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

Royalties

Clouds and intermittent rain showers have dogged us this past week, damping the beauty of autumn. Still, when I turn a corner and drive down a block of red maples, I can't help but think "fantabulous!" Of all the color changes in fall, it is the scarlet leaves I love the most.

I once lived where these trees dominated my yard, suffusing my kitchen with a rosy hue for two or three weeks each October. And I marveled daily to see them.



Royalties


My backyard is not filled
With the shifting gold
Of coins or cottonwoods
Nor does the bright
Yellow gingko drop.

The scarlet cloak
Of a Crimson King maple
Lies folded ankle deep
In chocolate tipped cherries
Ruby slippers and port wine.

Luxury.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

A Taxing Situation

This week's excuse for being late falls under travel. I spent an extended weekend with my son and his family in Indiana. He and his wife are committed Fit Bit wearers, striving for 10,000 steps on a daily basis and, more days than not, achieving their goal. It has become part of their routine, and being a walker myself, I felt right at home.

There is a difference in neighborhoods, however.  I live in a high-rise on the divide between a busy commercial district and acres of city park, preceding a residential area. I've walked both, but it isn't hard to determine which way I usually turn when I reach the corner.



A Taxing Situation


In between
a crisscross road six lanes deep
and close to city hall
live reconfigured lights,
pedestrian friendly stripes.

But cars continue to muscle through
and vehicles still rule
in a dicey game of dodge 'em.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

 

Fifteen Seconds of Fame

I love the play of sunlight on partly cloudy days. The way it randomly hot lights an object, a towering glass building, a tableau of trees, a distant church spire, against a backdrop of dark clouds. Ephemeral, magical, and impossible to capture on film, at least with my humble camera. The experience intensified by autumn's colors and the transience of the moment.



Fifteen Seconds of Fame


On a gray October morning
with northwest winds shifting
the contours of the sky
the east sun emerges
through an aperture in the clouds
and spotlights a yellow drenched
elm for a fleeting few seconds
before the cover closes
and the leaves fade to fools gold.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

A Little Off the Sides

How I know autumn has arrived: the shortened day length, a frost not that far north of us, the orange/gold/red of the leaves, the Twin Cities Marathon, the Apple Fest at Bayfield. On our way to the cabin last weekend I also noticed fields of soybeans now like bright yellow coverlets flung across the land, and more than one farmer harvesting a corn crop.



A Little Off the Sides


The tractor lumbers
down an arrow straight row,
corn spitting from picker
into the open bed of a truck.

Behind them they leave
the earth looking like
an upswept Mohawk:
blonde stalks next to stubble
with roots of dark brown.

I know this. Just yesterday
I saw it on a boy's head back in town.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Campaign 2016

Yes, we traveled north again, spending time at the cabin. A welcome break from all the political hype which only intensifies as the election looms closer. I admit I watched the first debate between the presidential candidates, but the substance and rhetoric underwhelmed me. It seemed to be only more of the same. I doubt if I will tune in future debates.

The peace and quiet of the cabin, on the other hand, was a delight. I am so thankful that retreat exists.



Campaign 2016


Pushed into the political funhouse
without a way to dodge

d I s tor T e D mirrors of half-truths

Twitter BLASTS of hot air

a revolving barrel of he said/she saids

undulating            of negative
               walkways                ads

and a two-story
                        slide of
                                     innuendoes

I search for the exit sign
spot it blinking dimly,  w_e_e_k_s  away.

The clamor of glad-handing clowns
swallowing my sigh.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

And That Worries Me

The past few Septembers have felt more like the waning days of August with highs in the 70s, sometimes more. Very few Canadian cool fronts have blown through, reminding us of the change of season, that the Autumnal Equinox has already come and gone.

I suspect this is the new normal, and should probably enjoy the lingering warmth since winter waits just around the corner. Instead, this weather makes me somewhat uneasy. Not unlike dancing on the Cliffs of Moher.



And That Worries Me


Toxic Algae Warning signs
sprouted around a city lake just today.

An upshot of flawless lawns,
fertilizer run-off, and warming summers.

But young boys no longer fish the rickety pier,
and no one wishes to swim slime-green waters

except the ducks and they can't read.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Who Will Note

Earlier this summer I traveled back to my hometown in South Dakota. My father came from a farm family of twelve siblings, and many a summer as a child I spent time on that farm with my Aunt and Uncles. None of the three married and all remained to work the land. Theirs was not an easy life but I always eagerly looked forward to spending time in the country with them. The days there were filled with freedom to roam and bounded by their love.



Who Will Note


two brothers and a sister
who farmed the 20th century in eastern Dakota?
Their dry-land crops and skinny livestock?
The Dust Bowl dirt that sifted over
their own childhoods?
The grasshoppers that once ate skivvies
and everything else off laundry lines?
The hollyhocks climbing a rickety trellis,
the tire swing in the side yard?
The tornado that repositioned their barn?
The rosaries prayed during fierce storms
on the midnight Plains?
The fat years with bumper yields of corn?
The annual table full of threshers
downing chicken and gravy, pies and coffee?
The small town bartending job worked weekends
when summer hail shredded the fields?
The pint of whiskey stashed in a bureau drawer?
The Sunday dinners crowded with siblings
and their offspring now moved to the city?

No prodigy of their own
nor flashy heroic deeds claim them.
Only their photos, fading in shoeboxes
of scattered nieces and nephews,
and three simple tombstones, side-by-side,
starting to list in a country graveyard
mark their presence on the prairie.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Photo Finish

The cool nights of autumn have definitely arrived and, for whatever reason, I find myself thinking of the past. Maybe it's the fleet of yellow school buses or the excitement of a new school year for so many kids. But mostly, I think, it's because my brother died a few Septembers ago. Whenever I see fields of soybeans turning yellow prior to harvest, I am reminded of him.

