whatsitlikeout

Stark Shadowy Tonic

2012-01-21T23:28:00.000-05:00

In late summer you are Yellow Crownbeard by name-
a colony of green and gold.
In winter, Stickweed-
dry remnants, swaying in the coldair, seed heads chattering.

Why do you stay?

What do you want to tell us?

Do you bring knowledge and understanding to those who appreciateyou?

Do you hold a cure for our physical aches?

Are you a metaphor still standing for something unknown in thehuman world?

I don’t know you but I see you, and I see how you change.

Your once radiant beauty becomes a stark, shadowy tonic.

Disperse Their Seeds, Vigorously

2011-10-02T23:18:00.000-04:00

Walking slowly but still 20 steps ahead of my young son, I led the way down the wide trail. We wore two layers apiece and caps today as the cool winds of autumn circled around us. He meandered from side to side as the undergrowth dictated. A smooth, well-trod path was just as alluring as the patch of waving grasses, jungle-like from his vantage point.
We share a curiosity that makes walking in the woods a slow, inquisitive jaunt. Every leaf, pine cone, flower and fern is susceptible to our inspection and play. Yes, we play. The pine cones gets kicked, the sink holes gets plugged with sticks, the turkey feathers ends up in hat bands, and the acorns get tossed back at the trees from which they fell.

In this wonderful spirit of fun and discovery we happened upon a magical puffball colony. Merely a gentle shoe-tap released wispy clouds of spore dust like little puffing steam engines. Imagine the mystery this brings to a two year old. And imagine the wealth of natural lessons these little wonders afford an instructive daddy. I kept it brief, this time, saying "these are little plants that puff out their baby seeds." And then we commenced to helping them disperse their seeds, vigorously. As language builds, so too will the length of the lessons. Some day, I'll show how this very fungus can be cooked and eaten, if taken at the right time of its life. Perhaps we'll talk about the mighty, distant volcanoes who similarly puff great plumes of smoke and ash. But today we kept it simple and fun...as simple as a smoke-puffing little round "plant" can be to a two year old.

The Privilege We Shared

2011-09-14T22:54:00.000-04:00

We spent a cool afternoon in the Virginia foothills. A visit to The Homeplace, a part of my wife's history; now part of our family's history. The rural county is our son's namesake. Grayson is a land of beautiful hills, valleys, and creeks.

We traveled with my sister and her boyfriend on a farewell roadtrip. They will be living in another country soon. We will wish them well and be comforted by the excitement we hold for their future. But it isn't easy to say goodbye.

As we walked the quiet sites of past goodbyes, thinking of the changes we face, we found ourselves face to face with a living and breathing model of change. The archetype of transformation. Curled under the shelter of a fading milkweed leaf, hung the caterpillar in preparation for its trip to a new world.

We didn't discuss the symbolism. We simply acknowledged the beauty and the privilege we shared as witnesses.

But With Cooler Evenings

2011-09-05T20:46:00.003-04:00

I didn't catch the Cardinal Flower in all of its brilliance this year. But thankfully I noticed it the other day, as it stood scarlet over the drying creekbed.
I walked down to that corner of the low back yard this evening, after a gentle rain shower, to photograph this late summer beauty.
Late summer is here. As the ruby petals of Lobelia cardinalis continue to fall, and their hummingbird friends begin making plans for long southward flights, I take a deep breath of anticipated fresh air. September in the Piedmont of North Carolina is still very much summer, but with cooler evenings, when we can finally open the windows and fall asleep to the pleasant hum of the night creatures.

Limbs, Knocked Down

2011-08-28T21:28:00.003-04:00

As I was cleaning up the many tree limbs, knocked down by the winds of Hurricane Irene, my thoughts swirled. I was a bit frustrated that I had to spend my weekend cleaning up the mess. Then I was thankful that it wasn't any worse. Then saddened for the folks who had lost friends and family. Then accepted it as part of life. Then acknowledged that nature cleans house every now and then, as it has forever past.
Then amused that I got my trees pruned for free as a result of some butterfly who stirred the air on the other side of the world (that's how it happens, right?).
Then really amused to think how the news media and associated sponsors owe a debt of gratitude to that quiet foreign butterfly. Then reminded how the citizens of whole cities, states, and countries are brought closer together by the shared misery, curiosity, sensationalism and fear, generated by natural disasters (and by those of us who write about them).

