October 25

Yesterday’s vole is a reminder that the house will soon start to receive its late fall occupants. With the onset of cold nights, the barn nests are becoming less comfortable, and the field mice (or deer mice) will seek warmer quarters for the winter. I suspect that soon we will hear the scurrying of tiny feet in the wall passages of our old home. We’ve come to accept these autumnal intruders as simply a normal part of the seasonal transition.

Old homes are usually inhabited by all manner of creatures, great and small. The foundations and sills possess the inevitable cracks and holes which provide access to the mice who seek shelter.

This transition will also mean that the cat will be back in business, as the transient mice sometimes wander into the basement. It is always in the middle of the night when we hear the scuffle in the basement and the squeaks of protest when the mice are caught and tossed about.

In mast years, when either the food source has been abundant for the mice, or when the predators have been low, the cat is kept rather busy for the initial months of November and December. We once kept a tally of caught mice, the number having reached in the lower 20s by the time the holidays arrived.

Friends who live in contemporary homes are horrified when they learn of our late autumn tenants. Such is the way of modernity, when newly constructed dwellings are sealed nearly air tight, shutting off the occupants from such surprises.

October 24

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a vole that had wandered into the roadway near the break line of woods just uphill from the Cheney Farm. The morning was yet dark, and the movement was highlighted by the yellow streetlight that shone downward onto the road. A tiny thing, maybe just smaller than a field mouse, but it scurried with such a frenzy, first weaving outward into Grove and then returning to the curbside. It was trapped here, not able to negotiate the curb height, and so it resigned to frantic movement up the roadside. I half expected an owl to swoop down for an easy catch.

We don’t often see the voles, save for the presence of their winter tunnels that form near the surface pack and curiously in the proximity of the feeder. Their coat reminds me of the velvety brown of a domesticated rabbit, and I am curious if it feels the same.

October 23

A northwest wind picks up the leaf fall in the yard, swirling about the dry oak and cherry cast offs and making little dust devil-looking figures. These settle into small piles that lay still until another gust animates them this way and that.

The front portion of the barn has leaves piled against the foundation, having come to rest there from an eddy where the wind tunnels between an adjacent white pine and the corner of the barn. These leaves are two feet deep, covering the foundation like a protective blanket.

I’ve read that such shoring up of foundations was the norm a hundred years ago. Families would gather the leaf fall and grasses and pile them up all around the foundation of the house, even using fencing to retain the material as insulation. This barrier would help protect the house from winter’s draft, at a time when home foundations weren’t so overly sealed from the external environment.

October 22

The old Snow House a quarter of a mile up Grove Street from 122 stands out notably in the October sky. For the past several years, the house has been painted an ochre-colored yellow, matching nicely to the autumn-tinged leaves of the large maples that sit on the hillside beneath. It is doubtful that this present color is authentic, which would have likely been shakes or white clapboard, but altogether it looks appropriate just now.

The house is over 250 years old, and I imagine this area as sparse farm land, where Grove was nothing more than a dirt road or two-track that connected from Leicester, making its way down toward what is now the Pine Hill Reservoir. This water is recent really, where the construction of the dam created the reservoir and submerged the old road that connected Grove toward Rutland.

The Snow House is purported to have its own resident ghost, and occupants have reported various poltergeist activities for generations. How fitting for an October season that progresses onward toward our Halloween.

October 21

Roughly ten years ago, the town planted hybrid versions of the Great American Chestnut, the once mighty giant which had been decimated by the blight in the mid twentieth century. Nearly fifty seedlings were placed in a protective area of Moore State Park, cordoned off and allowed to grow.

Three weeks ago I made a point of checking the trees, for I recall last year that several showed signs of producing nut casings after ten years of growth. The seedlings had matured to nearly 25-foot tall adolescents, and had reached the point of reproduction.

Today I returned to discover that certain individuals had created and dropped their nut casings, which now lay strewn about on the ground, opened from having dried in the sun and causing the nuts to have jostled loose.

