A Fresh Perspective

There is a new kid in town! Grayson Eno Delisle was born December 21, 2009. Winter Solstice. I haven’t written much in this blog the past few months since our focus has been more internal. Now that Grayson is on the outside, I find myself imagining a fresh new perspective.

When it comes to nature and the out-of-doors, I tend to have a childlike view of things, full of curiosity, a bit of whimsy, and, inevitably, some silly interplay. I’m looking forward to sharing this view with Grayson, while also discovering what he sees when he’s outside.

A Spider-Web Gauntlet

We took a quiet, mid-morning walk on Saturday, along the somewhat overgrown logging roads of a small Duke Forest Tract. This was one of those walks intended primarily for exercise. But if you only want exercise, you don’t go to the woods, you go to the track. And so, choosing the woods, we knew we would get more than just exercise.

The trail ended up being more of a spider-web gauntlet than a clear path through the trees. In warm seasons, you always prepare for spider webs on trails, though this day held more webs than could be imagined…or seen. Those unseen webs were the spoilers. In addition to flies, moths, and humans, those webs catch and hold sunlight suspended in air. But when sunlight hides behind clouds or becomes obscured by the shadow of a leafy canopy, the webs disappear. And that is when you find yourself surprisingly face first in the sticky mess…repeatedly.

Heather found, that by walking directly behind me, the webs would cease to entangle her. Amazing. Later on, I also discovered that when we simply swapped leads, I too could magically elude the spider web snares. It’s a funny thing how one’s depth perception, ocular focus, and awareness affects one’s ability to dodge the traps. For example: I think I see a web about 10 feet in front of me, and it looks to be safely overhead…but then I see a turkey feather on the ground and after picking it up and excitedly displaying it to Heather…WHAM!, I’m webfaced. Or as I notice that Heather is about to catch one at shin level, I gallantly alert her to it by pointing down; then WHAM!, I’m webfaced again.

Gradually, our highly evolved brains outsmarted the spiders’ and we walked in relative comfort and certainty. We were able to eventually even appreciate the spiders for their beauty and craft…despite the periodic itching followed by the familiar question “is there a spider on my back?”






"Is there a spider on my back?"

Garden update

I'm feeling pretty good about the garden so far this season. It was wet early, which got things off to a good start. The last couple weeks it got hot and dried out so I've been watering. Bugs and critters haven't been too bad yet. I pulled most of the weeds a couple weeks ago and they haven't come back yet.

Today a cool front moved through and dropped rain and temperatures. It was a lovely gray day!

Happy To Be Exploring

This past Sunday I had the supreme honor of taking a 5 year old on a tad-pole hunt. If you haven’t done this, give it a try (make sure the kid wants to go). I’ve read how everyday stress ages the human body in many measurable ways. I’m here to report that one antidote to this malady can be achieved by teaching a precocious 5 year old how to search for squiggling baby froggies in the muck of a fish pond.

‘Little 5,’ as I’ll refer to him, called me in the evening on his mom’s cell phone to let me know he wanted to raise a tad-pole…and he needed my assistance. Rarely do I get such important phone calls, so immediately we devised a tentative plan, got mom’s approval, and synchronized our watches.

Little 5 arrived at 9:30 am, via chauffeur, eager for adventure. I was a giddy go-getter who had been provisioning for our hunt since 7:30 am; had already made a trip to wal-mart for a dip-net (folks, this is why Wal-Mart is the rightful king of the evil empire: who else has dip-nets at 7:30 am on a Sunday?!!). In our white plastic five gallon bucket we carried the dip-net, a quart sized Mason jar, and an old gray towel (this could get dirty). Little 5 spotted my trusty binoculars on the kitchen table and said “Oh! we’ll need those to see real deep into the water.” I started to explain that those were more for looking up into trees and…but before I could finish, they were dangling around his neck, so I summed it up with a reassuring “Yes…we’ll need those too.”

