blushing symmetry
Burning bush is indeed remarkable in autumn. But my favorite ones are the bushes that do not get enough sun, and turn pink in fall instead of scarlet red. The softer the pink, the better as far as I am concerned. The beautiful symmetry––both horizontal and vertical––of these leaves make them one of my favorite materials to make repeating patterns and tessellations with. But alas, it takes patience to line up all those leaves just so, and this autumn has been so unusual and splendid that it is taking every minute of free time I have just to capture it before it all disappears on the wind.
burning bush in autumn (Euonymus alatus)
It is the harmony of the diverse parts,
their symmetry, their happy balance;
in a word it is all that introduces order,
all that gives unity,
that permits us to see clearly and to comprehend at once
both the ensemble and the details.
–Henri Poincare
no frost yet
I just googled to remind myself when the average historic first frost is in the Twin Cities: “The average or typical first fall freeze in the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area is October 10 to October 11”. Welp, so we are two weeks behind average, which is not unheard of. But what is crazy is that I just looked at the forecast and there is no frost threat for two weeks. I am making hay, as they say, capturing as mush of the remaining fall color as I possibly can because as soon as November’s gray blanket descends, STILL will start to look very different.
Autumn Blaze Maple (Acer × freemanii ‘Jeffersred’), a hybrid tree bred from a cross between red maple (Acer rubrum) and silver maple (Acer saccharinum)
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In 2017 we experienced a fire in our area that burned four acres of our land and up to the door of our house. Had it not been for the Phos-Chek dropped by a plane, it too might have burned. As horrible as it was, I also found it beautiful—the flames and color and movement. When I saw this photo, instantly I was reminded of that experience:
The Fire of 2017
From the top of the plateau, a glow
Not yet horrible, just a glimmer and a glance.
Too soon it rises and leaps forward,
Like runner or hurdler, or heart on fire.
Consumed with consuming—
And passionate longing for its own desire,
Crawling into corners, this ravenous beast
Spreads itself ash
On a desolate earth—oblivion.And yet, I cannot look away.
Call it Sodom, Snake or what you want.
It is beautiful—
This flame of red and gold.
A maple cobra dancing in the air,
Swaying with brilliance to a hidden tune.
Leaping and dancing as it consumes.reply
leopard prints and keystone species
I sort of ignored the oaks this year. So many of our other plants––especially the sumacs––turned such distinctive and unusual colors this fall that I didn’t even take notice of the oaks. But the leopard print effect on the leaves of this red oak grabbed my attention yesterday while I was out walking.
In the North, the oaks are considered our keystone tree. Are you familiar with keystone trees? A keystone tree is a species that has an outsized, disproportionate impact on its environment relative to its abundance. Oaks (Quercus) are widely considered the pinnacle of wildlife value because they hold the entire food web together by supporting hundreds of species of caterpillars, birds, and mammals. If a keystone tree is removed, the ecosystem radically changes or collapses.
northern red oak leaves in autumn (Quercus rubra)
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I learned about keystones about 100 years ago in grade school and how they kept bridges up, so it makes perfect sense about keeping the environment from collapsing
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When I saw this photograph of the Oak leaves and the 8 circles, it made me think of the many keystones and keystone moments in my life – two of which are captured in this poem.
KEYSTONES
“Cut it down!”
The chubby man with the orange vest grins
As he stands beside his Frankenstein machine,
With its mouth extended into the sky, biting the wind.
“Why?” I yell back against the noise
Of his insistent gaze.
“I’m in the neighborhood and will give you a deal.”
“What kind of deal is that?!”
I stand with fist raised against the thought.
“This keystone oak has stood for a hundred years,
With micorrhizal network communing at base,
Tree acting as mother to all nearby.
Keep your deal and let this community rest
And nurture all that is beneath its branch.”
***
“If you’ve seen one church, you’ve seen them all,”
The man with Texan hat announces with stupid grin
While viewing the Sistine chapel ceiling,
Speaking too loudly from his too small frame.
“Move out of the way!” I yell silently.
“You take too much space.
As you dismantle the world.”
But the better response comes from the woman at the edge
Blind she sits while friend whispers close.
Suddenly a smile spreads across her face.
She sees without seeing—the grand ceiling—
God and Adam reaching out, touching, not touching.
The scene drowns out all noise of dissent.
It is the birth of the world!
