Christmas in the trees

"Christmas Day, Give or Take a Week," by Bev Doolittle

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all. May this season find you warm and among friends. Our family is warm and snug in our wooded Tennessee hollow.

I have always loved this painting by Bev Doolittle of a 19th century traveller (maybe a trapper?) taking refuge and celebrating Christmas in the hollow of a Giant Sequoia. If you find her artwork interesting, she's easy enough to find on the web.

Cedar Waxwings

After heavy rain this morning, today was very windy, with gusts of 35-40 mph. I saw a small flock of Cedar Waxwings this afternoon feeding on the fruit of the neighbor's Bradford Pear trees. They seemed unconcerned with my presence and appeared to be completely focused on feeding. A visit from a flock of Cedar Waxwings is always a special occasion.

Hilltop oak

Oak tree on the hilltop behind the house.

Pretty much all the leaves in our woods are down by now. On the hill behind the house, this lone oak tree is the exception.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! I don’t have fame and fortune or any of the other things the world would normally use to measure success. What I do have is the things that matter most, and I have those things in abundance beyond all reason.

I have a beautiful and delightful wife who never ceases to amaze and encourage me with her enthusiasm for life. I have no idea how she does everything she does. Her rare ability to find the good in everyone is only surpassed by her ability to serve others without the need for her own recognition. And Beth’s physical beauty is captivating. In my opinion, she is by far the most beautiful woman in the world. Even after 24 years, I can’t believe I get to be married to her.

Beth and I are blessed with two wonderful kids that make parenting look easy. Hannah has grown into a beautiful, loving, hardworking student who cares deeply about a whole host of social issues. Every since she was old enough to express an opinion, Hannah has been there to speak up for those who are in need or misunderstood and neglected. She is an inspiration to me always to stand for what is right.

Our son, Joshua, has become a principled young man who really does live those 12 points of the Scout Law (trustworthy, loyal, helpful, etc, etc). He is strong and fiercely loyal. If I were trapped in a burning building, Joshua is the guy I’d want coming in after me. It also brings me joy that Joshua fills our house with music. One of my favorite things is to relax in the evening in a house filled with the gentle, beautiful music flowing from his guitar.

To top it all off, our family is blessed to live in a cozy little house in the woods. To be able to walk daily in an old forest soothes my spirit and keeps me well. The chain of events that led to our move here almost two years ago can only be attributed to the hand of a loving God. Rarely a day goes by that I don’t say to myself, “I can’t believe I get to live here.”

So on this special day, I am thankful to be alive and enjoying life with my family. In the only things that really matter, I am blessed beyond measure.

Forest blessing

I am blessed abundantly. I am so thankful that I get to hang out in this forest all the time!

Late autumn afternoon

Late afternoons in the autumn forest are one of my favorite things. There is a place in the back of our hollow right now where the sycamore leaves are so deep and slippery, it's like walking through a 6 inch snow. And the way the evening sun lights up the hilltops is glorious!

Red Oak

Red Oak (Quercus rubra)

In the fence-line in the backyard, there is a juvenile Red Oak coming up. It's in a good place, so I'll leave it where it is. Right now it's only about 8 ft tall, but at maturity (in a couple hundred years), it could well reach over 100 ft into the sky. These are among the last remaining leaves still attached to their tree. They may hang on the tree all winter.

Frosty morning

Beautiful frost this morning

The pure simplicity of walking

Simple and functional shelter

I am very excited about the upcoming backpacking trip to Virgin Falls with my Boy Scout troop this weekend. No backwoods travel captures my imagination like the adventure of backpacking. I guess it reveals me to be a geek, but I love paying attention to all the little details of each item in my kit. I love the freedom that comes with going light in the wild. The pure simplicity of lightweight backpacking speaks to me.

Total weight = 20 lbs.

Our trailhead

Our trailhead is always a good place to start a walk, saunter, or meander

This is the opening to the trailhead in our backyard. The trail is a 0.7 mile loop to the back of hollow. It's not a long trail, but it covers lots of interesting and scenic territory--some of it on very steep hillsides. This trail is always a good place to be.

End of daylight savings time

With barely perceivable motion, the earth continues spinning through its orbit round the sun while people think we're affecting daylight by fiddling with our clocks. Daylight saving time ended last night, so we all set our clocks back one hour. No doubt we'll all hear people complaining that it's getting dark too early, and they wish "they would just leave it alone so we'd have more daylight." The truth is that, in Nashville, today will be about 2 minutes shorter than yesterday.

Long ago we seemed to have forgotten that humans must adapt to the earth, not vice versa.

I often wonder whether we'd be better off if we would adjust our days to the rising and the setting of the sun. What if we didn't artificially prolong our days with electric lights and televisions that keep us up half the night? What if we basically slept or rested quietly all night and then rose with the sun each day? Summer days would naturally be longer, and so would be the times when we'd get more work done. Conversely, winter would be a time for more sleep and rest indoors.

I know this sounds completely impractical, even crazy, in today's modern world. But I would point out that it wasn't so long ago that people lived exactly this way. Our lives were ruled not by the clock, but by the sun and the earth and the weather.

First hard frost

We had our first hard frost of the season last night. The overnight low was in the mid 20s here in the hollow.

