in wheelbarrows in
the barn should finally come into
the cellar for the winter. Yesterday I was amazed to find
many gloriosa daisies abloom
near the house, brand new plants that had started from
seeds dropped from spring-sown
transplants. These flowers are smaller than usual and
just beginning to open, golden rays
seeking warmth from the sun. I gathered in dozens of
flowers and put them in jars with ruby
red forsythia leaves. Last night we enjoyed a salad of
fresh lettuce, spinach, herbs and ripe
juicy tomatoes, with gorgeous bouquets on the table.
Tomorrow we will probably have
our first real snowfall of the season. That’s what I
love about living on Tug Hill; little sur-
prises still happen, so frequently that we should cease
to be amazed... but fresh flowers
and green salad in November are pretty wonder-full here
in the North Country.
Look around; will you be surprised today ?
Have an amazing and wonderful day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, November 2, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
38 degrees, breezy, overcast
Last night’s cold clear night, resplendent
with a glowing waning moon and
innumerable stars, has morphed into a cold cloudy morning.
Very few leaves are
left on the trees, but now and then one goes zipping past
the window on it’s way
to the long orange drift that has accumulated by the
hedgerow. Thank goodness
for the lack of snow, allowing each and every one of us
to get to the polling place
today to cast whatever vote tickles your fancy. Those who
fail to vote have no right
to complain during the next four years. If you are still
undecided, bear in mind the
immortal words of that great philosopher W.C Fields,
"I never vote for anyone.
I always vote against." Now, what are you still
doing at home ?
Have you been out to vote yet ?
Get a move on,
Daisy
~
There are clouds hovering over every horizon, but none
above Tug Hill.
A stiff breeze makes it appear to be more chilly than it
actually is. The air is
crystal clear, vibrating with golden cornstalks rustling
and shivering their timbers.
A huge flock of geese passed low overhead just after
sunrise, the first I’ve seen
in a week. Yesterday was very warm for the last day in
October, and for once
trick-or-treaters didn’t have to dress as Eskimos or
Cossacks as they made their
rounds. Twilight came early, and will continue to do so
for the next two months,
until the turnaround at Winter Solstice. A walk at the
end of the day revealed what
I had feared; Thursday’s heavy frost has killed just
about every flower left in our
neighborhood. Red clover blossoms are now toast-brown,
queen anne’s lace is sere
and dull yellow, and goldenrod has become dullgreyrod in
just a few days. It was very
windy as we walked the paths, but warm moist air belied
the fact that the season of
Samhain (winter) was starting. Today is All Saints Day,
the Christian Church’s trans-
formation of the old Celtic celebration of Samhain. Today
we are supposed to honor
the souls of everyone who has been elevated to sainthood
(according to the Catholic
Church, anyway); tomorrow is All Souls Day, when we are
directed to revere the
spirits of all of the just plain folk who have passed
away. Call me irreverent,
but if I want to pay respect to the spirits of friends
and family that have gone before,
it really isn’t the place of any church to tell me
when and where to do that.
Ahhhhhh, I think I’ll let this one drop...
Have a spirited day,
Daisy
~
~