Moonlight and a Companion

We found ourselves quietly jostled with strangers, under the moonlight, in a creaking wooden wagon pulled by two shadowy mules. We puffed warm breaths skyward through the bare branches. A candlelight tour, an old homestead, and unseen sounds. Dark, cold winter draws near.

I enjoy Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain each winter for the comfort of his imagery. Much of the lead character’s homeward southern odyssey is under the cover of darkness. The darkness brings Inman security. He moves as a shadow in a shadowy time, alone with his longing for home and beloved.

Our recent evening outing reminded me of Inman and of night walking. Can it be done?
It would be nice to share a quiet trail with the moonlight and a companion or the thoughts of a companion. The moon will be full this weekend and I have a place in mind.

Measure of Success

A sunny meadow on a rolling hill, edged in evergreen fence-row cedars, on a cold November afternoon: This was the setting for my mission. The mission: Delight in the close up viewing of a foraging Cedar Waxwing through the lenses of my trusty childhood binoculars. Before I get too far into the setup and description, I should probably tell you that my mission sort of failed. Not that I didn’t delight in wonderful views…they just didn’t include any Cedar Waxwings.

This mission’s genesis was sparked earlier in the week when an office-mate revealed, with her usual glee, that a certain rare winter visitor had made a brief and unexpected stop at her bird feeder. Now, I’ve never seen a Cedar Waxwing at our feeders, and have seen only one fly quickly through our yard a couple years ago. They aren’t common around this part of North Carolina (or if they are, they are very sneaky). I didn’t really accept my mission until this morning as I was in bed thumbing through Sibley’s bird behavior guide, when I happened across the Waxwing section and thought “Oh yeah, I should go find one of those!” Heather was up for an outing and so we decided on the Ayr Mount property near town. She would bring a novel and a coffee, and I would bring my binoculars. She would sit in the sun, on top of the hill in an Adirondack and I would sit…or stand, or crouch or lay anywhere in sight of a berry-loaded red cedar. WE BOTH would be bundled against the chill. And for almost two hours this is what we did.

My mission took me down the grassy hills, through well-trimmed pine thickets, beside the willow-pond and eventually back up the gentle slope to Heather. I walked slowly. My gloved hands alternated possession of the bulky binoculars. The shell of my jacket hood shielded the wind gusts and muffled all exterior sound. Pulling the hood back, I could listen for nearby calls, before tugging it snugly over my cold ears. I found a sunny perch below the base of a Hackberry tree and so lounged back into the soft, tufted grass. Resting on warm earth, I scanned the hedges.

The search for birds is a lesson in optics, both ocular and binocular. You must shift your focus or you really can’t “see the forest for the trees,” or in this case the birds for the trees. So I first looked at the broad view with only my eyes to catch the small stirrings of motion, the flicker of feathers, before swinging the big lenses up for a zoom. When you have this privilege of supersight you can get lost in the details.

I allowed myself to get lost in those other non-Waxwing details flitting and flying into the periphery. As a gray squirrel, snug against a trunk, quivered its tail, I could see the emotion in his eyes. A yearling brood of blue birds danced with each other and darted around their old home. The dark crows, casting shadows below, glided up to the treetops and mocked me just a little. And thus my mission failed, though with a pleasant measure of success. Remember to measure your successes (don’t skimp). By the way, Heather thinks she saw a Cedar Waxwing as she looked up from her page into the tree overhead. I’ll be heading back there soon.

Cold Feet

“To go or not to go?” That was the question. Well that was part of the question. “To go canoeing early Sunday morning on a section of river not easily navigated at low water on a cool fall morning, with a short window of time?” That was the bigger question. Would we get cold feet or…get cold feet? The adventurous spirit prevailed and we decided to give it a go.

It was Heather’s first time on what I’ll call the lower section. It is the “Suburban Hillsborough” section of the Eno which meanders by the long backyards of the in-town homes. It was my fourth time along the route, though first with company. A loaded boat will not pass smoothly at normal water levels here. Two people make a loaded boat in this case. We packed light: camera, paddles, and a bucket of shoes. Yep, a bucket of shoes. Knowing that our feet would get wet, but not knowing if we would need to portage around fresh snags or hike up a steep bluff, we each brought hiking shoes and water sandals…and we used both.

It ended up being a mild adventure with no major unexpected obstacles (although the look on Heather’s face said otherwise when I almost tipped her out of the red boat as I clumsily tried to climb back in while losing my footing in a suddenly deep pool of water). We paddled calm stretches of flat water, snapped photos of falling leaves and mirrored canopies, walked and dragged the shallows (after awhile your feet don’t feel anything!) and eventually glided to a quiet stop up the mouth of a downtown feeder creek.

Cold feet warm up eventually.

Find Your Peak

There was a light steady breeze outside the window as I was writing this. The sound was a rustling of leaves. As I watched the descending flutter, I thought back to midweek when I had mentioned to Heather my observation that fall color had peaked at precisely 1:40 pm on Wednesday as I was driving between Chapel Hill and Hillsborough NC. That got a good laugh…which was mostly the objective. However, I wasn’t completely making it up. I didn’t think it could have been more picturesque than at that very moment. Of course I was wrong.

