Remembering Dr Yates

Dr Oliver Yates

Today I am thankful for the life of Dr. Oliver Yates and his influence on me as a biology student at David Lipscomb College (now University) in the early 1980s. Dr. Yates passed away at the age of 79 last Thursday. Although I never went on to a career in science, I will probably never know fully the extent of his influence and encouragement. His enthusiasm and curiosity were as infectious as his demand for a student's best work was unrelenting.

He is best known for his Cell Biology class, but my favorite class ever at Lipscomb was Spring Wildflowers, taught by Dr. Yates every other year. The course could have rightly been named "Taxonomy and Classification of Spring Ephemerals with Special Emphasis on the Forest Communities in Middle Tennessee." But that wasn't his style. His way was to make learning fun, and then teach you more than you knew possible once you were sucked in. What could be more fun and carefree than a class called Spring Wildflowers? (Incidentally, in the alternate years, he taught a similar course called Algae, which was almost as much fun but required taking samples back to the lab for identification.)

Our main text

I enjoyed the Spring Wildflower class so much that I basically took it twice. After taking it first in 1981, Dr. Yates allowed me to join class field trips when it was offered again in 1983. He also guided me through independent studies describing the plant life of cedar glade communities in middle Tennessee. I have many fond memories of tramping the woods and hills with Dr. Yates and his other students as he sought to show us how to use complex taxonomic keys and make meticulous notes of what we had seen. In my memory it seems like the class spent just as much time in the field as did in the classroom. I remember how he demanded that our field notebooks be as detailed as humanly possible. I remember how he would never just name a plant that we asked him about, but would insist that we work through the taxonomic key to find the identification ourselves. I remember the whole class encircled round a yellow dandelion working through the key in our wildflower guide until we came up with the correct identification. I remember how he magically led us to see the rare showy pink orchid known as Moccasin Flower or Pink Ladyslipper (Cypripedium acaule) in the Smokey Mountains. I remember Dr Yates and his wife, Betty, always seeking out the elusive Little Brown Jug (Hexastylis arifolia), a non-showy, but cute little brown wildflower that is all too easy to overlook. I remember fishing for turtles in the Tennessee River just so that we could study an algae that is only known to grow on the backs of turtles. I think his main reason for that exercise was so that we could see the wondrous diversity of life and be amazed. I remember him looking up from a microscope in amazement one time and rhetorically asking those around him, "how can you not believe there is a God when you're looking at something like this?"

Before coming to Lipscomb I had always loved being in nature. Reading people like Henry David Thoreau, Rachel Carson, and Lewis Thomas, I understood that studying life could and should leave us gawking in amazement. The world is an incredibly complex and beautiful place. Walking the woods with Oliver Yates, I got to see this scientific amazement firsthand. Dr. Yates' curiosity and sense of wonder became a part of me and I am grateful.

Linked here is a remembrance of Dr. Yates on the Lipscomb University website:
Yates remembered for impacting lives of hundreds of pre-med students.

Pink Ladyslipper, King's Point on Basswood Lake, Ontario

Sauntering through the hollow

Surrendering to the nasty weather this morning, I was prepared to spend the entire day indoors. The rain stopped in the afternoon, however, and I decided to go for a walk, which soon turned into saunter. I left the dog in the house, and walked quietly and slowly around our trail. Sometimes you can see more by going slowly. I spent more time deliberately looking at the small and subtle things. For about 60 seconds of the walk I was treated to the sound of two Barred Owls calling to each other (see video below on Barred Owls).

It was just a simple walk, but it left me wandering in wonder.

Beech leaves wearing thin as the winter progresses

Moss reclaiming a beech stump

Hepatica leaves

Old sycamore and young beech

Grizzled wanderer

Mysterious neighbors

I love it that we share these woods with Barred Owls. These beautiful and mysterious birds never cease to fill me with  wonder. This video from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology has very good examples of their amazing calls. Check it out. Then imagine it's dark and you're walking alone in the woods when you hear this.

