gatherers hunt

Most farmers in northwest Iowa have finished harvesting. Corn and soybean crops are combined and stored in elevators or bins, waiting for favorable prices. The garden produce has been eaten or preserved for winter. Plentiful pumpkins gathered up to sell at local stands and markets. Some orange orbs are carved into fierce or friendly faces, holding lit candles to flicker from porches.

The sun sets earlier now, as Harvest Moon is followed by Hunter Moon. Perhaps the native Lakota would have called it Falling Leaves Moon. They are still falling…red sumac, flaming maples, golden cottonwood blanket lawns, deep green underneath from generous autumn rains. Children rake leaves repeatedly into great piles, then run and jump, scattering crunchy debris with delight.

Pheasant season opens; eager hunters gather in the chill air, some accompanied by dogs in training. They patiently walk waterways and groves to flush out the birds, grown plump on corn. Whir of wings and sharp pop of gun, dog fetches dead bird, still warm. Someone will dress and cook their prize tonight. Pheasants raised for hunting keep population flush.

eyes glow in the dark

wandering possum or coon?

roadkill by morning


Frank Tassone hosts haibun Monday at dVerse where we’re howling at the Hunter Moon 🙂

harvest time

Colors of fall
Russet, gold trees
Orange pumpkins

Prairie
Cornfields
Combines whir
God’s abundance!

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A septolet is a 7-line poem consisting of exactly 14 words split into two connected parts or stanzas that share a single image or thought. Inspired by Dawn Minott’s post here.

octoburr moonrise

Moonrise by Saskia Boelsums

music of mysterious season
every extra-ordinary evening
when fall’s awe-calling and
autumn’s beat thrum-drums.

dry cornstalks quiver in crisp
whispers of sweater weather as
honky geese migrate late, and
de-fruited trees leave with a sigh.

orange pumpkin planets shimmer
eerily in phantom-tastical gleams
of the ghostly harvest moon-beams
that pierce clouds’ flimsy shroud.


Join dVerse Poets where Dora invites us to “trip the October light fantastic.”

harvest fun

corn maze…

enter with map

follow lost grandchildren

emerge later to pick bumpy

pumpkins;

orange…

ordinary

white orbs are popular

even keen on green gourds with stripes

and warts!

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Bjorn asks us to revisit cinquain form at dVerse…here’s my double!

equinox musings

We retired from full-time farming two years ago. My days are a bit slower now but my husband has been equally as busy as before with home remodel and landscaping. I help him as needed, babysit grandchildren when asked, and volunteer…finding a balance of work and leisure time.

The fall equinox in our hemisphere means equal hours of day and night. We enjoy equal parts cold and heat as sun shines brightly during the day but not as strongly. On my walk, I notice the prairie seems equally dead and alive…some plants bloom wildly in a last hurrah and others have dried brown, boasting seeds.

We reap what we sow and sow what we reap. The past holds seed for a future harvest. Darkness and light, cold and heat, planting and harvest, rest and work, life and death all have their seasons. The clock ticks, the calendar page turns, and another equinox passes.

milkweed pods burst silk

tiny seeds carried away

future monarch’s food

hangry haiku

black crows glean cornfield

startled by walker on road

accusers fly off

image generated by AI at canva.com

big bird…live!

gray heron sighting

long-legs lifted on wide wings

grand daughters breathless

after ride through field near creek

where daddy combines soybeans

2+gray+heron+-+bundala

image from cannundrums blogspot

forecast blues

 

stuck weather pattern only brings more rain

while farmers ripe to harvest feel the strain

soybeans swell fat, cornstalks rot wet

without a crop, families grow debt

we hope and pray for sun to shine again!

 

(oh no, could that be snow?!)

 

 

 

Linking to dVerse  poets’ pub where Frank is toasting iambic pentameter…

autumn bounty

 

harvest harmonized

pheasant struts from ripe cornfield

deer leaps pumpkin patch

culmination of seasons

color life deep rich orange

 

 

photo by lynn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


My tanka response to Ramblings of a Writer’s prompt: seasons, harmonized.

 

small enough to drown

 

harvest gathered in

crystal sky glitters invite

river of heaven

 

 

old-man-2035427__340

image – pixabay

Linking to Frank J. Tassone site, where “haiku poetry matters.”

stalked by Claude

Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets with Bjorn looking at impressionistic art


 

layers of light

flecks of colour

giant’s velvet

birthday cupcake

or thatched hut

is sunlit stack of

bovine manna

dried muffin-top

will-o-wisps in wind

dense center holds

heat of long day

gleaned stubble field

rests in cool shade

robust wet dabs

of painter’s palette

reflects sweat of

villagers’ harvest

 

monet_hay

haystack by Monet

harvesting the moon

Linking with dVerse Poets for Haibun Monday…

img_1320

November 2016 “super moon” 


 

I remember the harvest moon when we still picked corn. My husband’s father hunkered inside the tractor-mounted picker on a clear October night. He throttled ahead, pushing the machine’s snouts into the rows of dry corn, stripping off ears, spitting them into the trailing wagon and leaving bent stalks in its wake. At the end of the field, the satisfied farmer unhitched his full wagon by pulling a rope and riding ahead to wait.

Raised as city girl and college-educated, I learned to drive tractor and maneuver an empty wagon behind the picker, unhitch, then turn to back tractor in front of full wagon. It was like a mechanical dance when performed smoothly. I’d hop down and run to lift tongue of empty wagon in line as picker slowly backed to it until holes lined up and I could drop hitch pin into place. Dad turned machine back into standing corn for next pass across field where my husband met him with another empty wagon.

After hitching up full wagon, I’d climb back on tractor, and haul my load to a corn crib; one of our round wire cribs or a wooden-slat shed. I drove straight past the folded elevator; dismounted to lower heavy hopper to ground. Climbed on tractor again to back the wagon against hopper and raise wagon box with hydraulic hoist, tipping it back.  A utility tractor ran the elevator as I reached over to open/close the wagon’s small back door to allow rolling corn ears to fall into the hopper at my feet. A moving chain with metal flights carried the corn up, up, up to top of roof where it dumped ears into open crib.

I wore earplugs to deaden the noise, my skin chafed in the cold wind, my eyes protested the dust and my body fought fatigue after an already long day of harvest (switching wagon, hauling load, emptying wagon, repeat).  But to witness an abundant crop under a beautiful moon felt like God smiling his blessing on us.
 

shadow hides raccoon

full moon rises on cornfields

kernels of plenty

 

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