But isn’t that what we do? We declare and define. Heck, we post Fall Color Timetables in our local newspapers and on the Weather channel. We are often wrong but usually only by degrees. I kind of like that way of thinking and planning as it relates to nature. If it gets people excited about the outdoors I’m for it. (I’m not necessarily for being behind a long slow line of RVs trudging up the winding inclines of the Blue Ridge Mountains…but when I get up to the lookouts I’m more forgiving)

This Autumn, Heather and I got to see the colors change in six states thanks to our visit with her parents in Pennsylvania. There, fall settled roughly 3 weeks ahead of North Carolina. Such stark regional differences remind me of the diversity of place both near and far. They were dotted with ruby reds while we were aglow in yellows. The differences were obvious but now I'm noticing our similarities too.

As I made my way home later in the day this past Wednesday, I turned the corner at the base of Occoneechee Mountain where there, overlooking the still-green field, shivered a candy-red maple at its peak of color at 4:42 pm.
Find your peak of beauty…then find another one!

A Fall Preview

The recent trip north to Pennsylvania gave us a fall preview. The creeks were colder, the air more crisp, and the walnut trees were freshly bare next to sweet red maples. Morning frosts lifted slowly into late morning steam. The hunter’s moon lit the nightfields full of deer. It was vacation time and all things conspired to give us a good one. Each day the brilliant evidence of the changing seasons replaced my imagination, for I was out of doors more than in: sensing more than thinking. My brain lay fallow, nourished by the faint whistle of a white-throated sparrow and a long view across the golden, rusty hills.

Minnows from another Stream

We chose to do a paddle hike on Saturday while the leaves were still on the trees and the air was cool. Paddle a canoe, hike a trail. It was difficult to get out of bed, out of the fleece blankets. But it was harder not to get out and enjoy the day, so by mid morning we got our acts together, put the big red canoe on the car and headed down the hill to the river. The Eno recently overfilled its banks with the help of tropical storm Hannah. It had been several years since the last big flooding; since the last time the lowlands got soaked.

On this morning, things looked mostly back to normal. We put in under the bridge at the base of Occoneeche Mountain. The water was tan with some remaining silty particulate. A breeze descended occasionally; felt like fall when we were in the shade. If you looked close, you could see the dusty line on the low foliage marking the flood height. Grasses were still bent downstream. Smooth, muddy banks edged the water, where driftwood hung from limbs or balanced mid-air on branches.

We cruised up the intimate river, not knowing if our way was passable. We scooted under fallen trees, through thickets of dusty branches, and around newly sculpted sand bars. The small turtles were out, perched on fresh snags, testing out new habitat. Plop, plop as we passed. The minnows were out too. We had wondered if the flood would wash them all away. Were these local minnows or minnows from another stream? A giant shadow of a fish, long and lean neared the boat, seemingly unaware before wrenching away from us into the depths. It looked out of place. We had never seen one like that before. Not here. Maybe things were not back to normal.

Near the northern terminus of this section sat a dam and a steady waterfall. During the flood, it had become a dangerous and amazing milk chocolate colored churning machine, with hydraulic undertows swallowing whole trees before spitting them into the air with ease. This was our turnaround. We rested in the shallows. From where we sat under the shade of Dimmocks Mill Bridge we would have been 10 feet under water just 2 weeks ago.

We headed back downstream with sights set on the low banks near Occoneeche State Park. There, we could catch the foot path at its lowest spot, before heading up to the high lookout. We tied big red to an overhanging trunk, and delicately skirted up the mudbank. We know the trails here well. But every season is a discovery. Now in the early, pre-fall coolness, we worked our way up the North side, along a wet, dense cliffside where laurel and galax hung with dripping, musky aroma. Into and out of the clearings the trail wound. We stopped below the quarry, listened to youths playing and discovering amidst the boulders. At the top of this quarry, the overlook allowed us to catch our breath. We looked down on green Hillsborough. When I’m above the trees, I understand why the birds sing. They always know something we don’t. But I’ll bet the minnows had the better story this time...of a flood who had visited the Eno Valley.

Side by Side

Four of two and two of four. These were the numbers and configurations of feet on the trail in our group Sunday morning. Heather and I walked with friends who walked with dogs. Collectively we plodded, panted, stumbled, talked, sniffed and marked our way along Sal’s Branch Trail through the density of leaf-darkened Piedmont parkland.

Umstead Park buffers Raleigh NC from the daily thunder of airport traffic. It is not wilderness. But it has its wild sides. We explored the north side, the side which descends to a paddle-worthy lake by way of a smooth-pebbled creek. The creek held clear water, not muddy, despite the locally muddy runoff. This creekbed contained small rocks in grainy profusion: a snaking, sunken sandbar with, tan, oversized granules. Further down, the rocks turned to quartz, more white than sandy. The upper trail surface was woody: not mulchy, but sinewy, with crisscrossing, water-searching, elevated speed bump roots. Step on this one, step over that one. We took turns leading and following.

Dampness, from leftover rains, settled into the leaf pits and rotting logs. Fungus families sprouted in their favorite regions, recognizably distinct and purposeful. Mysterious subterranean networks arose forbiddingly into quaint villages. From orange and red to white and brown, flat saucer tops; some spindly, some round.
Unaware at times, we squished those few who surfaced mid-trail. Unfortunate fungi.

But what stood out today, to me, were those former trees who no longer stood. X marked many a spot along the trailside where straight wooden trunks lay in quiet repose, amidst fern and vine. Many had flat and smooth ends cut by saw. Were they blown by fierce storms, and then cleaned by kind hands? Or were they cut by fierce hands, and left to be cleaned by kind storms? In everything there are elements of nature and nurture. In Umstead too, side by side.

