Autumn Equinox

A Faerie led me to the garden at sunset. I sat drinking in the beauty of the evening (and sipping wine). The dog sitting at my side never saw the quick flash of the slender leg and white tail of the deer crossing the drive below the pond. Mama Cat still lay curled in the grass, catching the last rays of the sun setting in the cloudless sky. The Hummingbirds chased each other through the branches of the peach tree, enjoying the last days of their summer holiday. The autumn garden, having lost most of her summer bloom, seemed to sigh, anticipating her winter rest. A whistle and low rumble called my attention to the other side of the valley just in time to see the northbound train emerge from some trees and travel picturesquely by green fields and red barns. The clear blue sky, the passing train, the presence of gentle animal spirits, the smell of the earth and beauty of the garden—my cup runneth over!

Sleeping with Cows

Sleeping with cows is not easy. I guess a cowboy could confirm this. I share my “yard” with cows and they often spend summer nights in the pasture that surrounds my house.
Because I camp out on my porch in the warmer months, I often sleep in the company of cows. Cows are big and they make a lot of noise. First there is the mooing. There are many kinds of moos. There is the long low moaning moo, the moo that sounds like a donkey braying, the trumpet moo and the high-pitched squeal, just to name a few. Cows make many other noises such as snorting, tail swishing and the methane gas explosion sound. The best sound is the white noise of 100 head of cattle chewing grass. Sometimes a couple of cows will take a midnight dip in the pond and the resulting splash is sure to wake me. I imagine a friendly bovine dare, “I’ll get in if you do”.
Then there are the “other” sounds. The gushing sound that makes me think I am sleeping near Niagra Falls and finally the unmistakable splat.
While my sleep is often disturbed by my hoofed neighbors, the presence of these creatures is oddly comforting. “My” cows roam over acres of woodland and pasture and even though they are considered a domesticated species, these cattle are not tame. When I go to sleep with cows I wake up feeling a stronger connection with all living things.

On the River

Floating down the river we encounter so many birds, it seems we have entered an aviary. Green Heron maneuver between branches of the trees along the bank. A Night Heron glides low over the water. We look up to see an Osprey spread its magnificent wings and sail over the tree tops. Great Blues are everywhere. They cry from the water’s edge, we see them wading in the shallows and perching on dead logs. Some rise up from the river as we drift by, others merely stare and then go back to work pulling fish from the clear, flowing stream.
My companion calmly remarks that she thinks she has seen a Bald Eagle. As we come around a bend she points to an over hanging branch. There is a dark mass on the tree limb somewhat obscured by leaves. We move silently towards the western bank trying to get a clear view. The dark object begins to take on a recognizable form, the stately silhouette is unmistakable. We float even closer until the Eagle lifts off from its perch and soars. It circles once over the river and returns to the tree, coming in over our heads. We continue downstream craning our necks to keep the beautiful bird in sight as long as possible.

August Storms

A cold front brings the blessing of an afternoon thunderstorm. From my vantage point I can follow the progress of the approaching weather. First the distant rumbling of thunder announces the leading edge of the storm. Soon dark masses of clouds appear to the southwest looming over the tree line. Across the valley the clouds roll along trailing rain like a curtain below, the valley disappears before my eyes. The wind picks up and I hear the cry of the red tailed hawk, I follow its progress with my ears as it travels through the surrounding woods. The dogs pace, whine and jockey for the “safe” spot on the porch. I see lightning and find myself counting until the thunder cracks and then echoes down the valley like a drum roll. I smell the rain and hear it roaring towards me through the trees. With a sudden gush the shower bursts into the open, racing across the clearing.
I am forced to retreat--the dogs are happy to be inside, away from the chaos. The rain falls in huge, heavy drops, banging on the metal roof. Another gust blows the doors shut and then… quiet. The sky lightens, the mountain ridge to the West reappears, soon the valley is exposed, clouds lingering low over the river. A steady rain begins falling straight down soaking the garden. Water streams down the drive pushing ahead of it the garden debris I forgot to take to the compost pile. The rain stops. Clouds rise up from invisible hollows on the mountain side but indistinct rumbling reaches me from the northeast and dark mists obscure the view. The storm rolls on.

Late Summer Morning

The morning mist hangs low over the river as southbound train rumbles through the valley. I can hear the low bellow of a cow in a distant pasture answered by the melancholy call of a Mourning Dove. The Piliated Woodpecker has begun his day’s work in the woods nearby and the Jay squawks and scolds unseen in the trees by the pond.
For a few more weeks I will be entertained by the Hummingbirds’ antics as they compete for possession of the feeders on the porch. The air this morning is fresh and cool, complements of yesterday’s storms. I know the heat and humidity will return but the Earth has begun her breathing in and Fall is steadily approaching.

Lammas August 1, 2008

The air is still and steamy. An occasional bird call rises above the constant drone of cicadas and for a few moments a Blue Jay’s recitative accompanies the insect continuo. One dispirited croak drifts up from the murky pond. In contrast to the stillness, hummingbirds chase each other frantically around the feeders. Darting and diving through the branches of the Princess tree, alighting momentarily and then flying off.

I survey the detritus of the previous night’s celebration. Empty wine bottles, glasses drained of even the dregs, bread crumbs and hardened candle wax on the tablecloths and carpets are testimony to our enjoyment of Earth’s bounty at the first harvest.

At dawn, while we lay sleeping off the effects of our revelry, Nature held her own tumultuous going away party for Summer. Thunder shook the heavens and Zeus sent bright bolts to light the festivities. Dancing trees waved their branches ecstatically in the wind and rain poured from the sky providing welcomed refreshment for the earth.

Now the bright sun and blue skies of late morning reveal no evidence of Nature’s wild abandon nor does it seem that Summer is passing into Fall. The heat of Summer persists, lulling us into believing it will never end. The days grow shorter almost imperceptibly, the verdant countryside looses its bloom and we begin to accept the inevitable turn of the wheel.