White-throated Sparrow, another sign of autumn

Another sign of the changing seasons. I heard the first song of White-throated Sparrow singing in the woods today. They have a beautiful, lyrical song, described as "Oh-sweet-canada-canada" or "Old-Sam-Peabody-Peabody." We heard them constantly while paddling and camping in Quetico Provincial Park this past June. White-throats spend the summer breeding in Canada and they winter in our woods here in the U.S.

Hickory nuts the squirrels left behind

This evening I returned home from the woods with a pocket full of hickory nuts that had somehow escaped the attention of the squirrels, or so I thought. Just a few minutes ago I got out the nutcracker and went through the bowl full of nuts, carefully breaking them open one by one. Not a single one had good nutmeat inside! I guess the discerning squirrels were able to tell this without even breaking them open. I am not so skilled.

Leaves of autumn

In these autumn woods,
green turning yellow above
and yellow turning brown below,
leaves pile upon the floor,
adding rustling and swishing sounds
and a deep, earthy perfume
to my walk among the trees.

I love the autumn woods!

Chatter in the hollow

Lots of chatter among the Barred Owls in the hollow tonight. It's enough to make a nervous person think the place is haunted. Maybe it's the nearly-full moon.

Coyotes & persimmons

I had heard before that coyotes were known to eat persimmons. Now I have proof positive. In the edge of the lawn, very near where the 3 coyotes entered the woods the other night, there is coyote scat full of persimmon seeds. You see they don't just eat neighborhood cats and small poodles!

Coyotes and the return of the wild

At 3:10 am last night I looked out the bathroom window just in time to watch 3 coyotes walking across the yard. I was thrilled! Their light coat barely stood out in the darkness. They moved across the yard as smoothly as shadows. Almost immediately they passed from view, but I picked them up again out the back window just before they slipped into the forest. I returned to bed content and happy just knowing the coyotes are out there.

I know coyotes don't have much of a fan club. Indeed, I am sure they are feared and vilified by most of my neighbors. But I am glad they're here in our woods. It is becoming increasingly clear to ecologists that most healthy ecosystems need a top predator (see Stolzenburg's Where the Wild Things Were for a summary the of current understanding). The wolves and cougars that once lived in the area are long ago (and likely forever) gone. Although less fierce and effective in the role of top predator, coyotes are beginning to fill the void.

For me the coyotes do something more. They bring something that cannot be measured in terms of biodiversity and the estimated ecosystem health. Coyotes return wild to the woods. When hiking alone at night, the howl of nearby coyotes first bring shivers and then a heightened alertness. I am reminded of all that is free and untamed and my walk becomes so much more than exercise or stress-relief.

Yosemite Coyote

I know the interface between predator and human is complicated. Homeowners in wild places need to take precautions to make sure they don't loose small pets or chickens. But coexistence with predators is possible. Personally, I believe that it it is not only possible, but desirable.

Helpful information on coexistence with coyotes in the Nashville area can be found at www.nashvillecoyotes.com.

On a related note, here is an interesting article about the breeding habits of urban coyotes published at ScienceDaily. Urban Coyotes Never Stray: New Study Finds 100 Percent Monogamy.

Cool morning

37º on the back porch at 6:30 this morning. Autumn is surely here.

Mushrooms on the beech

Surface of newly fallen dead beech log
(click for detail)

Sycamores and seasons

The light of autumn is still only changing subtly, but even now the leaves of the sycamore are turning from green to khaki. Soon they will cover the forest floor beneath their parent tree, piling up to create a deep, durable winter blanket. I'm not sure why, but I have always had an affinity to large, old sycamore trees. I look forward to winter when they slough off large, thin, brown patches and their remaining white trunks stand out like ivory towers in the forest. Ghost trees in the forest.

Tilt of the planet

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the dark summer forest lightens as our planet circles about the sun and slowly begins to tilt the other way to bring a change of season. Exhausted summer leaves drop and begin to accumulate, brown and dry upon the forest floor. Walking seems easier in the airy forest.

Here and there among the leaves above and below spots of color no longer green capture my gaze. More and more sunflecks pierce the thinning canopy, shining slow-moving spotlights upon a forest floor that for weeks and weeks has been mostly dark.Cottonwood leaves are dull and faded green up in the trees. Occasionally a rusty red sassafras leaf adds a brighter note on the floor. And in places you'll see tulip poplar leaves as yellow as any school bus or child's rain slicker.

It is becoming impossible not to think of autumn days ahead.

Corvidae and the fog

Blue Jays and Crows both fill the morning with their raspy calls. Clearly they are cousins. You can hear it in their voice.

Even as the corvid cousins help the coffee wake me to fuller consciousness, a dripping fog fills the yard flowing fluid down the hollow. For the moment the blue sky and the rising sun are obscured. It even seems to lightly rain as fog condenses and drips from the cool air.

There is a hint, a promise, of autumn in the air. Like a blanket, the morning fog and familiar corvids wrap the house in a sense of calm and well-being.

Beechdrops

I noticed a large population of Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana) growing beneath an old beech tree on our trail today. At first glance they look like a dried herb gone to seed. If you look closely, however, you'll discover that the Beechdrop is actually in full bloom right now. Very curious plant.

Come to the woods

John Muir in 1907

"Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock* will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains." -- John Muir

*Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus)

Wilderness is at our doorstep

"I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,
for going out, I found, was really going in." -- John Muir

I have come to the conclusion that I am a wandering homebody. A woodland wayfarer at heart, I love nothing more than hearth and home with my family. John Muir once described breaking away from the city and literally running into the mountains as if running for his very life. I hear the call of wild places, too. But I also know that days and years away from home is not for me. Fortunately, wilderness is at our doorstep.