We drove slowly down the gravel entrance to Occanneechi State Natural Area, and paused when we neared the ponds to get the first look at prime tad-pole habitat. I was relieved to see the ponds actually had water in them (I hadn’t exactly done all of my homework for this adventure, despite the previous late evening hike along the Eno river which turned up not one water-bound baby amphibian). Just last year the state had drained the ponds for a major renovation project. I had taken a gamble in hoping they had finished their project according to schedule (it is the state, you know). I had read that it would take awhile for the stocked fish population to reach the previous “keeper” size. Strangely the article hadn’t mentioned a thing about the projected size of the froggy population, but I had a hunch they would ‘rebound’ (ba-dump-tschhh) quickly.

While walking from the car to the ponds I realized I needed to refrain from slipping into Mr. Identifier mode…you know: “That’s a centipede; oh look, a cardinal; this here is the common milkweed plant which is the sole food source for the brilliant migratory monarch butterfly which stops here on its long journey from Canada to Mexico and while it rests here, it sometimes will…” I think I made a good decision. If he asked a question, I would answer.

The first pond, the largest one, was teeming with minnows. Little 5 asked “what’s a minnow?” Yay!, a question! So I told him that minnows are baby fish…like tad-poles are baby frogs…and they actually eat baby frogs…which is probably why he had trouble finding any baby frogs. So, for the first 15 minutes, Little 5 practiced catching minnows in the dip-net while I searched the far corners of the big pond for froglings…and found none. I realized I hadn’t thought of a plan B if we were unsuccessful with the amphibisearch. Maybe he could raise a minnow…maybe wal-mart would have tad-poles. Little 5 didn’t seem worried as he was happy to be exploring. Good kid. We headed down to the lower pond. Immediately, as we neared the tall grass, a chorus line of croakers launched themselves into the water. Little 5’s eyes got real big. I danced a quick little jig. But in order to get close to the water, we would have needed hip waders to get us in and a crane to get us out. While I began thinking of more plan B’s, Little 5 startled me with an enthusiastically squealed “Dragonfly!!” This kid was not going to let a dearth of legless kermits drag him down.

We made our way to the far side of the little pond where the ground was firm enough to allow your toes to rest at the edge of the water. Here too was a promising collection of pond scum. As we leaned over the water, being careful not to slip into the ooze, a tiny black dot wiggled up to the surface. TAD-POLE! Quickly we fumbled with the dip-net and scooped gently towards the wiggling dot…which wiggled right through the mesh and back down below the pond scum. We soon realized there were black dots all over this section of pond…and every one of them slid gracefully through the net and back to their original resting places. We spent several minutes devising very creative trapping schemes (I’ll let you use your imagination) before we decided to search the final, even murkier, corner of the pond. Maybe that is where the larger, teenage tadpoles hang out. And sure enough, there they were, bigger dots, just fat enough to hang suspended in the lacework of the 4 dollar dip-net.

Little 5 kept both hands tight around his mason jar. As we walked back, he held his new
friends up close to his face. He peered through his glasses into the jar of weeds and scum, and smiled blissfully. I did the same.

Curse Them or Caress Them

I’ve been sweating the rabbits lately, can’t help it. They be eye‘in my greens, if you know-what-I-mean?! But they’re cute. Damn it. Curse them or caress them? Depends on the day.

I looked out the window yesterday and saw a bunny there in the driveway eating crabgrass…basically doing my yardwork for me! Yes! They can eat ALL the crabgrass they want! “Try the poison ivy while you’re at it.”

But then, this evening while I’m plucking the cucumbers and checking on the ‘maters, I see a huddle of fur balls with big black eyes peering out of the dense foliage. Oh boy did I have some evil thoughts. I ended up chasing them, 5 of them, around the garden in all different directions until they each squeezed through the fence and out into the yard. I made them each promise to eat a section of crabgrass.

I think one of them laughed at me.

Out of Hiding

Thrasher, Brown, tear up the ground
Root the devil out of the woodpile

Rusted back, speckled chest
Your little ones have left the nest
Now you and your missus must teach them

Out of hiding and into the yard
You show your face awhile

Curved bill, evening trill
Mock the mockingbirds for me
And stare with your black-eyed-susans

Hide in the hedges, stalk the sedges
Eat whatever fills you

This week I realized the Brown Thrashers have lately been frequenting the yard more...well...frequently. Usually I only see (or more often hear) one as it lurks on the wood's edge. With my little, zoom challenged, point and shoot camera, I haven't been able to steal a photo (which explains my wordy substitute above).

