This is the season I’m overcome with mixed emotions: I love the brilliant colors and subtle hues of autumn; I revel in the crisp cool air and bright blue skies, and I’m energized by the fierce storms magnified by crashing thunder and sparks of lightning. We have weather here.

But with each leaf that drifts toward the ground, covering it with a blanket of yellow, orange and brown, I’m reminded that winter is coming. And that’s the season I’d rather not be here. Trees are barren and stark. Shrubs slink back into sorry masses of yellow-brown brush. The landscape cries for a lid of pure snow to hide it all.

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Knowing what’s in store, I slog through the fall chores at Northern Bliss, our Wisconsin lake home.  I cut back the spent flowers—except for black-eyed susans, sunflowers, and any others with seeds or pods for the birds. I supervise the “fencing” of the fruit trees, so the deer don’t demolish them in the early spring before the forest grows its bounty. And I arrange for the pontoon, lift, and dock to be stored on the lake bank and alongside the garden shed—all the while cherishing memories of the delighted screams of grandchildren as they jumped off the pontoon into the lake or were pulled in a tube—a sport they call “tubing.”

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I buy butternut squash at the farmers market and bake an apple crisp to serve during the final week-end here when family and friends will stop by to say their goodbyes. Then next week, we’ll store all the lawn furniture and pots, winterize the cabin and set the heat in the main house to 50° to prepare for freezing temperatures; they can reach 30° below zero in January.

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We’ll soon return to our condo in San Diego and I know that when we watch the sun set over Sail Bay with streaks of orange and red, we’ll fall in love with the Pacific Ocean all over again. But for now, there’s a nostalgic sadness in my heart. I’m leaving my beloved Northern Bliss.

Upcoming blogs will continue the series covering our September trip from Germany down the Danube.

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I have magic memories of my childhood in the Midwest. In school, I studied the transition of egg to larva (caterpillar) to pupa (chrysalis/cocoon) to a gorgeous adult butterfly with amazement. Then as the autumn days grew shorter and the temperature dropped, I marveled at flocks of Monarch butterflies migrating. “Look at those flying flowers,” I exclaimed as they took to the sky en masse. Those large flocks are no longer here; monarch populations have dwindled from billions to mere millions. But something can be done.

Monarch butterfly on Swamp Milkweed

Monarch butterfly on Swamp Milkweed

That such delicate creatures weighing less than a gram can fly over 3000 miles—often to the same tree from whence their ancestors came—never ceases to amaze me. In the Monarch’s summer territory (which includes most of North America) butterflies may mate up to seven times, all living from two to six weeks. Then, signaled by the lack of light (shorter days) the new non-reproductive butterflies hatch. (Reproductive butterflies do not migrate south, however, and the migratory ones do not reproduce until the following year.) The creation of these creatures required a lot of planning!

Migration Map

Migration Map

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Agency provided $2 million this year for “on-the-ground conservation projects.” A mad rush ensued to plant milkweed along the I-35 Monarch corridor, which extends 1,500 miles from Minnesota to Texas and provides spring and summer breeding habitats along key migration pathways. Conservationists had successfully lobbied transportation departments and utilities to reduce their use of herbicides and to encourage milkweed to grow along the roadways and powerlines. Great! This was one government project I could believe in! Monarchs depend on milkweed; it’s the only plant they eat and lay eggs on. And milkweed populations had dropped 21% between 1995 and 2013 due to increased development and herbicide use. But what happened to the I-35 Monarch migration pathway? Chalk it up to big government ineptitude! This summer, the right hand didn’t know what the left hand was doing, so the Transportation Department came and mowed the new milkweed plants down. No one informed the drivers of the trucks, and their job is the mow the weeds!

However, those living near this corridor can make a difference, says our local paper, called The Laker. If you have a sunny patch of land, you can mix and match flowers to build your own butterfly garden.  Start with basic host plants such as swamp milkweed, broccoli, and bronze fennel. Then choose from perennials, which often reseed themselves, or nectar-rich annuals. Some choices are: butterfly weed, oregano, lantana, purple coneflower (Echinacea), blazing star, black-eyed susan, pink everlasting (sedum), and Mexican sunflower. I had already designed a rain garden last season so it was easy for me to plant what the monarchs need. My question was, “If I plant it, will they come?” The answer: “Yes!” My Wisconsin garden is now part of the Midwest migration path.