Being often in wild places is vital to my sanity. I know that I am healthier when I can often get outside and feel the sun and the wind and the rain. I also know that wilderness is not limited to majestic far away lakes and mountains. One doesn't need to live next to a national park to walk daily in wild places. Getting away from the constant lights and noise of the city is good, but in a pinch anywhere outside will do, whether it be a city park, a nearby woods, or a forgotten hedgerow. The birds that visit my feeder are just as wild as those who live deep in the forest. The moss growing in a corner of the yard is home to a myriad of creatures that would take a lifetime to know, if only I would take the time to see.

The beauties of nature are not somewhere else, but all around us. All we must do is walk out the door and see. Go ahead! Walk out the door and experience the wonder. Nature is not far off. Wilderness is at our doorstep.

Life of a dead tree

Last night Joshua asked me about some curious growths he had seen on a log at our trailhead. Fairly sure I knew which things he meant, I told him it was some kind of fungus. He said that he had opened one and it had a small grub inside. This piqued my curiosity because it sounded as though maybe the rough, dry spheres were actually insect galls. Even though I was ready for bed, I asked him to go show me. I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same thing.

Our dog, Sadie, at the trailhead last October

Our trailhead marks the starting point of a short trail loop through our small hollow. The trail goes back into the hollow following the typically dry streambed at the bottom of the valley and then goes up a steep hill on the western ridge and follows the ridge back northward to the starting point. The trailhead is at the corner of our side yard and is marked with a grouping of several cut logs standing on end like a cluster of stumps.

Joshua and I grabbed flashlights and walked out to the trailhead in the dark. When we got there, our light revealed a very busy place. Although I had noticed a few fungi beginning to grow on the logs, this is a spot that normally gets little attention. The logs merely form a decorative yet rustic entry into the woods. Under closer inspection it was clear that there is much more going on here.

The first thing we noticed was a harvestman (aka, daddy longlegs) that seemed to be eating the remnants of the sphere Joshua had opened earlier. Whatever the grub was doing there, we decided the sphere had to be some type of fungi. Our light revealed a few ants scurrying about also, no doubt also picking up a meal wherever they could. There were also beetles, more harvestmen, a millipede, a snail, and centipede, all busily going about their business.

There are no fewer than a half dozen species of fungi on the logs: the curious, roundish gray-brown lumps Joshua had asked about; small shelf-fungi; a yellow, jelly-looking mess commonly called witches butter; small little nondescript stalked mushroooms; and more than a couple random fairly shapeless scaly white fungi growing across the surface. A good teacher could have an entire mycology class field trip right here at the trailhead.

Moss is also beginning to grow on the sides of the logs now. I expect this to continue more and more as the fungi break down the wood, offering more fertile "soil" for the moss. It's amazing how different these logs are from when I rolled them into place and sat them on end a year ago. At the time, they were little more than large cylinders of wood, but now they seem full of life, full of promise, even as they decompose.

I understand from people who study such things that the biomass of a log on the forest floor is actually several times higher than the biomass ever attained by the living tree. The living portion of a tree is pretty much limited to the leaves and an outer ring of tissue in the woody portions. The live part of a tree trunk is a long, tall cylinder supported by no-longer-living wood within. Once the bole of a tree falls to the ground, the dead wood immediately becomes both structure and nutrition for a myriad of other life-forms for years to come. In a very real sense, a dead tree is more alive than the living tree ever was.

A window into the woods

Light and shadow play among the branches in the woods behind our house. 50 feet outside our kitchen window is another window. This second window is a natural opening through the trees that allows my eyes to venture into the woods. In winter I can see further, but in the full-leaf darkness of summer my eyes wander only 75 or 100 feet before they are stopped by the overwhelming green gridlock of leaves.

I find that anytime I glance out the back window, my eyes are invariably drawn into the forest. This is a world of light and shadow, a world of dappled light on leaf, a world dominated by the horizontal lines of dark boles, a woods lovely, dark, and deep. This is a world that is always changing, ever the same, always compelling, ever beckoning.

Trail dreaming

Trail dreaming

As much as I enjoy my daily walks in our little hollow, I also hear the call of distant hills and I find that I'm itching to go backpacking again. The urge has been slowly creeping up on me, but now it has taken over. No  doubt I'll be spending an inordinate amount of time thinking and planning, weighing my gear, pouring over maps, and dreaming of trails ahead.

Most of our Scout outings over the last year were canoe trips. This was so that we would be prepared for our trek in canoe country. Paddling a canoe is fun, but it's been more than a year since I've walked a long trail. For me, walking is the essence of simplicity in nature. A year off is definitely too long of a hiking hiatus for me. I need to make time for some solo wilderness wandering this fall.

Me at Martha's Pretty Point on the trail to Virgin Falls in Tennessee

Lightweight camp at Big Laurel Falls

Complete kit, 20 lbs.

Catching wonder

“When laughing children chase after fireflies,

they are not pursuing beetles but catching wonder.

When wonder matures, it peels back experience to seek deeper layers of marvel below. This is science’s highest purpose.”

— David Haskell, The Forest Unseen

Look closely at the world around you. Take the time to get outside. Allow space in your life for wonder. Turn off the computer if you have to.

Increasing wonder

"Wonder increases as speed decreases." 

-- David Haskell, lecturing at Owl's Hill Nature Center, July 22, 2012.

