On Maine Public Radio, I heard that this weekend is peak color for foliage in central Maine. It seems that adults await this weekend as eagerly as children await Christmas. And why not? The countryside is awash in color, and beauty comes from every angle.
All a person can do is give thanks to nature for this generous gift.
When our dog, Liam, was young, Clif and I would take him for several walks during the day, and all told we would cover about seven miles. Even then, that wasn’t really enough exercise for our lively Sheltie. Fortunately, we have a half-acre yard fenced in, and he could run like crazy around the perimeter, making a track that a friend dubbed “the Liam 500.” Oh, Liam was an energetic dog. And he stayed energetic for many, many years, wowing friends with his wild racing in the backyard.
Blindness, however, has slowed down this once active dog who loved to be outside from dawn to dusk. Nowadays, Liam only wants to stay out long enough to do his business. As for racing around the backyard—those days are over, and the Liam 500 is no more, completely filled with grass.
We still take Liam for walks several times a day, but we are lucky if we go for a mile, total. Nonetheless, the walks are enjoyable. Liam sniffs, I look, and even on a short stretch there is always something to see on our country road.
Now that it is fall, the air has a nutty smell as the leaves and the acorns fall. Crickets jump by the side of the road, and chipmunks scurry to fill their pantries. Even on a gray day, the woods are bright with yellow ferns, and in mid-October in central Maine, the leaves are a blaze of orange and red.
On our walks, I spot those little stars of autumn twinkling in the tall grass.
In the woods, I notice a fallen log with lichen.
I admire the variegated mat of leaves on the side of the road.
Then it’s back to our very own yard.
These short walks are a good reminder that no matter how close you are to home, there is something to see, something to notice.
As we Mainers might put it, this fall has been wicked weird. Last Friday, the town’s thermometer read 80 degrees, and in the evening Clif and I had drinks and supper on the patio. (We thought those days were long gone.) In short, this fall has been warm, and as with anything, there are pluses and minuses. On the plus side…we have had to use very little heat, and in a state like Maine, where it is cold for at least eight months of the year, this is a real blessing. The cost of heating is a real issue for many Mainers. On the other hand, this unnaturally warm weather is yet another reminder of climate change, and while northern New England might enjoy the milder weather, it’s not so great for the rest of the world.
However, this October Monday is seasonably cool and very windy. A good day for hanging fleeces on the line. The sky is bright blue, and the trees are ablaze with color. Maine is glorious in October, and if there is a finer place to be, then I don’t know where it is.
The gardens have their own beauty in autumn. The flowers are gone, and I miss them. However, the foliage has turned red and yellow and the seed pods add visual interest. This year, as Jason from the blog Garden in a City has suggested, I’m not going to cut back the perennials until spring. I’ve never done this before, and I have decided to give it a try. Not only will the uncut garden provide a place for beneficial insects to winter over, but it will also decrease the amount of work I must do this fall.
This, of course, brings me to my upcoming YA novel, Maya and the Book of Everything. I have been working like a crazy person getting the manuscript ready for the November publication. Clif and I have learned a lot with this first book, and for the second book in the series, Library Lost, we will have a much different time line.
But the major editing is done for Maya and the Book of Everything, and yesterday, a rainy fall day, I felt like a wet noodle. I spent most of the day on the couch, where I napped and read the current issue of The New Yorker. (I believe George Bernard Shaw called it a boiled sweet kind of day, where all you feel like doing is sitting in a corner and sucking on boiled sweets. ) I have found that an occasional day of rest is a good thing, necessary even, to recharge the batteries.
Today, I do indeed feel refreshed, ready to tackle the next set of chores for Maya.
Onward and upward.
Autumn is here. As I work in my office, I can hear the rat-a-tat-tat of acorns as they fall on the roof. Sometimes it is so loud and steady that it sounds as though a mischievous tree-imp is throwing small rocks on the house.
For the most part, the humidity is gone, and on nice days, the air is cool and dry. The nights have become so chilly that it won’t be long until we put down all the storm windows. Indeed, we have begun pulling the shades at night.
Autumn brings with it many chores to be done by winter. The chimney needs to be cleaned, and there is still wood to be stacked. Clif takes care of both of these things. At sixty-five—Clif’s birthday was Tuesday—he still feels spry enough to climb onto the roof with his long brush. Chim chimney, chim chimney, chim, chim, chiree.