The casings of chestnuts are formidable in appearance and in design. They are notably spiked, resembling the spiny shell of a sea urchin and roughly the same size. The spines are dangerously prickly and difficult to even hold gingerly in your hand. Each casing is designed to house 3 chestnuts, and these are similar in appearance to the buckeye nut, medium brown with an oval patch that is faded at the point where it connects to the casing. They are more kernel shaped than the buckeye and similarly hard shelled.

I gathered roughly thirty nuts and brought them home. American Chestnuts, ready for me to try roasting just as the familiar song from my youth were Nat King Cole tells of roasting on the open fire.

I slit the end of each nut, placed them in the oven for 15 minutes, and allowed them to cool just enough to safely handle, then quickly pealed the outer hard shell to reveal the pale yellow meat within.

They tasted like a sweetened potato, with a similar texture - warm and Earthy in a way.

October 20

A cold front came in last evening, and with it a harsh autumn breeze that spoke of changes ahead. In the hour before dawn, the newly gibbous moon cast the woods in shadows as blackened trunks, and upper branches became more visible, where only yesterday they were hidden in foliage.

Just now, the wind is steady, and it is raining leaves all around, opening more vista with each passing minute.

October 19

The big maple next to the feeders by the sunroom is losing its leaves quickly now, and in today’s breeze they’ve fallen like large snowflakes from the sky.

Within an hour’s time, the ground beneath has become littered as a mosaic of differing shades of yellow, and the larger branches are now visible, where the past several months they’ve been hidden. Tomorrow morning when I turn on the spotlight to check for raccoons or skunks, I expect it will be more illuminated here, where the light reflects off the fallen leaves. It’s much the same in winter, where our snow covered ground is notably more bright, of course.

It is pleasant to walk through the layer now, shuffling my feet so that the crisp leaves make their familiar noise, and a small trail of grass shows through in my foot’s wake.

October 18

Hunter moon

The Native Americans proclaimed this full moon as the Hunter Moon, and I suppose it was a time associated with gathering game both large and small to secure provisions of both flesh and fur for the long winter months ahead.

This is the downside of course to later October, as the colors begin to diminish and the trees increasingly become bare. The brilliance of autumn’s change is now giving way to our realization that we must prepare both physically and spiritually for the next season.

The autumn of the year is much like the autumn of our own lives, where the harvest that resulted from our productive days has largely been accumulated and set aside. The youthful days of spring’s pace, of growth and sensations and vigor have become sweet memories. So too the maturity of our summer, where the drive to grow slackened into our need to provide for the next cycle, and autumn has seen witness to these efforts, resplendent with a renewal of color and vitality that for a moment transports us back to youth. But this season, like the years, progresses ever onward.

But though there is now a decline in color and in life, there is also something we will come to appreciate as the next few weeks unfold. The passing of the leaves of this year may mark the end of life’s production, yet their departure restores vistas to the far hills, hidden for so long by the lower woods that gave so much to our summers. We now have clarity and distance in vision to the hills beyond and perhaps more understanding of its value in the scheme of the cycle of the seasons.

October 17

The field next to Anna Maria’s cross is filled now with mustard all in bloom. It has been so for a couple of weeks, and when seen from the road the yellows of the blossoms are concentrated so that it is just striking. This same field was sweet corn not two months ago, and when played out the tractor came to turn it under. Evidently within the soil, seeds of last year’s mustard lay waiting for just the moment to begin, and the results now show – mustard everywhere. It is not uniform, of course. There are plenty of other perennial weeds throughout, but most are either diminutive or simply not showy that they deserve no special attention.

On the hill top, Fred left a section planted to cabbage, and there are dozens of small butterflies about, yellow and white seeming to travel haphazardly around the field. Again, see from the road the butterflies too look numerous, and the effect of fallow brown rows interspersed with mustard plants all green against the distant hills, where the sky above is the deep autumn blue – it is an idyllic scene.

When it is quiet at these times, when there are no distracting sounds of cars or people, save for the background work of the farm, it is simply beautiful here.

