mud season

 Mud season has started. If you don't live in a place like Vermont, you may not know about mud season.

This is mud season. One year the mud on the Crossroads literally pulled the tire on my car off of the rim. Wikipedia says that it is caused when the frost on the top of the road has thawed, but the frost underneath is still frozen so that the water can't percolate down, hence the mud. It also said that in Russia, mud season is called rasputitsa.

This blog actually started this time of the year many years ago because of mud season. I was thinking about the seasons of the year, and the conventional wisdom that there are four seasons. I knew there were more than that around here; mud season, foliage season, stick season. I decided to try and count them...still counting.

the weekend

 Walking over the weekend, bluets emerging at the parsonage down the road. I didn't realize they were the first ones out. I thought it was the coltsfoot.

So are the pussy willows a little farther down.

One day we had thunderstorms for the first time in a long time. The next day the sound of peepers and tree frogs croaking from a pond along the way. Today was very windy, flapping of a flag in the breeze, sound of a metallic clasp against the flagpole; ding, ding, ding.

emerging

 High of 65 yesterday. Took a drive into town with the windows open. Saw runners on the roads along with a couple of women pushing baby strollers. Tinges of green on the willows and reds on the maples as buds begin to emerge. Horses and the sound of motorcycles on country roads.

We do a lot of looking: we look through lenses, telescopes, television tubes...Our looking is perfected every day, but we see less and less. While drawing grasses I learn nothing "about" grass, but wake up to the wonder that there is grass at all.

Frederick Franck

Zen page-a-day calendar

relative

 The water in the Ira Creek is very clear this time of year.

Allyn has mentioned several times the relative "feel" of temperatures in the spring and fall. In the spring a temperature, say 50, can feel warm and the same temperature in the fall can feel cool. It's not hard to figure out why. Two days ago we went out to walk and the temperature was 50 degrees. At one point during the walk, it felt so warm I took off my wind breaker and rolled up my sleeves. Yesterday when we went out the temperature was around 30 and again I took off my coat and rolled up my sleeves.

The most extreme example of this phenomenon I ever heard was from a reader of this blog. She and her husband were camping somewhere in the far north. A severe storm came through and they were stuck for days in their tent with temperatures well below zero. After the storm had passed, the temperature rose to zero. It felt so warm they went about their business for a time in tee shirts.

Spring

 The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warbling heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! What at such a time are histories, chronologies, traditions, and all written revelations? The brooks sing carols and glees to the spring. The marsh hawk sailing low over the meadow is already seeking the first slimy life that awakes. The sinking sound of melting snow is heard in all the dells, and the ice dissolves apace in the ponds. The grass flames up on the hillsides like spring fire as if the earth went forth an inward heat to greet the returning sun; not yellow but green is the color of its flame-- the symbol of perpetual youth, the summer checked indeed by the frost, but anon pushing on again, lifting its spear of last year's hay with the fresh life below. It grows as steadily as the rill oozes out of the ground. It is almost identical with that, for in the growing days of June, when the rills dry, the grass blades are their channels, and from year to year the herds drink at this perennial green stream, and the mower draws from it betimes their winter supply. So our human life but dies down to its root, and still puts forth its green blade to eternity. 

Spring

Walden

Henry David Thoreau

scolding

 With the departure of ice and snow from our walking route, we have gone back to walking the full route of 41/4 miles, boots being replaced by sneakers. Red squirrel and pileated woodpecker scolding us yesterday as we made our way around. In the spring and the fall, with snow and temperatures around freezing, there are some interesting (for me, Shawn) manifestations of thermodynamics. Some of these are the angle and direction of terrain, shade, and the ability of dark colored objects to absorb light, and emit heat.