This is exactly what I have been noticing during my time in the woods. I have been walking more slowing, stopping more frequently, and looking more closely. As result, the forest is regularly filling me with a sense of awe.

Gone reading

This week I have been busy reading and thinking through David Haskell's delightful book, The Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. The book was born out of a year spent watching a one-square-meter section of the forest floor not far from his classroom at the University of the South in Sewanee, Tennessee. Combining focused observation with poetic description and scientific details, Haskell tells the stories of the ecology and natural history of old-growth forest on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee.

I am so excited about this book! Haskell's style and focus is exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to do with my time in our woods. Even better was that just a couple of days after I discovered the book, I was able to hear Dr. Haskell speak as a guest author at Owl's Hill Nature Sanctuary. I expect to give a complete review and praise in a future post, so stay tuned. In the mean time, you may want to check out Haskell's own blog, which he calls Ramble.

Vanishing turkeys

Turkeys in the side yard,
heads bobbing as they walk
into the woods
and vanish.

Quiet contemplation

On a quiet and peaceful morning, freshly brewed coffee in hand, I walk silently up the hill behind the house. Counting my blessings of family and circumstance, calm serenity surrounds my walk. In moccasins I can feel the details of the soft trail: a stick here, a sweet gum ball there, moist earth releasing the earthy smells of mushroom and mineral.

I am walking to log bench beneath a large beech up on the ridge. The bench was formed just the other day when a large branch broke out of the beech in a storm. I thought of moving it aside to clear the trail when I first discovered it had fallen, but something urged me to resist the urge and I let it remain where it had come to rest. With a fortuitous crook downward where it crossed the trail, the limb was easy enough to step over and it just seemed right to leave it. This morning as I wandered away from the house, it struck me that this log would be a convenient place to sit and think.

A steady stream of thoughts flow through my mind. Hannah's 19th birthday was yesterday, and I am still thinking what a blessing and manifestation of God's grace she is to our family. In the house below, all is quiet. I think that very few men are as blessed as I am. I have an amazing wife and two wonderful children. Beyond that, we get to live here, in the woods of an unnamed hollow in the hills of Tennessee. We don't have much, but we have more than everything we need.

Today is the 97th anniversary of the Order of the Arrow, a service and honor society in the Boy Scouts of America. I am thinking what a blessing it is to be involved in such a great and noble cause. Cheerful service to others is one of the hallmarks of Scouting, and it feels good to be a part of it.

Too soon my coffee cup is empty and I need to get dinner on the stove. Along with a few vegetables from the garden, we're having pinto beans and rice tonight. It may be a simple meal, but just the thought of it makes me feel warm and cared for.

The air is comfortable now, but it is warming quickly and it will feel too hot and too humid before noon. As I walk back down the trail, I stop to look again at a small owl feather that I noticed on the way out. The striped brown and white feather is beautiful and delicate. It is a sign of other creatures who appreciate these forests. I think to carry the feather home where I can prolong my enjoyment and share it, but I stop and leave it alone. Its beauty here in this moment is enough, a witness and testimony to simple pleasures and graces.

Gatherers

Moccasin Flower (aka, Pink Ladyslipper),
Kings Point, Basswood Lake

"We are all harvesters and hunters, always looking and hoping for something that will give pleasure to the senses or might be worth keeping for some reason, and just possibly be good to eat. Many—and perhaps countless—generations will pass before this urge disappears. It is my wish we will never lose it, that every trip away from home will be one of adventure and excitement, for no matter what we gather, deep within us is the same primitive satisfaction our ancestors knew." — Sigurd F. Olson

Black cherries

Ripe black cherries cover the ground beneath the trees.
Tiny bites, mostly filled with seed,
fill my mouth with a wonderful, rich, earthy flavor.

Some delights are best savored
in small, rare, serendipitous moments.

Return to writing

I am very hopeful that I will soon be able to resume writing and posting here on a more regular basis. I see that there was a nearly two month gap between my last two posts. I kept telling myself that I was too busy. That was partly true, but it is a poor excuse. Writing is good for me. It demands deeper, more focused reflection, which brings greater feeling and understanding.

My Scoutmaster duties were the main thing that made me very busy. We had new Scouts crossing over from Cub Scouts packs. We had the details of summer camp to sort through. But the all-consuming worry was our preparation for a journey of over 100 miles through the northwoods canoe country of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and Quetico Provincial Park through the Boy Scout High Adventure program known as Northern Tier.

Our Northern Tier adventure was completely amazing. I have wanted to visit the northwoods my whole life, and our trek did not disappoint. The region surpassed my expectations in every way. It was wilder, more beautiful, more remote, more challenging and difficult, more fulfilling and mysterious than I had ever imagined.

Our Northern Tier crews should be proud of their accomplishments, and I think our Scouts experienced a connection with the natural world unlike any they have experienced before. I am sure that in some way our Scouts will carry this with them through the rest of their life. As canoeing author Sam Cook has written, "We have been up north, and part of us always will be."

I think the canoe trip has affected my perspective here in our own little Tennessee hollow. My walks in our woods now seem more serene, more peaceful, more comfortable than before the trip north. I feel so lucky to have experienced this incredible journey. I am indeed a lucky man.

Hiking with the family

What a great day! Got up this morning to find my family had planned a surprise alternate Father's Day (since Joshua and I were in Canada on the regular day). The day has included my favorite breakfast (cheesy eggs, thick-sliced bacon, biscuits, gravy, tomatoes, and coffee), an old-fashioned ice cream maker, a hike through the woods to the river, and then a very late lunch of BLTs. Can't wait to use the ice cream maker. My family is the best!