These Frail Theatres of Life

There, in the dense shadow of a giant poplar, was a life grander than the myths of memory, upon a small stage containing a vast cast of players more passioned than the seasoned ensembles; assembled not by the hands of man but by the hands of time. Selfish in every act; alive with the seflblood determination of a dying relic, growing deliberately upon the lives of others, a hushed progeny of fecund, infarcical reality.

Sure, “the play’s the thing,” but the things played, pale in comparison to the real things. Remember the things, and, if you can’t remember, revisit the things.

I’ll tramp the ruins of a forest for the first run of a replicated rhapsody.
I’ll stand and applaud, in unmatched sincerity, not to the humans, this time, but to the intrepid and timeless, humus-dwelling fruitings hidden from today’s common senses, though beckoned by the calming senses. To breathe the air of dramatic inspiration and to view the heir of brooding perspiration, I go to the shadows; to these frail theatres of life.

Garden and Yard Update

Feeling a bit restless early Saturday morning, I decided to finally address the weeds in the recent, rain soaked softness of the vegetable garden. In 2 hours time I managed to pluck two thirds of the entire weedy mess. Then the sun rose above the trees and the heat and humidity drove me back inside (it is Labor Day weekend after all…don’t want to work too hard). So, what else remains in the garden? Three bean plans have a total of about 9 drying bean pods. Ten carrots sit amongst a yet-to-be-weeded plot of weeds. Fifteen diminutive cornstalks, of a second planting, hardly rise above the snaking watermelon vines. Resting on the vines are two cannonball size melons. Five okra stalks stand about 5 feet tall, now spired with multiple pods. Tomatoes continue to droop and drop; a few burst after the tropical deluge, midweek. Arugula remains the lone green leaf in the garden, since I neglected to start new lettuce. I pulled the squashes and cucumbers (the squashes because they looked tired, and the cucumbers because we’ve had our fill). Leeks are still green. The sunflower, huge, now follows the force of gravity. I’ll cut it soon.

A walk around the yard revealed the late summer wild blooms.

My Fingers Crossed

Last weekend we drove 30 mile west to Cedarock Park near the revolutionary battlegrounds of Alamance County. The park sits atop a fielded ridge, then slopes down and around through a mixed hardwood and piney bottomland. Small streams, creeks, and rivers descend and mix here in a watershed headed to the distant Cape Fear River. On this day and in this season, the land was dry. The creekbeds lay stony. The bigger streams did not stream, but sat mucky and dank. Raccoon tracks circled the edges where the dark water pooled into mosquito havens.

Cedarock Park has a surprising array of recreational offerings including disc golf, bridle trails, picnic space, canoeing (given adequate water levels), jungle-gyms for the kids, and a historic farmstead complete with goats, sheep, cows, and a mule.
Sometimes parks with such a variety of attractions tend to get overused, with roughly worn trails, and littered landscapes. But the park looked good during our visit.

We focused on the hiking trails and managed to not get too lost despite the relatively poorly marked routes and lacking a map (yep, we deserved it). A muggy, but shady, hour amongst the trees led us through several woodland habitats over moderately changing elevation. From the photos, you'll see a few sites of note. Some impressive boulders dot the trails and hillsides. If you like Bald Cypress(I forgot to photo), there are several healthy specimens standing watch over Rock Creek, apparently planted early last century. A monster American Beech, with exposed root mass, graces the side of an old, hidden footpath near the Old Mill Dam (most people probably miss it...not the Dam).

***Warning: The following contains nerdy (but earnest) tree observations***

A sight that disturbed me initially was the white fungus I saw on the small branches of a few young Beech trees. On the ground below these trees was a gray moldy residue that looked like death. I've seen the blights that have destroyed many of the northern Beeches, and I was suddenly aware they might be moving south. Ugh.
However, I've since done a little research with encouraging results. What I saw was likely the Beech Blight Aphid which apparently does only minor damage to small limbs.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

We had a warm, good time in Alamance. We bought a bottled Nehi Peach at the nearby gas station. Next time we'll visit during one of the Farmstead Exhibitions...maybe feed the goats and bray at the mule.

Pea Creek and Dunnagan

Our Sunday Walk was along the Eno. We took the Pea Creek and Dunnagan trails in late morning under a dense green canopy. We had planned for sun and heat, but were pleased to have coolish gray humidity. I thought it might rain at any moment. It didn't. We had not taken this route before. We will do it again. More than any of my walks along the Eno, this one most reminded me of my Spring canoe trips along the same course. This trail is so close to the water, you hear it, smell it, breath it. It asks you to join it for a distance. Of my times on this water, I've written much. The words are bound in memory logs and on the bedside shelves. I did not canoe the long Eno this year. This walk begged my return. We'll see what next Spring brings.

Looked Eye to Eye

Going Green, Going Local, Going Organic, Going Crazy, Going Around in Circles. I’m hearing and seeing these words and phrases more often it seems. To be honest I like these ideas. (well not the Going Crazy, and Going Around in Circles…those are just the funny counterpoints I thought would temper the tone of that opening sentence. Did it work?)
I’m going to lump those values into the grand category of “Going Sustainable.” As the verbiage suggests, we are not necessarily there yet, but we are “going” there. I use "sustainable" to define actions worthy and capable of being maintained for "a good long while." I think these trends and fads are worthwhile experiences. Why not “Go” in a different direction from time to time? You know, just to see if it works. I don’t mean to be political here, (I’m too hypocritical for that) but I do mean to lend a voice of experience, however minor my experience might be.

