Posts Tagged ‘pine cones’
Not Obvious
It’s not obvious by this morning’s sunny conditions that we are in store for what threatens to be the largest snowfall of the previous winter season. All hail the impressive technology and communication from the world’s meteorological services.
We received a most genteel of precursor snowfalls overnight Thursday.
No plowing required. Even though some surfaces were warm enough to melt the snow almost as fast as it fell, the remaining flakes were light and fluffy.
The predictions for tomorrow’s snow claim the consistency will be more like wet cement. Oh, joy. Especially because they are also tossing out threats of snow amounts measured in feet, not inches.
If that plays out as described, our tree limbs are in great jeopardy. With luck, our location will receive a lesser amount of the predicted ranges.
There is a hitch in this long-duration storm we are being warned about in that it may change to rain for a while. That will diminish the accumulating snow totals, for sure. This is one of the rare times when I will be pleased if we get rain instead of snow.
The paddocks are a little too dry in general lately, which makes for pleasant footing today, but I need to make myself grateful for the mud this weather will likely bring. The moisture will be a blessing for growing things.
On my way back to the house on this brilliantly calm morning after feeding horses, I could hear a chorus of cracking and popping sounds coming from the trees.
I paused to observe one of my new fascinations since living here.
Pine cones were opening up in the warm rays of the sun. As I stood watching, I discovered I was hearing a combination of some residual snow and ice melting along with the popping pine cones.
For the first time since I became aware of the wonders of this amazing process, I was looking directly at one of the cones as a scale popped open.
I don’t imagine the trees have any awareness of the fate that will arrive tomorrow and last for a couple of days. I wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for the warnings of our weather services.
Today looks to be a beautiful sunny calm before the storm. It is not obvious that tomorrow will bring a big change.
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Cracking Cones
With spring-like weather showing up way too soon, we have changes going on that are very un-February-like.
The moisture of the melting snow rises in the morning to create a mystical haze in front of the pines in the distance.
The remains of the melting plowed snow on the edge of the driveway are smeared with the dirt that got scraped up by the blade.
Most uncharacteristic of February is the clicking sounds of pine cones popping open in the warm sunshine.
My poor brain is wrestling over reveling in the luxury of the gentle weather at the same time as fretting over the complications this odd warmth could bring about.
In the moments between mental wrangling, the craziness offers plenty of opportunities for me to busy myself taking pictures of scenes that catch my eye.
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New Alarms
The sun wasn’t up yet on Saturday morning when my slumber was interrupted by a mysterious sound invading my dream. The second time the sound occurred, I felt myself floating up out of the dream toward the surface of reality. The sound was no longer mysterious, in fact, it was completely obvious, but I wasn’t yet awake enough to know where I was. The sound seemed far away like it might still be in the dream I was swiftly leaving.
Between rather long pauses, the sound continued.
“Gobble, gobble, gobble! Gobble, gobble, gobble!”
There was a tom turkey in the vicinity. Reminded me a bit of the good old days when our rooster, Rocky, would announce the impending arrival of daylight.
I scanned the woods out our bedroom window but found no visible signs of life in the early light. Coming out of the bathroom, I was startled by a clear view of the tom through the deck doors, struttin’ his stuff out in the backyard.
I watched him slowly parading toward the house until he turned and wandered into the trees. I figured he was gone but soon spotted him through the den window on the other side of the house.
The images through the glass were sub-par but still do a fair job of representing his size and his proximity to the house.
By the time I was dressed and out the door to feed the horses, there was no turkey in sight.
It’s nice to know the coyotes haven’t killed all the big birds in the area. I suspect wild turkeys have a much more effective sense of preservation against predators than our domesticated chickens did.
We also have another new alarm that goes off in the mornings on the other side of the house. There is a robin who has decided to do daily battle against its reflection in our sunroom windows at too early o’clock. Before Cyndie left she put a few Post-It note sheets on some of the windows to disrupt the bird’s-eye view.
Yesterday, I noticed he had just moved over a couple of windows. He doesn’t bother me so much because my arrival in the sunroom to put on my boots before going outside shoos him away. By the time I return from feeding horses, he tends to have moved on to other pursuits.
In honor of the first day when it was warmer outside than it was in the house, I celebrated by leaving a door to the deck open for a few hours yesterday afternoon.
All sorts of spring sounds made their way inside on the fresh breeze, including one of my new favorites: pine cones clicking as they gradually pop open. I was not aware of the sound of this phenomenon until living here with pine trees just off the deck. Yesterday, I was hearing it from the cones in the large White Pine tree by the shop garage.
The first few days of dry warmth are such a fine reward after winter finally lets loose its prolonged clenching of our senses. I’m feeling a certain kinship with the pine cones.
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We’re Dry
During my commute home yesterday afternoon, I watched clouds thicken and grow dark to the south. When I exited from I94 east and turned toward the southeast heading to River Falls, the view looked a little threatening. Then the radio reported there was only one noteworthy storm worth mentioning. With possible heavy rain amounts, high wind, and hail, in Goodhue and Pierce counties, it included the communities of Red Wing and Hager City.
We live in Pierce county, a short distance north of Red Wing.
Good, I thought. We could use the rain. I just wasn’t fired up about driving in the pouring rain.
When I finally reached Beldenville, the road was soaking wet, but the rain was already done. It must have stopped just before I arrived.
We live a couple of miles north of Beldenville proper, and when I turned onto County J, the pavement was bone dry.
We didn’t get a drop at home.
I stepped out on the deck to take a picture of the drooping sunflower for a representation of how the plants are feeling about our long spell without rain.
As I stood there, I noticed there was a lot more than just the sunflower that would show up in the frame.
This sunflower made a surprise appearance, most likely growing from birdseed that fell from the feeder nearby. It shot up with robust energy at first. When the ground started to dry out, the growth stunted significantly. It hasn’t looked very happy ever since.
There used to be a big pine tree here. I’m guessing it might have been root bound, based on my recent discovery about the pines out in the field north of the driveway. We left it standing until it was good and dead, then I cut it down, leaving enough of the old trunk to have a nice support for a balanced rock. Using this chiseled stone for a base (probably a remnant from the construction of the field stone chimney on the house), I balanced a large rock that I was only barely able to lift up to the necessary height.
It eventually fell down.
I’ve yet to decide whether to put a different one up there, but I’ve definitely chosen to leave the too heavy one safely on the ground where it landed.
Even though the big tree died, the ground seems to be fertile for a new generation of pines sprouting in its place. There are at least three rising up around that stump, taking advantage of the sunlight available since I cut the big one down.
And where do baby trees come from? The number of pine cones remaining from the now-removed tree seem to offer plenty of clues.
Maybe if we come out of this dry spell, more of those seeds will sprout.
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Relative Something 