***
In every arch, there is a keystone
Without which, the arch falls.
It comes as an oak,
A friend, work of art, a partner,
A thought, an action, a belief.
Without it, all crumbles.
With it comes the birth of the world.reply
going all in
Any of you who check in here regularly probably know by now that when we Hoffmans are piqued by a new interest we go ALL IN. We don’t just casually learn a few facts nor spend an hour down an internet rabbit hole to satisfy our curiosity and then move on. Ohhh, no. We can become singular in our attention, and our devotion, and maybe even borderline obsessed. Right now, Steve is in that uniquely Hoffman place with hazelnuts. He is under assignment to write an article on them, due next week, which triggered an entire autumn affair. So now we buy hazelnut oil, hazelnut flour, hazelnut cookies, hazelnut granola and trail mixes, any and all chocolate bars with hazelnuts, and of course, the nuts themselves. Steve has ordered books from Europe, visited hazelnut farms, harvested with the U of M researchers, and walked trails with experts. He probably has enough material to write a book on hazelnuts. But instead he has only a 1200 word article to work within. But that is how we roll at our house. These are hazelnut leaves from the U of M’s hazelnut research center. Hazelnuts are in the birch family, but their fall leaves are so much more colorful than our native birches. Who knew? Steve probably did.
hazel tree (or hazelnut bush) autumn leaves
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I have a wonderful and delicious recipe for a German hazelnut torte, it is made with ground hazelnuts and iced with mocha whip whipped cream. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
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All day I was thinking about this photo of “The Community of 12.” And I, like you Mary Ju, became “obsessed.” Here’s the result….
COMMUNITY OF 12
Hazelnut leaves—
Community of differences.Bold. Beautiful. Brave.
Cute. Curious. Coy.
Fun. Furious. Frail.
Shrewd. Sensible. Strong.Born of twisting trunks
That dance like ladies at a ball,
Clothed in bonnets and helmets
And full bearded attire—
The secret to all knowledge.
Pollinated in winter
On wind and wings.But it is the tone that matters most—
The tone of the filber.
Or is it the Nutella
That fills us with desire?reply -
Wow. Mary Jo, I had to catch my breath while reading your comment. You see me, and are correct. Every day, I look forward to seeing the photo you post and I find it incredibly inspiring—each one a work of art. One day you posted later than usual and I actually searched online to make sure there wasn’t some announcement of some sort—that you had ceased posting. That’s when I discovered your 2024 house fire. I can relate, and the poem for today will remind us both of the complexity of fire. A “book of some sort”?! What a fun idea!…and how amazingly generous of you. So let’s see, Your photos have inspired me to return to writing poetry. When something defies comment, I always go to that mode of expression. While I don’t yet have my sea legs, for sure, I’ll “keep em coming!”
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sparrow grass
I love happening up a patch of feral asparagus in the fall with its golden ferny needle-like leaves (cladodes) and brilliant orange berries. Did you know that asparagus is sometimes called “sparrow grass” in England? The English word asparagus originally derives from Medieval Latin sparagus. I like eating asparagus; I don’t love it. But I do love seeing it along my trails in October.
Asparagus (Asparagus officinalis)
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I am moved by the photo to understand the history of this Feral Asparagus and how it might say something about my own life.
FERAL
Beside the path in an unlikely place
You stand—
Uncultivated. Untethered.
Free.
You have escaped the human system
Of control—
Forced. Ordered.
Imprisoned.
Here your needle-like leaves
Flutter—
Like a sparrow in the grass.
Wild.
And your orange round berries
Glisten—
Proud bobbles on display.
Sunlit. Playful.I was where you were.
I am where you are now.reply -
Those berries almost jump off the screen! And the leaves fade into the background, almost an afterthought.
Isn’t etymology fascinating? Some Englishman misheard the word spargus as sparrow grass, and thus a new common name for this plant was born. If you’re a word lover, the podcast Words Unravelled is quite fun!reply
This photo affected me deeply and in the course of a day that was extremely chaotic, it brought calm.
EUONYMUS ALATUS
“What is your name and what does it mean?” I asked,
Of the winged Presence in front of me.
But she did not answer.
Instead, she hurled her arms into the wind
And danced with abandon—
A goddess at play.
Caught up in the pink and white
The noise of the world lessened
And settled into still.
“I AM WHO I AM—the good name with wings.”
I removed my shoes.
The place was holy.