Fall at Moose Lodge
Moving heavy wet leaves at Moose Lodge
I was out for an early morning walk around the property today. It’s become almost a daily ritual here at Moose Lodge. I didn’t want to write about the election and thought I write about a typical fall morning.
It’s very still this morning—foggy and damp, with wildlife busy at first light. A storm is coming overnight, and it always seems as though the animals sense it long before it arrives. The foxes and coyotes are out hunting for breakfast rodents, while the rabbits stay close to the edge of the woods, keeping an eye out for both. They seem keenly aware of who makes noise. They don’t run from me or my dog and instead hold perfectly still. They look like rocks.
I have a small group of deer who have been hanging around for about a month who now seem to know who I am and are far less afraid of me than most strangers. They hold still until the last second before the buck in the group lets out a loud snort that sounds exactly like a punctured tire. Then, the group runs back into the woods, and all I see are bobbing white tails moving away from me. This is just about every day here at Moose Lodge—it’s our daily rhythm of life.
Early this morning, before we ventured outside, raccoons were fighting over something. They sound much like quarreling cats. There’s never any sign of real harm in the yard, so I’m assuming they’re still arguing about the election. After all, a raccoon did die in the cause.
As I walk around Moose Lodge, I make mental notes of what I need to get done. I spent two hours blowing leaves yesterday, and I’d like to finish the job today. I have plant food spikes to put down, faucets to cover, and the last mow before I swap the position of the mower and the tractor in the garage in anticipation of snow.
These are some of the fall rituals around here. I have a backpack blower that pushes over 700 cubic feet (19.821 CM) per minute, yet it still struggles with hundreds of pounds of wet leaves. I can still remember the pain from the blisters on my hands from raking and bagging leaves as a kid. The leaf blower wasn’t invented yet.
Blowing leaves into the woods is an important part of the habitat here. It’s what keeps the critters warm in winter. I pay special attention to blowing leaves toward the entrances of the various animal dens that surround the property. I don’t know how they manage to survive those few weeks of below-zero weather we get sometime between December and January, so I do what I can to make it less miserable for them.
After my walk, I get some writing done before diving into client work. It’s a wonderful life out here, and I never take one minute for granted. I wish more people could experience rural life. It’s good for the brain.