I‘ve raised a modest bed of vegetables for three years now. It’s a hobby, it’s an outdoor activity I enjoy, it brings good food to my table, and it brings me immense pride from time to time. Yes it also brings some back pain, sunburn, bug bites, dirty fingernails, occasional frustration, and it demands extra time when I don’t have it. But it seems to be working so far, so I plan to keep going. It makes me want to support those around me who are committing their lives to providing good food for us.

We drove north for 20 miles on Saturday to the rolling, tree lined pastures of Baldwin Family Farms. We do this periodically to restock on beef. Yes, in addition to my veggies, we like the taste of beef. We like it even better when we know how it is raised. On this visit, we met Mr. V. Mac who hand picked our chosen cuts. In the process, he described, with earnest pride and unpretentious confidence, the history and lives of his cattle…of our food. We thanked him. We trusted him. In a global economy, the producer-consumer relationship is seldom sealed with a handshake. Trust is rarely tangible. As we headed home, we stopped along the fenceline, and scanned the green acres… looked eye to eye with our sustenance.

Later that evening we cooked and shared a meal of local foods with close friends.
I hope to maintain these actions for a good, long while.

To Keep a Fresh Outlook

To get to our house you turn left onto a short dead end road. I do it every day. As soon as you make the left turn you’ll see our small house on the second lot on the right. The first lot on the right is woodland and creekland. Edging the road is a roughcut utility line where only fast growing vegetation can vegetate. Hidden beer bottles and Wendy’s cups get periodically pulverized by the county mowers. Occasionally, when the weather is just right, wildflowers rise above the mat. Some don’t need to rise to be seen; their brilliance shines.

Usually when I take the left turn, I’m thinking of home, of food, of taking my shoes off. Too often I’ll cut that corner tightly and then swerve oh-so-gently around an oncoming neighbor, quickly giving them a half-smile-sorry-nod. If I’m making that left turn on foot or bike, I’m usually sweatstained and muscleweary, with tunnel vision focused on the approaching front door. I’m not saying I never scan the ditches or gaze the treeline, but around the middle of each season the views tend to grow similar, less engaging.

On Saturday, Heather was driving and I was the passenger. We finished a long day of errands in a couple towns and were headed home. I didn’t have plans. I didn’t have hunger. I had air conditioning on and my seat reclined one notch beyond the usual. As we made that left hand turn, Heather took it at a reasonable pace (good job Heather!) which placed me closer to the right side of the road than I had been in awhile. Something caught my eye. I had to think about it for a few seconds before alerting Heather with an “Um, back up!” I guess I didn’t explain my reasoning. She shot me a “what now?” look though I could see the curiosity in her rolling eyes. She pulled into the driveway and then pulled back out, delivering me to my discovery. “Ohh” she said softly. I jumped out of the car into the melting afternoon heat and stumbled through the prickly underbrush. I just stood in awe over the exotic stranger. Unlike in the photo I took today, its petals were draped like a cloak. It was only warming up that first day. Presently it radiates.

I’ve been driving much slower now when I make that left turn. I’ve stopped at the corner every time since Saturday. Though the Dog Days are upon us, we need not grow stagnant. I owe much thanks to this Carolina Lily, for reminding me to keep a fresh outlook. Oh, yes, and a big thanks to Heather for driving.

Soak Up the Sun

I’ve been keeping a closer eye on a certain plant in the garden for several weeks now. It has been a game, really. The plant is a sunflower. As you likely know, it looks at the sun all day long. So, in amusement, I watch it to make sure it is looking at the sun. Occasionally I catch it glancing off to the side at the neighbor kids playing basketball.

It has been hot here lately, 90plus degrees with above average humidity. We have reached the point of the season where we look forward to cooler times. This week, in particular, the thermometers reached a consensus of about 98F on Wednesday. The tomatoes began to blush. I picked handfuls of the little ones. It was in the warm evening of that hot Wednesday when I noticed the sunflower was not watching the sunset. As I crouched down on the dirt, amidst the various fruiting vines, that giant sunflower loomed overhead, 12 feet into the sky. It had turned its back to the hot sun. Enough. It appeared to have its fill of sun. I agreed.

I assume the sunflower was reaching maturity, unfurling its yellow petals, signaling to the birds “I’m almost ready!” It no longer needed the direct light. It’s a short life. A butterfly drew close to that yellow bull’s-eye, encircled it 3 times and settled for a while.
I squinted up into that searing, setting sun and realized we are midway through our summer here. A hovering, backlit haze of translucent flitterbugs whirled through the yard. Dusty heartbeats. Brief.

Eat your warm veggies. Soak up the sun. Now’s your chance.

Garden Update 6

It's been about a month since the last Garden Update. Here's the partial summary. The vineheld veggies have come on strong. The corn was a disappointment...underformed ears on dwarfed stalks... I'll have to figure that one out. The beats were few but tasty in a marinade of garlic honey vinegar. Small potatoes have been dug and braised. Dill heads have burst open around the garden like low, sundappled fireworks. Pickle jars are filling up the fridge. 2nd plantings have started. Rains lately have blessed the bounty.

A Bejungled Blackwater

The sun burned down as I found my way to a bejungled blackwater off the shoulder of highway 17 downeast near Wilmington NC. It was a solitary sidetrip to a relaxing beachy weekend with Heather. As I continue to craft a wonder for locales both native and natural; ordinary yet offbeat, I pause to consider why I’m drawn to these places. It has something to do with not wanting to take things for granted. I don’t want to overlook the often-overlooked. I’m curious. Oh, and I’m cheap…so, for now, instead of flying to Belize, I wander to the edge of town for a sustainable sojourn. Occasionally I’m rewarded for these myopic tendencies.