October 16

Rain came last evening, and today was a cool drizzly affair so unlike the past two days. This weather necessitated the woodstove, which has sat fallow since last spring.

The first fires in the stove are pleasant ones, strangely nostalgic for some reason, as if we’ve forgotten the routine, the mess, and chore of hauling wood, cleaning ash, and maintaining the fire. After months of successively working the stove, by April we have had enough. Now it is delightful, and with plenty of wood in the barn why not fire the stove to ward off the October chill?

An hour after it’s been going and the room is finally starting to warm. The dogs seem to have settled right back to their routine of last winter, both lying on their sides not two feet from the hearth. Their fur is nearly hot to the touch, yet they seem perfectly at bliss. It isn’t long before the cat joins them, and for awhile all three are content to put aside any differences for the sake of such heat this October day.

October 15

Today was another perfect day for simply going anywhere to appreciate the best of this season. The temperature rose to 60 degrees, and there was no wind or clouds at all, giving the sky a nearly cerulean blue color.

The trails of Moore State Park are now covered in leaf fall, and they crunch beneath your feet when you walk, yellow maple leaves, brown oaks, mottled specimens of hickory, ash and beech. The air is tinged with the smell of tannins, and though the majority of leaves have yet to fall, there is thinning of the canopy so that sunlight now enters throughout, creating a warm glow to the woods.

The Old Brigham Road is especially nice, again with leaf fall enough to cover the way. The road here is long abandoned, lined with mountain laurel on both sides, still deep green as if indifferent to the changing of the seasons.

October 14

The big buckeye tree in front of the school has been dropping its large seeds for a couple of weeks. I walked down this afternoon with a small backpack to gather a few dozen to keep, mostly just an excuse to take a stroll in town on such a fine October day.

Most of the seed has fallen, and they are largely split – the inner nut having been separated from the outer husk. The latter gets your attention – about the size of a golf ball, with rather nasty spikes all around it. A curious thing really, designed perhaps to protect the inner nut from scavengers like squirrels? But if so, why are most split upon the ground, easily allowing any predators access to the nut. Perhaps the spikes help to break apart any leaf mold or humus or soil, thereby giving the nut a better chance to find purchase until next spring.

The nut itself is quite pretty, the color of darkened wood that has been heavily varnished, save for the singular light spot which conspicuously marks the buckeye all its own.

October 13

At midday a flock of Canada Geese flew overhead. We heard them a half minute or so before seeing them, from the direction of the lower woods northeast of the house. The stillness of the day was broken only by their strident calls from high up.

I counted 22 birds descending in a loose “v,” flying over the top of the spruce line before making a wide arc around the fields. Once, twice, they circled, then changed course to land just to the south in the area of the old flats, now given over to a parking lot and grassy area next to the college.

The geese will be seen increasingly now, and once the first real killing frosts arrive they’ll likely take to the fields, less worried about tractors or farmers to interrupt their autumn grazing.

October 12

Throughout town, people are continuing to decorate for the fall season; there are corn stalks and gourds and pumpkins on doorsteps.

My guess is that the majority came from the farm here, with this past August and September nearly ideal for growing such crop. Each day we see the grey truck go back and forth to Echo farm multiple times, whether it be to pick up pumpkins or corn, both of which grow in the fields there.

It is unusual this time of year – still picking corn this late in the season, when normally the killing frost would have ended things well enough. It has been strangely warm, making corn on the cob out of place for October. We haven’t eaten any since September anyway, as there is a season for everything.

Just now, the driveway in front of the store has jumbles of pumpkins placed on wooden pallets, the piles arranged broadly by size. There are white pumpkins mixed within the mostly orange regulars, and these appear ghostly at night when carved and lit by candle from within.

October 11

The temperature fell twenty degrees overnight with the onset of a cold front that arrived having little fanfare. The morning thermometer registered 38 degrees, and it was deathly quiet in the pre-dawn, save for the sound of distant cars driving on Route 31.

The drive to Holden was particularly striking, in the low valley out of Paxton where the causeway divides the Kendall Reservoir. On both sides, the water surface had wispy tendrils of rising vapor, so much so that the lakes looked ghostly alive with thousands of spectral shapes which moved about slowly in the gentle breeze there.

These shapes were so dense that their numbers obscured the far side spillway house to the south, its stone structure hidden on the opposite shore.

As the road ascended from the causeway up toward Holden, there was a peculiar line of low fog, no thicker than several feet and just at the level of the windshield. In an instant the car climbed through the layer and emerged higher on, and in the rearview mirror the valley became hidden altogether.

October 10

There is less visible grass beneath the big maple by the feeders, replaced by a patchwork carpet of yellow and brown leaves which have been the first to come down. It is this same way around town; we are at the peak of color now, maybe even a little past, though only the first wave of leaf fall has started to happen. In most lawns anyway, it is just below the trees that the grass is covered.

Look up, however, and it’s plain to see that the vast majority has yet to fall. Out lower woods is still fairly closed in, though peaks of branches and trunks are starting to appear in the distance as thinning in starting to occur.

The woods have taken on a golden tone, and it is simply beautiful. Gold and yellow now predominate, with the fiery reds of climbing vines and burning bushes slowly receding. The viburnams are starting to turn, and perhaps if the conditions are right they will display the purple-red colors before giving way to the frosts that are coming closer.

October 9

The blue jays have been more active these past several days, and soon apart from our cardinal pairs that remain throughout the winter, the jays will be the principal splash of color among our dooryard bird visitors.

Blackbirds are also moving about now; they frequent the fields across the road during the day and call out to one another. I am reminded of the old motto:

By the first of March, the crows begin to search

By the first of April, they are sitting still

By the first of May they are flown away

Creeping greedy back again with October wind and rain.

October 8

Wind brought down many of the white pine needles that only yesterday were still on the trees, brown ones whose time had come. The pines all had a two-tone appearance of green and brown, and now they are restored. The ground however is littered with needles, as is the roadway, so many so that entire stretches of pavement are nearly covered. In places where the car tires pass over, the tracks clear the road enough that from a distance it looks like a sandy road, where only this morning it was clear.

These will scatter about and eventually disappear, much like the light snow that falls spindrift on cold pavement, where slight breezes cause it to shift and eddy until warmth erases it entirely.

October 7

A gold finch must have hit the sunroom window this morning, for it sat stunned on the porch, making no effort to flee when I stepped out to investigate. The poor thing was soaking wet from a cold misty rain, its mottled yellow feathers wet through against its body. These same feathers were a brilliant yellow only a few weeks ago, but like the successional change of the deciduous trees, the colors were fading to their more drab winter coat.

Sarah and I lined a small box with tissue, picked up the little bird and placed it inside, taking both to the garage where I had set up a can light to shine within for warmth.

We watched it for twenty minutes as it lay stunned, with beak opening and closing rhythmically, eyes tiny black blinking slowly. All of a sudden, it moved quickly, spreading its wings as if to escape, only to follow with one sudden shudder. Its eyes closed, and it went still, and we both cried at the failure of our effort.

October 6

Maples too are increasingly brilliant. Several of the younger sugars down by the library are almost a cardinal red, and when the direct sun hits the leaves it is nearly overwhelming. Many yards throughout town have maples that curiously tend to two tone, with the periphery of the crown turning to color while the lower portions remain a late summer green. I suppose the botanist would explain it on account of lowered sugar production (or pressure) to the outside, or perhaps the effect of slightly lower temperature on the exposed areas. It looks simply as if these majestic trees were secretly removed and their top dunked in red paint, like an ice cream scoop that is given a dressing of hot chocolate that cools hard on the top.

Our big sugar maple next to the sunroom is holding out, still mostly green but certainly tired looking all the same. It tends to yellow uniformly and somewhat late, then drop its leaves nearly as a whole when the first wind-driven rainy day comes.

