Which, I have discovered, has a name. Last time we were here, I wrote a blog post called "the un-named season." Turns out I was quite wrong. Stick season: when the countryside is feathered with forests of fine, bare twigs and banks of tall seedpods.
Meanwhile, the animals and birds are taking the extra time before the snow to fatten up. Bruce continues to be thwarted by the squirrels. We thought that this was staged - now we know that squirrels are just incorrigible and unstoppable. But also impossibly cute.
|she's just pretending to be meek and sweet|
|he's not weak chinned - his cheeks are just full of sunflower seeds|
And in the evening, two little possums eat apples off our deck.
|the beaver's creek|