Town Creek, like many of our southern blackwater streams, slides quietly through a dark bottomland of cypress and gum. This one feels the slight push and pull of the tides as it shares water with the Cape Fear River. I have only taken my canoe on one other such stream and I was then accompanied by 6 adventurous men. Now it was just me and my red canoe…and two competing emotions: awe and apprehension. The awe was focused on the lush greenery swaying below the waterline, and on the palmettos, water lilies, silvery fish schools, and a vibrantly golden Prothonotary Warbler. The apprehension intermittently reminded me that I was alone in a swamp, that hordes of yellow flies could descend on me at any time, and that those lily pads could easily conceal a hungry gator intent on bagging the rare solo canoeist. I scanned the mudflats casually for tracks and swatted only a few times at the annoying yellow fly. I sat often in the shade listening to exotic songbirds and recalling the tale of a lone orchid thief risking much worse conditions in a similar yet far distant swamp.

While it Lasted

Heather and I went to Little River Park for our Sunday morning walk. We hiked the Ridge Trail. The information board told us it would take us 4 hours. When we completed the trail and arrived back at the information kiosk, it had only been 1.5 hours. Huh?
You'd think we didn't stop and smell the roses (or in this case, watch the water) but we did. We also looked closely at beech trees, nodded to other hikers, sidestepped dogs on leashes, drank from our water bottle, and generally had a casual, yet purposeful, walk. Heck, we even sat down for awhile, see the picture! We weren't running for pete's sake.

Did we take a drastic short cut? Was the sign wrong? Did it intend 4 miles instead of 4 hours? Had it actually taken someone 4 hours to walk that same trail? Had the sign erred on the side of safe planning while trying to account for an average measure of outdoor human foot powered locomotion? Maybe the person that made the sign had gotten lost and said "Screw it, I'm not walking that trail again, it took me 4 hours."
Regardless of the logic of the sign, it got me thinking about its effect on people and its effect on the land. On a simple level, I thought Wow, I bet a lot of people look at that sign and take a different trail. That's funny, people really missed out on a beautifully simple path through the woods. This must be a relatively well preserved trail we just walked. Why DID we take it after reading the sign...WE didn't want to walk for 4 hours did we? And finally, I imagined a few adventurous folks were flustered to find themselves emerging from the woods so soon after entering.
Anyway, you get the point. I'm easily amused. We had a good time while it lasted.

Garden Update 5

Food is coming in daily now. Eating lettuce, squash, cukes, zuchini, green beans, choy.

Peas are done.

Coming soon: Beats (They will be pickled!)

Our Humanity, Or Lack Thereof

Carve us a table, green, soft on foot, weeds unseen
Paint then a canvas low, brushed in youth, alive to grow
Etch now a path for two, tendered smooth, to lead us through
Frame strong the hedgerow gate, encircle us, nurtured fate

We returned home,from a relaxing weekend vacation, to a sweltering heat and an unkempt yard. I needed to mow. I like the land to look healthy and happy. I hate to fuss over it though. It has dandelions, crab grass, stilt grass, tall fescue, onion grass, clover, moss, and much else. It won't win any yard superlatives(at least not in the usual categories) but it has its own charm and I care for it. So after work today, I drug out the blade runner, filled it full of expensive fumes, and forced it, sweatily, around the property. I wasn't very careful. I wanted to get it over with and take a cold shower.
It seemed like an angry affair this evening,with the screaming machine, slicing noisily through the rough, tossing aside headless hoppers and zinging my bare legs with bits of hard earth. Not a pleasant toil. For almost the full hour and a half my mind was flooded with past mowing malevolence, from stinging hornets to a vivid memory of an encounter between me, on my dad's riding mower, and a garter snake who slithered unseen under the whirring deck immediately birthing a slew of messy mutant snakelings. Yep, hard to forget that one. Sorry. Must have been the heat this evening that brought that stuff back. These warm days tend to put us in our place; remind us of our humanity(or lack thereof).
But it finally ended at dusk with no real excitement as far as I was aware. In the morning I'm sure all will look lovely and I'll be glad I spent the time as I did.

Mercifully Happy Interlude

On Sunday, Heather and I took a long hot walk. It was probably a bit too long. And for some reason I convinced her we didn't need to bring any water. We walked out the front door and proceeded to get very hot and very thirsty for the next 3 hours. We made it over to Occoneechee Mountain and eventually made it back home. There was a mercifully happy interlude, spent in the cool shadow of the mountain along the banks of the Eno, where we snapped these photos. And then we had to go back out into the sun. Next time it will be easier. We'll have water.

Garden Update 4

We now have plenty of lettuce and peas to eat. Giving the extras away.
Little Squashes will be here soon.

Gently Down Joanna Mountain

The short slide show is composed of a few of the many photos taken during our time at the Mountain home with my parents and brother. Sis is still wrapping up her schooling out west. Here we see what it was like outside during Memorial Day weekend at Dupont State Forest.
For many years we did not have access to this land. It was recreation land for Dupont employees only. It later became held by a large developer of luxury homes. Before the homes were built, however, the State of North Carolina negotiated an important buyout. This was not a quick nor easy sequence of ownership...though an extremely valuable one.
It is a 5 minute, uphill and then downhill, drive from the Mountain home. Yes, there can be crowds now, not surprisingly, considering the views and adventures. They come from all over the East..especially on holidays. But...you can find solitude, as we did this day along the laurel paths and finally at Lake Dense where the breezes rolled gently down Joanna Mountain, cooling us as we lounged on the shady dock.

