On a fabulous autumn day this week, I took the dog for a walk in Gallup Park. The paths follow the river so, counting reflections, there was twice as much color there as there is here. There were other people at the park with the same good idea, but it’s unlikely any of them were as wildly excited about their walk as the dog was about his. The only way his time at the park could have been improved, apparently, would have been to run. He settled for straining at the leash.
On the home front, we’ve reached the point in autumn when it’s time to deal with leaves. Householders in our fair city used to be expected to rake leaves from the yard into the street. When sufficient time had elapsed, the city deployed its fleet of street-sweeper trucks and dump trucks to collect the leaves and shuttle them off to the municipal compost heap. The arrangement these days is that householders rake the leaves, stuff them into paper yard-waste bags, and leave the bags at the curb on trash day. At which point workers come by and manually hoist the bags into trucks and take the leaves to the municipal compost heap.
This system doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but it’s what we do, and it’s time to do it. There’s a certain Ali Baba-esque quality to the process that I find entertaining. Ali Baba had so much gold that he had to borrow a vessel to measure his riches. We have so much gold that we have to stuff it in bags. Also so much scarlet and orange and bronze. Measuring the wealth is easy; just count the bags. Yesterday, the dog and I walked past a house that had thirty bags of autumn bounty.
It’s also time to make sure any final spring bulbs are planted. A squirrel wanted to help me with mine. He felt there was no point to my covering the bulbs with dirt when he would just dig them up and eat them anyway. He wanted to go directly to the eating portion of the program, and came very close to me to let me know. I find the squirrels in our yard to be frequently vexatious, but I have nothing but respect for them as wild animals with teeth that can bite through walnuts, especially when the critters act oddly. Thus, I waved my arm in a threatening manner. I spoke sternly. “You go on! You skedaddle!” The squirrel came closer. I held him off long enough to get all twenty crocus bulbs into the ground, then sprinkled the area liberally with squirrel repellent. Take that, you varmint. So far, that bit of garden remains undisturbed.
On the other hand, I’ve been seeing squirrels in the woods around here in a new light. Literally. As autumn advances and the leaves turn colors, the light dappling the woods changes. And when the backlighting is just right this fall, some of the squirrels seem to sport blue tails. Not blue all over, as if someone had dyed them, just a line of light blue along the edges of the top hairs. At first, I thought this might be specific to the grey squirrels that have moved into the area in recent years, but it’s the regular old fox squirrels whose tails are showing the color. I’ve seen blue tails a handful of times now, in well-separated woods, so they’re not limited to an individual animal. I wonder whether the phenomenon will continue as the seasons change, or whether it’s a trick of the light.
Driving back to town after dark, the day after Halloween, my husband and I were startled to see Christmas lights on people’s houses. We were perhaps more startled to find that we didn’t mind the early decorations. Since CoVid came among us, we seem all to be looking for ways to add light to the darkness, to cheer both ourselves and each other. If Thanksgiving were celebrated with lights, those would no doubt be up instead. But, lacking that tradition, folks have gone directly to Christmas lights. Not everyone, of course, but enough to get the ball rolling. We even saw a lighted Christmas tree in someone’s house. We appreciated all the effort. The folderol does cheer us up. In fact, it delights us. It must be a trick of the light.
12 November 2021