September 11

Remembering.

Goldenrod shakes under

the weight of bees.

August 22: On the trail

We hiked in to spend the night at Poplar Stream Falls Hut, part of the Maine Huts & Trails network near Sugarloaf Mountain.

On the trail, late August--

goldenrod abuzz with bees,

one red poplar leaf.

August 14: What gets me out of bed

Better than coffee--
waking to blue sky,
goldenrod blooming.

August 7: Goldenrod

First glow of goldenrod--

the field shifts to gold,

summer's mood downshifts.

Posted with Blogsy

September 7: Memorial celebration for Kate

When we talk about
goldenrod and asters, it's
really about grief.

August 10: Funeral

A character in a book I read recently complained that funerals should never take place on beautiful days, that the sun and blue sky merely taunt those who are in mourning. This foggy morning thus seemed well suited for attending a funeral, the soft focus appropriate for introspection and reflections on mortality. I was surprised after arriving in this muted mood, then, to find myself spending much of the service laughing. The deceased, whom I'd never met (I was there to support the widow, whom I know through work), was apparently quite the comedian, and the stories his family shared--they were laughing loudest--along with video clips of him hamming it up, allowed a good-spirited humor to keep at bay feelings of sadness and loss. The foggy landscape took on a different tenor on the drive home.

No gloom in this fog--
rather, goldenrod glowing,
candles in a dream.

July 31: Pollen

Last week I endured a battery of allergy tests. I thought I was done with all that when I was a kid, when my entire back reacted to almost everything on the scratch test and I had to get allergy shots for years. They seemed to work for a while, and most people with chronic allergies grow less sensitive as they get older.

Alas, not I. (I blame global climate change.) Hence, the day at the allergy doctor's office, where, once more, my back (and arms, this time) reacted to just about everything except a few things the shots seemed to have taken care of: no molds this time around, no trees except ash, no feathers. (Of course one of the biggest trees in my back yard, hanging right over the house, is an ash.) The usual trigger flowers--goldenrod, ragweed--plus "mixed grasses" and sagebrush (sagebrush?!) were also high on the list, along with good ol' cats and dogs, and that ubiquitous allegen, dust. Seriously, who isn't allergic to dust?

After being shown a video on how to dust-proof my bedroom (short answer: get rich, replace all your linens with hypoallergenic ones made by the video's sponsor, install an air conditioner, and hire a cleaning lady to properly clean your bedroom once a week as recommended because who has time for that?), I was given some new prescriptions and sent on my merry way. Oh yes, and I'm supposed to keep the cat out of the bedroom. Or get rid of her. Obviously, the doctor doesn't have a cat. I've lived with cats my entire life, so I'm going to work harder on avoiding the goldenrod instead. Because there's not much of that around when one is out in the field hiking or birding...

But I got some good new drugs out of the visit, and a renewed respect for pollen. We can't see it, yet it has the ability to make our lives truly miserable. At least the cat purrs and cuddles with you. Pollen just hangs in the air, insidious, waiting for that chance to enter your nasal passages...

So today working in my flower garden it was with no small horror that I looked down to see my left arm smeared with gold pollen. Big grainy pollen, gold as saffron, a beautiful color. Must have been from the day lilies. I seem to still be breathing just fine, so apparently it wasn't anything I'm allergic to... yet.

On my tan wrist, smear
of gold pollen, fairy dust,
a forbidden kiss.

August 21: Fire Hydrant

Dense fog has settled over the midcoast, as often happens this time of year: 100% humidity. Even the crows' cawing in the yard sounds a bit muffled. A short run left me soaking wet (not to be too gross or anything), the moist, warm air clinging to my skin, mingling with my sweat. Mount Battie was completely hidden by the mist.

This time of year, I particularly enjoy how the goldenrod in the fields glows so brightly on these muted mornings. One family along my running route mows only the lawn directly in front of their house; the rest of the yard, between the strip of lawn and the road, they let grow wild. Chipping sparrows, doves, and goldfinches seemed to enjoy this, as well, as that's where they were all hanging out today. Right now, that roadside field is rife with blooming goldenrod, made all the more stunning by the fact that the backdrop, their house, is bright red with lime green trim.

But what struck my eye the most on my little outing was, oddly, coming upon a newly painted, vividly red fire hydrant tucked away in the roadside weeds. The town has been repainting all its fire hydrants this summer in an attempt to make them more visible, and that certainly worked with this one. I must have passed it a hundred times on my runs and never noticed it amid all the surrounding greenery. In its way it was on the same fog-busting color scale as the goldenrod. And in its way, on this quiet, muggy, foggy morning, just as beautiful.

It's not a cardinal,
but this hydrant's shade of red
also makes me smile.

August 4: Haze

A soft haze clung faintly to the landscape as I left work this humid evening, muting the edges of trees and lawns. The overgrown field of milkweed, goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace, fern, and timothy surrounding our office lightly perfumed the air with the scent of hay. Besides the background whirr of crickets, several goldfinches chirped merrily as they dipped over the tall grass. The moment was dream-like, made even more so by that dazed feeling one sometimes has at the end of a long day of work in a hot office: a high summer's afternoon dream.

Hazy, drowsy field.
I could curl up and sleep here
amid these soft ferns.

July 26: Golden Glow

I confess, I love goldenrod. Just look at it! I love the golden glow it brings to the lush fields of high summer, that rich sunny color hinting of the maturity of the season. (And green and gold are such a vivid combination. No wonder so many sports teams use it, including my grad school alma mater, University of Oregon). 

I love how its appearance signals the arrival of my favorite time of year, late summer into fall, when above these burnished fields, birds will soon migrate south once more, the very air humming with their restless spirit. Goldenrod's height and hue make it seem as if Mother Nature put all her remaining flower power into firing up this late bloomer of the year. 

As with many flowers, goldenrod gets more intriguing the closer you look at its little starry florets. Its a complex plant, and there are actually dozens of species of goldenrod, guaranteeing hours of field study to figure them all out. 

Unfortunately for me, I'm quite allergic to goldenrod. I know they say that it's not really goldenrod people are allergic to, it's the ragweed that blooms at the same time. But no, I've been tested, I'm allergic to ragweed and goldenrod. Which is why today my voice is hoarse and I'm squinting at the screen because my contacts are a bit gummy. But none of that dims the joy I feel when I look out the window at those glowing golden sprays, offset perfectly by the reddening leaves of the dogwood and the Queen Anne's lace (see yesterday's post), with the river shining in the background.

Does anyone doubt

gold is the color of joy

in this rich season?