Simple Shared Experience

It was just dad and me on the river. Not many opportunities come up, so we made this one happen. The French Broad River starts in the North Carolina foothills near my parent’s home, snakes through low farmland, and then cuts through the mountains on its long way to the Gulf of Mexico. It is important to know the local waters. Know how you affect them and how they affect you. So, for a few hours, we paddled a gentle 10 miles under a narrow canopy of green shade, to see part of a waterway that is more than just part of the landscape. At times we pushed our way through while other times we sat and let the current carry us along. What we saw was up close and personal. Some of it we knew by names, like the roadways along its course, the big trees over head, and the wildflowers hanging on the banks. Much of it we didn’t know, like why the muskrat waited so long before dipping below the surface as we floated by, and how many gallons were being pumped up to the dry fields via dangling pipes, and who had tried, but failed, to clear a tree fallen across the full width of the river. But we thought about these sights and talked about their reasons…the latter while we carefully, then forcefully, threaded the empty red canoe through the tangle of downed, wet branches.
We shared experience on the French Broad...simple shared experience.

238 Miles One Way

We were in the mountains of North Carolina for 4 days visiting my family. The weather was very nice. Sunny days prevailed with some passing clouds and one good rain shower.
Among other things(following shortly) I walked around Their yard and snapped photos. It was a refreshing trip. Well worth the 238 miles one way.

Garden Update 3

We have been getting regular rains lately! The Garden is getting higher. There seems to be an abundance of Aphids on the peas. I've spotted a few ladybugs and other little ones feasting on the green miniscules (photos a little later). I forgot to take shots of the leeks, broccoli, tomatoes and fig tree...they are doing fine.

Heather and I ate all the mature Path Lettuce. No sign of "Nibbles" in the garden since last update!

Garden Update 2

A certain rabbit who will go unnamed(lets just call him "nibbles") was seen bedding down casually in a corner of the garden recently. I followed him slowly to see if he would exit the same way he entered, so I could quickly patch things up behind him. Well he didn't make things easy on me (or himself) as he bounced repeatedly against the flexible fencing before finally high jumping for escape. I haven't seen him back since and I didn't see any damage to the young veggies. However, I have invited the neighborhood dog, Buddy, over to keep watch for awhile.

Yard Update 3

I'm spending more time outside lately. More time with spade, rake, and water hose...and less with camera. But yesterday, before watering the seedlings; as the sun was getting low, I snapped these of the yard.

Reality?....check.

Flowers in bloom?....check. Birdsong in the air?...check. Trees aleaf in supple verdure?...check. Now, as the laudable list lengthens and the sentiment soars, I’m reminded of the ugly others. I acquired my first blood sucking tick of the season this weekend. Yep…first, there will be more. That camouflaged moth I photographed last week has been alleged to severely infest and defoliate thousands of sassafras trees in a single spring. I like sassafras…undefoliated. Then yesterday, as I wicked through the wet grass edging the woods, I saw my “first poison ivy vine of spring.” Not quite the long regaled rite of the season. But nevertheless it was a reality check worth the notice. For many of us, the evil bites, rashes, sneezes and itches preclude the riches of the out of doors, particularly the way-out of doors. But I accept them and learn from them. I try not to scorn the thorn that upholds the rose, though admittedly the mosquitoes rarely go uncursed in our yard. I’ve accepted they all have their roles and their lusty excesses. They just need a few moderating influences, and for that I’ll try to lend a helping hand. Keeping it real.

The Cool Moist

It got very warm last week. Into the 80's. That, combined with a lack of rain for almost 6 days, made us briefly wonder about the possibility of another summer drought. Yes, I know, 6 days without rain does not a drought make. But we really don't want another season without rain...not this season anyway. Well, the rains came back last night and scattered about throughout the day today. The little creek filled up, turned to chocolate. The cool moist day freshened the lungs, softened the ground. Take your time Spring, stay awhile!

Yard Update 2

I see people out in the yards, mowing, growing, playing. Give me Spring and 17 shades of green, and I'll give you a blissful smile.

Yard Update

The little wonders underfoot and overhead. They change daily. Walking slowly, looking closely, we share a life.

Garden Update

It's 74 degrees today, with ending rain and beginning sun. I've started the daily garden checks. I can't help it. Have rabbits found a fencehole? Are the aphids eating? Are the cutworms cutting? Will the broccoli ever make broccoli? Answers can only be found by looking in the garden.
Today I noticed one row of peas didn't germinate. The spinach, bok choy, and broccoli all have their "seed leaves" above ground. And several lettuces have sprung up in random areas of the garden, seeds blown about from last year's unpicked stalks. These will make my first salads.

Remnants of the Path

I took another vacation day Friday. It reached 80 degrees. Heather and I walked into town in the morning. She had a meeting and I had nothing. So I explored East Hillsborough along the Eno. I had cleared a trail along the river three years ago for a Walkable Hillsborough Day celebration. At that time it was mostly underbrush, brier, and poison ivy. I have not walked that "trail" since then. On Friday I was pleasantly surprised to find remnants of the path I had bushwhacked. Granted, Spring growth is yet to explode this season, and I'll bet, this time next month, there will be more briers. But for now I enjoyed a walk along the riverbank and on the edge of the Indian fields. The low May Apples twisted out of the ground, opened their green umbrellas. I tried not to step on them. The bugs are not bad yet and the spiders have not set their traps. The pollen has not been released. I stood on a high bank, leaned against an Ironwood and watched a pair of Canada Geese guarding a nest. They will not fly north this season, but will attempt to bring up a young one in Hillsborough. Walking back to town I stopped on the edge of the Indian field and listened to the fieldbirds. I see a few more vacation days in the near future.

