Autumn is a season of clear blue skies and brightly colored leaves. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot, and the hiss of tires on drizzle-soaked streets.
I'd write about the smell of leaves burning and haze rising from a hundred back yards: but Loonfoot Falls banned leaf and trash burning a few decades ago. Which is probably just as well.
This season is also when folks in the country - and a few in town - start stacking hay bales around their houses. That, and sealing windows with plastic sheeting, helps with heating bills in winter. All of which is about as colorful and charming as taking out the garbage or doing the laundry: but they're important routines.
The New England states advertise fall foliage tours: and I understand they've got some spectacular displays of autumn leaves there.
Central Minnesota doesn't do too badly, when it comes to producing anything from bright yellow all the way to intensely dark red foliage, around this time of year.
The problem is, the trees and shrubs turn color at different times. I've seen some trees in town with bare branches on top, bands of color below that, and green leaves on one side of the bottom.
I'm not sure if I should be proud of their rugged individualism; or frustrated that they don't cooperate with the Minnesota tourism industry.
I think I'll opt for taking a walk around town this weekend, see which trees are turning color this week, and enjoy the show.
Showing posts with label seasons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seasons. Show all posts
Friday, October 1, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Springtime in Minnesota: Melting Snow, Rain, and Gloom at Noon
Part of my job is to provide 250 witty, bright, cheerful words each Friday. Or, failing that, somewhat interesting words.
It's been overcast all week. It's above freezing during the day, below at night. We've had rain off and on. Tuesday, it was on: all day.
Particularly around noon, when Loonfoot Falls' light-sensitive street lights turned themselves on, Tuesday was damp, depressing, depressive, dim, dingy, dismal, dispiriting, doleful, downcast, drab, dreary and dull.
Still, it could be worse. The Loonfoot River isn't threatening to flood. Not yet.
That song that goes "The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la, breathe promise of merry sunshine"? From the Mikado? I'm pretty sure that Gilbert didn't have Minnesota's version of spring in mind when he wrote that.
We get blooming flowers here in Minnesota: along with mosquitoes, horse flies and leeches. But by then it's more 'early summer' than spring.
Despite their name, horse flies are only about an inch long. Then there are deer flies, stable flies and biting midges.
The Minnesota tourism folks may write me another letter about this, but the fact is that we share the state with an impressive roster of invertebrate blood suckers. Although technically, black flies lap up their meal.
If you're visiting here and someone talks about no-see-ums, that person may not be pulling your leg. That's another name around here for biting midges. They're about a tenth of an inch long, and can walk right through a window screen. And some tent material.
It's been overcast all week. It's above freezing during the day, below at night. We've had rain off and on. Tuesday, it was on: all day.
Particularly around noon, when Loonfoot Falls' light-sensitive street lights turned themselves on, Tuesday was damp, depressing, depressive, dim, dingy, dismal, dispiriting, doleful, downcast, drab, dreary and dull.
Still, it could be worse. The Loonfoot River isn't threatening to flood. Not yet.
That song that goes "The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la, breathe promise of merry sunshine"? From the Mikado? I'm pretty sure that Gilbert didn't have Minnesota's version of spring in mind when he wrote that.
We get blooming flowers here in Minnesota: along with mosquitoes, horse flies and leeches. But by then it's more 'early summer' than spring.
Despite their name, horse flies are only about an inch long. Then there are deer flies, stable flies and biting midges.
The Minnesota tourism folks may write me another letter about this, but the fact is that we share the state with an impressive roster of invertebrate blood suckers. Although technically, black flies lap up their meal.
If you're visiting here and someone talks about no-see-ums, that person may not be pulling your leg. That's another name around here for biting midges. They're about a tenth of an inch long, and can walk right through a window screen. And some tent material.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Why Minnesota Doesn't have a Punxsutawney Phil
Punxsutawney Phil has a good job. For a groundhog. All he has to do is come out every February 2, and either see his shadow: or not. The job must agree with him. According to the Groundhog Day website, Phil's over 120 years old.
I'm not sure I believe that.
It's a good thing Punxsutawney Phil lives in Pennsylvania. If his home was in Minnesota, he'd never have gotten that reputation as a long-range weather forecaster: The climate here isn't boring.
There's quite a lot of truth in the old saying: that if you don't like the weather in Minnesota, wait a few minutes. It'll change. Here in central Minnesota, for every month of the year there's been a time when the temperature has been above freezing, and one when it's been below freezing.
There's some regularity, of course. January's generally the coldest month, and July the hottest: with August running a close second. And you can count on no snow falling from May through September. As a rule. Most years.
Rain? That's come in every month of the year. When it rains in winter, driving gets: interesting. If it hasn't frozen on the streets by sunset, it will soon after. And at night, patches of road with the traction of a skating rink look just like the rest of the pavement.
Then there was the time my father told me about, when National Guard arctic maneuvers were canceled, due to inclement weather.
Like I said, Minnesota's climate isn't boring.
I'm not sure I believe that.
It's a good thing Punxsutawney Phil lives in Pennsylvania. If his home was in Minnesota, he'd never have gotten that reputation as a long-range weather forecaster: The climate here isn't boring.
There's quite a lot of truth in the old saying: that if you don't like the weather in Minnesota, wait a few minutes. It'll change. Here in central Minnesota, for every month of the year there's been a time when the temperature has been above freezing, and one when it's been below freezing.
There's some regularity, of course. January's generally the coldest month, and July the hottest: with August running a close second. And you can count on no snow falling from May through September. As a rule. Most years.
Rain? That's come in every month of the year. When it rains in winter, driving gets: interesting. If it hasn't frozen on the streets by sunset, it will soon after. And at night, patches of road with the traction of a skating rink look just like the rest of the pavement.
Then there was the time my father told me about, when National Guard arctic maneuvers were canceled, due to inclement weather.
Like I said, Minnesota's climate isn't boring.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