October 5

The notable climbers are conspicuous now, as their chlorophyll degrades with the waning light and cooler temperatures. The deep greens that served to camouflage them within the pines have faded, such that brilliant reds or yellows cast their presence in sharp relief.

In our front, an enviable poison ivy ascends one of the tall pines, unnoticed really for the past several months. Now, it is a scarlet like no other, rising upward close to the trunk in a way that makes the tree look as if it has caught fire from a distance. All the poison ivy plants have been changing, though the ground variety seem to go to yellow more than anything else. I’ve noticed that the climbers often tend to red, and I wonder if a difference in variety is to account.

Bittersweet leaves are also rapidly changing to yellow, and they too reveal their presence against the green background. Bittersweet seems to be in all places and mostly unwanted, beautiful in leaf color and later in berry but invasively choking all the while.

Notes:

Towhees still at feeder.

Cricket 57 chirps / minute  at thermometer of 50 degrees

October 4

For a couple of weeks, the quiet in the house has been interrupted by a steady tock, tock, tock, light yet rhythmic. It had the sound of an old wall clock, steadily keeping time while pendulum and escape click and clack unerringly.

It took a bit of investigating to discover the source, partly because the noise would go on only for a minute or so, then stay silent for a while after. At last we saw the chick-a-dees taking an interest in the gutter that sits below the roofline of the sunroom. Evidently, they have been attracted to the pine seed which had been falling gently and it would seem collecting in all places, including the gutter screen. The tock, tock, tock was simply their way of knocking seed to open it, and it reverberated through the house.

Chick-a-dees on the gutter are one thing. Today, the noise was decidedly louder, and we’ve come to anticipate this problem each early fall. The downy woodpeckers seem to think our wood slat siding and cedar shake are enticing sites for meals. The downy will hammer forcefully, unfortunately making holes in the siding, which necessitates action on our part. Shiny pie pans and toy whirly fans hung from nails placed in spots on the house side seem to work well, driving the pesky downy away, either out of fear or embarrassment.

October 3

There are many colors at the farm right now, in some ways mirroring what will be the norm around town for a brief period when the leaves turn in earnest.

The fall harvest in full is something to admire, and the store is well stocked with provender that draws from the late summer fare to the autumn root vegetables.

Apple varieties line the window shelves – macs, honey crisps, goldens, pink ladies and Cortlands, each unique in shading and flavor. Next to them reside the plums and peaches, the latter nearly past season, but sweet enough yet to remind the taste buds that summer wasn’t too long ago.

The center is filled with egg plant, peppers and squash, and it is nice to simply browse each bin to admire the deep colors of purple and red and yellow. Soon enough, Sarah will make butternut squash soup, hinted with curry and wonderfully delicious, and when we eat it for dinner the smell and flavor simply represents autumn. This is true of cider, which sits on the counter in full and half gallon jugs.

There are still ears of corn and fresh lettuce and tomatoes, but it is becoming more difficult to give them priority. It is October after all, and we have to bid farewell to the summer pleasures sooner or later.

October 2

Look for the fuzzy white body of the Hickory Tussock Moth caterpillar. This year, they seem to turn up in all sorts of places. As I write this, one is fast approaching on the driveway, its white body easily visible on the asphalt, undulating as it makes its way.

It’s curious where this little thing is intent on going, as it seems to be making a bee-line toward the house. When turned around with a stick, it reorients to the same direction and steadfastly marches onward. I wonder if it is simply going uphill or is following an easterly path, keeping the sun to its right as it goes along.

They are pretty little things, with a black stripe down their midline and tufts of antennae-like black hairs at either end. These are barbed with inflammatory defense, and like our ubiquitous poison ivy, may cause a nasty response to persons who handle the caterpillar.

The adult moth emerges in the spring from a cocoon that has overwintered in the leaf mold. The moth is pale yellow with mottled brown spots and feeds on hickory, ash and oak, among other deciduous fare. With our big blacks out front, it’s no wonder we have the caterpillars around in such numbers. They are in the lawn, on windowsills, and in the barn.