So as I picked up the pieces, I thought about the wind and rain swirling on to the next community-another reminder that we all breathe the same air, drink the same water, and live on the same borrowed land and borrowed time.

Blue Wiggle Sneak

2011-08-21T22:05:00.003-04:00

We sat on the boulder pitching pebbles into the calm river. Actually, little Gray did all the pitching, while I did the retrieving. Upon returning from my third trip down to the water to re-supply, I saw a blue wiggle sneak up behind my son. Little Gray never saw a thing, he just kept making rings appear on the water. I began to realize that every time I got up to get more rocks, the tiny skink would scurry away down the side of the rock, and by the time I returned he was back, inching ever so close to my son's shadow. I laughed quietly and finally pointed out the curious critter. Gray pointed and smiled like he knew it was there the whole time; then he resumed his practice.

An Almost Biblical Plague

2011-06-12T11:01:00.005-04:00

The 13 year cicadas (Brood XIII) emerged this summer in many parts of the US. We have them here in NC. As we've visited different parts of the state this spring and summer, we've noticed different concentrations of the bug eyed bugs. Sometimes they sounded like a cool sci-fi soundtrack in the distance, while other times the noise was akin to the more grating rhythmic clatter-buzz commonly associated with the cyclic wonders. There was one memorable day when we ventured to the Eno River in Durham for a splash. But the brood was so thick and loud, almost unbearably so, that we had to shorten our stay and head for home. The frequency was bad enough to make my teeth hurt. No cliche. On that day I could imagine an almost biblical plague of cicadas. What would I do if we had to endure a full summer of the mind-numbing distraction? We would adapt or go crazy (probably a combination of both).
I immediately slipped into naturalist mode to develop some coping mechanisms. So here is my non-scientific list of silver-linings should you find yourself deep in the heart of a cicada crisis:

1. More cicadas equals more food (for fish, birds, cats, and children who visit science museums)
2. The holes, from whence the cicadas emerged, serve a variety of purposes (aerate the soil, mitigate storm-water runoff, save the ants and worms some work and energy, provide one more opportunity for my little boy to stick his fingers into something)
3. The noise can compete with, sometimes even trump the loudspeaker music blaring from your neighbor's half-deaf teenage rebel son's window (car or bedroom).
4. Of course everyone knows the thrill a young sister gets when she discovers the spooky cicada exoskeleton you quietly perched on her shoulder.
5. The uneaten remains return to the soil to complete the circle of life (great opportunity to introduce this concept to children (or naive friends), thus convincing them that anything bad is actually good and essential to life!)

Well that list should get you started. For now, since the cicadas have not yet emerged within a 5 mile radius of my house, I'll enjoy the peace and quiet. If I need to experience any of the items on the list, I know where to find them.

Enrich The Story

2011-04-30T19:03:00.003-04:00

Hello there. Hope you’re doing well. I’m OK. Thanks for asking. Just sitting here on the edge of your photo. You seemed to have focused on the cool guys there in the middle. No worries, I’m used to it by now. I’m just glad you didn’t step on me or crop me out. Yeah, I know I’m different, what with the 9 petals instead of 10. The cool guys in the middle each have 10… big whoop. I get by with 9. At least the pollinators still visit me often, if you know what I mean.

Don’t get me wrong, I would love to take center stage from time to time. When I was young I thought I had potential, I mean real superstar potential; the kind that can get you a cover shot in “Wildflower World.” But fate had other plans as petal # 10 wilted away one stormy, overcast day. You could say I lost my flower power in a midday shower. Sometimes I have to joke to make folks feel comfortable around me. But I’m no joke.

I belong here. I have a purpose. My roots hold the soil down just like everyone else. I can make friends with anyone if given a chance. One of my best friends was Miss Daisy. She was a looker and a real sweetie too. But looks can get you booked. Her life was cut short and she was laid to rest in a bright-eyed 4th grader’s flower press book. I guess if there’s an afterlife, that would be a good one. I sure miss her. Just before she was plucked away, she told me something I’ll never forget. She said “Keep your head up kid; you enrich the story of life.”

I’m beginning to understand what she meant. I suppose you could say I balance the composition. Thanks for noticing me.

Every Feather Clean

2011-04-17T22:18:00.003-04:00

Stalking the brackish muck, keeping every feather clean and in order, he hides in the marsh grass. You can't get too close to the snowy egret. When you do, he leaps with awkward grace to become the prettiest one in the sky. From a distance you admire him. Up close you respect him.

