The last warm day...?

Our back-yard buckeye

Today is sunny and calm and about 70 degrees Fahrenheit. It may be the last warm day until next spring.

Butterfly weed seeds float on gossamer wings

Thing is, at this point we Minnesotans say that about every warm and sunny day. "Beautiful day!" comes the greeting. "Yup, probably the last one for this year," comes the reply. Just in case that's true, I'm posting a few more photos of this year's fall color, all taken about October 1 right here in our yard.

Looking down our street

We were told that because of the very dry conditions and a counterproductive temperature cycle, the colors this year were likely to be very subdued. And indeed, some trees simply turned brown and dropped everything at the first breeze.

Northwoods Maple in our front yard

But there was color to be found, and the urban forest where we live did quite well indeed. The color in these photos is mostly gone now, but the late-turning trees still beckon, along with shrubs, grasses, and the occasional planter of fall flowers. I am enjoying it all, as long as it lasts.

It's a treat to beat your feet on the Mississippi mud...

Last Tuesday was a lovely day for an outing, and ViMae likes to collect pretty rocks, so we went to Hidden Falls Park, in the heart of St. Paul and Minneapolis, with a picnic lunch and Vi's pink plastic bucket.

We started out like this - jackets and shoes on, staying dry.

We soon switched to this, which was much more fun.

Her bucket filled, we had one exuberant child running up and down along the water's edge and laughing. There were a dozen or so other park visitors, and a few paused to watch.

The Mississippi doesn't really become muddy until somewhere downstream from Minnesota, but we don't know a song about the "sandy and rocky" Mississippi, so Peter serenaded us with the oldie he knew.  It was a glorious day.

Rocks, trees, and water

With a late September wedding anniversary, Peter and I often celebrate by driving to the nearby countryside to soak in the glorious leaf color. This year the setting itself was far more dramatic than the color.

Last Friday, on a lovely warm afternoon, we drove along the St. Croix River to Taylors Falls, Minnesota, home of Interstate State Park. The river forms part of the boundary between Minnesota and Wisconsin, and the park extends into both states.

Basalt cliffs at Taylors Falls are just the beginning; the entire area underwent drastic upheaval in the glacial age. Says the park's website: "At least 10 different lava flows are exposed in the park, along with two distinct glacial deposits, and traces of old streams valleys and faults." This isn't a park for strolling; it requires climbing and sometimes picking your way over massively uneven rocks.

A notable feature of the area is a series of glacial potholes, some of them remarkably narrow and deep. This pothole illustrates another common feature of the park: trees, ferns, and vines growing out of seemingly tiny fissures in the rock. Peter's comment: "Where there's a will, there's a way."

Some potholes have been excavated; others that appear shallow are simply filled in with sand and rock. Scientists hope to excavate one more, the largest in the park. Daily tours explain the potholes, and there is information on the park's website.

We may go back another year to take a river cruise to enjoy this scenery from another perspective. Glad we didn't try that this year; Sunday's paper noted that the river is so shallow because of drought that the usual 2-hour cruise has been cut to just 45 minutes.

The New Normal

Augie, with three weeks of kindergarten under his belt, walks a little taller and behaves a little more responsibly. ViMae, initially bereft without him, is enjoying our undivided attention and learning who she wants to be when he’s not around. They were already spectacular, and now they are just a little more grownup.

We’ve settled into a daily routine. The kids still arrive at roughly 6:45, and I’ve started getting up at 7 instead of 8. There is time to play, eat a big breakfast (an hour earlier than we used to), and have lots of conversation. Then at exactly 8:07 Augie puts on shoes and jacket and heads out the door with his grandpa.

This routine works because Augie is much more able to do what he’s asked the first time. Come to breakfast. Wash hands. Time to go. These used to be a struggle, because he gets immersed in whatever he’s doing and it has been hard for him to let go. We all knew he needed to get better about it in order to get along in school, and he has risen to the occasion.

A couple of days ago he announced that he was ready for Pa to drop him off at school instead of parking the car and walking in with him. So yesterday Peter watched with a lump in his throat as Augie ran to the door, turned and gave a big grinning wave, and disappeared inside.

As Augie and Pa go out the door, ViMae is taking my hand and pulling me toward wherever she wants to play this day.

We do crafty things with markers, stickers, construction paper, play-dough, and the like. Using scarves, tiaras, and silk flowers we dress as dancers, as princesses, as a bride (her) and flower girl (me). We dance or drink pretend tea or practice walking slowly up an imaginary aisle. Often Pa reads to her, and sometimes we play a board game.

What is striking is that every activity lasts much longer than before. With Augie here, ViMae interrupted herself every few minutes to see what he was doing. Often she got sidetracked and didn’t return. Now we play for an hour or more at each activity, and as a result, her skills are developing: Our projects are more complete, our pretend stories more developed, our dances far more expressive. She often stops to say, "This is fun!" It will be fascinating to see where this leads.

Just as Augie decided he was ready to walk himself into school, ViMae has overcome her separation issues when we deliver her to preschool. Yesterday she hugged us and was gone in a flash. But earlier, when we mentioned that we planned to take turns driving her, as we did when just Augie went there, she let us know she likes both of us to come. As long as she feels that way, and since we both enjoy the experience, that’s exactly what we’ll do.

A whirlwind first hour, and a much calmer rest-of-the-day focused on one child instead of two. It’s all part of the new normal.