HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Ah, the thirty-first of October. Time to turn colder, barer.

Drier.

Fire.

Leaves are pretty much down up here on The Ridge. My variegated maple has held on until the last. It loses its leaves from the top down. So why do my dogwoods go red from the ground up?

I have always regarded Halloween as my New Year's Eve. November First is the beginning of the year.

So Happy New Year

and

Happy Halloween.

From Standish Farm and Red

From The Standish Homestead

And from Samara Morgan and Harvey D. Eyeball Congeries.

And, oh, yeah. From me, too.

NOW SHE HAS A FRIEND

Autumn in Southern New England came early and hung around longer than anyone around here remembers. September and October were perfect. Just the right amount of rain and sun, warm and cool. A little too warm for my liking, though. The damned yellowjackets, always trouble at this time of year, were in a constant state of confusion. 

"Warm? Cold? Make up your freaking mind!"

I could hear them cry out in their evil little yellow and black voices.

They're ready to go to ground for the winter, but can't quite do it yet. The woods can be very dangerous at this time of year. And in late October in New England, anything can happen.

So I was on guard that day.

While doing my usual Autumn cleanup around the property, there was some scratching and then squishy noises from the front yard. I heard it because I was not operating the weed eater yet; as I said, the temperatures in southern New England haven't dipped far enough to kill off the damned yellowjackets, so it's pretty quiet here at The Farm.

So I heard the squishing and went to investigate.

Lo and behold, an Eyeball Monster had come to visit. It told me it was a night creature, but needed light, so I did what I could to accommodate it. Apparently its name is Harvey.

Harvey D. Eyeball Congeries

Kinda cute in a squishy sort of way. Smells weird, though.

But when the sun started to go down and I gave it some light to make it comfortable, it shrieked and screamed.

Then SHE arrived.

I hadn't seen Samara Morgan since last Hallow's Eve. It's when she usually comes to visit.

I only didn't know she knew HIM.

And apparently has some control.

As night fell, they began to dance.

And chant.

And sing squishy, disgusting songs like nothing of this earth.

Now they do it every night. Dancing and singing, shrieking and screaming. And scaring the hell out of the neighbors.

If only I could get the yellowjackets to listen. Maybe they'd leave.



FINALLY!

It only took all year, but I finally finished the siding and trim on the wood shop, even building a new door that matches.

 The south side (with the door) has antique eastern white pine instead of antique southern yellow longleaf ("Heart") pine (to the left), and so looks a little darker due to the dark brown patina. The heart pine has been re-cut from huge beams, and so has a newly cut surface. The south wall is made from antique flooring from Colonial-era homes. Some even has the Roman numerals designating where it went in its original building. This wood was rejected at the shop for one reason or other, and being a good little scrounger, I squirrelled it away for a few years to use on this side. Heart pine has more pitch and a tendency to weep sap (even after five hundred years) and split in high heat, and the south side is certainly in the sun all day. Drier, more stable white pine can stand the sun better.

 Autumn is nigh. The yellowjackets are going crazy, landing on anything in a panic; they know from the warm days and cold nights that their time above ground is limited. The mulberry, brought here as a six-inch stick from the roof where it was growing, has grown to about fifteen feet; the pile of glass from the old greenhouse leans against it. It made two berries this year!

The north side, complete with festoons. The shutter for the fan window will soon be shut for winter; I'm not sure what I'll do for a finish. Probably flat black.

Funny thing about those wood signs. They were harvested from the now-demolished section of the 1860s barn's milking floor, and I put them on the wood shop over two years ago. I suppose someone scarfed them up when the DOT went to metal alloy signs. Strange thing is that they still shine like beacons when car headlights hit them. They're only visible for a second, but I often hear car tires squeal from people hitting their brakes, despite them being a hundred feet from the road.

I'm happy this is done. It shows the passerby that work is actually being finished at The Farm, and what the exteriors of the other barns might look like someday.

Now to get the Tractor Shed roof straightened.