Rural Routes, Blog Version

After record-breaking high temperatures on November 2, we woke the next morning to more seasonal levels.

The ground outside our back door is covered in leaves. The trees are bare. The sky is gray. It feels like November.

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B00-hoo. No costumed youngsters came to our door this year.

With COVID restrictions mostly removed and mild temperatures, the trick or treaters were out in record numbers, according to news reports. I know of people who were out of Hallowe’en goodies by 6:30 p.m.

But not in our little corner of the world.

We did, however, get one set of adult neighbours who went around the complex delivering treats they were not able to give away to children. That was fun. If K and I had done the same thing, we wouldn’t be eating so much chocolate and that would be a good thing.

As November began, I took down a door decoration and two small strands of Hallowe’en lights.

I used to have a tub of Hallowe’en decorations. Truthfully, I used to have two tubs of Hallowe’en decorations, but I pruned my collection before we moved to the city four years ago.

I know I still had the tub four years ago, although we didn’t move until mid-November and so were not here for Hallowe’en that year. But although we have searched everywhere we can think of – the closets, the basement, a storage locker – we have not been able to find it.

I can – and do – live easily without the decorations, but the mystery nags at me. Where did the tub go? What is the story behind its disappearance?

THUNDER IN OCTOBER

As October ended its third week, I woke to the sounds of thunder and the sight of lightning flashing across the night sky.

It reminded me of my uncle and what he always said when thunder was heard in October.

“It means we will have an open winter,” he used to tell us, and his predictions were always accurate.

After surviving the long, cold, and snowy winter of 2021-2022, I welcome the thought of an open winter.

There is a part of me that wonders if climate changes will impact the old-timer sayings I grew up with.     

CALENDAR

We still have a wall calendar in our kitchen, even though our electronic devices are ready and able to remind us of anything we need to be reminded of.

Call me old-fashioned; I don’t mind. I like making cursive notes on a wall calendar. I like turning the page every month to see the new picture. I used to like recording the jars of jam and pints of relish I preserved each summer.

When we cleaned out the farmhouse in preparation for our move to the city, I found dozens of old used calendars. I discarded them, but not without a pang.

The calendar I am using this year was printed in Europe, which means a different formatting style. Instead of weeks that start with Sunday and run till Saturday, this calendar starts each week with Monday. Saturday and Sunday are the last two slots in the week.

I cannot tell you how many times I made inaccurate entries on the calenda in 2022, thinking I was putting an appointment on a Monday when I was actually entering it in Tuesday’s box. It must have taken me six months before I knew without thinking about it that the first box in each row was Monday, not Sunday.

In just a couple of months, I shall have to start over. I wonder how long it will take me to adjust.

SQUIRRELS

We had two bottle birdfeeders left over from the previous winter. They were shaped like beer bottles but were solid bird seed. I put one up and immediately welcomed a small woodpecker, which was followed soon afterwards by chickadees. The squirrels were soon there also.

The feeder hung there for several days until one morning it was gone. All that remained was a chewed through burlap loop from which the feeder had hung. I pictured a furry-tailed rodent chewing away and wished I had seen it maneuvering the feeder across the lawn and into the nearest hiding place.

A couple of days later, I put out the second bottle. The next morning, it was gone, burlap loop and all.

You have to give them credit. They are smart little fellas. Or gals. Whichever.

I have now put up our regular feeder. I’m sure that the squirrels would haul it away if they could, but they can’t. The birds are grateful.

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