BLACK BEAR* SCAT ON RIVER BENCH PATH

By Erik Esselstyn

Late September signals a few fall rituals Celina and I have shared for nearly twenty years on ninety plus acres of central Vermont forests and pasture. The garden is being put to bed, all the squash vines, beanstalks, potato and tomato plants plus lawn clippings being spread over the soil to reduce the drying from wind and sun. We’ll probably plant a cover crop, rye grass, to further hold the soil and create channels for rain to seep deeper into the earth.

Vermont at the moment continues to simmer in the midst of a months long drought, most extensive period without major spring/summer rains since the 1940s. Organic dairies which depend on grass silage and green protein-rich hay face likely shortages by late December. Moist green grass for hay and silage this summer just never achieved the height and thickness to provide the normal volumes. Non organic dairies using GMO corn for silage will likely survive as the corn volumes better withstand the drought.

A number of house plants transplanted outside in early spring, now, reluctantly return to the house in a variety of unwieldy bushel sized plastic tubs. A five foot, shiny leaved bay tree, an adaptable orange tree that by mid December will produce ping pong ball sized oranges to reappear in Christmas marmalade, a few spiky aloe vera clunkers, a rosemary bush nearly four feet tall, and, of course, half a dozen geraniums.

All the digging and grunting, all the hassle positioning plywood on the mudroom steps and hefting the biggies inside with a two wheeled dolly, into their respective winter corners in the window section of the living room. No question, lots of pesky scratches and rug moving but, alas, only your December visit can capture the scents of the rosemary bush and the blossoming orange tree in their annual tango near the kitchen wood stove.

The canning and freezing, the jam and jelly making of the last few months seems ongoing, actually, it comes in monumental surges. Rhubarb, green beans, braiding onions to dry along the kitchen window frames, potatoes, squash, zucchini, cucumbers into pickles,

Blueberries, raspberries, elderberries, wild grapes, into various blends of jams and jellies. This morning my role was cleaning up the aftermath of the grape jelly making, all the while listening to the snapping lids as the two dozen metal jar tops cooled on the kitchen counter.

These days, having committed every psychic muscle to tamp down concerns about an uncertain future – political, financial, climatic – I envy the hibernating woodchuck. Five months undisturbed, deep in my cozy earthen hollow, heart rate slowing to a few beats per minute, to awaken when the sun shines warm again and the Black Eyed Susans reappear near my door.

Be safe, Be smart.

Big hugs to all.

My warm best, Erik

* EE hardly a savvy naturalist. Not the obvious cigars of coyotes or the pellets of deer. Thus, the flat squash shape and volume plus berries = bear. Black bear (ursus Americanus) the only bear in Vermont. Voila.