Dear Canada Geese,

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I am writing to let you know that your weeks-long visit to Hillman’s Long Lake is not exactly making my days. In the late spring and summer months, three pair of you stay on our lake and raise your young ones here. They are enough of a nuisance that many of us have tried a number of katy-bar-the-door techniques, to keep you off our lawns.

Personally, I’ve tried alligator decoys. Maybe some of you remember Headley.

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Headley was supposed to reach some deep place in your breed memory and remind you that alligators eat you in places south.

He didn’t work. Even his jewel-like eyes didn’t work.

Next the internet was filled with glowing reports of how a coyote decoy would do the trick.

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All that trick did was scare me, and our guests, every time we came upon it. There was enough goose poop in the vicinity of the coyote that I gather some of you have a perverse sense of humor.

Yes, fencing works. But only if every neighbor wants to hem themselves in just to hem you out.

But really. This is ridiculous. We’ve spent more than three weeks with you floating around the lake in large gangs. You aren’t coming out of the water to feed as much as usual, but lordy some people with those nice green lawns are in for a terrible surprise in the spring. The little gift packages you’re leaving behind will break down some by then, but not totally.

I am writing to let you know that we are a lake that is very inhospitable when it comes to geese. Lately, for example, I’ve discovered you don’t like old ladies in long white bathrobes running out of the house noisily opening and closing a big brown umbrella in your general direction.

Long Lake will be frozen soon and I figure you’ll finally get the message and leave. In the meantime, whatever inner compass brings you back to places (and I know it’s a myth that you have a magnet in your beak), just be certain you don’t come back here in the spring.

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“This is not the lake you’re looking for.” Please. Please. “Move along, nothing to see here.”

“Gather ye…

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…seeds while ye may.” With apologies to 17th century poet Robert Herrick, rosebuds aren’t interesting our resident bold chipmunk. He’s busy collecting all the seeds and nuts he can given the impending assault of winter.

In fact, he’s stuffing his cheek pouches to bursting. It’s a wonder Chip doesn’t just tip over from being so top-heavy.

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This year’s amazingly prolific crop of acorns is fattening this guy for winter. And inflating his cheek pouches.

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He refuses to be deterred even by cameras in close proximity.

Chip’s been living in the drainpipe off the back of the house–the one that has a final length of plastic piping.  Some predator nibbled away at it, probably thinking he’d make a tasty bit. We replaced that plastic length with aluminum. So Chip now has a nice new home for his winter hibernation. That wasn’t exactly the plan, though.

Chipmunks are in the genus Tamias. Wikipedia says that’s Greek for “treasurer,” “steward,” or “housekeeper.” It refers to this critter’s role in plant dispersal through their habit of collecting and storing food for winter use.

It’s November on Long Lake. The woodpile is stacked and the snowblower is ready. The cold is coming.

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This amazing Long Lake

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It doesn’t get much better than Long Lake in the fall. The sunsets can be dramatic or, as here, peaceful. The weather lately has been great. A bit warm for late September–into the high 70’s and even hitting 80. Cool nights. The mosquitos are gone. This is a wonderful month for napping in the Adirondack chairs.

But this was the lake last Saturday afternoon.

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On Saturday morning, Nick braved the rains and winds and was skiing the lake. By afternoon, it was raining at one end of the lake but not the other. The waters were looking mean and green. And the sky. Well, the sky was what you see here.

Pure Michigan, for sure.

Starry, starry night

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The weather has been amazing for the past week or so. Perfect temperatures in the 70’s or low 80’s, with clear skies at night. Steve headed out to the end of the dock to capture the night skies. The Big Dipper was clear, even though the glow of sunset hadn’t yet faded.

From the end of our Long Lake dock’s vantage point in the Milky Way, here’s our galaxy. It’s framed at the earth-end by the trees of our bay.

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The night skies give a different sense of “up north,” with an emphasis on the “up” part. Humbling.

Pile ‘o Turtles

pileoturtles2_lowresWe’ve seen lots of turtles this summer, but we’d just been remarking that we hadn’t seen many sunning themselves. Then last week we came upon about a zillion Painted Turtles sunning themselves at the point in the narrows where someone’s floating dock is sinking. The turtles must find it really considerate that we’ve added a turtle sunning platform to the narrows. In addition to these three, four more were nearby.

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And there were also three Painted Turtles who’d hauled themselves out onto the dock and were sunning. They scrambled off as we approached in our pontoon boat.

The Painted Turtle is Michigan’s most common turtle. But those bold red stripes on its yellow bottom shell, its plastron, make it stand out in quite an uncommon way.  There are also red stripes on its neck and front legs.