It’s September

Is September the month that most embodies, “To everything there is a season,” the verse from the Bible and the 1960s song that copies the first eight verses of the third chapter of Ecclesiastes?

It’s September, “a time to pluck up that which is planted.” As we realize the harvest of our gardens and fields, we find that there truly is a time to every purpose; the time now is to gather the fruits of summer’s labors to carry us through the cold months ahead.

For wildlife, September is just right for the animals who stay the winter, and for the birds who are fueling for, and refueling during, migration. Berries preferred by both songbirds and gamebirds are ripening.

Turn, turn, turn. Along a hiking trail, the vibrant red of winterberries blaze in the dulling greenness. An arm’s length away are the white berries of gray dogwood. Deep purple berries of buckthorn hang heavy in clumps just down the way.

I thought about how the timing was so right for the berry-feeding, migrating songbirds, including bluebirds and thrushes, robins and cedar waxwings, and for those birds that will ride out the winter with us, including cardinals and blue jays.

Dogwood berries are a favorite of ruffed grouse, and the timing, again, is right. Now nearly the size of their mother hen, the grouselets of summer’s clutch disperse in September, searching on their own for the subsistence of berries.

I veered from the well-traveled trail, climbed a hill and followed meandering paths through the hardwoods. Acorns, butternuts, and black walnuts were tumbling to the ground for deer, and all the critters layering fat for winter.

The acorns are a favorite nut for many animals, and birds too, including grouse and turkeys. Like children gathering stones, the animals and birds find the nuts, the gifts from September’s trees, in this “time to gather stones.” Turn, turn, turn.

Late summer’s flowering bergamot, goldenrod, asters, and sedum advertise nectar for honey bees and departing monarch butterflies. Oh, the monarchs, those elfin creatures that will ride on autumnal breezes for thousands of miles.

The purple bloom of thistles burst into white down, full of tiny seeds. Is it a coincidence that that the goldfinch is the thistle finch, waiting until late summer to nest? Soft thistle down lines the goldfinch’s nest, and thistle seeds feed the parents, who in turn feed the chicks. Turn, turn, turn.

I notice the ripening of apples, the red among green leaves. I once found an apple tree in a pasture, the tree stripped of apples as far up as a deer could stretch its neck. The animal’s “time to pluck” was limited to its reach. I found a fallen branch and shook off as many of the higher apples as I could. That night, I imagined deer finding red prizes on the ground.

Red. I’m back to the holly shrub winterberry, its berries so vibrant red. The winterberry’s leaves will blacken after the first frost—“a time to die”—but the berries will remain bright into the winter. The red offerings of sugar and fat attract a variety of birds in the shrub’s “time for every purpose under the heavens.” Turn, turn, turn.

Dave Greschner, retired sports/outdoors editor at the Rice Lake Chronotype, writes about nature and the outdoors, pursues nature photography, and is the author of “Soul of the Outdoors.” He can be reached at davegreschner@icloud.com.