It has been a treat to watch the Thrasher couple scampering around the yard collecting all manner of bugs, worms, and berries for the young ones. They are deliberate, serious birds. You can see it in their eyes.

One of their little ones ended up in the garden some how yesterday...must have fluttered down from the nearby poplar. As I cornered the little chirper and dropped him on the other side of the fence, momma and papa chattered fiercely from the lowest branch of the poplar. The fledgling, not yet equipped to fly, hopped to the edge of the yard.
I'm sure it is now getting a lesson on how to hide in the bushes.

Garden update 1 2009

Garden update 1 2009

The veggie plants are coming along just fine. Some are doing better than others of course. I'm using a lunar planting guide for the first time this season...and enjoying the process. Lettuce has been tasty. Little turnips turned into a simple soup. Next will be the peas. One rabbit so far...it nibbled on the beet leaves and pea plants, then I shot him...with the water hose...I'm such a wuss.

This Spring's Obsession

This spring I’ve been focusing on the local woodland flowering plants. In the past, I’ve had an appreciation for native plants, but not much of an understanding. Last summer, when Heather and I were hiking on a weekly basis, I started paying closer attention to the woodland dwellers. At the end of each walk I would relax back at home with a few field guidebooks to figure out what people call the plants I had seen. Along with the names came their habitats, geographies, historical uses, and flowering times. I began to realize that I had missed many of their flowering periods.

The idea, which has grown into this spring’s obsession, took root last summer when I stumbled upon a simple, yet elegant, three-leaved, straight-stemmed plant growing near a dead-end path along the banks of my favorite local river. I didn’t know exactly what the plant was. All I knew is that it looked unique amongst its neighbors, and it bore resemblance to the mountain Trilliums that my parents admire. But without flowers to distinguish it, I was going to have to wait awhile to identify it.

So, as this fascination and curiosity spread to other plants, I decided to start early this spring and make the weekly rounds and check on the local plants. Since the last frost, I have been hitting the trails, camera in tow, to watch the plants circle through their cycles. I’ve had many satisfying finds. However, the one that had started this whole adventure was letting me down. I had found the three-leaved mystery plant early in the season and had checked it weekly, but it did not seem to be setting blooms…and it appeared to be running out of time.

Heather came with me on today’s rounds. I did the usual check…still no blooms…or even a hint of blooms. Heather pushed on ahead and, from around the bend in the trail, I heard “Jayyyyyyson…come here!” And there they were…in tender bloom! These were big plants…much larger than the few I had been checking on for weeks. Why hadn’t I come this far during all of my walks??? I started clicking away with the camera and scrambled into the woods for more…ticks and poison ivy be damned! I believe my heart was racing as fast as it was during last week’s triathlon. All for a little flower…which I now can rightly call Catesby’s Trillium.

Jack's Back

This morning, before things got hot, we took the big red canoe out for the first trip of the season. Of course we went to the upper Eno, just down the road from our home. Along the banks, rosy Pinxter (wild azalea) flowers hovered over the water and made me wonder if the bees and hummingbirds know the beauty from which they feast. Further upstream we explored. Despite the many trips along this route, the new season always brings surprises. We navigated carefully around a snag of downed tree limbs and rocky boulders just as a two-foot-long snapping turtle glided gracefully, though startlingly, away from our commotion. Dinosaurs are still among us…trust me (right Heather!).

This season, during our hikes and paddles, I have been paying careful attention to the wild flower blooms that I missed last year. My interest seems to be two-part: 1) appreciate the natural beauty and 2) learn a little more about the life cycles of these neighbors.



