March Morning amidst Minnesota's Moorlands

Twenty-Two Below

Ice crystals

on the

window

pane

blocked

the

thermometer.



I bundled

up and

went out

to read:

22 below.


I stood in the stillness. A crow cawed. Song birds chirped. The rising sun's rays bathed the tree tops in a pink light against the clear sky. I contemplated climbing the hill to glimpse morning over the moors. Cold air penetrated my nostrils. My skin began to stiffen. I opted to head inside.




With a
closer look
at the
window
screen,
I saw
intricate
patterns.



Inside the house –
more stillness.

The wood stove
furnace blew...

it had been hours
since the last stoking.

Yet the coals glowed...

In spite of

winter and its

Twenty-Two Below.

Rhymes and Rhythms

Waiting

for

the

temperature

to

rise





to

stir

and

apply

the

sealant




to

log-sided

nooks

and

crannies








and

cedar

shingled

peaks





for a

Nordic-style

welcome

to

our

ever-evolving

home.



Hooray for a warm October day! After hours of hand-brushing, this outdoor winter preparation is complete... and so is this stage of our re-siding project. Here's looking at its Rhymes and Rhythms.

Sleepin' In: Wood Frogs

Down in the sand where the boys dug a hole,

the autumn rains made the gully even deeper.

On our after-school walk, Noah jumped in and began kicking the sand while I explored the trail.

Noah hollered, "Mom, come here! There's something really cool!"


As I neared, he held out his hands – filled with sandy wood frogs. The tiny reptiles were quite sluggish.

"You found them down there?" I asked. Noah nodded. I said, "I didn't know wood frogs hibernated in the sand. I thought they slept in swamp like the others."

This evening while surfing the web, we learned that in the late fall, wood frogs leave woodland swamps and travel upland to hibernate in upper layers of the soil or under organic litter. While Noah held one by its ribs, the wood frog spoke.

The quacking sound reminded us of the springtime chorus we hear from our front-yard swamp. (I took this wood frog photo back then.)

In April, winter's melt fills the slough and attracts all kinds of critters that need water for mating season. By mid-summer, most of our pond dries up – a perfect habitat for wood frogs that need less than two months to cycle from egg to tadpole to frog.

"You know what's really cool, Noah?" I asked. "You've got your frog T-shirt on today."

"I know," he said. We took advantage of the coincidence to shoot a couple funny photos before we left them to burrow down again.

As Noah jumped in bed tonight, I said, "Did you know a wood frog is sometimes called a 'frog-sicle'?"

"You mean like a popsicle?" he asked. I nodded, "I read that while wood frogs hibernate, their bodies' cells fill with a kind of antifreeze. Then their breathing, brain and heart beat shuts down. Their body tissue freezes, but they don't die. In the spring, the weather warms their body –"


Noah interrupted, "So that way they can wake up and smell the coffee!"

"Did you say: Smell the coffee?" I laughed. Noah nodded, "That's what our teacher tells us sometimes when we're tired and we lay our head down on our desk."

Noah yawned, "Good night, Mom."

'Good night, Noah," I said. "Tomorrow's a 'free day off' from school. So you can sleep in – like the Wood Frogs!"

Happy MEA Weekend!

Home Front

Through the neighbor's gate











looking skyward in our yard









climbing

with

our hunting dog

Moose








up...

up...

up...

our

steep

wooded

hill


to share

October's view

from the home front

here

Along Life's Road.

Nature's Finishing Touches

Looking up, up, up... into the face of Noah's sunflower, we see a brown center, dying outer petals and waning leaves.

Five months ago in his kindergarten class, Noah sprouted this plant from seed. Each week, we watched as the sunflower stretched to its towering ten-foot zenith with flowing, elephant-ear leaves. We witnessed its survival through a summer storms: high winds and shredding hail. In spite of toil and snares, this plant finally bloomed – days before Noah started first grade.

Its huge head constantly changed: green to yellow to brown, followed by another pattern of those colors. The plant withstood the first hard frost – although its large leaves and petals began to fade. Still, death deceives.

Looking closely into its composite head,
we now see tiny flowers – some yellow, others brown,
all with green, bowled bottoms – attached to small, white-and-brown striped bumps.

With yet a closer look, we recognize those fuzzy, striped bumps as

sunflower seeds –

packed pointy-side down.