Cozy and thankful

Safe and warm in the ice cold rain. This is the kind of day that makes me thankful for good shelter. I think most of us take it too much for granted.

Right now it is 32ºF and raining steadily. This morning has been hot maple oatmeal, coffee, and Thoreau. Later today I'll make a pot of chili for our dinner and make a fire in the fireplace.

Winter sanctuary

A clear gibbous moon climbs the eastern sky.
They say by morning an ice storm may fill our forest hollow with winter.

But we do not fear the cold.

A slow fire burns in the fireplace,
homemade vegetable soup simmers on the stove,
and we are warm,
tucked in for the night,
feeling peaceful and safe
in the care of the Keeper of the night.

All is well.

Walden retreat

I'm not sure why, but I would love to build one of these at the edge of our woods some day. It's a replica of the house that Thoreau built at Walden Pond in 1845. I think I'm just drawn to the simplicity that it represents. Maybe some day.

Thoreau's house at Walden

Late afternoon in the tree tops

Today woodpeckers share the trees with the moon.

Seemingly out of place in the blue daylight,
a pale waxing gibbous moon rises above the eastern ridge,
looking for all the world like a small cloud through the branches.

A Red-bellied Woodpecker moves from tree to tree,
flashing red and disappearing,
ceaselessly scratching, pecking, hunting for a morsel of insect.

From somewhere further up the hollow,
a Pileated Woodpecker announces himself,
and the shadows grow steadily longer in the afternoon light.

Reading and walking

Sometimes I like to read, and other times I prefer to go for a walk in the woods. If I am torn between the two, I almost always go for a walk. I do love books. In fact, my view is that if something is worth doing well, then it is worth purchasing and reading a book about that subject. But I also must say that if the choice were a year without nature or a year without books, I'm afraid I would have to tell my library goodbye. Of course the best would be reading a book about nature in between walks in the woods.

Hushed moonlight

Clear and cold,
moonlight pours into the hollow
making the forest floor a patchwork of moonbeam and shadow.

Suddenly a raccoon breaks the quiet.
A harsh, high-pitched chatter, for just a moment.
Just as suddenly the silence hushes the chatter.

Above the trees, Orion chases the moon westward.
It reminds me of George Bailey trying to throw his lasso for Mary.

I listen for the Barred Owl,
but am answered only by the silence of the trees
shining in the moonlight.

Moonbeams and the sound of moon-shadow
hush the night.

Sunday afternoon walk in the hollow

Earlier today I posted this on Facebook (with my iPhone) while at the mall with my wife:

Getting my mind stretched today. Just a few minutes after gawking in wonder at a vending machine selling iPhones and iPad Minis, my wife paid for our Starbucks coffee by waving her phone in front of this little scanner thingy. I think I better make sure to go for a walk in the woods this afternoon.

So later in the afternoon, I felt a compulsion to get out in the woods before sunset. I must say that it felt good to touch rock and wood, and to be in the presence of a place older than I can imagine.

Limestone forms the streambed in the center of the hollow.

This ephemeral stream flows only 2 or 3 times a year, and only

after prolonged heavy rains. Walking the winter terrain in the hollow,

I am reminded that this place has been shaped mostly by flowing water.

This is the senior beech tree in the hollow.

Its crown broke out many years ago, but my measurements

indicate that it must be at least 300 years old

Self-portrait, with old Beech

I didn't do a whole lot of walking, but it was a beautiful day to be outside. The weather was sunny, with temperatures into the mid 50s. It has been nice to have so much sunshine this weekend after a couple of weeks of rainy, miserable weather.

Nature watching

To note the daily weather, along with the types of trees and where they grow, when various wildflowers bloom, along with the topography of the land, and what birds are about in the brush does not mean that I am an observer only. These observations are for me the very means of experiencing and engaging the world around me.