Flat Water, No Riffles

My sister visited from Seattle this week. We hung out on Tuesday: half the day indoors, half out. After a late morning(and necessary) shopping spree, we dusted off the red canoe for a quiet paddle on the nearby upper Eno. Given a choice between catching up in a coffee shop or in a canoe, I'll take the canoe almost every time. There is a complexity of shared experience in a canoe, a level of reliance and relating, you just don't get in coffee shop conversation. The afternoon warmed to vest temperature accompanied by an occasional light wind. We talked while we cruised, slowly. This was flat water, no riffles. We paddled upstream, then back down, with a stop in the middle to see an old beaver dam. The water turtles were sunning and the minnows were darting into the shadows...both were first sights for me this Spring. Around a fallen tree, we hushed our talk; maneuvered deliberately. Teamwork.

Things With Wings

Good Friday was a bird day. One of these days I'll say a little more about what makes a bird day a bird day. But for now, trust me, this was one. Our friends Tom and Amy and son Tyler visited from Baltimore, arrived in the dark, late Thursday night. Next morning, after breakfast, we spent some time on the floor with Little T and his toys. Little T has some great toys. Many make noises. He likes the ones that make noises. There was also a colorful, soft sided birdhouse with a hole on top through which little hands guide plush little birdies. Those birdies didn't make birdie noises, but they were cute. Instead, I made the noises for the birdies. Little T smiled at me when I made the birdie noises. Good times.

Just outside the window, while we explored all the toys and eventually everything else at floor level in our tight little living room, real birdies made their own noises while eating their breakfast. Amy, a keen bird watcher, noticed a unique one at the feeder. In general I'm easily distracted, and, in particular, pleasantly distracted when it comes to the things with wings. The feathered one in question was a cutie, slender and yellowed, with a short needle bill. It fluttered up to the window, hovered, and returned stealthily to its perch. Then it did it again. Several times! "Hey look at me!" it seemed to be expressing to us, or itself, I'm not certain. We got out the bird books. I slid over into the sunny doorway. So did Little T. The birds had our attention. We think it was a Pine Warbler (though I'm calling it the Window Warbler). Good times.

So Savor the Sky

After a brief check of the garden this evening(not much visible change from yesterday) I walked around to the front yard. I was looking for an ant hill Heather said sprung up sometime this week. But before I found it, I noticed the Maple tree was in bloom. Wow, when did that happen? Little reddish brown flowers clustered with drooping winged seeds. Then I looked straight up into the web of Maple, Pine and Poplar. Lots of sky up there still. Like a kid with a crayon, spring is going to color in that web soon. No need to stay within the lines. I'll keep an eye on the progress. We don't need shade just yet, so savor the sky.

The Peas, the Early Greens

Seeds are in the ground! The season has begun. Now I just have to keep up. Pull the weeds, water the beds, mend the rabbit holes in the fence, stake the tomatoes, hill up the potatoes, thin the lettuce, thin the spinach, thin the…everything that needs thinning…provided that everything actually germinates. Ok, so it’s not in full swing yet, but the growing season takes off quickly here…and if I’m not careful I’ll get behind.
Actually I only planted a few today: the peas, the early greens, and the cool weather Brassica’s. We’ll get at least one more frost so I’ve got to remember that haste makes waste.

It’s supposed to be mid 60’s and sunny this week…and it will be hard keeping these fingernails clean.

The Leaves, Today, Lingered

Heather returned home after walking with a friend and told me, “The plants you saw by the river last week have bloomed; they’re wonderful.” The next chance for me came this evening after work in the extended light of daylight savings time. Running shoes on and camera packed, I headed to the Occoneeche Speedway Trails, eager to find our piedmont trout lilies.
Unexpectedly, I saw more than I looked for. The trout lilies were there where I remembered, in the moist lowground; riverside. The flower is delicate and short-lived. On a thin stem it hangs, looking down at its namesake paired leaves. The flowers brought me out today, got me down on the ground for their close-ups. But the leaves, today, lingered in my mind. Those speckled trout profiles, verdantly mottled and wildly rampant, recalled a place I visit only a few times each year now. The Mountain home. We moved there from the flatlands of Oklahoma when I was 15. My world, once lakes and plains became hills and shining creeks. Scissor-tail flycatchers and catfish became falcons and speckled trout. Those transitions marked time for me. We live now, away from the mountains and our rivers are troutless.
Marking springtime, I now studied these slender leaves, appreciating what was in their name. A sweet memory of youth and a certain sunlit fish, from here, distant though not forgotten.

An Encore

Forgot the camera on recent outings. Did more reading than writing. Hosted relatives for a week. Blog suffered. Now back to more mundane observations.

It rained last night. Hard. The winds tugged, pushed, yelled, and felled. Trees swayed, bayed, and clicked limbs. Have I mentioned spring is knocking? Door's open, come on in. Bring the rain, we've got reservoirs to fill, cars to wash, morning showers to relish, evening baths to indulge, and toilets to flush after each visit. We're tired of being frugal. But you know, rain barrels are selling fast around here, someone must be planning. Good for them.

