The Stalking Moon: an essay from local author John Bragstad
Oct 24, 2023 10:42AM ● By Content Editor
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By local author and writer John Bragstad - Boreal Community Media - October 24, 2023
Sigurd Olson
For me, October is the Stalking Moon. Winter carefully, quietly
stalks those of us who stay in the North. The blush of fresh
raspberries is gone. Leaves are losing their battle with the winds.
Occasionally, there is the fire of red in the bushes along the
ground, but, for the most part, the world is muted with soft golds
and browns.
October is the month of eagerness. In the spring, there are long
delayed days where ice and snow waltz with open ground. But
now, in autumn, it often seems life is building to a crescendo of
storm and snow. We are living on marginalized time. Soon,
nature’s patience will run out, and we will be encased in winter.
Don Ian Smith, one of my favorite authors, wrote about the
steady march of this season in one of his books set in the high
country of the Marshall Wilderness in western Idaho.
In one of the chapters, he describes seeing a dusting of snow
along the flank of one mountain range. He was down in the
flatlands, but this was a signal that before long, life would be
different.
By local author and writer John Bragstad - Boreal Community Media - October 24, 2023
The whitethroat started its long, thin note bravely, then stopped
in the middle as though suddenly realizing it wasn’t daylight after
all, but only the light of the moon.
Listening Point in the middle as though suddenly realizing it wasn’t daylight after
all, but only the light of the moon.
Sigurd Olson
For me, October is the Stalking Moon. Winter carefully, quietly
stalks those of us who stay in the North. The blush of fresh
raspberries is gone. Leaves are losing their battle with the winds.
Occasionally, there is the fire of red in the bushes along the
ground, but, for the most part, the world is muted with soft golds
and browns.
October is the month of eagerness. In the spring, there are long
delayed days where ice and snow waltz with open ground. But
now, in autumn, it often seems life is building to a crescendo of
storm and snow. We are living on marginalized time. Soon,
nature’s patience will run out, and we will be encased in winter.
Don Ian Smith, one of my favorite authors, wrote about the
steady march of this season in one of his books set in the high
country of the Marshall Wilderness in western Idaho.
In one of the chapters, he describes seeing a dusting of snow
along the flank of one mountain range. He was down in the
flatlands, but this was a signal that before long, life would be
different.
While things seemed the same and familiar, the frost and cold
were stalking him. He would come to know the deep drifts of
snow filling his corrals and pastureland.
We can ignore such signs. We can tell ourselves such moments
will not come our way. However, the “snow in the high country”
and temperatures dropping tell a different story.
We ask for one more day, only this time of year, we are not sure
that nature will hear us. Sometimes, we think we have gotten
away with quite enough.
Some will venture into the parks, camp along the streams, and
find themselves paddling canoes, ignoring the wind, dampness,
and the possibility of frost. To be alone, to fish, to camp, to enjoy
the wild places without the traffic of people.
People who plan for such trips are glad for a respite from the
modern era. They accept, on nature’s terms, its conditions. They
know that while it stalks them, they are free to roam and to catch
the vibrancy of the land before it sleeps.
Excerpt from “The Stalking Moon,” Compass Season by John Bragstad
were stalking him. He would come to know the deep drifts of
snow filling his corrals and pastureland.
We can ignore such signs. We can tell ourselves such moments
will not come our way. However, the “snow in the high country”
and temperatures dropping tell a different story.
We ask for one more day, only this time of year, we are not sure
that nature will hear us. Sometimes, we think we have gotten
away with quite enough.
Some will venture into the parks, camp along the streams, and
find themselves paddling canoes, ignoring the wind, dampness,
and the possibility of frost. To be alone, to fish, to camp, to enjoy
the wild places without the traffic of people.
People who plan for such trips are glad for a respite from the
modern era. They accept, on nature’s terms, its conditions. They
know that while it stalks them, they are free to roam and to catch
the vibrancy of the land before it sleeps.
Excerpt from “The Stalking Moon,” Compass Season by John Bragstad
About the author
John A. Bragstad has been a therapist, working with couples and individuals, for 25 years. He is self-published and is enjoying retirement. Lake Superior is just off his front porch.
He has written three books: Compass Season, Loon Laughter at Midnight, and Who's Watching Whoo? They are available in Grand Marais at Drury Lane and Lake Superior Trading Post, or at Amazon.com.
Related: Meet your Boreal Community Media Freelance Journalist: John Bragstad