I am a very lucky man!

A new spot in the forest

The forest never fails in its ability to show me something new. Even within our little hollow, I am constantly finding something I had not noticed before. Within this intimate forest, the nooks and crannies and secret places seem to go on forever.

This evening I walked just off the trail to explore the area around a tree with a peculiar bend at the base of its trunk. From there I noticed a blowdown that I hadn't noticed before. It turned out not to be a casualty of recent storms (appearing to be at least a year old); I just hadn't noticed it before. Through the opening in the canopy I could see the first quarter moon in the middle of the still blue sky, and I thought of how this would be a nice place to visit on starry nights.

Wandering around I looked around more and suddenly it felt almost as though I were in a different forest. This was the same woods that I walk daily, yet here was a fairly large beech tree that I had yet to admire. There is a stand of river cane that will give Joshua an endless supply of arrow shafts. And there is a small remnant of a stump pierced with a few inches of ancient barbed wire. Looking into the canopy, I was struck by the shapes of basswood and sassafras trees growing in a wild profusion of arches, odd angles, twists, and turns. A little further back toward the house is a large sweetgum surrounded at its base with last year's seed pods scattered about. The cinnamon and gray spiky balls look like tiny versions of medieval weaponry. Three-fourths the way up the hillside and above my daily trail is a fairly flat open area--a rarity in this hollow. Here the ground is even flat enough to pitch a tent or two, if one were so inclined.

The secrets of the forest are ever unfolding. All of this was familiar and yet new, and I was surprised that as many times as I have now walked these woods that there could be any area that I hadn't really explored before, all within sight of the house. I am beginning to doubt that I will ever fully explore this forest to the point where there are no surprises. The changing seasons always bring something new, and the diversity and intricacy of the ecosystem is complex beyond my imagination. The forest is ever new and always revealing fresh wonders and beauty.

Barred owls at twilight

Barred owl photographed as it sat above
a Boy Scout skills class at Boxwell in 2007.
Most scouts never knew it was there.

This evening I had just entered the woods at twilight when I heard a few tentative calls from a barred owl off to my left. It was just a basic, single "whooaa," coming from somewhere up on the eastern ridge of the hollow. It called lightly, maybe 2 or 3 times.

And then, clear and loud, I heard another owl call from the right, on the western side of the hollow. It was the full, classic, unmistakable call of the barred owl, "who cooks for you, who cooks for you-all?" This bird was closer, maybe only 50 feet away. I stopped in my tracks of the forest trail, listening and straining my eyes up into the leafy shadows.

I knew it was hopeless to try to spot this owl, but I had to look anyway. Perhaps it would fly, and if I were lucky, I might catch a glimpse of it through the openings in the canopy. I stood and stared, and heard it call maybe 3 or 4 times, each call separated by unmeasured moments of silence.

Suddenly I heard another call, now directly overhead, loud and raucous. The bird who wanted to know who cooks for us gave immediate answer, and the air seemed to explode into crazy, raucous, unworldly owl sounds. The owl to the west was still in the same spot, but the bird to the east had flown silently into the tree above my head and was now clearly communicating to the other.

I was utterly delighted to be experiencing this boisterous scene. Here I was in the middle of what seemed like an owl reverie. Many people tell me they've never even seen or heard an owl, and most would probably be terrified by the sounds I was now hearing. This was the stuff of scary ghost stories, the sound track of things that go bump in the night. And yet I, knowing the source, was delighted to be right here in the middle of an owl conversation. For just a second I had the urge to join the crazy, wild calls, but it was easy to restrain myself. What would I have said anyway?

Suddenly a shadow formed into wings in the tree above my head, and the wings glided silently toward the owl still call just up the hill. Then it sounded as if they were together, side by side on an unseen branch perhaps, and they continued their calling for a moment more and then just as suddenly the wild reverie stopped. Ceased. Silent.

Silently the owls sit hidden in the forest.

                                                                    
Go here for a brief description of Barred Owls by the National Geographic Society. Take a minute to listen to the audio. The first call is the classic "who cooks for you" call. Toward the end is a series of calls similar to what I heard during my owl encounter tonight.

Standing in the dripping forest

Patiently my dog, Sadie, waits for me on the trail ahead as I stop and stare. The green woods are remarkably beautiful in the rain. So many shades of green! A veritable rainbow of green!

In the wake of a thunderstorm, Sadie and I seized the chance for a quick walk before sunset. Raindrops were still falling lightly from the sky, but it was as if they were mixed with drops of sunlight. The mixture of sunlight and rain coming through the clouds revealed a most delightful palette of colors. The green was everywhere one cared to look - the green of mosses, poplar, Trillium, Christmas fern, maple, lichens, basswood, Viola, beech, algae, sycamore - all aglow in the green, luminous air. Already lush and green from the spring rains, the forest was now suddenly awash with excess green, bursting with chlorophyll, extravagant with life.

And I was glad to be there, standing in the dripping forest, staring at the marvelous profusion of green as my dog waited patiently for me on the trail ahead.

The Wild Trees

I began rereading The Wild Trees: A Story of Passion and Daring, by Richard Preston, the other day, and my imagination is captivated. I read this book when it first came out in 2007, but the big trees of my own forest have sent me reaching for it again. This is the story of the small group of scientists who pioneered research in the canopies of redwood forests. Climbing into the tallest trees on earth, these scientists discovered an unknown world. This is a story of science and adventure.

