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New leaf
The season is turning The first leaves are brown It’s cool in the evenings As hot days wind down. Birds reappear now, Their nestlings flown. Blackberries shrivel Their dusty canes blown. Leaves limp and wilted, Smoke in the air Ash leaves flutter— Soon to fall fair. Color is coming, Russets and yellow, Bright reds and orange, Then brown, brown so mellow. Down, down they come, Shifting in hue. Autumn is nigh Soon the frost will come due.
The theme for September is color. I can’t wait to write about it. Here’s a color for August:
Once in a blue moon
August has a blue moon, but it isn’t what you might think.
What we think of as the standard definition of a blue moon, two full moons in a single month, comes from a mistake. An amateur astronomer confused the description of a blue moon in an article in “Sky& Telescope” magazine in 1946.
Until then, a blue moon had just one definition: the “seasonal blue moon,” a third full moon in an astronomical season (winter, spring, summer, fall: solstice to equinox to solstice to equinox).
Each season normally has three full moons; with the addition of the blue moon, there are four. That means there will be 13 full moons in that calendar year.
Obviously, there can only be one blue moon in a year. Otherwise there would be 14 full moons, a statistical impossibility, as each moon cycle is close to 30 days.
Watching the changes
From full moon to full moon is about 29.5 days. That means monthly blue moon can never occur in 28-day February. If there is no full moon in February at all, the empty month is called a black moon. When there’s a black moon, both January and March are set up to have monthly blue moons. And that’s called a double blue moon.
Double blue moons are rare. There was one in 2018, and the next is due in 2037.
There have been 408 seasonal blue moons and 456 monthly blue moons since 1550.* You can expect one or the other every two or three years. The next one, another monthly blue moon, is coming quickly: August 19, 2024.
One more data nugget: each month’s full moon has its own name. August’s is the Sturgeon Moon. And by the way, August’s second full moon, on Aug. 30, is special in another way. It’s called a “supermoon” because it is nearest Earth in its orbit (what astronomers call perigee).
*I’m relying on timeanddate.com, a group of nice folks in Stavanger, Norway, for my information about blue moons of all types.
More trees and tales
My friend Merle Alexander took a photo of this wounded tree from her car in Atlanta. Lichen on bark is relatively common, but what about the circles that look like a black-and-white traffic light?
Trees have tales to tell, and so do roots.
I hope you will take an extra moment to study these photos. Look at the patterns, the patterns within patterns. If fairies danced on these roots, which would they choose?What do roots tell you about senescence (old age) or resilience? Or resignation?
Blackberries are back, and back, and back
I included a meditative photo of a single cane of Himalayan blackberry in last week’s posting. That single cane looked innocuous, but wild blackberries, Himalayan blackberries, are a scourge.
All of the blackberries that have overtaken forestland, vacant lots and roadside ditches throughout the Pacific Northwest can be traced to one packet of seeds sent from India. It arrived in the United States in 1885 at the behest of the famous botanist Luther Burbank.
Rubus Armeniacus, so named because it originated in Armenia, interested botanists and gardeners because of its prolific berries. When, as was inevitable, the plant escaped domestic cultivation, its vines found ideal living conditions in the climate and soil of the Pacific Northwest. In just a few decades, it was everywhere.
The Himalayan blackberry is classified as a noxious weed in Oregon. Other noxious weeds on the notorious Oregon list include:
Clematis vitalba, sweet autumn clematis, also known as old man’s beard. You’ll see the puffy flowers of this vine on walls and telephone wires.
Kudzu, Pueraria lobata. Famously invasive in the Southeast, but not common in Oregon. Yet.
Giant hogweed, Heracleum mantegazzianum. Also not common in Oregon. I just like the name. The Curse of the Giant Hogweed is an oddball mystery by a favorite author, Charlotte McLeod.
Butterfly bush, Buddleja davidii, has pretty purple flowers that attract butterflies. It’s also invasive, and now you can’t buy a plant in Oregon.
Tree of Heaven, Ailanthus altissima, native of China. Spreads by suckers. Once you know what to look for, you’ll see ailanthus all over the city. The tree in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is an ailanthus. They can grow anywhere.
English ivy, Hedera helix. Well known for climbing up trees and making them fall over because of the weight. Its sale or importation is banned in Oregon. Linda McMahan, an Oregon State Extension Service horticulturist, says “if you want to use [ivy] at all, the only really safe places are topiaries and hanging baskets."
The city of Portland has a list of “nuisance trees” that can’t be planted as street trees. These include Norway maple, horse chestnut, English hawthorne, English holly, English laurel, black locust and European mountain ash.
Many of these trees were prized as street trees or ornamentals in years past. You will find many Norway maples, for example, in Portland parks.
Too much about bad plants. Let’s refresh ourselves with some good:
Photos at the end of the day
Photo at the end of the day
I came to write a poem, But I keep making photos. Small things, A line in the asphalt, Boston ivy, Clouds and blackberries. Growing things, Blue surfaces and yellow— Rust and rot. Clouds touched by a retreating sun, Green things, Growing things, Plastic. The back of things— A Dumpster, an incinerator— Ugly things, Useful things, Things we need. Fading light lulls me. The sun closing down, Dusk, twilight . . . Everything is special Even the incinerator. The wind rises, Lifting my hair. I’m promised Wonders and morsels. Come, please, come My eyes are closing. Gunmetal the last Of all things I see. Everything is happy. I wonder About the crows.
Check out
Happy!
I opened the fermenting kimchi to check on it and it was so happy! Little bubbles of happiness. I just made it a few days ago.
It’s been several weeks since I made kimchi. First, I had to buy the ingredients, so I took the bus to Uwajimaya just for that.
Then, all the chopping and mixing. Massaging the napa cabbage with kosher salt so it will wilt enough to fit in the jar. Peeling and mincing garlic and ginger. Cutting the daikon and scallions into matchsticks. Chopping an Asian pear to blend with the salted shrimp in the Vitamix that’s too big for the task. (I should use an immersion blender, but I’ve no place to store one.)
I have to do everything sitting at the table now. Standing in the kitchen is too taxing for my legs.
Then, the disposable rubber gloves to mix the gochugaru/pear/shrimp paste into the cabbage, daikon, green onion. Toss in some watercress (usually I use radish tops to add some green to the mix, but Uwajimaya was fresh out of red radishes with greens attached). I clean forgot to add julienned carrots for color and crunch; besides, I didn’t have any on hand.
As I said, a lot of work. But oh, the result is worth it!
And on that little, cheerful note, I take leave of you, dear readers.
Remember to be in the moment this week. Your mantra and mine: Go. Slow. Now.
—30—
Love the “Photo at the end of the day” poem -- and the lines of the dumpster photo. Beautiful-- “If fairies danced on these roots, which would they choose?What do roots tell you about senescence (old age) or resilience? Or resignation?”
And of course you know the buddleia plant was named after Rev. Adam Buddle. It is very. Common in Ireland but I don’t think it’s considered invasive. At least it does attract butterflies. Our truly dangerous invasive is Japanese knotweed.