Wildersmith on the Gunflint: October 16

Our wilderness territory is halfway through the month and fall is fading fast. The dazzle of our golden canopy is dimming rapidly, along with daylight minutes escaping like they were part of a jail break. November winds are whistling in the distance.

A glorious couple of Indian summer days last weekend made for what might be the last warm hurrah of 2015. The upper Trail was glorious as the byway begins to wither of its’ autumn character.

Since I last met you on the radio, this neighborhood was granted a little rain. By little, I mean the Wildersmith gauge registered less than a half inch.

We’ll take it, although not much was accomplished in soaking the dry landscape before our long winters’ nap sets’ in. However, the scant “precip” was enough to grease up back country roads and dirty the sides of everyone’s vehicle.

In spite of the meager moisture, leaves and elder needles from a “gazillion” trees are falling from on high like a summer downpour. I’m guessing the Lion’s share of our leaves will be down as this weeks’ scoop comes your way, especially should we get any kind of wind and/or rain combination. We north woods folks are thankful for not having to rake them up.

It’s a wonder how short one’s memory is during this time of retiring leaves. Suddenly one can see things off into the forest that have been foliage obscured since last spring. This newly found view is every bit as energizing as it was when buds began opening just six months ago! Boy, does time fly!

There is a sort of homey warmth in the leaflets as they collect to texture their final resting place. Accumulating summer wafers of life takes me back to days as a youth where we kids could hardly wait to rake up a big heap for a myriad of fun-loving adventures.

Then re-grouping the crunchy fronds once more, and having Dad light them off in a blaze of glory, sending their ashes wafting heavenward amidst choking smoke. You can’t do that anymore, at least in suburbia (too many ultra-sensitive noses), but I share, you haven’t really lived until you get the truest aroma of fall from a mass of burning leaves. Seemingly, the fragrance parallels the romance from a wilderness cabins’ wood burning stove.

Those of us who have lived this autumnal drama will forever remember this nostalgia. Life was so much simpler then (although maybe not for our parents) and probably more enriching than we ever realized at the time.

A flurry of harvesting chores continues around the yard. Many small members of the “wild neighborhood”, both land based and winged, are either stashing for the cold months ahead or migrating through.

I had a curious chipmunk step onto my shoe one day last week and run up the leg of my blue jeans thinking I was passing out pre-Halloween treats. Finding I offered only an empty hand, the tiny fellow/gal reversed course and zipped off for another source. I’ve recently been spreading sunflower seeds out on the ground away from the house in a small patch for all these hungry critters. Thus far the little gang of diners has not spread the word too far, and I’ve had no bear visitors. Fact is, after a few hours, there is barely a shell left to attract a “Bruno” so all of us are happy.

Black capped chickadees and red breasted nuthatches are particularly excited when I venture outside and they flit about my head as a reminder it’s feeding time. Also in the mix are uncounted numbers of migrating juncos joining in the frenzy. Sure is nice to be wanted. Speaking of juncos, I’m fascinated by the way they hang out along our twisty backwoods roads and then fly ahead of my vehicle for often lengthy distances before darting away from the traveled path. This traveler guiding character seems similar to those snow buntings.

By the way, our winter welcoming, bunting birds may not be far away. And, on another note, there’s a lot of honking up in the wild blue.