Maybe a tasty treat...
Or perhaps new life...

But either way,

Nature's Finishing Touches.

Autumn

That time of year –


when vivid foliage vibrates against powdered blue skies...






when Jack Frost

paints intricate patterns

upon plants

close to the earth...







when colorful branches frame scenes of home...

as we await
winter's coming –


is the lovely season

we call

Autumn.

End O' Summer

With his first cast, our family's bass master reeled in his mimic minnow to land this sunrise catch.

Moments earlier, we'd dropped off his brother for this season's last morning practice. School starts tomorrow. And then, Isaac's team will meet weekday afternoons.

Because I had to drive in early today, Aaron begged a duo purpose:
a sunrise-fishing trip during Isaac's cross-country practice. While the boys enjoyed their outings, I made the most of mine:






capturing scenes of seasonal transition...









... walking along the highway hugging the lake shore...








... admiring the sun's rays dancing on the water stirred by a gentle breeze...









... before calling Aaron



to gather his rod

and tackle,

so we could pick up Isaac

on this morning –



at the End O' Summer.

Blessings in Disguise

Why was our usual railroad crossing closed for construction work today?

To drop off my son for cross-country practice, I had to go another way.

I caught my breath as the giant moon moved over the tracks to set shortly after sunrise.

To share this view, I parked the car, hopped out with camera-in-hand and walked a path I'd not journeyed before.



Along the way, I spied bushes of wild fruit ready to reap.




Juicy wild plums...












Shimmering strings of dark choke cherries...












And clusters of red, dew-covered berries.











Driving home, I followed the detour through lots cleared for a new housing development that I'd not yet visited. Here the rising sun shone through towering pines.








At the two highways' intersection, the glistening sun on the misty meadows drew me farther west – up a parallel highway to gain a different view of our home road and its hills...

... and lured me farther north to the lake shore where a big bur oak stands and fog fairies danced in the dawn.


With these images collected on my camera's memory stick, I understood why I woke with a sore toe. Had I not cut the nail too short yesterday, I would have walked my usual path today. But by skipping this morning's exercise, taking a detoured route to school and following the morning mist, I encountered incredible images. What previously seemed irritating inconveniences to my daily routine, I now recognized as blessings in disguise.

Under the Sea...

Oh, under the sea!

That's the refrain I sang early this morning.

I felt like Disney's Little Mermaid exploring her childhood environment, discovering treasures and encountering creatures.

The difference? Instead of swishing my fishtail to propel myself under the water, I squished along in my dew-soaked sneakers through my family's farm pasture where a river runs through it.

The wetness didn't hinder my enjoyment as I discovered:

Bracket fungus resembling coral reefs.




A risk-taking wasp hanging on a spotted touch-me-not.





A spider web – more than three-feet in diameter – shimmering in the morning light.

(Its enormity made capturing the whole web impossible under this lighting. Only after I circled and marveled at the creation did I wonder from where its creator watched me. Oooo...)


Three kings' crowns stacked on top of each other...
Or at least, that resemblance.

(Decades ago, my dad taught my siblings and me how this hollow-stalked plant could be pulled apart at these joints and, like a 3-D puzzle, be reconnected. Because of this phenomenon, Dad's family dubbed the plant: joint weed. I've since learned its formal name is horsetail.)

A one-eyed troll sipping from a straw.

OK, maybe that's a stretch with this tree knot.

(Today Dad explained: more than 50 years ago, his father attached a metal "L-shaped" brace into the tree, so the pasture gate could swing on it. Eventually, the tree grew over the brace, forming the knot, and then began absorbing the gate post.)


What fun to let one's imagination run back to the days of youth and...

Under the sea... Oh, under the sea!

Tropical Canopy

Wandering the woods with our dog this morning, I spotted a sign seasonal change:



Sumac leaves turning from green to red.












The plant's berries – fuzzy and bright red – intrigued me.








Skeletons – of sumac past – drew me closer into the live grove.

There I spied flattened grass in an oval shape... Most likely, last night's bed for a white-tail deer. (above, lower right)



I wondered what drew the deer into this place.

Looking up through the foliage, I understood.


This makes an enchanting place to dream.

I imagined nightfall as stars twinkled while lying under this UpNorth tropical canopy.