Baking, waffles, ping pong, jenga, dancing, puzzles, long walk with the dogs, dinner.
And an extemporaneous poem by Katy:
It’s November!
It’s November hot or cold
Sugar or salt or frostbite toes
Fire places always hot
Apple cider stirring in the pot
Pumpkin pies all around
Leaves are falling to the ground
Left over candy from trick or treat
Make sure you don’t make a peep!
It’s November!
Morning spent with Ben and James. And a good part of that time spent at the Oconomowoc Children’s Play Gallery, a big space filled with lots to do.
Of course, every once in a while it makes sense to slow down and look out the window for trucks, which are greeted with great delight when they pass by.
A little before noon we sashayed next door to Roots for lunch (which was devoured).
I think this is the first time we have had extended time with the boys, and I do believe it was great fun for all of us.
Near blizzard for much of the morning.
Monster in the park.
Would that be 5 inches?
If we can't think for ourselves, if we're unwilling to question authority, then we're just putty in the hands of those in power. But if the citizens are educated and form their own opinions, then those in power work for us. In every country, we should be teaching our children the scientific method and the reasons for a Bill of Rights. With it comes a certain decency, humility and community spirit. In the demon-haunted world that we inhabit by virtue of being human, this may be all that stands between us and the enveloping darkness. —Carl Sagan
First time this fall, for Pax and me. Chilly weather, but good for a long walk.
Yesterday
Today
Maddie to gymnastics. Sue home. Being the great baseball fans we are, we are watching the world series.
About an inch.
Sue actually spent last night with Jayne, but is at Irene’s tonight. Home tomorrow, is the plan.
Actually enjoying the weather, Pax and I, and we spent a good part of the day outside—going for walks, turning the compost pile, doing a little yard work for Vi, sitting on the back patio, as the light faded, admiring the Canadian hemlock planted three or four years ago and now thriving.
…from one apartment in the facility to another.
Pax and me home by 6, Sue still there, spending the night at Irene’s, and finishing up tomorrow.
…and, after that, a lovely fall day.
And, switching back to yesterday, prior to the Halloween parade, the garden got lightly tilled, incorporating two tightly-packed wheelbarrows full of chopped birch leaves, and then seeded with 5 pounds of green manure cover crop. All in good fun; but if I were here all summer long to tend, cultivate, inter-crop, succession plant, and continually harvest, this little 225 sq. ft. plot of rich soil could provide a whole lot of food.
…in Oconomowoc.
And just as the last float in the parade passed by the rain started tumbling down. Raining hard, here, back in Whitewater. Can only imagine that trick-or-treating in O’wock was pretty much washed out.
…and environs, with Will, Katy, and Ab. Music, dance, football, lunch, and a visit to the Shorewood library.
…or at least repositioned. First real frost likely tonight, so the venerable bush has moved indoors, to wait out winter.
Afternoon trip to the library in Fort (because it’s such a nice place to be), where I picked up a book titled The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee (keeping me, at least for the time being, firmly positioned in things indigenous). And, below, the mural of Chief Blackhawk on a building in Fort.
And, for dinner tonight, waffles with chicken. Chicken left over from last night, and Cornmeal Waffles with Cheddar, Scallions, and Jalapeno.
…almost completely, and almost ready for tilling, but interrupted by evening rain. Tilling should really be unnecessary, but will help with the planting of the cover crop/green manure, I do believe.
And, the witch hazel is in flower, in time for Halloween. Interesting strategy—flowering right at the end of the growing season and making seeds the following year.
…with Irene (which makes it easy).
Kentucky Coffee Tree
Irene, a year or so ago, became a member of our old church, the Unitarian Universalist Society of Geneva. Her musical abilities were quickly recognized, and she is now responsible for the music for three or four services a year. At her request, I’m joining her on a Sunday in February, and today was our first practice. She’s on piano and harpsichord, while I’m on half a dozen different electronic wind instruments (on my Aerophone), including tuba. So far we have six songs and the doxology on our playlist, with one more song and a hymn yet to be selected. It certainly is fun to play with skilled accompaniment, and to have a reason to practice. (And, I actually think we sound pretty good already.)
Extreme wind gusts stripping everything but the oaks.
…at Lake Lawn Lodge. The Caves long time friends. Lake Lawn Lodge a place frequented a long time ago.
Turkeyfoot at the prairie
Warm, bright, still, summery day, most of which spent outdoors.
…for Ellie and Maddie’s volleyball teams.
Here comes the sun
Maddie, center, back row
Ellie, about to return a volley
Ellie’s team, semi-victorious.
Ellie’s team came into the tournament seeded 10th out of 10, but ended up almost winning the semi-final match. Good playing, and perhaps some good coaching?
…beets. Twelve quarts and five pints. Not the greatest amount ever, but not bad; enough to provide basic sustenance throughout the winter (when combined with cottage cheese).
Another beautiful fall day.
A rather uneventful day of gray skies and cool temperatures, but capped off by a bright sunset.
Two big events: the trimming of the rosemary bush (now at least 3 years old) in advance of its being brought indoors, and the making (and enjoying of) Green Texas Chili.
But then, in the poetry department, the poem below is, in my opinion, a fine piece of work, worth reading and thinking about. And here is the question: What are the 5 swords?
Federico García Lorca
translated by Cola Franzen
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.
Mowing and trimming. Planting 36 tulip bulbs. Harvesting a decent crop of beets. Dinner on the Green Egg.
Cool and breezy, with a mix of sun and cloud.
Idyllic. Reluctant to go back inside.
Rock River still flooded.
Early shower, then warm and windy. Grass still growing vigorously and needing a trim. Then Ellie to riding lesson.
…or close to 200 cups of pure, un-clorinated spring-water coffee, from the well that’s been flowing continually for the past 125 years.
Of course, it’s not coffee that comes out of the well but highly purified water right out of the Kettle Moraine.