Spring Arrives with an Icy Roar

At the equinox, Alan was away so I set the sunrise marker on the observatory on my own. From the west side of the field I sighted east through the aluminum pole in the center of the field, to the eastern horizon as the sun appeared. Then I pounded this stake in the ground with a large hammer. It came out pretty close to the autumnal equinox stake from last September, as it should. We'll keep adjusting these points as time goes on, until we figure out what to use for permanent monuments around the perimeter of this 11-acre field.

As I did in September, after setting the stake I hurried down to our entrance at the county road, to watch another sunrise from below the top of the bluff and demonstrate how precisely east-west is the road alignment. It was so cold! About 10℉ and -5℉ windchill, painful to face and fingers.

   

And a few days later, another snowfall. For hours and hours, in barely-freezing temperatures. Perhaps for the last time this season, the farm was transformed into a winter dreamland.

This is the back end of the shooting range, the 80-yard rifle targets. You can see the platform in the background. The "chimes" are 1/2" plate steel and stainless steel.

Winter Arrives with a Demonstration

A blizzard blew through on December 20, producing below-zero windchill temperatures and ultimately leaving about six inches of snow. The wind left some exposed areas almost bare, and drifts elsewhere up to six feet high. In the thick of it:

The following evening, after tractor with blade + snowblower + shovel:

A nice blanket of snow for the west garden to sleep beneath:

Fortunately, none of the large drifts formed on the lanes and drives. This is the backyard.

It was a couple of days before the pond completely froze over. Temperatures have remained below freezing since the storm and the ice is now very solid, at least four inches thick.

This snag, a great favorite of the kingfishers and green heron, tipped from the vertical in the storm and has been leaning a little farther toward the dam each day since.

The terraced observatory field:

I found the gnomon on the ground – from the evidence, a deer had become caught in one of the guy ropes and pulled it over. We set a sturdier post that the pole can slip over and it's sturdy enough freestanding to let us set our observation points on the perimeter, then take it down again. We've only Groundhog Day remaining to have a complete year of quarter and cross-quarter day observations.

Hidden Meadow:

The ford at the ruined bridge:

The Creek Trail:

Winter Solstice sunset in flyover country:

Equinox, Harvest, and Well-Fed Coyotes

On Saturday, September 22 at about 9 o'clock in the morning local time, Old Sol crossed the celestial equator, marking the autumnal equinox ("equal night"), although not until Tuesday the 25th were day and night closest to equal length at our northerly latitude. Nevertheless, it being a matter only of minutes in difference, I chose the 22nd to set sunrise and sunset stakes on the perimeter of the observatory in the big terraced field. The stakes will be replaced by something when we eventually build our version of Stonehenge.

In this predawn image you can see the guywire-supported gnomon ("indicator", "that which discerns") in the center of the field that we use to line up the stakes with the rising and setting sun on significant dates.

Here it comes.

I set the stake and quickly walked down to the road, which runs east-west. At the equinox, the sun rises  precisely in the east and sets precisely in the west.

I am a gnomon.

In the evening I was back out with my sunset stake. The fall colors are coming on in the avenue of ornamental maples and Grandmother Cottonwood.

And there it goes. The observatory gnomon is barely discernable in this image.

As the earth rolled up in front of the solar disk, the clouds were illuminated from beneath.

When the drought broke in August, the garden responded with a burst of productivity in a race against time as the first frosts approached. Saturday and Sunday night there were spots of frost that knocked down the peppers, the tomatoes, and the sweet potatoes so the following days I hurried to harvest them.

Here are the last of the peppers.

Last night I made a first batch of pickled jalapenos – five-eighths of a peck of pickled peppers.

Sweet potatoes have to be cured for long-term storage, a week to ten days at about 85 degrees and 85 percent humidity. I'm doing this in the oven with a pan of water below and the oven light as the heat source.

In the garage I'm drying mustard and sunflowers for the seed.

I took my early morning walk today around the farm perimeter, hoping to observe a coyote, and I was not disappointed but still pleasantly surprised. Across the north fence where Kincaid Creek passes onto our place were three of these handsome creatures, about 50 yards distant. They noticed me but did not startle and I watched for about ten minutes until they trotted off into the woods. A most excellent beginning to the day.

Sun Dog at Dawn

Yesterday morning dawned with a sun dog near the horizon, and the early flights out of Chicago, St. Louis, Memphis, and Minneapolis leaving their condensation trails overhead.

Looking to the east at the sun dog:

A little later to the west:

And to the north:

On Monday afternoon, friend Tim repaired the mowing deck parts that connect to the little tractor, and beefed-up these welds with quite a bit more metal than was there previously. I used a bench grinding wheel, drill-powered cone grinder, and rattail hand file for about an hour and a half to shape these welds sufficiently for the connector to fit its receiver points, and then we were back in the mowing business. Everything is looking mighty nice now, and very green.

We've got some steep slopes that when I first attempted to cross them, in April when I arrived at the farm, produced terror. I felt certain the tractors, especially the big one upon which I felt I was sitting so high above the ground, were about to tip over. Now it feels quite routine, though I sometimes have to lean far to the side to maintain my balance and stay in the seat. They are amazingly powerful and versatile machines and a pleasure to operate.

A cold front moved through this morning in the predawn hours and I was out in the west garden nearly as soon as it was light to knock down more of the purslane with the tiller before things got wet. Now the rain falls in gentle showers and it's become an indoor day of study, correspondence, writing, and rest.

Atlas and Diary

Opening up the trails has given us more and easier ways to get to the east side of the property, and from the verge of the woods and eastern fields I watched the sunrise a few days ago.

Moving the gaze south one encounters the neighbor's massive oaks.

First rays catching the interior of the cedar forest.

This sequence approaches the ruined bridge near the grade control structure under the county road.

It floated in a flood and turned sideways and was destroyed. We think we can salvage much of the material to build the replacement bridge. It's going to be a good challenge to build something that we can take the tractor across and that will withstand flooding.

Looking back the other way.

Of course, the full moon always sets opposite the rising sun, so by the time I got back out of the woods on the west side...

And here some spatterlight in the grandmother cottonwood tree.

Saturday midday a rather violent thunderstorm blew through, leaving an inch and a half in the gauges after about 40 minutes. There were no puddles, no runoff, and three hours later no indication that rain had fallen except that everything was a lot cleaner with the dust rinsed away. We could use a rain like that every day for a week, so it's no end to the drought. But the rain we did get and the moderate temperatures behind its cool front have made everything look and feel better. It's been cool enough to really enjoy the pond and Deck Dock.