The most interesting phenomena to me has to do with a section of our walk. It's through a narrow valley running north and south. Every year at this time the snow on the east-facing slopes disappears before the snow on the other side of the road, the west-facing slope. I googled it, and was surprised I couldn't find anything. The only thing that comes to mind is that the daily temperatures are warmer when the sun is shining directly on the east-facing slopes in the afternoon, and that it's some kind of interaction between the temperature and the direct sunlight.

birds

 I didn't see them but I heard them, red winged blackbirds screeching from a soggy area on the walk yesterday morning. A sure sign of spring.

old photo

I saw them, but I didn't hear them. Mourning Doves spied while out walking. Mourning Doves for some reason have never been a species that has sparked my imagination. I think it goes back to that presumption that anything common can't be too interesting. Again I was wrong. I wondered whether Mourning Doves migrate and found this site with a lot of interesting information about them.

https://northernwoodlands.org/outside_story/article/the-secret-life-of-the-mourning-dove

Saw a pair of birds with reddish upper bodies hanging out in the forsythia bush in the back. I dug out my field guide for birds and it looks like they could have been purple finches or red polls. I have moved the field guide from the book shelf to the table in the kitchen where I eat my breakfast.

emerging

 Low of 9 degrees again this morning. Supposed to warm up again starting today, both for the short term and the long term.

Neighbors talking out in the front yard. Might be the first time since fall.

Landowner burning brush piles along Rte.  133.

Warmth when returning to the car on sunny days.

Spiked leaves of daffodils emerging on south facing slopes.

chill

 Temp on this windy morning is 9 degrees with a wind chill of -9. My sister-in-law who lives north of Denver has asked that I hold off on the spring musings for a time. I think I can do that. Maybe we can get a photo from Colorado?

 

heartening

 Lots of snow has disappeared in the last few days. It's been sunny and breezy and I forgot to mention that those factors allow snow to evaporate without turning to water beforehand. This process is called sublimation.

We have a hill in the back which is a south facing slope. There has been a lot of animal activity there over the past few days as the snow has melted away. Squirrels scurrying for nuts. Hawks hunting for squirrels.

There has been a lot of deer activity. During the dark days of winter, deer hold up in deer yards, conserving their strength. When you see them, they are moving slowly along. But oftentimes there is a change in their behavior about this time of year. A couple of days ago I saw a couple of them moving across the hill in the back, but they weren't trudging along this time. They were running. They were playfully chasing each other. It seems that they realize that food is now becoming more abundant and that the challenges of the cold and the snow pack are melting away. They realize that they are going to make it. It is heartening to see.

thaw

 Temps in the 50's the last two days. There's been a thaw. Robins scurrying on patches of bare ground in the back.

It's interesting (for me anyway) to watch the process. Fluffy snow of mid-winter turns to the corn snow of spring. As the corn snow begins to recede, it darkens before turning to slush, then water, then it's gone. Grow labs starting up at the Vermont Zen Center and other places. Christmas wreath off the front door and on to the burn pile. Father and son playing basketball in their driveway. Smell of manure from alpacas thawing in a nearby field.

Don't think, but look!

Ludwig Wittgenstein

Zen page-a-day calendar

snow fleas

Sunny and temps in the 50's today. Uh, that means it's going to be warm. Saw this when heading out to the compost pile the other day.

 I think they're called snow fleas. I was pretty excited because I thought it was something I had never seen before. Allyn said she thought she remembered me mentioning them in a previous posting. I guess that's possible. Writing this blog opens one up to new things in the natural world but also helps to reintroduce phenomena that have been forgotten.

The golden cane

 Yesterday I mentioned Alta Johnson, oldest living resident in Ira. A reader of this blog asked me how old she is. She is 92, but it got me to thinking. The reason I know that she is the oldest person in Ira is because the town has a tradition of bestowing the "Ira Golden Cane" to the oldest person in town and Alta received it just a little bit over a year ago. I happened to be there at the presentation because my wife is one of the movers and shakers in town, and I was there to take photos for the town newsletter.

This is a tradition that has been going on for a long time, no one knows exactly how long. It began with a local family and was adopted by the town elders at some point. There's something very heartwarming about this tradition.

 Vermont is a wonderful place to live. In my opinion it has two important characteristics that make it so. One is its great natural beauty and the other is the strong sense of community here. I'm sure that residents of East Wallingford, Shrewsbury, Weybridge, and Salisbury know exactly what I'm talking about. Life is not always easy out here in the sticks and neighbors tend to look out for each other.

