Victorian Lady

I confess. I was out of town for an extended Thanksgiving Holiday in northern California. Even with the population density around San Francisco you don't have to travel far to find rugged, tree filled terrain. The height of the redwoods remains forever astonishing to me as does the pounding Pacific Ocean far below wooded hills along the coastline.

Closer to home there stands a tree in my old neighborhood that routinely catches my attention but for entirely different reasons.



Victorian Lady


Hewn from a hundred year oak
she stands impossibly elegant,
carved from the trunk of a tree
firmly grounded in the present.

Poised in bustling skirts
and commanding hat, she carries
a parasol fully open but lowered
as if lingering, listening to echoes
with head turned and chin tilted.

Her stance suggests
a resigned waiting for someone
who disappeared down the streets
of a different century.

But hers is a tight-lipped demeanor,
an unhappy tree spirit caught out.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Precipice

Cold weather finally caught up with us two days ago. Yesterday's stiff breezes brought biting wind chills in the teens. A shocking difference from the 60 degree highs that dominated the past week.

Even as late as Thursday morning a flock of inland gulls continued to gather at dawn and leisurely ride the air currents. Circling, gliding, they reveled on the warmth of an extended autumn. Had they been paying attention, perhaps their departure wouldn't have been so hasty.



Precipice


A gathering of gulls
wheels, luxuriates in thermal edges.

But lengthening shadows
cut short the light, and the egrets have fled.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Too Far North

Sixteen years ago Andrew bought a cabin in far northern Wisconsin. Being a native of Singapore, he held no preconceived ideas about what "cabin life" should look like. He had never heard of septic systems or well-water. Couldn't understand why people scoffed when he placed a trolling motor on his canoe. Then one day he decided to plant a fruit tree in a climate where they generally don't do well.

The crabapple thrived. In springtime its blossoms of deep pink surrounded by a forest of evergreens makes it the most stunning planting on the lake for a brief few days. But that was not the main reason for his foray into horticulture.



Too Far North


September roots of a young crabapple
grapple with dirt and the mirth of woodsmen.
"Deer will make lunch of its trunk,"
they chuckle, "or winter will break its back."

The newcomer nods, continues to shovel,
city-hands freshly calloused.

Late May a raiment of rouge
debuts in the pines, quiets the naysayers.

By summer, berry-sized apples produce grins
again from locals. "We told you
no good eatin' could come from that tree."
But woodpeckers and grosbeaks disagree.

Behind autumn binoculars the rookie smiles,
"Bird-Friendly Plantings" dog-eared on a catalog pile.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Longest Growing Season on Record

This past week has been impossibly warm with temps running 15 to 20 degrees above normal. Daytime highs have topped out in the upper 60s and yesterday a record set at 73 in November, in Minneapolis. Had this extended warmth been a one-off occurrence I wouldn't be as concerned, but I fear this is the new normal as each autumn grows longer and milder. There remains a niggling worry in the back of my brain about the future and climate change.

By the way, if we don't dip below freezing at least once in the next four days, and no forecasts predict that, another record will be shattered: the longest growing season on record this far north.



Longest Growing Season on Record


Ginkgo gold a dull mustard,
sugar maples babushka dowdy,
and yet they linger.

Weather reporters channel
Bobby McFerrin, "Don't Worry, Be Happy."
Predict an abbreviated winter.

On the map a high-riding ridge of warmth,
no mention of mittens, no talk of cold fronts.

Precipitation? A slight chance of rain
so keep the umbrella handy, put away the ski wax.
Plenty of time left to dine al fresco.

And the elephant in the room eyes the spin masters.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor