The short stint of sunlight during Winter is nature’s way of signaling our bodies to slow down and rest. Summer is the season of toil in nature. We don’t hibernate, but our bodies crave a time to slow down. The Capitalist Christian Holiday in December has every parent working against nature to create magic and memories, and a special, fun, cozy time in childhood.

Photo by Andrew Patrick Photo on Pexels.com Several weeks ago, word began to spread, the way it did before social media. A young guy sits up at a bar without a friend and announces to the older bartender, just searching for a conversation starter, “ My Brother-in-law told me there are sixteen-foot waves on Superior right now,” slightly astonished. The bartender nods knowingly, unsurprised.

Halloween, lately, has been windy and rainy. Usually, the leav.es get blown off the trees on Halloween. As a child, I used to wear snow boots to trick or treat. This year, it was chilly without wind and rain. It’s November in Michigan, and the trees still have orange, yellow, and red leaves attached. Fall eased its way in this year.

The greenhouse needed work. Some of the outer plastic had torn and was falling. We went out, did a quick repair on the plastic, pulled the dead spicy peppers, and prepped the beds. The seeds I ordered for our winter garden were in, so we spent a bit of the day planting. My first attempt at a winter garden is in the ground.

A cold front rolled into Michigan with gallons of rain. Friday was chilly and dry. My daughter has straight A’s, so we took her on a surprise day off from school to an amusement park in Ohio. It was a trip we’d promised over the summer. Car and tractor issues ate up our summer vacation. We never made it. It stays open through Halloween.

Last week, temperatures were set to drop overnight. The news warned of frost on Wednesday evening. I ran out to my garden and sadly collected all the green tomatoes off the vine. I cut down the Luffahs, even the tiny ones. I rushed around and collected every plant, no matter how ready it was before the frost of the night. I’ve taken a frost risk before and lost everything.

It’s black walnut season in Michigan. It happens every year as summer fades to fall. Yellow/green hard balls fall from the trees. They are heavy, like rocks. And sometimes shoot across the yard out of lawn mowers. They crunch in the road under car tires. I have friends on social media who despise when they fall. As a person who has studied plant medicine, I rejoice.

After months of anticipation, we finally have ripe tomatoes! I was worried we wouldn’t get anything before the first frost. The first wave of tomatoes usually hits at the end of July. This season, it was the end of September. I assumed it was because of how late we planted. Nearly every backyard veggie gardener I meet has experienced the same late harvest this year.

I’ve been preserving my food for years. I enjoy growing it and saving anything I grow but can’t eat. I have a group of friends we’ll call the Girlgang here. We celebrate birthdays, have brunch, and try to help each other as we can. I met the Girlgang because one of them became a neighbor three years ago. This is her first house, first yard.

This summer, we’ve benefited tremendously from working with Mother Nature. I already mentioned the Holiday Hen, which is a chicken tractor on wheels that my chickens can occupy during the day. Chickens are natural foragers. They enjoy slurping up grass and munching on anything green that grows. They utilize bugs as a protein source. Their poop, given enough time to compost, provides nutrition to the soil.

Photo by hans middendorp on Pexels.com I’ve been stalled on my writing project by something Skye and I call emotional constipation. I want to get lost in the story again. However, this section happens to hit a nerve with me. I stalled. The stall was so long that I started to worry. I worried I’d give up on the idea. Worried that once again, I’d quit on my dream of completing a novel.

Photo by Jay Brand on Pexels.com I have a Mourning Dove. It visits the stump on which I feed the birds every morning. It is a chubby grey bird. Compared to the blue jays, cardinals, and sleek crows, it is as unexciting as they come. My husband dislikes morning doves. He complains that, unlike crows who jump effortlessly out of the road as a car approaches, they flail and fly nearly into windshields stupidly.

Photo by Chris F on Pexels.com Of course, I’ve heard the concerns for the bees, and I understand their value to the planet. Bees pollinate. I have a love-hate relationship. I love the work they do. I hate the physical threat of them. I’m allergic. I should carry an EpiPen. I know my little patch of Earth on the planet can’t fix the planet.

Photo by Philippe Donn on Pexels.com I don’t write about things in the news. It feels a bit like I’m shirking responsibility. I receive at least 10 emails a day from people who write about current events. My brain is inundated. I feel helpless to make a positive impact. Horror after horror and not a damn thing I can do. My energy feels futile.

The Peaches I ordered for my Mother arrived last week. But as soon as they arrived, a heat wave hit Michigan. Even with air conditioning, it was the type of heat that it’s best to avoid the oven. The temps hovered near 100 F when the sun was out and did not dip much when it wasn’t. The plants in the garden were faded and frail, no matter whether we watered in the morning or not.

I finished all the work on my daughter’s new play structure. We cemented it into the ground, got it level, and made sure that if the little rough-and-tumble boys in the neighborhood give it their worst, it stays safely upright. As soon as that project was complete, I dove into my next. I saw on social media an outdoor table created from a salvaged wire spool.

Photo by Andrew Patrick Photo on Pexels.com My friend Skye says I manifested my murder. I like her use of the term better than woo woo types. Traditionally, to manifest is to hope. But I tend to believe I can’t just hope for abundance. It comes through action. I wanted a murder. I researched how to obtain a murder. I acted according to the research and I have a murder.

The dandelions have been blooming for a while. I intentionally left them alone because every Spring when they bloom they become food for hungry pollinators. They arrive early and are an important food source. So I just enjoy the little sunshine blossoms in my yard. They’ve been bright yellow bursts of joy so long some of them are turning transparent white.

Even though the winter is busy with school, ballet, and holidays, my body wishes it could hibernate and sleep the cold grey dreary Michigan winter away. I awaken with exuberance when it’s wild violet season. It’s wild violet season. When the tiny purple and white flowers and accompanying heart shaped leaves poke through my yard, I am suddenly a little girl oohing and ahhing over the magic.

Mornings in Spring are gorgeous. When the sun rises out my kitchen window pink, purple and glowing I feel like a lucky witness. I've adjusted my routine to create a great morning and a positive start to my day. Before news or social media I enjoy coffee and read. I'm currently reading, To Throw Away Unopened, by Viv Albertine.

Week 2 of trying to befriend a murder. I'm peering out my back kitchen window. I watch a crow I've named Edgar Allen Crow land on the stump on which I leave peanuts. In my mind I think, "I'm waiting for my Ruca," cue the Sublime song running through my head. And from what appears to be the roof of my house, Ruca glides in next Edgar Allen.

This is when I share open and honestly something about myself which will probably have readers judging me. Dear reader, judge away. This part of me you may not understand but it's a part I don't require outside validation to embrace. I am actively trying to befriend a murder of crows. During Covid, I heard a story about a man who fed crows.

In Michigan, residents experience the transitional season of ennui, awaiting warmer weather and the end of winter. Activities include collecting maple sap for syrup and excitedly anticipating garden growth from overwintered seeds. The author advocates for a balanced approach to health, combining natural remedies with scientific advancements while nurturing their backyard for fruits, veggies, and mushrooms.

A little note about the time between blogs... My computer was knocked to the ground and was not working for a time so I was unable to blog. Due to the shortened Maple season the last few years, we tapped our tree at the start of February. And wouldn't you know it, we got a normal Michigan February for the first time in two years.