October 28, 2026
This must be a record, writing in my screen tent office on the 28th of October on the coast of Maine. The thermometer has hit the lower sixties, no need for a jacket. There remains a splash of color on the lavender phlox in the garden, but everything else there has taken on the hues of the season – browns, yellows, golds, and a kind of olive green. The green matches a corduroy jumper I just ordered online. It encourages me to purchase a deep golden turtleneck to complete the outfit. After all, this is my favorite time of year and I would like nothing more than to blend in.
A half dozen goldfinches have just attached themselves to the bent stalks of the sunflowers that sprouted up among the zinnias. Most of them have made their way up to the dried-out blooms. They balance upside down as thy remove the inner seeds one at a time. The more successful they are, the more likely they are to attract a rival to fight for the spoils. Feeding during autumn is noisier than in the warmer seasons as the desiccated leaves and stems crunch when being so violated. One finch has now given up raiding the sunflowers and is concentrating on the echinacea flowers in another section of the garden.
During the summer, the garden was full of insect life – butterflies, dragonflies, all kinds of bees, sphinx moths, just to name a few. The autumn garden is full of birds, not for pollinating, but for dining. I am mesmerized by all of them. Just now a tiny chickadee has flown into the birdbath on the deck and is splashing up a storm. I hear a steady banging, sounding like a small hammer on a block of wood. I scan the yard and see a small woodpecker, a downy, attached to the wood of one of our raised tomato gardens looking for the insects she hungers for. She moves on but, unfortunately for her, to the concrete bench that allows us to rest near the Blessed Mother under the crabapple tree. She pecks at that a few times more and realizes it will not provide her with anything she needs. Perhaps learning for our feathered friends is much like it is for us, a process of trial and error.
I wonder if the birds have a favorite season, like I do. Autumn, hands down. During this time of year, I am constantly fed on the beauty of it all. As a child, blue was my favorite color. Now, I think I’m tending toward burnt orange, combined with poplar gold. I recently heard a friend say that when she drives down her country ridge she feels like a bug in amber. The color, the embrace of it, is so intense. Add the rich reds of the maple, the shade of the deep blue sky, and the clear, crisp air, and I swear the month of October is heaven on earth.
As I prepare to go inside, I hear another steady chipping sound, a beak banging against something. I spy that woodpecker on the edge of our metal roof. I smile thinking she needs to discover the meaning of her name! Knowing she still has a lot to learn, I am happy she is still trying. I see myself in her, and I smile.
