the color issue

if STILL blog had a quarterly publication, this would definitely be our COLOR issue. never can i remember a more colorful two weeks.  usually our autumns are stretched over six weeks: an initial two weeks of flaming sumac leaves, followed by two weeks of yellow poplar and red maples, and finally two weeks of orange and russet oaks. but this year, the whole season was condensed into the same two week period. holy moley. nothing is off limits. everything is fair game: trees are three or more colors, there are whole rows of oaks with every tree a different and distinct color.  and i’m seeing every shade of orange that can be imagined: peach, salmon, coral, tangerine, tomato…

maple branch with red and yellow october leaves

from my yard, saint paul, minnesota

  • Ellen says:

    Compensation for March.

    reply
    • Oh Ellen, you know it! The native americans in this region called March the “month of crusted snow”. It is such an unforgiving month. So yes, October is our just reward :-)
      Mary Jo

      reply
  • margie says:

    here too and i am loving every colourful moment because we all know what november looks like

    reply
    • I have come to love the gray sky blanket and russet leaf carpet of November. As Ellen pointed out, it is March that still disheartens me every time.

      reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

a colorful season

because this is the most colorful fall season i can remember, i have begun returning from my walks with a standard warning: “i’m bringing more nature into the house!” my kitchen floor may or may not still be covered with ceramic tile, but no one will know until i remove about a dozen armloads of leaves, branches, bark, grasses, fungi, seed pods, wild fruits, feathers, pine cones, rocks, birds nests, wasp nests, and at least one dead red bellied snake. all i remember is how i felt last march, when i would have given anything for a spot of color that wasn’t brown or gray. ill take all this color gratefully until it’s gone.

an assemblage of october finds

rice creek, grass lake, and sucker lake hiking trails; saint paul, minnesota

  • betsy caldwell says:

    Like how you left your signature in lower right corner.: )

    reply
    • Ha! I was wondering if any one would see that.
      My 11 year old son lovingly brought that home for me “for STILL blog!”
      What can a mother do? ;-)
      Mary Jo

      reply
  • margie says:

    i am imagining the gathering walks you and i could have together.

    reply
    • Hi Margie,
      We should plan such an adventure in the next year or two!
      I would love it!
      Mary Jo

      reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

a minnesota cactus

fifteen years ago in what now feels like a previous life, i worked for honeywell inc. on the avionics for the boeing 777. as a result, i spent a lot of time in phoenix arizona, and when i wasn’t at work, i would spend my time driving around the sonoran desert photographing saguaro cacti. i never got used to the very non-organic grid of streets in downtown phoenix, nor the lack of water there,  but i still miss those cacti.  this mullein is the closest thing we have to those strange, gravity defying spires.

common mullein

minneapolis alley, minnesota

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

cross my heart

i am having fun with these assemblages of the bits and pieces of nature that find their way onto my specimen table. for several years i have also fallen under the spell of the (swiss) cross as a design element.  i have used it in journal doodles, i have sewn it into pillows, and i have even painted it on canvas. so it is really about time that i did a STILL blog assemblage in the shape of my current favorite graphic.

cross assemblage of october nature bits

saint paul, minnesota

  • erica andree says:

    looks like first aid for nature deficit disorder

    reply
    • Hah! You nailed it. Although I suppose we shouldn’t start mixing nails and crosses or we’ll be onto other territory…

      reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

unwound

this fern began as a tightly wound little fiddlehead seemingly only days ago, although it was actually last april, almost half a year ago, that i first saw it emerge. today my husband celebrates his 49th birthday. when i met him half a life ago, he was a tightly wound young creature full of self-involvement and promise. he has since unwound into a looser autumn version of himself, without quite losing the shape of his burstingly passionate spring. i’ll take the latest version in all its earned imperfection.

fern leaf

grass lake regional trail, saint paul, minnesota

 

  • Anne says:

    There are tears of joy in my eyes. What a lovely sentiment.

    reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

"/> "/>