For this day, I had planned to take a quick walkabout halfway into the trip to see if there were any Lady Slipper plants in a thicket of pines I had seen before. My parents have Lady Slippers under the pines on their mountain property. Well, I didn’t find any of the rare orchids, but I did happen upon the secret Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Last year I missed their blooms, but wrote about their brilliant seed clusters in August. Yes, Jack’s back and, hidden below a rather ordinary cluster of green leaves; he sits in the moist shade soaking up the breath of the river. I now know, at least in our area, the Jacks bloom in late April and seed in August: More clues to a scavenger hunt that will keep me entertained for years to come…all in high definition. Now I just need to find those Lady Slippers.

To Check on Spring Blooms

It was a nice outdoor Easter Weekend in Hillsborough. Saturday morning warmed slowly as we took a short walk, down by the Eno at Occaneeche Mountain, to check on spring blooms. We had a surprise towards the end of the walk; fortunately I spotted it before Heather and was able to give her advanced warning. She handled it well. And so did it.

Sunday was a little warmer, with less wind. Most of the day was spent in the garden where I seeded the tomatoes, cucumbers and peas. The quick little wren kept watch throughout the day. If I left the garden for more than 20 minutes, a pair of doves dropped down to pick through the fresh-turned soil. Photos of the garden will be added soon.

I'm pretty itchy.

Happy Spring

I finally put the first seeds in the ground for this season’s garden. Now begins the weather-watching! I have a few more things to do in preparation. The pole beans will need some poles and the shell peas will need a trellis. The tomatoes will need staking. And I’m going to piece together a perch for the cucumbers this year. Oh yeh, we are already getting lettuce from the winter cold-frame (a first for us!). Anyway, it feels good to be back in the garden.

On another note, as I yawned at the bedroom window this morning, my foggy eyes caught sight of the illusive pileated woodpecker rooting around on the old rotting log at the edge of the property. I quickly found my glasses in time to clearly see a spring bunny hop up onto the log. For one brief moment, in the early sunlight, peter and woody came face to face. I swiftly shelved the urge to write a children’s book, and resumed my morning activities. Happy Spring!

Death Away From Home

I stepped out the front door into the sharp cold morning, mind set on the day ahead. My eye caught a glimpse of a solitary bird nestled in the leaves below the living room window. Its head was down. damn. Before I got to the bottom of the frosty brick steps, I involuntarily breathed out a quiet eulogy. “Sorry little fella’" is what I whispered.
The feathers were soft, the body rigid. I wish it hadn’t died at my window, at my bird feeder. I wish it hadn’t died a cold morning death away from home. The small warbler with the yellow patch on his tail was a migrant, heading north for Spring.

I know it was an accident, but I won’t deny some guilt. I’ve always had mixed feelings about feeders near the house. For now they stay and I hope for safety. I’m not convinced the birds need us as much as we need them.

As I sat on my couch this morning, watching the seemingly happy flutter of activity at the feeders, I thought of the Myrtle Warbler. Sorry little fella’.

Excuses, Excuses

It appears I’ve taken quite a leave of absence from blogworld. I’ve missed the writing. There have been several occasions and inspirations for the typing out of thoughts, but for whatever reason I didn’t. Actually, to be honest with myself (and you), I know the main reason: LOST. Back in January, during that post holiday hangover, I happened across the online archives of this little TV show. I had never watched an episode before; couldn’t name a character if I had to. I believe I even held some pride in not falling victim to yet another “amaaaazing” cult status tv program. I am now a victim…I think a willing victim. My boss lent me the first 4 seasons on DVD and now I’m addicted. I still manage to bathe and feed myself, but as soon as those petty tasks are done its time for Jack and Kate, brotha’. Don’t worry; somehow I’ve maintained my job and marriage (right honey?... where’d she go?).
There is something mysterious and unsettling about this situation I find myself in. It’s like there is a strange force involved…and I can’t tell if it is good or bad. Before LOST, I could never endure TV dramas. Couldn’t even follow the plot of a Tom and Jerry cartoon. I had an attention span the length of a music video. But ever since I crashed on that islan…err…started watching that show…it’s like I’m a new person. I’m whole…yet unfulfilled.
As the blogosphere keeps on spinning around, I’m looking ahead to the future and learning from my past. Spring is around the corner and nature is calling…but so is season 5…I’ll be back in a little while.

