Thanksgiving

 

Starting the Thanksgiving Day hike

If it seems our lives are full of magical hikes, you have deduced well. Grasshopper. Hmm. Don't know where that came from. 

Thanksgiving day was brilliant and cold. Not as cold as it should have been perhaps, but still cold and clear. Sanders Hill is becoming our go-to holiday hike. It's a little further away than our daily hikes (about a 25 minute drive), but close enough to feel like ours.

Thanksgiving is such a lovely uncomplicated holiday. I know it's not that way for everyone, but having family so far away, and not being anxious to travel this time of year makes ours pretty simple. Friends asked us to share their Thanksgiving dinner with two of their adult children. How wonderful. And uncomplicated.

Where the trail begins

And of course, pies had to be baked, and John's Famous Buns made for The Dinner. We're still eating the Pumpkin Chiffon pie, a recipe that a friend recently shared with me. Breakfast of champions.

This was where the morning started. We have been amazed at the change in trails since we vacationed here decades ago. We used to have to really hunt for a public trail to walk the dogs on. But while many things Maine have stood still in time, their trail system has flourished. And we keep discovering new ones.

Jasper

Jasper is a great excuse to spend time finding and hiking trails. And of course, he's the best looking of our motley pack. I was reflecting to the daughter of our friend that while body parts are falling off or defecting, we have this gift of time now. We can decide that we're going to drive an hour to explore a new hike. It's a strange point in our lives where we can see that we will run out of time in the long run, but in the short run, we can spend it as we chose. 

I'll close with a video of our stopover place on Thanksgiving. Water, woods, and creatures I love. "Grateful" only begins to describe my feelings.

This and That on a November Day

 

Jasper at home

Well. I finished knitting a sock today. It's been a sweet task, taken a round at a time on size 0 needles. Fine Yarn. I know. Who does that?

But before I post an image of it for posterity,  I'm going to wax poetic and pragmatic about living with Jasper, our roommate and best friend. We make for a fierce threesome.

A friend recently picked up a book on Border Collies from a free books bin for me. Such a thoughtful thing to do.

The title of one of the chapters made me laugh out loud.

Not many are Border Collie Material

Years ago we had a border collie mix (her mom was purebred) named Calico. She was was what some would call a difficult child. She was full of energy and smart. If not kept busy, she found her own occupation, and it wasn't often what we would have chosen for her. John called her the dog I deserved; I called her my familiar. She settled somewhat by the time she was five. Losing her at 15 was one of the hardest things I've ever had to endure

Another day, another hike. Yay.

Enter Jasper, a purebred Border Collie. We got him when he was 10. . . well beyond the settled stage. He was a working dog (1200 sheep, 13 other dogs) who could no longer Keep Up. It was a huge transition for him. . .all those dogs and sheep to US. He either thinks he won the lottery, or that he lost it. It's tough to tell.

Jasper is our exercise machine. Well, I guess we're also his exercise machines. I don't think there is anything any of us enjoy more than hiking in the woods with one another. We have seen so much together, and traveling with Jasper necessarily means that there will be a long hike. Today.

The Royal Winter sock. #1

Now. To the promised sock. Here she is. This is sock 1, and of course sock 2 will be just the same. Another couple of months work, if this last one is any indication.

Thanksgiving is upon us. . . this Thursday. It heralds a holiday season that promises to be less tense with disease and political discord, and I can't help but feel hopeful about that.

Calico

Ok. And since I mentioned her, here is Calico. Fondly remembered friend.

Winter!

 

As if fulfilling some dramatic climate change prophecy, we lurched from 70 degree temperatures to winter in a day. The snow was just a dusting, but the temperature (20's) wasn't messing around. Boots, hats, mittens. Check. Dog. Check. 

Our usual Wednesday group hike was cancelled, but Jasper needs to walk every day, regardless of weather, so we were off on our own. Jasper agrees with Christopher Robin. He doesn't care what the weather is doing as long as he is out in it.

Messalonskee was the hike of choice, given that it's close (the roads were not great), and breathtaking in the snow. 