And So Too the Roost

2011-03-20T21:28:00.005-04:00

Edge of town. Edge of the woods. A big wild bird walks a known path, cautiously. The road I'm on crosses his travel route. I stop. He turns and struts awkwardly into the woods.

The first time I saw turkeys in this location, I counted twelve, pecking slowly in the short grass. Sometimes I see mom and chicks. Follow the leader. I only saw the one this evening. Big Tom. Dusk was near. And so too the roost, I assume. He disappeared into the timber.

Standing Dead in the Water

2010-11-14T21:44:00.004-05:00

This morning I perched on a fallen timber at the edge of the beaver swamp, camera ready. The slow sun climbed above the distant tree line. As I waited for the swamp to awaken, a shiver came over me; reminded me to blow warm air into my gloved hands.

My seat was a long reclining tree trunk, likely felled in the past 5 years by the beaver whose job it was to make a wetland home. That home I now surveyed with quiet wonder as the vapors condensed in the cold air. A pileated woodpecker ratcheted a morning hello. Another replied. I saw the first chase the second towards the sun. I started thinking more about the trees in the wetland. Many were standing dead in the water. Others, like my seat, were lying dead. I developed a greater appreciation for dead trees this cold morning. The pileated woodpeckers depended on them for food and home. The wood ducks I sought to photograph also depended on them for shelter. Here in the swamp the arboreal sacrifices diversified the habitat, enriched the ecosystem. I found beauty in a tree strewn beaver pond.

There is a conflict to puzzle over. Why in one location is a dead tree a thing of beauty while in another, evidence of harm? As an admirer of trees, I tend towards angst when I find one ravaged at the base, tooth-marked and weeping sap. It isn't a pretty sight, especially in a hardwood forest along the banks of my beloved Eno River. But here in a shallow valley fed by a trickling stream, the result is wholesome and acceptable. I guess the juxtaposition supports the notion that every place has a purpose, as do the things within that place. Sometimes we lose our place and need some redirection.

Well this morning I was glad to be in that place. I hope I didn't intrude too much, leave a nasty mark for the beavers to loath. I didn't see the wood ducks today, maybe too early. I'll try again in a few weeks.

A Traveling Tale

2010-11-08T18:41:00.004-05:00

Heading to work the other morning, I walked from the warm house to the cold car and heard the sound from the edge of the yard. A dying high pitched whistle, as a finger once around a crystal rim. In an instant I was on the rocky edge of the trail in Maine, four years back, with Katahdin, mysterious in the distance.

I now listened once more, hand inches from the cold door handle, eyes half closed, ear to the sky, between two places. The White Throated Sparrow was back for the winter. I smiled and drove to work, recalling time in the great north woods.

Funny how a little bird carried that memory to me on weary wings, from its mild summer home up north to its southern winter retreat in my yard. Before my trip to Maine in the summer of '06 I didn't know about the White Throat. But it was there, near tree line in a true wilderness, where the lonesome sound caught my attention, defined a place. The park ranger had confirmed it for me and told of its later departure for warmer winter climates. That winter back south, back home, I heard the sound again. It had new meaning.

I consider it my Maine bird, like a distant relative bringing tales of other lands home for the holidays. It hides in the thinning brush, scratches at the ground leaves, visits the window feeder. When the air is crisp and the sun is low, it sings out a traveling tale.

Creatures Teaming

2010-10-31T22:27:00.002-04:00

The river otters were unexpected. But there they were, suddenly. I was startled for a moment, then excited. I had just flushed a family of wood ducks and my heart rate was settling as I stepped over the beaver logs, through the bent grass, to the edge of the backwater. The sparrows were in and out of the grasses, like hide and seek. It was a quiet spot save for the wild creatures teaming all around. I had to laugh, for a second, at the seeming providence leading me to the wilds.

A red tailed hawk screeched as it joined the scene atop one of the many sun-bleached deadwoods standing over the wet lowland. We both watched the otters.

Spore of Adventure

2010-10-17T20:56:00.004-04:00

The Eno River Watershed, infinite diversity. The plan was to walk the quarry path and maybe sit in the spotlight of sun on the high bluff overlooking the river, if Grayson was up for it. He rode in the backpack carrier and promptly, but not surprisingly, fell asleep on the trail within the first 5 minutes.

About 40 minutes later he awoke just as I descended a wooded slope to a bubbling bend in the river. He immediately stretched out his finger and uttered a slightly tired, yet hopeful, coo towards the shimmering water. We had never stood at that spot before. We didn't know exactly where we were, but we were glad to be there.

