Since yesterday (at least), our weather has been greatly affected by that tropical depression that moved north out of the Gulf. This morning fairly early I checked the prediction, and figured we’d see rain all day, off and on. Then, about 10:30, I saw that the temperature predictions had changed, and rose significantly into the afternoon, which I figured meant that the sun would come out, and…I should get out before that happened unless I wanted to melt.
I did do ho-hum, and got my shoes on and headed out, enjoying a few random drops from the trees. Then I saw a bit of shadow, and thought oh no, I didn’t move fast enough. But the sun retreated and I kept moving through the humidity that the overnight rain had engendered, got my minutes in, and returned soaked in sweat, but not as overheated as I would have been if I had left later.
First photo: droplets on spreading grass. Second: crepe myrtle bark, soaked. Third: magnolia blossom, newly opened so dry inside the petals.
Dawn sky. Apologies for the infrastructure eyesore.
By late afternoon yesterday, the humidty had dropped, and even though the temps had not, the FEELing was more pleasant.
Ditto for today, for the humidity. Somehow, in addition, it was even cool this morning. And we’re in lily season.
Another foggy morning.
With sandhill cranes (center, on hill).
Later, much later, a teeny storm was threatening from the northwest, and this merganser mom lead her brood away from our par-tee. The storm did get to us, a wee bit of wind and not even enough rain to moisten the soil around the mint on the ringfort.
First drama was a population explosion, overnight mind you, of tiny gnats…which meant the spiders got busy, and the porch was decorated with web-caught and un-caught gnats.
Second drama was a lowering sky to the southwest…which meant it slid past us to the south, but it wasn’t clear whether it would follow that usual pattern or not for quite a while. As I was out walking.
The third dramatic event was that we attended a live music event! Meet AnnMarie Rowland, singer, song-writer, story-teller, and writing teacher. Covid struck and separated the Michigan native from her love, a Canadian. Now, all is well. She got a special exemption to travel to Ontario late last summer, and they got married, and now she can easily border-cross. As she said, “Sixty years old, and I HAD to get married!”
We did get rain during our small dinner party on the “sun”porch, but only enough to almost make the upper surface of the hillfort garden-let damp.
I am my husband’s smart speaker. I’m smart (asserted modestly), and I speak (undeniable). [I’ve been hearing too many prompts on the radio….]
Always love the effect when there’s a quiet night and plenty of dew, which together create a mist when the sun-heat arrives.
Pair of sandhills in the field on the opposite side of the road from previous sitings/photos. If I’d been quicker to snap the shutter, you could see both their bodies (instead of two necks/heads and one body). I heard that the farmer may put some feeder cattle in the field (no sign of that so far*), so they better take special care in selecting a nest location.
* Since the nutritional quality of the grass will soon drop precipitously—it’s almost going to seed—I’m not sure if it’ll be worth the effort of shipping the beasts in and out, and upgrading the fencing.
We are back in northern Michigan early spring—frost overnight, and probably tonight, too. Apple blooms look okay (so far).
Offshore breeze means quiet waters (here).
Herd of deer by tree. If you can discern two dark shapes just a bit closer to me than the deer—those are a pair of sandhills…I’ve been hearing them and previous years I’ve seen them in this field…good to find them here again.
Yeah, that title is the prediction for overnight in the clear-sky dark-hours. Lots of blooms in danger. And if the apple blooms are hit, well, no apples come autumn.
Look immediately above the right tree and on the far left. Two sandhill crane souls captured. Two more were in the air, although I did not manage to capture their images/souls.
Our beach isn’t the only one vastly remodeled for spring 2021. This is the mouth of the Au Train River, which flows into Lake Superior. This year the mouth is farther west than I’ve ever seen it. The water cut deeply into the bank I’m standing on, which usually slopes down to a beach zone bordering the water. No longer. In fact, the park people built a new path farther west than they ever had had one, as the old ones end in an abrupt and dangerous drop into the water. On the other hand, the lake level is not as high as it has tended to be. On the other other hand, the fire danger is HIGH because it is dry dry dry.
Sometime today, yesterday’s Cascades became today’s Rockies. These long lakes are all fake, or perhaps more kindly, they’re reservoirs. With abundant power generation. I’ll take the reflections.
This murder scene welcomed us to tonight’s overnight housing.
When I first arrived, as part of the dying fish tableau, I watched a male mallard preen before departing. And among the plants, several Arctostaphylos uva-ursi, which I know as kinnikinnick (from the Algonquian referring to the plant’s use as a smoking substance).
If I understood the weather prediction correctly, places we’ve been today and will visit tomorrow will have snowfall Wednesday after we are out on the Great Plains.