I find myself ready for winter. We had such a long fall that we were able to winterize everything we could think of (snow tires, garden hoses away, etc etc) but of course we'll find out what we forgot. John also put in some drains in front of the garage. The ice there was really treacherous last winter, so we're hoping that we've solved (or lessened) that problem.

Life feels oddly hopeful. Covid is still with us, but not the threat that it once was. It's true that could turn on a dime with a new variant, but we still can't help but feel hopeful. The elections are over, and they offered some hope as well. The daughters fare well. No one is blissfully happy, but I don't suppose we often are, even in the best of times.

And in spite of annoying age related health issues, I feel like we are living our best life now. We sometimes need to marshal our resources, naps in the afternoon, blahblah, but we both feel like we have the time to do what we want to do, and to contribute to our world in a meaningful way.

The lovely snow melted then froze so that there was a good bit of ice everywhere. The roads were clear, but our lawn was an ice rink for a day. It melted today. . . we are routinely reaching 40F. 

I love this time of any season when I am still looking forward to the cold, the snow, the holidays. Spring, Summer and fall likewise. And then, with the passing of a couple of months, I'm ready for the next season.

I've been able to work in both the studio and in my office. I feel like we get to take a long deep breath for several months now, and I'm looking forward to lighting the dark, and making things in the light. And the plants sleep.

Voting Day

Sunset from the deck. . . and a place for bat-spotting!

 

Just a quick post on this day when winter is finally suggesting she might actually drop by this year. We voted today. I love to wait until The Day Of, rather than voting early. The ritual of it is poignant. And one of our neighbors was volunteering there at the Fire Hall, so we felt like we are starting to belong.

I had an odd reaction though. I left the Fire Hall with tears streaming down my cheeks. Enough so that it was embarrassing. I felt so grateful for the structures and the people that allow this voting to happen, and something else. Something else so subconscious that I can't really give words to it. . .maybe fear? Maybe the feeling that this experiment in democracy is coming to an end? I don't know. But I wonder if I'm not the only one. Just as William Shatner described crying when he saw the earth from space, maybe some sad knowledge, or at least a nagging suspicion, is wedged deep in all of us.

It is, however, a beautiful day today. Winter is coming with cold, but also with bright bright sun.
 

Late Fall, Oddly Warm

 

Bedroom window, foggy fall morning

What a difference a couple of weeks makes. While the weather has remained unseasonably warm, fall leaf drop moves ahead. We've also had a good bit of morning fog lately.

I came home to harvest the last two Very Small eggplant (for soup, I think!), and the herbs, except for the basil, are still hanging in there. Leaves need to be raked, but most of the other fall chores are now done. Gutters cleared (ready for snow and ice!), the new garage drain cleared and ready, and leaves waiting to be blown and raked.

Color and form. Flavor needs work?

I know a lot of folks have little regard for eggplant. While I am no fan of eggplant fried, or even in parmigiana, I do love Ratatouille. And Caponata. Baba Ghanouj. All take a little more work than the average vegetable, but I find them worth it. Or maybe I just want to be able to look at their purple voluptuousness. They are a truly lovely form.

F's birthday sweater. 5 years old

Transitioning backward to finish up my thoughts and images on our Canadian vacation, I finished this sweater for F's birthday while we were gone. I don't know what possessed me to buy this color of yarn, given that pink is definitely not a favorite of mine, but "Dark Pink" is F's favorite now. Working on it also gave me an excuse to check out yarn shops in many Maritime towns to find the buttons. I had originally intended to make enameled flower buttons, but after doing the calculation, realized that I would be out of time to do so. So, I supported the local yarn stores instead.

Mt. Dessert Island; one of many bays

Once on Mt. Dessert Island, one of our first stops was to check out one of the southern bays. I forget which one. It was clearly a working fishing area, though, and we seemed to be the only tourists there. Bass Harbor, perhaps? John and I are good at nosing our way around, but I'm a lousy note taker these days.

Beach at Rose Bay

After 2 days of hiking around Acadia, Bar Harbor and Mt. Dessert Island, we headed on to Canada. The Maritime Provinces. 

 

Hockey-ready!