While he had slept, I found myself on a blissful bushwhack. He didn't seem to mind at all. It wasn't the original plan. Some spore of adventure settled upon my will and quickly germinated. I departed the trail at a dense green carpet of locally rare ground cedar, which I considered a sign of unique geography worth exploring. Standing in the middle of the lush ground cover, I noticed a not too distant ridge of dappled light through the trees, signifying the edge of a bluff. Soon I was standing on the break, in an airy woods, surveying my options. My ear caught a faint gurgle of water below, and so I went with gravity, gradually down the gradient.

I feel that I know the Eno well, yet often and again I am stunned by its secrets. We stood at a simple, beautiful corner of river where angled light danced from the turning leaves to the emboldered stream. Deep shadows rolled off the backs of the smooth, large rocks. The water was clear today. Grayson pointed again. My camera's battery gauge blinked a red warning. I sighed, but it didn't really matter; I wouldn't have been able to capture that moment with a million button pushes.

We walked back a slightly different route (adding a couple more adventures), but still through the woods, up and over the ridge, through the cedar patch, and finally back along the familiar trail.

Prelude To Fall

2010-09-06T17:08:00.016-04:00

We got a break from the heat this weekend! Blue skies prevailed. Clouds drifted by, light and feathery. It was the first time in a long while that people commented favorably on the weather.

I got the idea while sitting on the front steps with Grayson Saturday morning. I was just sitting there in blissful celebration of a cool morning. My son was between my knees exploring the brick steps with his tiny pink fingers. He discovered the stem of a dry leaf. He figured out how to lift and twirl it above his head. I found a similar one and, mimicking my son, ended with a gentle flourish that sent my leaf floating back to the ground. Well that did it. Grayson was hooked on the magic of leaves.

I decided we needed to retire to the front lawn to sit beneath the tuliptree from which those leaves had tumbled. It was there, for the next hour or so, that we laid in the shade on a cool cotton sheet littered with a local assortment of leaves,pine needles, and a twig or two. Grayson got his first hands-on experience with the prelude to fall. I got to recline and breath deeply as I spied the sky and tossed leaves up into the breeze. So here's a reminder for when the weather is just right: "Lie down and look up."

Swallowtail Summertime

2010-08-30T20:10:00.003-04:00

For months now, in our part of North Carolina, a breath of fresh air has been rare as the heat and humidity snuffed it out. Midweek and midday finds me sweating through my office clothes as I go from car to building to car. The weekend arrives and pants become shorts, shoes become barefeet, and time spent in an office becomes time spent in the shade of a sycamore tree overhanging the Eno River.

Between the shady weekends, how is one to find relief?

This summer I have found inspiration by watching the butterflies. They whirl across an open sunny field in search of succulence. With awkward grace, they alight above the canopy, drying their delicate wings in the blaze of afternoon warmth. They are beautiful and full of life. But why do they spend so much time in this sun that we are trying to avoid? I'm sure science can convincingly explain the relationships between sun and butterfly. I'm sure we can guess many of those reasons correctly. But I'm going to offer a simple reason that I hope, rather than know, is true: Butterflies spend all this time in the sun because, as winged beings, time is short and they want a clear view of the world in which they live.

This summer I've seen more butterflies than times past. I don't know if it is me or them, but whatever the reason, I'm glad we've crossed paths so frequently. I'll admit I'm looking ahead to fall, but I'll fondly recall this swallowtail summertime, when stained glass heartbeats captured my attention, made my baby boy point and smile, and reminded me to embrace even the sun scorched moments.

Even While We Whisper

2010-08-22T16:10:00.004-04:00

We had a view of the Chesapeake Bay for a whole weekend.
Sitting on the dock, you experience the weather moving over the Bay like you would feel the weather over an Oklahoma wheat field. Rain in the distance rolls in as an advancing fog. The wind pushes the water towards the land. Like horses running for the stables, the sailboats drop sail and briskly motor on home.

An expanse of water and land reward the keen eye with abounding treasures. A fluttering speck on the horizon, just at treeline, flies near to become a whistling Osprey carrying a fresh catch tight in his talons.
The still water bursts into a boil in the distance as a thrashing school of menhaden escape the current and swirl ahead of a gang of hungry striped bass. If you're paying attention, now is the time to cast your line and take advantage of the marine madness. The old slate heron watches from the shadows, slowly nodding approval.