In the fall, I cut down the spent perennials in the gardens. However, Jason, of the blog Garden in a City, doesn’t cut his down until spring. He feels there is more visual interest in the garden in the winter when the plants are not trimmed. I considered following his example, but spring is such a busy time that I was afraid it would add too much to my gardening chores. I am, ahem, not as quick or spry as I was in my younger years.
It is also time to take in the hummingbird feeders, clean them, and tuck them away until next spring. Those fluttering beauties no longer fly with a whiz around the backyard. They have begun their astonishing migration to warmer lands.
Autumn, to me, feels like a time of subtraction. Yes, we have asters and golden rod, a delightful duo. But along with the hummingbirds, the thrushes have left. I have not heard their piping song for several weeks. Soon, the loons will be gone as well. The nipping frosts will come, turning the landscape to an austere brown.
If it weren’t for the golden slant of light that autumn brings, this subtraction would be almost unbearable. But the light is so beautiful that it fills in for what we have lost.
And then there are the apples, another addition rather than a subtraction. For someone like me, who enjoys making pies and crisps, this aspect of fall is most welcome. No more apples from away, thank you very much. From now until April, all of my apples will come from central Maine.
While I am always sorry to see the passing of summer—farewell, my lovely flowers and hummingbirds—in truth I enjoy all the seasons. They all have their own beauty, from the exuberance of spring to the rich maturity of summer to the golden light of early fall to the glittering cold of winter.
The only season I don’t like is March. Yes, I know. Technically March is a month. But in northern New England this drear month feels like a season unto itself.
But never mind! March is nearly six months away. Right now, I will enjoy the thumping of acorns, the golden light, the bounty of apples, and cats in the garden.
Clif and I both have birthdays in September, and last week our daughters came home to celebrate with us. What a fine week it was! Having them here was the best present of all, and Shannon, who lives in North Carolina, has decided to make a mid-September visit a yearly occasion. Dee, our eldest, could only stay until midweek. It’s always inconvenient when work gets in the way of having fun.
Shannon stayed for the whole week, and as is our way, we filled it with simple pleasures—visiting with friends, going to a lecture on politics, playing a new game that Shannon got for her birthday. The weather was so warm that we could have drinks on the patio nearly every night.
Saturday, Shannon’s last day, was the grand finale. We went to Lakeside Orchard in Manchester for an apple festival.
Then, it was off to the Red Barn for lunch. I had one of their fabulous lobster rolls, and Shannon had a shrimp basket.
The Red Barn supports many charities, and outside a pet rescue organization—can’t remember the name—had a display, complete with dogs and cats. Shannon, a dog lover extraordinaire, couldn’t resist cuddling one of the dogs, a sweet border collie mix named Linda.
After lunch, we went to Hallowell to sit by the Kennebec River.
The river was aflutter with birds. We saw herons—look closely on the left.
From an even greater distance, we saw bald eagles. (Unfortunately, my wee camera doesn’t get good shots of birds, especially when they are far away, but I always try.)
And, of course, there were ducks that—to borrow from my friend Barbara—are plentiful but never common.
On Sunday, I brought Shannon to the bus station to begin the first leg of her journey back to North Carolina. I was so sorry to see her go, but she and her husband, Mike, will be back for Christmas, which isn’t that far away.
Now, it’s time to settle into our routine, to work on getting my YA fantasy, Maya and the Book of Everything, ready for publication.
There’s just one little hitch that will keep me from working for a few days—Clif gave me his cold. It’s just starting today, and I’m getting chores done before the road-kill phase of the cold sets in. Fortunately, Clif’s cold has not been a bad one, and I expect that by the end of the week I will be back on schedule.
Onward and upward!
The calendar has flipped to September, and it’s almost as though the weather knows we are into a new month. Gone are the extreme heat and humidity, and I am certainly happy to see these guests leave. With September’s arrival, we have had warm, dry days and crisp, cool nights. Why, it’s almost like Maine’s August of old, the month we all looked forward to and loved.