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When I awoke this morning, there was an autumn chill in the air and this poem in my head, along with visions of pumpkin patches and maple sugar trees. I remember reading the poem by James Whitcomb Riley as a child in a Wisconsin school room. You can hear it recited here or read it below:

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and the gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’; of the guineys and the cluckin’ of the hens
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O it’s then the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock

They’s somethin kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here –
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny monring of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock –
When the frost is on the punkin and fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries – kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A preachin’ sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below – the clover overhead! –
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!
I don’t know how to tell it – but if sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me –
I’d want to ‘commodate ’em – all the whole-indurin’ flock –
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Pumpkin Field

Pumpkin Field

Riley’s poems depict country life in rural America, circa 19th century. Heralding from Indiana, he was known as “The Hoosier Poet.” The whimsical nature of this poem reminds me of my own youth, growing up on a farm.

The pumpkin was quite useful to U.S. pioneers and is still valuable to third-world farmers because it is so easy to grow: just drop a few seeds into a small, shallow hole.  The pumpkin’s thick rind would allow them to keep it indefinitely.  I found that out when sailing the Northern Banks Islands of Vanuatu.  We were given a huge pumpkin by villagers as a “thank you” for giving them a propeller for their fishing boat. It rode in the cockpit of Pacific Bliss for weeks until I finally used our pressure cooker on board to transform it into a tasty pumpkin soup.

(see Sailing the South Pacific, page 284).

Fodder is food for farm animals.  The tall Indiana corn, when thoroughly dry, was gathered into “Shocks” of corn wigwams tied at the top, and left in the fields to be used as needed

Cornstalks used as decoration in Oceola, Wisconsin

Cornstalks used as decoration in Oceola, Wisconsin

During our autumn trip to Wisconsin, we paid a visit to Glenna Farms, where most of these photos were taken. Their maple syrup is to die for! We packed some into our luggage, but one can obtain their catalog or order products on-line at http://www.glennafarms.com/

During this time of year, my food fantasies often turn to those warm one-dish meals that are easy to prepare and oh, so comforting!  On page 56 of  my book “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss: MAIDEN VOYAGE,” I describe what it was like to cook a Thanksgiving meal in a pressure cooker while rocking and rolling toward Cape Verde.

During the eight years we spent at sea, I learned to depend on my trusty Kuhn Duromatic pressure cooker, purchased especially for our circumnavigation pressure cooker.  This was one item I made sure to ship back before we sold Pacific Bliss after we crossed our path in the south of France.  Now that I’m a landlubber, I still like to use my cooker—especially when the weather chills.

Many cruisers have pressure cookers on board their yachts because they cook faster and therefore use less propane fuel.  The principle of pressure cooking is simple: Because a pressure cooker is airtight, pressure builds up inside as the liquid comes to a boil. The resulting trapped steam causes the internal temperature to rise beyond what it can do under normal room pressure. Food cooking under pressure and at a higher temperature cooks faster.  Another benefit of the increased pressure is that it softens the fibers in foods, tenderizing even the toughest meats and beans.

One of my favorite recipes on board Pacific Bliss was a combination of lentils, yams, and ribs.  One can make it in a variety of ways: as a curry, as a soup, or as a barbeque as shown in the recipe below. Just add extra water with the lentils and yams. (Lentils do not require soaking.)

SPARERIBS WITH BARBEQUE SAUCE 


3 lb. spareribs

Salt & pepper
Paprika
1 tbsp. shortening
1 lg. onion, sliced
1/4 c. catsup
2 tbsp. vinegar
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1/8 tsp. chili powder
1/4 tsp. celery seed
1/4 c. water


Cut ribs into serving pieces. Season with salt, pepper and paprika. Heat in cooker and add shortening. Brown ribs on both sides. Add onion. Combine vinegar, catsup, Worcestershire sauce, chili powder, celery seed and water. Pour over meat in pressure cooker. Cook 15 minutes at 15 pounds pressure. Let pressure drop of its own accord. Serves 5-6. Recipe can also be used for pork chops.


Recipe from Cooks.com