When Steve Sillett first climbed into the crown of a giant coast redwood, the scientific world had a rock collection from the moon, but the canopy of the redwood forest was still unknown territory. This is a world filled with mosses, lichens, spotted salamanders, gardens of ferns and huckleberry bushes, all growing 350 feet above the forest floor. 96% of the ancient redwood forest has been destroyed by logging. What remains are precious treasures, very old and irreplaceable in human lifetimes. This story makes me want to know and understand everything I can about my own forest.

"So many incredible things happen in our world that are never noticed, so many stories never get told. My goal is to reveal people and realms that nobody had ever imagined."

-- Richard Preston, 2007.

Wildflower report

Found 2 new wildflowers blooming on the eastern side of the hollow today. It is drier and there are generally fewer wildflowers on that side.

• Three-lobed Violet (Violet triloba)
• Fire Pink (Silene virginica)
• Also found a morel mushroom (Morchella esculenta) growing next to the barn today.

Leaves are out on most of the trees in the woods now, so the canopy is quickly closing in and shading the forest floor. There are far fewer wildflowers now than there was just a few days ago.

Wildflower report

Noticed a few more new wildflowers today up on the ridge beyond the end of the hollow.

Newly in bloom:

• Early Saxifrage (Saxifraga virginiensis)
• Violet Wood Sorrel (Oxalis violacea)
• Cross Vine (Bignonia capreolata)

Notes on previously noted woodland species:

• Eastern Daisy Fleabane (Erigeron annuus) -- many more in the last few days
• Common Blue Violet (Viola papilionacea)
• Round-leaved Violet (Viola rotundifolia)
• Celandine Poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum) -- large patch in full bloom at the back of the hollow
• Toad Trillium (Trillium sessile)
• Prairie Trillium (Trillium recurvatum) - This species definitely begins blooming a bit later than T. sessile.
• Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum)
• Wild Blue Phlox (Phlox divaricata)
• Fern-leaved Phacelia (Phacelia bipinnatifida)
• Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema atrorubens) - Many emerging individuals, but not yet blooming. I still have only seen one in bloom this spring.
• Bedstraw (Galium aparine)
• Small-flowered Crowfoot (Ranunculus abortivus)

Showy flowering woodland trees:

• Flowering Dogwood (Cornus florida)
• Eastern Redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Fruiting / no longer in bloom:

• Harbinger of Spring (Erigenia bulbosa)
• Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concatenata) -- leaves yellowing and drying up
• Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum)
• Yellow Corydalis (Corydalis flavula)
• Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica) -- only a few individuals; almost completely gone now

Found in our lawn:

• Common Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)
• Birdseye Speedwell (Veronica persica)
• Star Chickweed (Stellaria pubera)
• Field Pansy (Viola kitaibeliana)
• Henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) -- fading quickly
• Purple Dead Nettle (Lamium purpureum) -- nearly all gone
• Bulbous Buttercup (Ranunculus bulbosus)
• Ground Ivy (Glechoma hederacea)

Wildflower report

The gray and brown forest of winter is quickly turning green. The forest floor is beginning to feel shaded, and some spring ephemeral wildflowers have already bloomed and set fruit. Most trees are now either blooming or unfurling new leaves. Maple, Beech, and Tulip Poplar are all opening tender young leaves. There are lots of active songbirds throughout the day. Insects are becoming more and more numerous, and spider webs are beginning to appear across the trail. This has been a very early spring, one of the earliest on record, according to the phenologists.

Wildflowers currently blooming in the hollow:

Trillium recurvatum

• Common Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)
• Birdseye Speedwell (Veronica persica)
• Star Chickweed (Stellaria pubera)
• Field Pansy (Viola kitaibeliana) - lawn 
• Henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) - lawn 
• Purple Dead Nettle (Lamium purpureum)
• Bulbous Buttercup (Ranunculus bulbosus)
• Small-flowered Crowfoot (Ranunculus abortivus)
• Ground Ivy (Glechoma hederacea)
• Eastern Daisy Fleabane (Erigeron annuus)
• Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica)
• Common Blue Violet (Viola papilionacea)
• Round-leaved Violet (Viola rotundifolia)
• Celandine Poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum)
• Toad Trillium (Trillium sessile)
• Prairie Trillium (Trillium recurvatum) -- I have just realized that in years past I have not been distinguishing between  Trillium sessile and  T. recurvatum. I am pretty sure that T. sessile began blooming first, and T. recurvatum has bloomed within the last week.  T. recurvatum has distinctly stemmed leaves and downward drooping sepals.
• [Trillium cuneatum - I'm not sure, but this species may be here also. It seems to just be a bigger version of T. sessile, which is the smaller of the two with leaves only to about 3" long and flowers to 1.5". T. cuneatum has leaves to 6" long and petals to 3" long.]
• Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum)
• Wild Blue Phlox (Phlox divaricata)
• Fern-leaved Phacelia (Phacelia bipinnatifida)
• Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema atrorubens) - just now coming up, only saw one in bloom
• Bedstraw (Galium aparine)

Showy flowering trees:

• Flowering Dogwood (Cornus florida)
• Eastern Redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Fruiting / no longer in bloom:

• Harbinger of Spring (Erigenia bulbosa)
• Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concatenata)
• Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum)
• Yellow Corydalis (Corydalis flavula)

Trillium recurvatum (left) and T. sessile (right)
(click to look a little closer)

Wildflower report

In addition to yesterday's list, add the following two wildflowers that went unnoticed yesterday. I only saw one individual of each today.