As mentioned yesterday, we found Rockwood Park in St. George. It would take more time than we had to thoroughly explore it. . .there were at least a dozen lakes, some wide dog-on-leash trails, and a ton of dog-off-leash trails that wound through forests. At one lake, we stumbled on these. . .a set of hockey skates and a goal. The Canadians are Ready!

St. George, the city, is a place brimming with potential. There is a lot of construction downtown right now, and I expect there was a lot of destruction from Fiona, who had made her way through just a few weeks before we got there. But there is also some absolutely wonderful and old architecture. Churches, especially, but also row houses and shops that are reminiscent of old Philadelphia, though older and more varied.

 

Urban tunnel sculpture

The city center has a complex set of tunnels underneath (testament to hard winters, I expect) that are full of shops and end at a convention center.

This was one of the sculptures in the tunnel, second shot is with John participating. Pretty cool.

Urban tunnel sculpture plus one

After that, it was on to Halifax, and to celebrate John's birthday. We went to The Black Sheep Restaurant downtown, and had an epic dinner. Jasper has to wait for us in the car when we do this sort of thing, but he had had a long walk prior to, and we had a long walk afterwards around the harbor area. It was lively and fun. Dogs seem to be welcome everywhere, which is a lovely change. Of course, Jasper can always charm, but some are harder to charm than others, and this was an easy crowd. 

The view at The Black Sheep

 

 

Well, Friends. I find myself tiring of the travelog. It was really a wonderful trip and we'll visit again. There were more hikes, a great hat shop where John was able to find his summer hat, and I can't tell you how many yarn shops. 

 

Last course, The Black Sheep

And I didn't mention the pewter, did I? Pewter is a big deal in Nova Scotia, and has been something I've loved, both for it's work-ability and its appearance for a couple of decades. I'll leave you with a couple more images and a video of the Birthday Waterfall hike.

Back Home and somehow it's almost November. . .

 

Beech tree, late October

After two weeks of touring the Maritimes, we came back home to a decidedly advanced Autumn. The reds of the maples, viburnum and sumac are mostly on the ground. Who knew it was the week of The Beeches? I was so busy when we moved here last year, that I didn't have time to closely observe the autumnal changes, so this year is a real treat. This tree is one of many along our driveway. . .the beeches stand out now, because they're some of the last ones that haven't quite given in to senescence. I really love this tree. The leaves are held by tiers of branches, reminiscent of a layered flounce dress. The colors range from light yellow to a rusty orange. She is magnificent.

My beloved Copper Beech in front of the house isn't quite dramatic. She does her biggest act in the spring, when her leaves emerge coppery red, transition to dark red, and then to green. A slow motion magic trick.

Copper Beech

Now, she's hanging on to her chlorophyll with a little more tenacity, and is subtler in her presentation than the local beeches. I do remember that last year she was the last to drop her leaves, and that their journey to earth is more sudden. Seemingly final. Thank goodness we know that spring will come again, or this would be the saddest time of year. In fact, most gardeners are a little relieved when things toddle off to bed for a few months rest. Here in Maine we are particularly sequestered in the winter, and I find myself looking forward to some serious time in the studio. I don't seem to be able to do both the garden and the studio justice simultaneously.

 

 

 

 

A preponderance of smooth rocks

Once again, though, my chronology is off. I didn't take a lot of pictures while we were in Canada, but I did take some. We journeyed first to Acadia and Ellsworth (south of Bar Harbor). Acadia is an usual National Park. It's interspersed on Mt. Dessert Island with Bar Harbor and several other small towns, so that you're in and out of the park, and in and out of towns. I'm not always a big fan of National Parks because of crowds and the lack of dog friendliness, so it was lovely to find that Acadia is really quite dog friendly. The leash laws are always stated, but that gets silly when you're alone on the trail, and scrambling over rocks at 60 degree angles. I could write an op ed on leashes, dogs and people, but I'll save it.

Again, my chronology is off. These rocks are from Hirtle's Beach close to Rose Bay. We spent our last 4 days in this area, about an hour East of Lunenberg. Lunenberg was a quaint place. . very old world touristy (actually a world heritage center), and we had a great lunch on a deck over the bay with Jasper. The weather was mostly quite warm. . .not hot. Just warmer than we had planned. We needed more short sleeved shirts and fewer sweaters! 

