Signs of Autumn

Beyond the turning of the leaves - there are other signposts on our annual trip from summer to winter.

Milkweed plants, having fed Monarch butterflies, moths, other butterflies, and even hummingbirds close down shop at the end of the season and the seed pods open.

Just seeing the puffy filament hairs carry the seed with the wind to new fields is one thing. 

It's looking inside a partially open pod that is amazing.

Look at the dark brown in the top pod to the left.  Those are seeds arranged in precise overlapping rows, biding their time until the surrounding shell cracks open and releases the seed.

You may not notice the milkweed much during its growing season until the butterflies come to call.  But there is something in the simple beauty of the cotton-like puffs of smoke and the billows of seed it produces.

Milkweed plants have been explored as a source of latex and the use of filament as insulation and to stuff pillows.  The high sugar like content of the plant's nectar was used by Native Americans as a natural sweetener.  Some fibers can be used to make cord. 

These pictures of the launching seeds are something I've been hoping to find for a while now.

Too early, and there is nothing to see.

Too late, and the seeds are gone with the wind, leaving empty husks.

The day I took these shots it was a breezy day and the wind has blown a lot since then.  Who knows how far they might fly, which state they might land in?

The Wooly Bear caterpillar may have been one of the creatures climbing the stem of the milkweed to munch on its leaves or get something to drink.

The Wooly Bear has a small part to play in the passage from summer to winter rooted in folklore.

It seems interpreting the band of the Wooly Bear can be difficult.

Folk wisdom attributed to the northeast and south - but which somehow traveled north to Wisconsin where I heard it - is that the severity of the upcoming winter can be determined by studying the band across its midsection.

More brown than black means a mild winter; while more black is supposed to forecast a harsh season.

This little meteorologist seemed to be a in a big hurry to cross the trail and into relative safety among the weeds.

To my eye, it looks like a mild winter crawling our way.

Of course, the definition of mild is relative - we'll have to check in next spring to if it was right.