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.