This post is getting over-long, so I'll finish up with some images from the trip, and continue in a future post.

The Dock at Bass Cove, Mt. Dessert Island

A reflecting lake in Rockwood Park, St. John NB

Favorite hiking companions

A stranger along the way

One of many waterfalls encountered

 

Sweet groundcover. . . a moss?

Senescencing flowers

Foggy morning on the St. George River 

Cathedral in St. John

New England Fall

View through the patio arch

I have always loved Fall. Boise's fall was especially nice in the early 2000's,  because it was not-to-warm, and often extended until Thanksgiving. I remember having a couple of roses from our yard on the table one Thanksgiving. The colors were fine, too. The native trees color yellow with a little bit of orange for the most part, but Boise has a lot of trees that have been planted that sport lovely fall reds as well.

All of this fades in comparison to the colors everywhere here in Maine. The reds are particularly vibrant, with some almost dark pink, and they are everywhere. It's hard to find a bit of forest that isn't splashed with color. The mix of conifers and deciduous trees often results in a riot of color against a dark green background. 

Ethereal.

The bedroom window in October

I wake up to the image on the right. It won't last, of course, but I've come to appreciate the ephermerality of it as much as the actual color. In a couple of months, there will be only the dark forms of the tree trunks and branches. And then they'll be covered with snow. Seasons. I can't imagine living without them.

We've been bat-spotting at dusk a few times. Our bedroom deck has the fire table on it, with chaises on either side, and it makes for perfect bat watching. These are not the flying foxes of Australia, with their 3 foot wingspans, but our smaller Eastern bats. Two bats dive and swerve and come together and dart apart. Dusk is early these days, too. 6:30 or so. I told a friend recently in an email that the trade off of the cooler days and nights is a fair one for the extended heat of the Idaho summer.

Dark pink with birches

We had a waxing moon coming through the trees the other night. The iPhone camera can't see what the human eye sees, but it still saw something worth looking at. I also tried to get the shadow of the branches on the deck, but that's lost on the iPhone, too. I expect it's failure to see those is similar to what it can't see in dappled shade. So, as always, I took a picture in my mind. Only time will tell how many of those I'll be able to access as time moves on.

A rising moon with clouds

We leave for our trip to the Maritimes tomorrow, so I won't likely be posting here for the next two weeks. Be safe, stay well, and keep on paying attention.

Nature's composition, 2

In the moment. . .

 

One definition of heaven is standing outside, arranging the last of the hydrangeas on a beautiful fall day.

First Frost

 

October on the Messalonski

Some of my best images come from my consort. This is one of them. Fall on the Messalonski at the Quarry Trails. 

This first frost seems early to me, at least compared to last year. After the first cold bit, I harvested all of the apples, and am now drying a bunch of herbs. I've dried herbs before, by hanging them in bunches and waiting, but the flavor was always lackluster. Dried green vegetable bits. But with the new dehydrator, I thought it was worth revisiting. I was right. The faster drying in an enclosed container must make the difference.

Fall Gifts

And these are the last of it. . . two eggplant, a large handful of cherry tomatoes, canned applesauce, and sage, tarragon and rosemary to dry. I'm going to dig up one of my rosemary plants and see if I can nurse it through the winter. Not likely, honestly, but worth a try. I used to do this with a banana plant that I had for years in Pennsylvania. That was 25 years ago, when seeing a banana plant outside in a temperate climate was really crazy. Smile. Suddenly, I'm longing for one of those. . .

What more perfect food?

Ah. And that was a cart-before-the-horse moment, wasn't it? Here are images of the apples on the tree. These are McIntosh (I'm pretty sure), and they were late to ripen this year. They made a fabulous pie and very tasty applesauce.

 

 

Not a bad harvest. . .