I have a photo of Steve taken a couple of months before he passed away, and it haunts me still. In my version of a perfect world that last image of him simply doesn't fit.



Photo Finish


I possess a picture of my brother
too painful to place in an album:

a once full face
now like an apple doll's,
collapsed inward

a weary smile
to oblige the photographer

a winter sweatshirt
worn over faded blue jeans
in mid-July heat.

Not wanting to stash it away
nor willing to expose it

I slipped it back into its envelope
and kept it on my table
as if Snapfish could refinish the photo,
recover a healthy image,
stem the flood threatening my eyes.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Videos

Back to the north woods for an extended weekend. It's good to get away from the electronic world for a while: no TV, no internet connection. The only video we watched, all of three or four minutes, came from a trail camera in the forest and a little gizmo set up in the cabin while we were away. You never know what you might see when it's played back.

The weather proved perfect, sunny and 70s in the daytime, thundershowers at night. OK, maybe too much with the rain. An inch and an half Sunday followed by three inches Monday night, making for a humid and soggy Tuesday morning. And the lake level keeps inching higher.



Videos


From a game camera fixed to a fir:
an image of you, checking the lens,
nary a bear or deer,
not even a flock of turkeys.

But from the pocket-promo inside:
daddy-long-legs sauntering away,
Asian beetles monstrous as sci-fi bugs,
creeping closer, body-blocking the aperture.

You don't hunt. I don't wish to watch
insects cavort on the counter. And the awe
from real time wildlife overshadows
any found on film.

The marketers had you clearly in their sights.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

 

Target Bargains - $9.99

I recently returned from London, spending time with my daughter and her family. I couldn't help but notice the new pair of flip-flops she sported, breezily covered in summertime polka dots.

It took me back ten years to when I fell in love with something similar. Though I wore through them in only one season, they always brought a smile to my face when I slipped them on. Enough for me to pen a poem about this happy-go-lucky footwear. As can be plainly seen, the cost of living was a teensy bit less back then.



Target Bargains - $9.99


Nine ninety-nine at Target
For a tank-top and black flip-flops
With rainbow colored polka dots.

A handful of coins
For a sack full of sunshine
Hip-hop and soda pop
All for nine ninety-nine.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Stonehenge at Dusk

My last Sunday in London for a while, and all is well. This late summer season has produced blue skies on a daily basis, moderate temperatures, and multitudes of people enjoying the parks at any given time.

A few years ago we took a day trip to Stonehenge, and the calm that surrounded the monument contrasted sharply with the busy-ness of London. I discovered some of that same peace in the vast green spaces of the city this time around.



Stonehenge at Dusk


Raven scores
alight for vespers, chatting
as they settle on lintels
draped across shoulders:
blue stone monoliths
dragged from faraway Wales.

Placed with an eye to sanctify
the sun - that wanderer
in bitter northern climes -
the ancient boulders resonate
with evensong even now
a cantos across flaxen fields.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Arrival Hall, Heathrow

Yes, I'm back in London, and will be here for the next ten days or so. Coming through customs into the UK frequently proves to be an interesting and lengthy proposition. Normally, I find myself in a queue with "helpful" signs indicating wait times spaced at ten minute intervals, telling me how long until I reach the head of the line. I know at least four of them exist, and who knows how many more might be behind closed doors. On the other hand, there have been those rare occasions when I have zipped through multiple retractable belt barriers without pausing to stop.

I will admit, however, that the most interesting time I spent waiting to gain admittance to the country occurred when I joined a queue that snaked, I swear, almost back to my plane. It provided plenty of opportunity to people watch, always a great way to amuse oneself.



Arrival Hall, Heathrow


Hundres of travelers
queue in Customs lines zigzagged:
a proper British maze

edges raw with children.
Ahead a phalanx of stands
like guard towers, drawbridges

bulwarking London still. On the perimeter
a Pakistani paces like a panther trapped,
shouts at a border agent

as if he could ride righteousness
into England. From an unseen scarp
a Queen's envoy, a Lancelot in coat and tie,

bears down on him prepared
to protect the kingdom from Visigoths
and holders of falsified visas.

An officer waves me forward,
peruses my own papers. Up front
nary a crossbow among the lot of them.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Sideshow

Back again from time spent up north. This time around the weather was close to perfect, and I would almost describe the days as halcyon. Except for those pesky mosquitoes. Not their size, mind you, but their numbers. We have had so much rain this summer that new crops of the buggers seem to hatch on a daily basis. Deet is the answer or I would never be lakeside.

Every trip to the cabin calls for a stop at a locally famous candy store which just happens to be on our way. It caters to tourists and remains open nine months of the year. When it closes in January for the winter I am always hugely disappointed. Somehow, candy brought up from the Cities never tastes quite as good.



Sideshow


The small town Sweets Shoppe crammed
with smiling parents and excited kids
carries a carnival vibe
as a contortionist stretches towards taffy
a weight lifter picks up rock candy
Siamese-like twins grab at jelly beans with four grubby hands
Godiva chocolate beckons a bareback rider
a slight-of-hand artist palms a wallet
the fire-eater searches for wintergreen
an animal handler leaves with peanut pockets
the high-wire worker sticks with toffee
some clown asks for free refills
gummi bears slip from the bag of the big game man
and Ring Master fathers finally marshall their troops out the door
ready to get the show back on the road for a weekend at the cabin.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor