I don’t think i’ve been so aware of seasons as I have been in the last five months.  When we arrived here in early April there was still six feet of snow around the place.  Four days of continuous rains melted it all, flooded many areas, and washed out bridges.  Now, in September the effects are still with us.

Within a day of the snow melting the first purple crocuses appeared in the garden.  Like magic.  Amidst the rubble of the winter the first signs of spring emerged.  Over the next month leaves budded out, grass greened up, flowers emerged, and the first produce from local farmers started to make it to farmers markets.  Their offerings have changed through the summer.  Potatoes, carrots, cabbage grew in size each week.  Tomatoes became plentiful.

In April and May I could hear frogs every night.  Little peepers started up at 8:50 every night; like clockwork.  Their chorus ended in June.  A ten minute drive from the house took me to a parking spot on the Shepody march.  There wasn’t a light visible for miles.  Fireflies entertained me at night while I focused my telescope on Saturn.

August brought sandpipers.  Small world travellers smaller than my fist.  They stopped on their way from their summer place in the arctic to their winter home in South America.  While they were here they gorged themselves on mud shrimp and doubled their body weight.  They arrived in the tens of thousands, put on spectacular flying displays, then left as the winds shifted from the north.  Four days of continuous flying took them to South America.

A small flip of sandpipers.

These little guys amaze me. Flocks arrive late July by the thousands, eat mud shrimp, fly to South America. Truly Wild.

Two days ago we were sitting outside looking onto a huge maple tree in the park.  Two of the branches had a few red leaves.  This is the surest sign that summer is drawing to an end. But not yet, i hope.