Fall is on the back side in
the western mountains of Maine. Tonight, for the first time, temps are
supposed to drop below freezing. Our
day time temps are in the low fifties (not bad for this time of year.) There is a feeling that specter of winter is
hiding around the corner, but she is unable to disguise her chilly breath.
Most of the bright reds and oranges are gone
and now the vista is earth tones of yellow, copper and brown. The copper beaches in my back yard are in
their height of color and many of the leaves will survive until mid
winter.
I expect within the next week
we will see snow capping the larger mountains.
Like the squirrels and
chipmunks I am scurrying around trying to finish projects that should have been
done during the summer.
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| fat face stuffing his cheeks with sunflower seeds |
I have changed
the oil and adjusted the belts in the snow blower, put away the lawn mowers,
winterized the motorcycle; but still have to change the lights in the crawl
space under the house, re-insulate my water pipes and check out the well house.
Today I called the oil
company to fill my tank with kerosene. I
have a Monitor as the primary source of heat (besides the wood stove.)
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| Our girl - 19 years old - Monitor in background. |
This is a major output, along with property
taxes, that I face each year at this time.
I use approximately one hundred and twenty-five gallons of fuel and
three cord of wood each year.
My bird feeders are now
supporting mainly chickadees. Most of
the other birds have left for parts unknown. The chickadees fly in and take one sunflower seed, fly away and eat it
and then fly back in for one more seed.
They burn so much energy just to feed during the winter that they depend
almost totally on the feeders.
I spend
so much money on sunflower seeds I feel I should be able to claim the birds on
my income tax return.
I actually look forward to
the first big snowfall. The leaves will
be gone on the trees and black spruce will be a stark contrast to the skeletal
white world. Grey snowy days – the wood
stove pumping – a bottle of wine – books to read – my wife for company: it doesn't get any better.
the Ol’Buzzard