 I don't feel quite ready for winter. While I'm enjoying the chill in the morning immensely (34F this morning), and the days have been ideal. . .in the high 50's, low 60's. . .I want it to last for a while. So! I went from being annoyed by the heat in Boise, and now a little trepidated by the possibility of early cold in Maine.To quote Bob Dylan, "Maybe I'm too sensitive. .. or else I'm getting soft. . ."

from my bedroom window

This is what I see when I wake up in the morning. The cooler morning walks have been truly wonderful. Jasper is clearly taken with the cooler weather, and so is the Red Maple outside our bedroom window.

Yard and dog

I've been trying to capture the feel of the dappled light here for quite some time. This image is not so successful, but maybe some of it is how it makes Me feel, not an objective feel? Or maybe not. There are things that the lens just doesn't catch as completely as the human eye can. When were were in New Mexico, much was made about the quality of the light. Artists have sought it out, Georgia O'Keefe being only one of many. And it is lovely. It somehow sharpens and softens at the same time.

An attempt to capture dapple light

But the light in these woods is also extraordinary. The fecund quality of these woods is enhanced and, again, both sharpened and softened by it. Just differently. We often have this experience of not being able to tell what color our walls are, because of the way the green-filtered light hits them. 

Leaves, soil and streams of light

 

I'll close with one of nature's own compositions. Leaves and sunstream. What a place.

As Summer waves farewell. . .

Nothing says fall is coming like an explosion of mushrooms. With the much anticipated late summer rains, they are everywhere, and of such varying shapes and sizes and colors. John took a photo of this image just down our hillside. Never is the role of fallen trees clearer.

Fall planting is, for me, another harbinger of, well, Fall. I looked extensively for a "columnar deciduous tree" for this south-facing space next to our bedroom deck. Oye. A columnar beech was suggested, but I've had experience with those, and they burn easily.

We lost one at the Harmony house after many years, and that was only an eastern exposure. So. When I found out that there's a columnar plum, called Crimson Point, I went for it. It was shipped from Oregon, and arrived in great condition. I planted it the day we received it, and here she is. We've named her Nicole, in honor of another tall redhead. Her leaves have yet to regain total turgidity, so I'm a little worried, but it's also fall, with shortening days and cool nights, so maybe she's just biding her time. I'm hoping that she's putting out roots, and pouring carbohydrates into them as fast as she can, because she'll need to survive some cold temperatures. So now we have Nicole (the Crimson Point Plum) and Olivia, the Cornus kousa. Such a wonderful family we're building.

Along those lines, I sighted a place in the yard where we could plant either a Dawn Redwood (Meta-sequoia gyptostroboides) or a Linden (also called American Basswood; Tilia Americana). I love both trees, but the Linden will be more cold hardy, and the smell of the early summer flowers are highly motivating for me. The Dawn Redwood would be more of a statement tree. . .a living fossil, unusual leaves and form. . .but that all smells of snobbery, no? Well, probably not. Still. I'm leaning toward the linden.

On a completely unrelated note, we traveled to Castine for a day, in part to see this bridge. . .it crosses the Penobscot River, and is really an interesting structure. It has an observatory in the top of one of the support structures, and John guessed that you can see the Penobscot river all the way to the sea from there. We didn't go up in it, because we had Jasper with us. Instead, we opted for a picnic on the very lovely grounds. However. It was the shortest lived picnic in our history. The mosquitos were fierce! All three of us ran back to the car, where we picnicked inside, downing a half beer each (yes, that's where we are these days) and enjoyed our lunch from the inside. Very unlike us, but needs must.

We had hoped to have lunch on a patio somewhere in Castine, but there was none to be had. Patios, that is. Castine is still suffering greatly from the fallout of the pandemic. It was a little bit sad, though clearly a beautiful town. . which also is home to the Maine Maritime academy.

Fall is definitely upon us. The nights are cool and the days are perfect. . . 60's and low 70's. I pulled out the last of the tomatoes yesterday, and the last produce (eggplant and herbs) will be pulled just before our first frost. . .which is not far off. 

Our first year in Maine has been wonderful, in spite of some disappointments, which were far outnumbered by pleasant surprises. In the coming year, we need to explore more. And we should be ready to do so. The house is just about up to snuff, if not perfect, and there are so many things to see here.