A number of years ago, I woke up to the sound of a loud CRACK from somewhere in the yard. Went outside to find that a very large limb from an oak tree had broken off and was blocking the lane to our house. I got out my chain saw and began to cut it up. About 10 minutes after I started, I saw my neighbor from the other side of the creek (I know) heading my way. He was accompanied by his son, and he had his chain saw. He said he had heard the crack and figured I could use some help. About 10 minutes after he arrived it was deja vu all over again. Another neighbor appeared with his chain saw and his son for the very same reason. We all made short work of the aforementioned limb. I was a little stunned and very grateful. 

These good samaritans weren't friends. For the most part we all just minded our own business, live and let live. But when I needed them, however, they were there for me. I think it may be a dynamic that has died off in many parts of our country. It is good to remember these examples of compassion and caring during the long cold months of winter here on the other side of the creek.

 

diminishing

 Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day here. It looked like winter but it really wasn't. Temps in the 30's. Snow melt in and alongside country roads. A lot of people were out walking in the afternoon.

Sound of children playing in back yards. Snowbanks diminishing, don't have to guess when pulling out of Kahle Road anymore. Alta Johnson, Ira's oldest living resident, was out sweeping her driveway

Do you pray?

 "Do you pray?" asks author Jay Griffiths in her 2019 essay "Daily Grace" published by Aeon magazine. "Yes, I pray," she replies to herself, "earthwise rather than to any off-ground god-and, though I cannot tell you the words I use, I will tell you their core is beauty."

I may be embarrassed to admit it, but I pray earthwise, too. I learned to meditate over a decade ago now, and when motherhood made it sometimes impossible to find the time to sit for twenty minutes, twice a day, I found a way to distill a little of that experience. By closing my eyes, however briefly, and resting my thoughts on the core of my perception, I can gain some of the peace that meditation brings me. I have come to think of it as prayer, although I ask for nothing and speak to no one within it. It is a profoundly nonverbal experience, a sharp breath of pure being amid a forest of words. It is an untangling, a moment to feel the true ache of desire, the gentle wash of self-compassion, the heart swell of thanks, the tick tick tick of existence. It is a moment when, alone, I am at my most connected with others. I can feel entirely separate in a crowd of people, but when I close my eyes, it's as though I have waded into a river of all consciousness, bathed in common humanity.

December

Wintering

Katherine May

time to get going

 Last week, I think it was Friday, was a beautiful sunny early spring day. I thought it was about time to bring my truck in to get that vibration in the cab looked at. We dropped the truck off and on the way home, I wanted to check to see if the sap lines to the gathering tank were hooked up, and to see if the sap was running. They were and it was.

About 50 yards up the road there were a couple of state trucks stopped in the road. They were filling in pot holes with asphalt. And about 50 yards up from that, we saw signs of home repairs taking place on the old house that had changed hands over the winter. I guess I'm not the only one who's decided it's time to get going.

in like a lion

 What is it they say about March, in like a lion, out like a lamb? March certainly came in with a roar here. It was very windy last night, and is still blowing out there. Sticks and branches scattered all over the place. I took out the compost a little while ago and it was very difficult; very cold, the lane is like a skating rink and it's very difficult going in the crusty snow, if you can even call it snow. I really feel sorry for the deer right now. Saw a couple walking the very steep bank behind our house. It is a south facing slope and I think they are looking for acorns there.

 

the "Snow" moon

 Heading to bed on Saturday night I saw this.

And this.

 

The full moon, the "Snow" moon occurred on Saturday night. Full moons in January and February can be amazing with plenty of snow and cold. It even sounds amazing with trees cracking in the cold. It seems like years ago, but I remember just last February going out during the Snow moon with Doug and Kim.

 

 We walked around for awhile in the cold and the light, and then came in for soup, radiant heat from the wood stove, and gossip. Looking forward to the day (or night) when we can do such things again.