Stick season

It should be snowing. In 2013, when we went to find a Christmas tree, this is the tree we bought:

Flash forward two year, and this was the scene:

Around us, people are scratching their heads: the mildest December they remember. No chance of a White Christmas, even: the temperatures are actually going up on Christmas Eve. The snow will come, though, before we leave - and in the meantime, we enjoy the warm weather (hey, everything is relative - and when it's still and dry, 11 degrees is mild and pleasant!). And we are charmed by the austere loveliness of this season between golden fall and soft, white winter.

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.

 The colours of this season are soft greys and washed sepia, the lake and the streams are silver.

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.

 

The little red squirrel is a feisty character who can see off three big grey squirrels in one wild dash.

she's just pretending to be meek and sweet

The chipmunk is still out foraging:

he's not weak chinned - his cheeks are just full of sunflower seeds

 

And although we put out plenty of seed, there are still arguments around the bird feeders:

And in the evening, two little possums eat apples off our deck. 

 

There is even a beaver in the creek up the road - I haven't seen him yet (though Bruce has), but I've admired his handiwork from the distance of my long lens.

the beaver's creek

 Every season is beautiful in Vermont. Including stick season. So while we wait for the snow, we watch and delight in everything around us. The snow will come.