Some of a Wisconsin Write Up
Late summer/early fall is not my fave time in S. Cali- and this trip to Wisconsin gave clear examples as to why.
We're severely lacking in any ~colors~. Which isn't to say that Wisconsin was in the height of its autumnal glory- we were there too early for that. But it was still brighter and more vibrant than the dust and concrete heat haze that is my home this time of year.
Things were ~green~. That alone would have made my day (or week, rather). But the subtle tints and vivid shades from the sky to the ground underfoot-
Dodge County, where my cousin lives, is rural farmland. The highways passed through patchwork of crops- rustling cornfields a yellow beige tinted with green (there is nothing spookier than the sounds of a cornfield at night), with strips of dark churned soil where parts had been harvested, to terracotta brown kneehigh soybeans, all interspersed with brilliant green alfalfa fields and ribbons dark green trees lining meandering creeks and streams. The occasional tree blushed red or yellow, while sumac bushes were patches of flaming scarlet hovering on near-invisible branches over the rich earth.
The air was ~clean~, full of living smells of growing and harvest, and clouds marched across the sky in patterns I've only seen on the open plains. It rained twice while we were there- once with a thunderstorm that swept through in the middle of the night. I woke up when it was closest, and stayed up til the counts between flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder told me it was moving off. The other time was on Monday, where the rain passed through as a curtain dividing the chilly morning with its knife-edged breeze from the balmy, warm, didn't-I-pack-a-shortsleeved-shirt-for-this, sunny afternoon.
Oh, and the birds. Blue jays screamed with metallic shrieks, while catbirds wailed piteously while hidden in the thick bushes. Redwinged blackbirds chatted back and forth while flocking overhead, and in the middle of the night you'd hear, while barely half-awake, the distant honking of Canadian Geese while they made their way by moonlight to the rivers and marshes. Occasionally you'd hear the questioning whistle of a Flicker or woodpecker, or the delightful chatter of a chickadee.
There are many reasons why I'd like to go back- but here are just a few.
... And we're looking forwards to a heatwave this weekend in S. Cali. ~Lovely~.
We're severely lacking in any ~colors~. Which isn't to say that Wisconsin was in the height of its autumnal glory- we were there too early for that. But it was still brighter and more vibrant than the dust and concrete heat haze that is my home this time of year.
Things were ~green~. That alone would have made my day (or week, rather). But the subtle tints and vivid shades from the sky to the ground underfoot-
Dodge County, where my cousin lives, is rural farmland. The highways passed through patchwork of crops- rustling cornfields a yellow beige tinted with green (there is nothing spookier than the sounds of a cornfield at night), with strips of dark churned soil where parts had been harvested, to terracotta brown kneehigh soybeans, all interspersed with brilliant green alfalfa fields and ribbons dark green trees lining meandering creeks and streams. The occasional tree blushed red or yellow, while sumac bushes were patches of flaming scarlet hovering on near-invisible branches over the rich earth.
The air was ~clean~, full of living smells of growing and harvest, and clouds marched across the sky in patterns I've only seen on the open plains. It rained twice while we were there- once with a thunderstorm that swept through in the middle of the night. I woke up when it was closest, and stayed up til the counts between flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder told me it was moving off. The other time was on Monday, where the rain passed through as a curtain dividing the chilly morning with its knife-edged breeze from the balmy, warm, didn't-I-pack-a-shortsleeved-shirt-for-this, sunny afternoon.
Oh, and the birds. Blue jays screamed with metallic shrieks, while catbirds wailed piteously while hidden in the thick bushes. Redwinged blackbirds chatted back and forth while flocking overhead, and in the middle of the night you'd hear, while barely half-awake, the distant honking of Canadian Geese while they made their way by moonlight to the rivers and marshes. Occasionally you'd hear the questioning whistle of a Flicker or woodpecker, or the delightful chatter of a chickadee.
There are many reasons why I'd like to go back- but here are just a few.
... And we're looking forwards to a heatwave this weekend in S. Cali. ~Lovely~.