Natural Designs Studio

I saw the most interesting thing on my walk this afternoon.  
A little field mouse was nestled in this bird's nest.

I dropped 
the feathers and berries and 
grabbed the camera from my rain coat.
The little fellow stayed still and glared at me with those big dark eyes.

Just as I snapped the photo
 the mouse jumped from the nest
 to the ground and was gone. 

Greenwood Furnace State Park
Sunday, October 18th (the day after the snowstorm)

Leaving Greenwood Furnace and going over the mountain to Belleville
Sunday, October 18th

The Garden

The Orchard Trees

  It was reported to be the earliest snowfall in our area since 1901!

The Orchard Trees

I notice a lot of black woolly worms and plenty of nuts on the field lanes and mountain trails.  Perhaps old man winter will be nasty this year.  My pantry shelves are well stocked from the garden.  My drying attic is full.  Let come what may.

Note: Since posting this morning the rain has turned to snow and we have a very wet coating of white stuff on the ground.  I misplaced my camera or I would take a photo! The trees are sporting green, yellow, and red leaves with snow.  I remember trees snapping under early snowfall a few years ago.  I take my words back "Let come what may" as I am not ready for weather this intense. Then I hear the voice of my elders saying "we must accept these things" and I resign to the fact that "what will be, will be" and thankfully man does not control such things.

Our first frost was a killer.   Although it is the middle of October it took me by surprise because of the mild weather.  Nothing was spared not even the cockscomb I had been planning to cut.  It is the turning point of the season.   After frost comes several days of rain.  We can look forward to bare trees and a chilly breeze.  Winter will soon come.  I like the sentiments of James  Whitcomb   Riley in his poem "When the Frost is on the Punkin".

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916 
"When the Frost is on the Punkin"  

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,  
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,  
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,  
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;  
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,          
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,  
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,  
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.     

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere  
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—   
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,  
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;  
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze  
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days  
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—   
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.     

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,  
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;  
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still  
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;   
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;  
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—  
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,  
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.     

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps   
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;  
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through  
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...  
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be  
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me--   
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—  
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.    

 I found an interesting selection of pumpkins, gourds, and squash for harvest decorating at the local produce stand.  The small butternut squash will be made into pies.  It makes my mouth water to think about it. 

Listen! the wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings,
now for October eves!
-Humbert Wolfe-