another way trees make leaves

another way trees make leaves --

pulp into paper printed on pages --

pages into compost --

roots into leaves

Ten pumpkins on the sun porch froze solid during the last spell of -17 F (-27 C). Then came the usual January thaw and they started to soften. I've been slicing, dicing and steaming, packing the pulp into plastic containers for the freezer. Five down, five to go. Now we've had another below zero dip, so I will hold off on the pumpkins for a spell. 

Yesterday, after the freezing rain that looked like ice BBs followed by a frosting of snow, I walked gingerly out to the compost bin with the bucket of pumpkin skins. When I lifted the ice covered lid, a mouse disappeared down into the bowels. Better here than in the house! On the way back I took the bowl full of slick pumpkin seeds and dumped them in the tray under the bird feeder. The blue jays like them, and the squirrels. 

That's another part of nature's magnificent recycling center, from seeds to plants to food for animals, to excrement to compost to nourish roots. Throughout the cycle runs the sap, unless it's momentarily frozen!

mid-autumn cold snap

mid-autumn cold snap --

first snow crowns the pumpkin

frozen on the doorstep

It's mid-November, normally with moderate temperatures in the 50s F (10-15 C). But weather has gone crazy these last few years. A week ago, we had summer weather, "I have to be outside" 73 F (23 C). The next day, an abrupt cold snap sent the thermometer tumbling 50 degrees to 23 F (-5 C), plunging us overnight into early winter. 
          A few days later, the first snow storm, softly falling flakes. The Halloween pumpkins on people's doorsteps are frozen rock hard, capped with a circlet of snow. Like magic, the snow birds appear, their charcoal heads and slate bodies bold against the snow as they peck at seeds dropped from the bird feeders. Although small, Juncos are truly hardy to migrate from the frigid north to Iowa, of all places, in the winter.
          Over the next few days, a north wind plummets the temperature even further, with wind chill factors well below 0 F (-18 C). This morning it's 8 F (-13 C). The birds are flying frantically back and forth to the feeders. They seem to expend a lot of energy for one seed at a time, especially the tiny chickadees, who carry each black oil sunflower seed off to a tree to peck open. The big red cardinals sit on at the feeder and break open safflower seed after seed with their heavy beaks. The woodpeckers (hairy, downy and red-capped), as well as the tufted titmice and nuthatches, cling to the cylindrical feeder to stab at peanuts. I don't put out beef suet for the birds because I don't think it's healthy for them. Instead I offer peanuts or peanut butter or seeds mixed with coconut oil (which stays hard in the cold).
          Our one-eyed, 18-year-old cat has been spending most of the day, as well as the night, curled up in a ball, tail over his nose. Sometimes he makes a nest in the tinder box behind the soapstone wood stove, to get as close as possible to the heat.
          I feel like Bob Cratchett, wearing a wool cap, shawl and fingerless mittens as I work on the computer, periodically thrusting my hands below the keyboard to warm up over the little oil radiator. But even so, I love a land with four distinct seasons, even if they do get muddled up and out of synch from time to time. I'm like those Juncos, small but hardy.

on the night of the dead

on the night of the dead

a red-eyed ghoul with gaping mouth

on a white pumpkin

At the end of September, suddenly the supermarkets are full of pumpkins lined up in rows outside. I search the stands for the most unusual pumpkins, passing up the traditional orange pumpkins, varying only in size and girth, as well as the green ones and those covered with warts. Finally, I choose a a small white one with a lovely curved stem and a black ghoulish face on one side where it lay on the ground, a blemish with character. And also a low, wide red pumpkin with a yellow and green cape on the top.

          These two will not become Jack-o-lanterns, destined to rot and be thrown into the garbage after Halloween. Instead, after serving as table decor for a month, I carve them into slices for drying, to be added to soups and stews all winter long. The big one goes first. Sliced in half and resting upside down, it looks like the face of an owl with two big eyes and a beak. I scoop out the pulp and extract the seeds, saving a few for planting and roasting the rest for snacks. Then I slice up the thick orange flesh and arrange the pieces on a bamboo tray for drying. When the slices are dry, this gigantic pumpkin fits inside a quart jar, where another face with a long nose gazes back at me.

          We who have faces see faces everywhere. The first thing human babies focus their eyes on is their mother's face, with obvious survival benefits. But why we see faces in clouds, tree bark, stones, buildings with windows and doors, car hoods, clocks, and pumpkins is amusing, isn't it?