To see a bird outside the window is one thing. To see that there are 4 female Northern Cardinals foraging on the ground by the wood pile (where are the males?), along with a few busy White-throat Sparrows, a bobble-head Mourning Dove, and a male Goldfinch flashing yellow through the low branches above is quite another thing. My detailed observation forges a bond, a relationship.

Increased observation brings increased engagement with its object. It brings me outside of myself and recognizes the world more fully as it is: independent of me. This noticing of detail brings about true engagement and the fuller experience that comes with it. Increased observation brings increased wonder.

Shelter

Today was a good day to stay indoors. Yesterday I spoke of Thoreau's advice to walk in foul weather. While his prescription does ring true to me, I'm sure there were also days when even Thoreau elected to stay inside close to the hearth.

I was off work from my job in the bookstore today and I enjoyed it. I spent the day snug and warm, enjoying good coffee, listening to the 70s folk radio station on Pandora, and reading here and there in Walden. I also fixed old-fashioned beef stew for the family dinner using a recipe from The Cook's Illustrated Cookbook that Beth gave me for Christmas. The stew turned out fantastic, and seemed particularly appropriate on this cold, rainy, icy night.

The temperature has stayed right around the freezing mark all day long. Combined with a slow rain most of the day, this has made for a day of really rotten weather. Just after noon, the National Weather Service issued an ice storm warning that will be in effect until 8:00 tomorrow morning.

In the midst of the storm, we find ourselves thankful for food, shelter, heat, electric lights, and running water. Days like this are good in that they cause us to focus on essentials rather than the zillion details that normally capture our attention. Perhaps our lives would be better if we could remember these days when the weather is more accommodating.

Walking with Thoreau in all kinds of weather

Taking Thoreau's prescription to take long walks in rough weather to keep my spirits up, I embraced the notion of going for a hike when the sky began to rain down ice pellets this afternoon. I was already thinking of walking to the river to see how high it was running when I realized it was beginning to rain ice pellets. This was not freezing rain, not hail, not sleet; it was simply and merely raining ice pellets.

Ice pellets collecting on beech leaves

I realized this was a moment to be seized. I grabbed my rain jacket, a warm hat and gloves, took up my walking stick, and quickly went out the door. I had to see what walking in this kind of weather was like. I was not disappointed. It was a good day to be in the woods.

The Harpeth River running about 12 feet higher than normal.
Usually when I walk out to the leaning tree in the middle of this
picture, I am standing at the top of a steep, high bank above the river.

Me at the riverside, enjoying an invigorating walk in the woods.
It may be 29º and raining ice pellets, but it's a great day to be alive!

"Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snow in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary." ~ Henry David Thoreau, Journal, Dec. 25, 1856.

Transported to a mountain stream

It is now 10:30 in the evening, and the ephemeral stream flowing out of the hollow and past the house is still running strong. It is so strange at this hour to hear the temporary stream still running in the front yard. The tumbling water is so loud and the tone so clear, I can close my eyes and feel transported to a cool mountain stream. I expect to open my eyes and see the landscape transformed to rhododendron, giant moss-covered boulders, mountain laurel, and small pools hiding brook trout between the tumbling cascades.

Ephemeral stream flowing out of the hollow

A representation of the transformation in my mind

Rainy day front porch view

It's raining too hard to get out and take pictures, but here's a front porch view of the ephemeral stream flowing out of our hollow. Water only flows in this streambed 2 or 3 times a year, but it's been flowing hard and fast since before dawn today. It's hard to see, but stream flows across the neighbor's driveway on the left of the panorama shot below. Earlier today the stream was also flowing over the lower part of our driveway. Buffalo Creek has been up to the bridge for several hours now. It wouldn't take much more water for us to be trapped on our hillside. I'm glad we live exactly where we do, protected from storms by the surrounding hills (western ridge behind us), and high enough on a hillside to be well away from floodwaters.