But, as I’m fond of saying, in Maine, with climate change, September is the new August—or Saugust, if you will. I guess it’s an ill wind that blows no good. Having an extra month of lovely warm weather is a real bonus for a state known for its long, cold winters that last through March. (In a previous post, I suggested trading March for an extra month of August. However, I’ve changed my mind—let’s have an extra September instead.)
In September, Winthrop sees the first wave of summer people leaving for parts south. The library is quiet, with few cars parked out front. At Norcross Point, where we leave the car to go on our bike rides, there are no boats being launched.
But, oh, the blue of the water and the sky, those puffy white clouds.
September, the month of stars—asters—and apples, where it’s still light enough to sit on the patio at night and have friends over for grilled bread and appetizers. We can wear t-shirts on our bike rides, and we don’t have to wear confining jackets, hats, or gloves.
October, with its chilly beauty, is right around the corner, but I won’t think about that. Instead, I will revel in September, my birth month, and all the good things that it brings.
Oh, that purple flower and those gossamer wings. Every once in a while a photographer gets lucky, where the light, the focus, and the subject all come together. A very happy Sunday for me.
Despite being quite built up—at least for Maine—Maranacook Lake attracts various kinds of birds. On a bike ride not long ago, I took pictures of three different kinds of birds.
The first was a seagull. I guess nobody told this bird that the ocean is about fifty miles away.
The second was a blue heron. The lakes and ponds around Winthrop have many blue herons, but I don’t usually seem on someone’s float. This bird very obligingly posed and gave me plenty of time to get a picture.
The third was a loon, and as with blue herons, we have many loons in Winthrop. At night, Clif and I can hear them as we sit on our patio. Unfortunately, this bird was too far out for my little camera to get a good shot.
Summer continues to ebb, but the heat and humidity stubbornly persist. Supposedly, a cold front is coming to clear the air. It can’t come too soon for me.
In the meantime, I work on my YA fantasy, Maya and the Book of Everything. Clif has set me up with Google Translate so that I can hear my story read back to me. LibreOffice, the word processor I use, has a read text extension for Google Translate so that my English text is read back to me in English. I expect other programs have a similar feature for Google Translate.
Sometimes the pronunciations are a little funny, and there are glitches from time to time. But all in all, the Google Translate voice is very good, and I have found it enormously helpful just to listen, not to read, Maya and the Book of Everything. I’ve caught a mistake or two, and it really makes me aware of the cadence of my prose. I would highly recommend Google Translate as a useful tool for anyone who is working on a book. It’s slow going, but that’s just fine with me. Too much speeding during the editing process can lead to undetected errors.
Finally, in honor of National Dog Day, here’s a picture of my dog-buddy Liam. He’s unfortunately dealing with a major infirmity, which I will write about more in another post. But he’s still our boy, and we still love him.
Summer is winding down, and as always, I have mixed feelings about this. The days are getting shorter, and already I miss the extra light. In the summer at day’s end, Clif and I like to sit on the patio, have drinks, and chat. Only a month or so left where we’ll be able to do that. Our time for barbecues and grilled bread is also winding down. The gardens are looking ragged.
On the other hand, this summer has been very hot and humid, and I am ready for cooler weather. By late afternoon, both Clif and I are zapped. It’s been this way in Maine for several years—quite unlike summers when I was young—and it’s my guess that this is the new norm for Maine. The bonus: September has become utterly delightful, almost like “old” August, and this means we can squeeze in a few more patio gatherings than we could in year’s past.
Whatever the season, there is always something interesting to see by the lake where we park the car when we go on our bike ride.
Looking out onto the lake.
Oh, hydrangeas!
A closer look.
Closer still.
Hanging rose petals.
Little red apples. (In the spring, I took a picture of this tree when it was a froth of white.)
Summer is winding down, and so are the gardens at the little house in the big woods, which are at their best in June and July. Still, despite their raggedness, there are still things to admire and find in the garden.
This curve of white through yellow.
This leg full of pollen.
The crickets sing, the grasshoppers buzz, and the yellow jackets, out in force this year, pester us when we eat on the patio. (Not everything is sublime at the little house in the big woods.)
Such a sweet, sad time of year, when the dark comes earlier and earlier. I love fall and the crisp energy it brings, but I am always sorry to say farewell, for another year, to the flowers and the hummingbirds and the loons.
Notes From the Hinterland 