• Round-leaved Violet (Viola rotundifolia)
• Celandine Poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum)

Wildflower report

Currently blooming in our woods & lawn:

• Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concatenata) - By far the most abundant wildflower in our hollow; nearly covering wide areas of the forest floor, especially on the western side of the hollow (eastward facing).
• Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica) - Very common
• Yellow Corydalis (Corydalis flavula)
• Common Blue Violet (Viola papilionacea) - Just a few so far
• Trillium sessile - common
• Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum) - many of the brown mottled leaves beginning to appear, but I have only seen one plant in bloom so far.
• Rue Anemone (Anemonella thalicitroides)
• Harbinger of Spring (Erigenia bulbosa) is pretty much done and gone to seed
• Purple Dead Nettle (Lamium purpureum) - Mostly in our yard, and in disturbed areas
• Henbit (Lamium amplexicaule) - lawn
• Field Pansy (Viola kitaibeliana) - lawn
• Birdseye Speedwell (Veronica persica) - Abundant in our front lawn
• Common Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) - Yes, they're wildflowers! Fairly common in my lawn.
• Star Chickweed (Stellaria pubera) - lawn

Simpler Living = Creation Care

I picked up a new book yesterday that I'm going to enjoy quite a bit. The book is Almost Amish: One Woman's Quest for a Slower, Simpler, More Sustainable Life, written by Nancy Sleeth. This is a plea for us to make conscious choices to limit technology's hold on our lives so that we can get back to the basics and lead more joyful lives as a result. The journey began with the decision by Nancy and her husband to live and share the message that God cares for the earth. Naturally, it follows, God's people should also be concerned for the care nurture of the planet.

In the opening chapter, noting their similarity to a list laid out by Wendell Berry in Home Economics, Nancy introduces ten guiding Amish principles that we can all try to emulate.

1. Homes are simple, uncluttered, and clean; the outside reflects the inside.
2. Technology serves as a tool and does not rule as master.
3. Saving more and spending less bring financial peace.
4. Time spent in God's creation reveals the face of God.
5. Small and local leads to saner lives.
6. Service to others reduces loneliness and isolation.
7. The only true security comes from God.
8. Knowing neighbors and supporting local businesses build community.
9. Family ties are lifelong; they chance but never cease.
10. Faith life and way of life are inseparable.

Nancy and her husband are codirectors of Blessed Earth, a faith-based environmental organization that encourages Christians to become better stewards of the earth.

Waking

Only 26º in the hollow this morning. I am sleepy, but the rosy sunrise glow on the trees seems wide awake. The smell of brewing coffee awakens my senses, and its warmth chases away the frost in my brain.

The Sense of Wonder

I have my five senses, binoculars, and a magnifying lens. I have nature guidebooks galore and a college degree in biology. I have good hiking boots, water bottle, rain jacket, and everything else an adventurer should carry in the field. When I get home, I have even more books and Google and all the information of the world wide web to verify what I think I observed.

I can use these tools and walk for miles and miles through sunshine and rain, moonlight and snow, over hill and valley, but without one crucial skill, it would all be for nothing. It may lie dormant, but this crucial ability seems to be innate in the human psyche. It may need exercise to reawaken, but it seems to be there in all of us. It is, as Rachel Carson termed it, our sense of wonder.

Beach discovery (March 2004)

It is this sense of wonder, this joy of discovery, that turns a simple walk into a meaningful encounter with the natural world. And it is precisely this encounter with nature that makes all the difference. Indeed, there is now much research to support the importance of experiencing nature firsthand. If you're interested, a good place to start looking into this would be the writings of Richard Louv and The Children & Nature Network). But the most important thing is to simply get outside and look. Engage your sense of wonder.

The stars are blazing overhead nightly, and yet mostly remain ignored. We could blame it on our electronics, and we could complain that the city lights are too bright anyway, but if we don't go out and look, then we will definitely never see. And if we never see, it will be as though we were blind.

The ephemeral spring wildflowers are blooming now, whether we're watching or not. And they will all be gone in a few short weeks, whether we're ready or not. Why not go out and see them now? It matters not if you know their names (though recognition raises the enjoyment level); what really matters is whether or not you experience and wonder at their beauty.

Soon many of us will be heading to beaches for spring breaks. The sun on our skin will feel wonderful and bring rejuvenation; the wind and the rhythm of the surf will soothe and medicate our souls. Unsure what to do with so much free time, many people will attempt to fill the void with books and an iPod full of music. Books and music are good and wonderful things, but do yourself a favor and do a little more. Unplug the music, put down the book for a few minutes, and simply go for a walk. Look at seagulls, watch the wave patterns in the sand, marvel at seashells, look for all the tiny living things in the edge of the surf. Engage your sense of wonder, and be refreshed.

Take a suggestion from Rachel Carson, and ask yourself, "What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?" Listen carefully to her words below from The Sense of Wonder (First published in 1956 as a magazine article, "Help Your Child to Wonder." Click here for the original article.)

“Exploring nature….is largely a matter of becoming receptive to what lies all around you. It is learning again to use your eyes, ears, nostrils and finger tips, using your senses. For most of us, knowledge of our world comes largely through sight, yet we look about with such unseeing eyes that we are partially blind. One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself. ‘What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?’