I stood in the doorway, watched that rain, felt that rain. I might have danced in that rain, but that lightening was damn close. This evening I went back to the doorway. Above the hurried rush of creekflow, in the dimming light, into damp night, the peepers called for an encore.

Trumpets of Spring

We walked to town this afternoon, eastward. From roadsides to sidewalks, sometimes on the edges of yards. The cool gray day had a chill. But along our route we spotted the trumpets of spring. The ornamental blossoms, butter yellows, faint whites, clustered in the corners. There, a planned chorus, a subdivided ensemble cultivated for show. Here a forgotten trail, left to flower and spread seed down to the creek. My favorites are the empty green plots, former homesteads now parklike, guarded by the big trees, trimmed in daffodil. Back at home, a couple miles west, our few are beginning to warm up; preparing their fanfare.

Our Home's Shadow

The view from the front yard, up to the rising moon, revealed our nightly beacon passing through our home's shadow. In and out of the night clouds it traveled, teased, tested patience. As ancient clockhand it ticked quietly into the treetops. A reminder of mysterious time, battery free, unplugged. It beckoned us 6 times to the dark yard, simply now, to acknowledge our own presence.

The Poet's Walk

Heather was housebound with a flu for 3 days. Yesterday, in late afternoon sun, we shared a walk, the Poet's Walk. The old Ayr Mount property near downtown, with gentle slopes, long fields, and the rocky Eno River, is a public space of beauty. We are thankful.

Blanket for the Night

Mid-week we got a surprise snow. It came in the night. Rain had fallen most of the afternoon, and the temperatures steadily dropped. I was up late in the dark kitchen in a glow of computer light. The windows creaked with a wind gust. Hillsborough was getting a blanket for the night. I went out, put fresh tracks down the steps, around to the garden. Stood briefly, still, listening to the flakes and wind.

No Restful Garden

It was another sunny Saturday. 65 degrees. From the warm windowed kitchen, while eating my eggs, I watched the birds in late morning. A Carolina Wren darted after little winged insects. The bluebird couple perched on lookout. I sensed Spring, even if premature, I sensed it and decided to inspect the sleeping garden. Later, after turning the compost and discovering more bugs, I took the pitchfork and long fork into the garden. The beds were soft, easily scratched. Mine was no restful garden. Here too, the insects were active, the worms were active. I became active. First turning in the winter leaves, then straitening the borders, then plucking the exposed stones, and finally trimming back last years young fig tree. I’ll look through my seed catalogue tonight, review last year’s journal and begin designing the layout for the upcoming seasons. Green will be here soon.

A Nest in Winter

As I was leaving the office the other day, I released a slow breath and glanced up at a few trees lining the path to my car. Not too far overhead, tucked tight against the bare branches, sat a little well-trimmed bird’s nest. I pay attention to birds…have since I was a kid. Finding a secret nest still brings me a child’s pleasure of surprise. Winter exposes many secrets of nature and I remain ever-curious. This day I wondered “what’s in a nest in winter?” Is there a huddled little finch, or two, asleep in that twiggy cocoon of their youth? Or maybe a gypsy junco, stealing away a night and then moving on? I’ve read about nests. There are the bigger nests, the lofty squirrel clutches, where indeed group survival depends on the warm retreats of snowy winter. Then the little bird nests. They are of course the egg homes, the brood camps. Mostly they are abandoned in winter…the proverbial “empty nest” season.

But as I walked to my car I acknowledged that a nest in winter holds the promise of spring, the memories of youth, and some answers to our hidden secrets.

A Creek Once More

Beyond the edge of the yard lies a shallow creekbed. In a roughly skewed line it declines for just short of a mile to feed the Eno river. Along this corridor the deer travel and birds bathe. It dried up back in August, cracked dirt and rocky. Even through fall it was dry. I walked down in it, looked for old arrowheads. The corridor shifted and the animals stayed closer to the bigger river. There is a shady bend in the creekbed just before it straitens out near our piece of land. It is a rich tuft of land, green with fern and grass. Water usually pools at the edge, swirls against a big rock and a downed tree. A few blackbirds often gather below the bank, shielded by a thicket, where they chatter and splash in a lively group bath. It has been quiet for awhile.

But yesterday I walked to that finger of land, trees bare and exposed, to check on the water. It has returned, to feed the river, and there is a creek once more. A sparrow took a brief dip and again we live along the corridor.

The Compost's Turn

Today I didn't leave the yard. Lovely day with enough sun to warm the skin. My energy is still low and needed to be conserved. So, what needed attention out there? Today it was the compost's turn for some care. Recent rains, much needed rains, left the leafy masses overwet. A good turning with the long fork, folding in the dry spots, allowed more breathing room. It's the end of January here and the earthworms are active.

Pale Lichen

I gathered myself for a stroll through a forest. It had been some time since I last walked the trails and old roadbeds of the Hillsborough section of Duke Forest northwest of Town. I walked alone today. Fleece jacket and ballcap against a light breeze. Over the scrape of leaf and my own sniffles I heard the deer break away in the distance. Up the hill to the old Quarry. Dense pines dwarfed by sheer number swayed in the canyon. I stayed on the lip, ducked under branch, stepped lightly across the pale lichen looking for a better view. My tired senses reminded me not to try too hard. I saw it the way it was today, the way I was today.

I'll go see!

I have a cold...or it has me. Either way, I'm trying to shake it. I'm leaving the house to see whatsitlikeout. Should be back in a couple hours...we'll see.