The sun, moon, and sky preen in virtuous vanity above the reflective bay. We gather on the shore to admire their beauty. Even while we whisper our respects, our awe carries to the far shore. Our presence becomes part of the scene. May the Bay, in its benevolent way, forever stay.

While the Gulf Choked

2010-07-31T16:43:00.002-04:00

i watched the suspect on camera,
i drove the getaway car,
i fumed at the news on the radio,
i felt guilty every day,
i cursed capitalism,
i hugged my son tight and feared for his future,
i sat in traffic,
i counted plastic,
i took out the trash,
i recycled,
i lived a life of luxury,
i searched for sacrifice,
i acknowledged my hypocrisies,
i remembered public school classes teaching that progress is good,
i envied the Amish,
i wasted energy while i saved my energy,
i wiped my eyes when i read the report of the kid who sent his lemonade-stand money to a Gulf Coast fisherman,
i remembered the Exxon Valdez,
i remembered Three Mile Island,
i remembered Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Iraq,
i convinced myself "these things happen",
i thanked the trees, the clouds, and the sun,
i mourned the loss of life,
i was lucky to continue my life.

Getting Your Feet Dirty

2010-06-01T21:02:00.003-04:00

If you felt the earth gently shake a couple weeks ago, let me comfort you with an explanation.

Our boy Grayson officially shook hands..er...feet with Mother Nature in an unpublicized and informal ceremony in the foothills of Pennsylvania beneath the sheltering branches of the hemlock and ash, within the stone circle where Heather and I were married.
He hadn't had much use for his feet up until then.

With a guiding hand, we lowered him to the earth. He stood tall and dug his toes deep into the dirt and duff, and smiled serenely. It was a moist and cool afternoon. We simply asked him and the earth to respect each other and work towards a healthy, long term relationship.

It takes some work you know. Many adults still haven't figured out this relationship. When we focus on ourselves it is easy to overlook the ones we depend on.

Depend on the earth. Get to know her. Even if it means getting your feet dirty (it usually washes off).

Hold on to the Ephemeral

2010-03-31T21:24:00.003-04:00

Last year around this time, I found a butterfly-shaped green leaf cluster on the ground alongside the backyard creek. And then I found another nearby. The more I searched, the more I found. As it was early Spring I waited and watched for days, hoping to see what kind of flower this new find would produce. Those leaves kept getting bigger, but no flowers emerged. One cluster held a tiny pod I was sure held the ingredients for perfect petals. But nothing happened. An Internet search showed a picture of a pristine little white flower unfurling, with a caption that read, "One of the Spring Ephemerals." A couple clicks later I learned the meaning of ephemeral: short-lived; lasting only a day or so. Ah, so I had somehow missed the blooming of that mysterious plant called the Bloodroot.

My son turned three months old last week. Every week I see something new and exciting when I look into his eyes. I wonder sometimes how I can hold on to the ephemeral beauty I see before me. He is in this stage now that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he grins the most sincere grin I can imagine. I have been visiting the bathroom mirror a lot lately with him. I can't help it. I want to hold on to these moments, for I know they will pass. But of course some of them might return.

And so I returned to the creekside a little earlier this spring, before the green clustered leaves emerged. I watched for three weeks and finally last week I got my reward. The Bloodroots bloomed one cool morning and soaked up the afternoon sun. I was pleased to witness their day in the sun.

Enjoy What We Have

2010-03-06T10:20:00.003-05:00

Last week we learned that one of our favorite local hiking trails, previously designated to be replaced by a highway bypass, is now going to be preserved as a natural area! We are relieved, perhaps selfishly, but none the less relieved.

Walking down the "Old Speedway" trails on a quiet afternoon, searching the ground for signs of early spring, is a natural tonic. Hearing nothing but the breeze through the trees or the faint laughter of exploring children is preservation of the soul. We are thankful.

The trail leads down to a bend in the Eno River beneath a large Beech tree. Here, another type of preservation is in progress. In this case, both the antagonist and victim is nature, for the Beech is a target of the beaver. Another player in this drama is the river itself, gnawing, year after year, flood after flood, at the soil and root upholding the big Beech. The humans are trying to help out here, with a wire beaver barrier wrapped around the tree trunk. It seems to be working. But the river is still doing its job. One day, I know the Beech will fall into the river and the beaver will get a nice surprise. Until then, we do what we can and enjoy what we have.