Ornaments

When you’re out hiking there are moments when you stop for something not particularly noteworthy, like water or a snack, and while you are stopped you look around and see things you hadn’t noticed yet. This happens to me with such regularity that it wouldn’t surprise me if this is when most explorers have made their great discoveries. I had a moment like this today. It wasn’t exactly a moment of great discovery, but it was special, and I’m not sure I would have caught it while walking.

From the bottom of a small hollow near the Harpeth River, I was drinking and gazing up into the treetops. I noticed the moon and how the sun illumined the branches. This was not the golden glow of a spectacularly beautiful sunset. The sun was still too high for that. This was more a clear, bright, silvery light that distinguished the forms of the branches by its low angle. At that moment, in that place, the light was unique and memorable. Even three vultures soaring low overhead were transformed by the light, the undersides of their giant wings shimmering silver in the light. The moment was subtle, and somehow sublime.

Of all the trees caught in this late-in-the-day stage lighting, most striking was one tall thin sycamore. Its white winter bark nearly glowed against the blue sky. Its high branches were full of large, round seed pods hanging like golden ornaments on an abandoned Christmas tree. It was simple, and somehow captivating.

I’m not sure how long I stared at the ornaments, but it was then that I gradually became aware of the musical sounds of the stream gurgling at my feet. My dog, Sadie, was eagerly drinking the clear, clean water when I realized the stream bounding over the rocks sang as beautifully as any birdsong. I was struggling to tune out the sounds of the nearby interstate when a train’s horn, just a little over ½ mile away, joined in the melody. I know the sound of the horn was just as foreign to the scene as the interstate, but somehow it worked and added to the joyous song.

A single bumblebee works the day’s end in a blooming patch of Lamium. A pair of geese stand frozen by my gaze then in unison slide silently into the river as I back away to leave them in peace. Bright green moss makes emerald cushions to soften and warm the cold, gray rock that are the hillside. The still branches overhead shimmer in the silver glow of the moment.

Like an ornament

the first quarter moon

celebrates among the branches.

Gloria in excelsis

As any nature writer knows, even the best description will fall far short of the actual experience. There is simply no substitute for being there. The best that any writer can do is strive to capture the moment and hope that the readers have some frame of reference for understanding.


I am quite sure that John Muir regularly felt this tension in his writings, and this explains why his writings are so extravagant in their exaltation of nature. He was pushing and straining the ability of mere words to explain that which is beyond words. Below is Muir's description of a morning in an Alaska fiord in 1879. Despite his grandiose talk of a holy vision of divine fire, I am confident that he felt that his description fell short.

A painting of the Muir Glacier by Thomas Hill

In the evening, after witnessing the unveiling of the majestic peaks and glaciers and their baptism in the down-pouring sunbeams, it seemed inconceivable that nature could have anything finer to show us. Nevertheless, compared with what was to come the next morning, all that was as nothing. The calm dawn gave no promise of anything uncommon. Its most impressive features were the frosty clearness of the sky and a deep, brooding stillness made all the more striking by the thunder of the newborn bergs. The sunrise we did not see at all, for we were beneath the shadows of the fiord cliffs; but in the midst of our studies, while the Indians were getting ready to sail, we were startled by the sudden appearance of a red light burning with a strange unearthly splendor on the topmost peak of the Fairweather Mountains. Instead of vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared, it spread and spread until the whole range down to the level of the glaciers was filled with the celestial fire. In color it was at first a vivid crimson, with a thick, furred appearance, as fine as the alpenglow, yet indescribably rich and deep—not in the least like a garment or mere external flush or bloom through which one might expect to see the rocks or snow, but every mountain apparently was glowing from the heart like molten metal fresh from a furnace. Beneath the frosty shadows of the fiord we stood hushed and awe-stricken, gazing at the holy vision; and had we seen the heavens opened and God made manifest, our attention could not have been more tremendously strained. When the highest peak began to burn, it did not seem to be steeped in sunshine, however glorious, but rather as if it had been thrust into the body of the sun itself. Then the supernal fire slowly descended, with a sharp line of demarcation separating it from the cold, shaded region beneath; peak after peak, with their spires and ridges and cascading glaciers, caught the heavenly glow, until all the mighty host stood transfigured, hushed, and thoughtful, as if awaiting the coming of the Lord. The white, rayless light of morning, seen when I was alone amid the peaks of the California Sierra, had always seemed to me the most telling of all the terrestrial manifestations of God. But here the mountains themselves were made divine, and declared His glory in terms still more impressive. How long we gazed I never knew. The glorious vision passed away in a gradual, fading change through a thousand tones of color to pale yellow and white, and then the work of the ice-world went on again in everyday beauty. The green waters of the fiord were filled with sun-spangles; the fleet of icebergs set forth on their voyages with the upspringing breeze; and on the innumerable mirrors and prisms of these bergs, and on those of the shattered crystal walls of the glaciers, common white light and rainbow light began to burn, while the mountains shone in their frosty jewelry, and loomed again in the thin azure in serene terrestrial majesty. We turned and sailed away, joining the outgoing bergs, while “Gloria in excelsis” still seemed to be sounding over all the white landscape, and our burning hearts were ready for any fate, feeling that, whatever the future might have in store, the treasures we had gained this glorious morning would enrich our lives forever.

John Muir, Travels in Alaska, 1915.