View of the stream from the front porch

Panoramic shot showing the stream flowing in front of the house

Firsthand weather report

"For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across- lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility." ~ Henry David Thoreau, Walden.

Abnormal weather continues. I'm only guessing, but we probably had another couple inches of rainfall in the last 12 hours. A flash flood warning is in effect for Nashville and the rest of middle Tennessee. Our family decided not to attend church this morning just to be safe.

This morning I put on all my rain gear and went for a walk to check it out. Buffalo Creek, which flows under a bridge about 400 ft from the house, was only a foot from the bottom of the bridge. This is a spot where normally a person could easily walk under the bridge. Walking to a safe spot next to the flow, I inserted my walking stick and it went to a depth of about 4 ft at the water's edge. A little over an hour later, a walk to the end of our driveway revealed that the creek had reached the bottom the bridge. Anyone who found themselves in this water today would surely be swept away.

The ephemeral stream that defines the middle of our hollow is also flowing strong. This streambed is normally dry and only flows 2 or 3 times a year. At the steep bowl that forms the top end of the hollow there is a waterfall that forms the headwaters of this unnamed ephemeral stream.

Even in the rain, a walk around my trail through the hollow felt good. The ground was squishy and moved under my weight on the steeper slopes. The forest is completely saturated with rain and the excess flows off down the hill into the ephemeral stream. The air is filled with the sound of the water rushing downhill through the streambed, cascading over rocks and logs, urgent in its going, pushing leaves and sticks and soil down the hollow. At the end of the hollow, this flow will go into Buffalo Creek and on to the Harpeth River and then the Cumberland River.

Henry David Thoreau in 1856

I wish that I had pictures, but I was unwilling to risk my iPhone in this weather. Perhaps some day I'll be able to get one of those rugged waterproof cameras like I carried while canoeing in Canada this past summer.

"Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snow in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary." ~ Henry David Thoreau.

Weather weirdness

Very strange weather indeed. It is still 68ºF at nearly 11 o'clock on a mid-January Saturday night. This kind of crazy weather seems to be more and more common all the time. Feeling very uneasy about the future.

Local reading at 10:51 pm, Jan 12, 2013

Wildflower report

Yes, there are wildflowers in bloom in the middle of winter! A few of the following were spotted in our yard and in the woods today:

• Harbinger of Spring (Erigenia bulbosa)
• Birdseye Speedwell (Veronica persica)
• Common Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)
• Purple Dead Nettle (Lamium purpureum)

Mossy woods

With unseasonably warm 68º days and over 2 inches of rain in the last 4 days, the soggy forest is saturated with bright green moss. The moss looks like emerald velvet cushions, and thin, coppery, translucent beech leaves shine a like jewelry shimmering in the afternoon light. A Barred Owl calls in the distance. The forest is beautiful in all seasons.

Noisy forest creatures

Two notes on woodland sounds heard during today's walk:

1. There's a big difference between the sound of a squirrel and a deer running through the winter woods. The squirrel makes a lot more noise.
2. The Pileated Woodpecker is an awfully noisy bird to be so shy.

Solidago (goldenrod) in Winter sunset

Among the hills

I love living among the hills. I can either stay nestled safe and secure within their shadow or climb to the top and see forever (if you look through the trees).

Afternoon ice

The cold weather continued last night. The low was down around 20 degrees here last night. Even following a warmer day and an afternoon in the mid 40s, ice remains in the back of the hollow as the sun slips behind the ridge.

Tiny flying acrobats

Life is more fun when shared with chickadees, titmice, and nuthatches. Their tiny arboreal acrobatics are a joy as I watch out my back window sipping my morning coffee, proving once again that the best things in life are simple and free.

Cold, foggy New Year's night

Soggy leaves soften the trail and a cold fog fills the woods tonight. The hollow is nearly silent. Our late evening walk is brief, but even a short woodland stroll brings a sense of peace to the year's beginning.