And so I think the same is true for "The Old Speedway Trails." For now, we do what we can and enjoy what we have. Remember to enjoy what we have!

Along a Path of Leaves

2010-02-21T20:25:00.004-05:00

Ah, the sun felt good this weekend. We went for a hike with little Grayson. He bobbed quietly on my chest, in and out of sleep. I shielded his face whenever the trail turned directly into the sun. As we walked, we brushed through the dry leaves. I imagined Grayson listening to the rhythmic swishing; lulled by the rustling heartbeat. I don't know what he sensed, but I sensed he liked it.

Ever wonder what you would do if you lost the ability to do the things you love to do? I think about this often. Call it self-preservation, call it paranoia. I call it planning ahead and keeping my options open...having a plan B.

Well, as we were walking today, and I was thinking about Grayson and his developing senses, I imagined what I would do in nature without my full use of my own senses. Specifically I thought about eyesight, or rather the lack of sight, and how my great appreciation for the beauty of our natural world would be significantly altered. How would I deal? Grayson helped me understand that I would simply trust in someone else to lead me along a path of leaves. I would bask in the sunlight and listen to the foot scrapes. I would thank the trees for their gifts.

With Eyes Closed

2010-01-18T18:02:00.001-05:00

I've been watching the sun a little closer. Lately it always seems to be in my little baby's eyes when we go out. Grayson jerks his head clumsily, but effectively, away from those screaming beams of light while I shuffle my feet and pirouette into the shadows. Speaking of shadows, I think Grayson is already looking ahead to Spring when the leaves emerge and the trees return their sheltering shade.
For now we stand on the front stoop with our back to the sun embracing its warmth with eyes closed.

A Fresh Perspective

2009-12-30T11:09:00.003-05:00

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

2009-09-13T16:56:00.002-04:00

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

2009-07-05T20:16:00.005-04:00

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

2009-06-24T21:29:00.004-04:00

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

2009-06-15T20:59:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-30T14:13:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-26T20:27:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-09T17:44:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-25T22:46:00.005-04:00

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

2009-04-12T19:49:00.004-04:00

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

2009-04-08T22:22:00.005-04:00

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

2009-03-15T21:56:00.003-04:00

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

2009-03-02T19:05:00.003-05:00

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

2009-01-18T21:59:00.005-05:00

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

2009-01-06T23:14:00.005-05:00

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

2009-01-05T19:07:00.004-05:00

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

Moonlight and a Companion

2008-12-10T22:43:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-22T18:44:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-09T16:31:00.001-05:00

“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

2008-11-08T15:34:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-27T22:42:00.006-04:00

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

2008-09-22T20:21:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-15T21:48:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-06T18:14:00.012-04:00

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

2008-08-31T21:59:00.001-04:00

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

2008-08-30T14:49:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-18T22:18:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-17T18:52:00.005-04:00

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

2008-08-04T21:59:00.005-04:00

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

2008-07-26T20:15:00.005-04:00

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

2008-07-15T21:59:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-01T22:28:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-18T22:08:00.005-04:00

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

2008-06-18T22:00:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-10T22:22:00.012-04:00

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

2008-06-02T21:07:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-01T20:27:00.002-04:00

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

Gently Down Joanna Mountain

2008-06-01T17:40:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-28T22:14:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-28T19:33:00.001-04:00

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

2008-05-15T19:36:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-06T22:12:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-06T21:16:00.002-04:00

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.

2008-04-21T20:09:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-20T20:54:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-13T19:34:00.002-04:00

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

2008-04-02T20:08:00.002-04:00

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

Garden Update

2008-04-01T21:22:00.002-04:00

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

2008-03-29T13:48:00.004-04:00

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

2008-03-29T12:29:00.004-04:00

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

2008-03-23T21:52:00.005-04:00

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

2008-03-19T21:17:00.004-04:00

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

2008-03-16T20:39:00.003-04:00

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

2008-03-10T23:41:00.004-04:00

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

2008-03-05T21:13:00.004-05:00

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

2008-02-24T16:17:00.005-05:00

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

2008-02-21T20:04:00.010-05:00

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

2008-02-17T13:32:00.003-05:00

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

2008-02-17T13:18:00.003-05:00

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

2008-02-09T16:28:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-05T22:20:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-03T12:57:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-27T17:10:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-26T23:30:00.000-05:00

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!

2008-01-26T11:02:00.000-05:00

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.