A Patient Artist

Finally some really cold weather settled into the Piedmont of North Carolina…for a couple days anyway. And by “really cold” I mean it stayed below freezing for 45 whole hours. If you live in Florida, that sounds cold. If you live in Minnesota, that sounds like spring.

I wanted to see some ice-rimmed river-water…you know, for proof it is actually winter here. From the bedroom window, the creek looked to be running free, trickling over the rocks, not frozen in time. A short drive downtown, near the few folks shivering at the farmers market, I sought the edges of the Eno. The footpath crunched under my boots. Much of the Eno flowed quiet and free. A reminder that our winter is not fierce.

The last time I had walked the path to the Indian fields it was early Spring. The trees were bare then as now. Much looked the same. I have missed two seasons along this route. I missed the spiders, the mosquitoes, and the poison ivy. Now, as I crunched down the path, looking for ice, I realized it is a good time to be out. A muskrat hole, usually hidden under a low tangle of briers, became exposed as warm moist air escaped the depths to condense and hang amongst the brambles…an icy chandelier marking the hole. I saw several of these, but no muskrats. I continued down the path, stepping beside deer tracks in the frozen mud.

Then finally I reached a stretch of slow water in the shadow of a north facing bluff. Here the ice held anchor to a river rock and jutted thinly into the cool current. Winter is a patient artist.

White Tufted Hemlock Groves

I got to play Mountain Man this Christmas! Honestly, I was just playing. We spent a week up in Pennsylvania with 8 inches of snow and a fire in the fireplace 24/7. I fantasize about that life, don’t you? No? Maybe? Well, the jolly old fellas who wrote Jingle Bells and White Christmas sure did. And since they crafted all those cleverly cozy rhymes along with rolling melodies, and then finally hooked up with the Hallmark Company, I’ve been suckered since childhood.

I don’t think it’s only the music’s fault though. I probably have to blame...err, thank Marty Stouffer of Wild America. As a restless kid I could sit on the couch in front of the TV in Oklahoma with a warm bowl of spaghettios on my lap and simultaneously track an elusive wolverine through the deep snows of the Rocky Mountains. I’m not sure why it appealed so much to me other than for the grand imagination of childhood, together with the mystical footage of far off (to me) wild lands. Though it was probably due to some subliminal marketing scheme, or simply Marty’s mildly patriotic, wide eyed parting salutation to “Enjoy Our Wild America!”

So I find myself now, always giddy at the first hint of prolonged cold and snow. Being on vacation helps deepen the satisfaction. I don’t have to get up early in the morning if I don’t want to. Or I can get up early, track a few wolverines, then come home and sleep in front of the fireplace for the rest of the day.

On this trip, we did it all: Hiked in early morning snow, followed deer trails through fields, huddled under white tufted hemlock groves, flew down snow-packed roads on wooden sleds, crafted grapevine wreathes collected from the thick woody hedges, watched wild grouse cross the street, made snow angels, made snowmen, knocked old apples out of the trees for the deer to eat, stood on the high ridge overlooking the valley, and fed a steady supply of seasoned hardwood into the stoves to light and warm our loft.

I acknowledge it as play. I did not toil and labor on the land we wandered. Not this time. Someone else had before me. Thank you.

But Yet I Keep Looking

A few notes this January:

1. This blog is one year old this January 2009. Which means I've covered one cycle of seasons. Which in North Carolina, USA, is four seasons, each distinct enough to provide enough inspiration for diverse commentary, if I'm paying attention.

2. As Joni Mitchell sang "the seasons, they go round and round", and you can probably expect similar observations from me this year.

3. I try to make this interesting, at least to me, so I'll try to point out some unique observations...though I might repeat myself. I mean really, I can look at the same stuff over and over again, even seemingly boring stuff, and still be amused. Heck I could look at a campfire every night of the week and remain entranced for hours. And what really could I write to distinguish the physical properties of each of those fires? Not much. But yet I keep looking. And so I write in order to figure out why I keep looking.

Happy New Year