On the Sunny Side of the Street

This morning the sun was shining encouragingly, the dog was sound asleep in his basket and the housework assured me that it would still be here when I returned, so I felt released to venture out into the world. The spectre of great nastiness looms over the balance of the week courtesy of the weatherman, so the call of the wild feels urgent.

I decided to return to the Foulds Tract which is just across the road from the forest area that I walked yesterday. I drive past an unusual tree as I enter the parking area. Its leaves are down but it is covered in papery seed pods that look like little pine cones and individual pieces of which, litter the ground.

Each piece is shaped like a pumpkin seed and through its thin wall you can feel a small seed. These seed pods look similar to hops so this small understory tree is called Hop Hornbeam or Ironwood. It is a slow-growing tree which has the densest and hardest wood of any native species. Apparently "hornbeam" is a centuries old word and the "horn" is a reference to hardness, and "beam" is rooted in the German "baum" for tree. (It did seem important to know this.)

I had parked underneath another small deciduous tree, the Witch Hazel. When I was growing up, witch hazel was a bottle of clear liquid that my mom kept in the frig and dabbed on her face occasionally. I didn't know that it related to this  native tree that produces these unique flowers in the fall.

Those flowers become these seed pods, which after they dry, burst open and fling their contents some distance away. The branches of witch hazel have been used for centuries as the divining or dowsing rods to "water-witch", or locate water in an area. There is much speculation as to whether this is actually effective, but my husband remembers both his grandfather, and his uncle, doing this to find water for wells in rural Quebec. As to the mysterious bottle in my mother's refrigerator, the bark and leaves of witch hazel, when distilled, produce one of nature's oldest beauty products, a gentle and non-irritating astringent.

I turned my attention to the path which beckoned me to enter through a gentle archway of saplings to the sunlight beyond. It was astonishing how different this forest felt from the previous day's walk in the section of forest just across the road. It occurred to me that perhaps this lies in the difference in the composition of this tract. This forest area is primarily deciduous, so at this time of year it is open and spacious, whereas the other tract was more evenly balanced between conifers and hardwood trees, leaving large sections dark and hidden. 

The lower story of trees was mostly bare, while tall maples still glowed yellow above them, and towering oaks bloomed in gold well above the maples. It was the warmest of glows as the sun shone on the remaining leaves, suffusing the air with honeyed light and burnishing the carpet of fallen leaves below.

Every so often the expanse of tree trunks was broken by the presence of a  beech tree, that seemed to beam as though lit from within.

The pond reflected the blue of the sky while the leaves made the water at its edges seem as though it too had turned to gold.

In the midst of this deciduous domain is an Eastern Hemlock. One. It is a beautifully shaped tree with short almost delicate needles and tiny cones. It can evidently live for hundreds of years, and its boughs seem to reach out to cover one with a sense of with warmth and protection. I read that tea can be made with its needles, and should you feel so inclined, the the fresh shoots of its branches produced in the spring, are quite edible.You feel that this is a trunk that you can sit and lean against and ponder deep thoughts.

Amidst this reverie, I was also mindful of smaller details while I walked, like these puffballs, probably the largest number that I have seen on one trunk. 

and this fungus,

and these, which I believe are King Alfred's Cakes. These are so named because apparently King Alfred, whilst on the run from the Vikings, took refuge with a peasant woman, and she asked him to keep an eye on the bread that she was baking. His mind however, was on weightier matters, with the outcome being that the peasant woman's bread was burnt. Why one might connect these very small fungus balls with said "cakes" is a matter of conjecture.

This solitary wasp was climbing very slowly up this small sapling. If he hadn't been at eye-level I probably wouldn't have noticed him there. Although, since only the new queens survive winter, this might have been a she. The drones having, after mating, outlived their usefulness, die with the old queen and the new queens hibernate for the winter.

I was pretty sure that if I just waited long enough, somebody would pop out of this cavity. It was too high up to stick my nose in for a look, which might not have been a really good idea anyway. 

 I was completely alone in the forest on this glorious day, except for this little guy who came to see me off. It was silent and so completely peaceful, and while I always enjoy time spent in the woods, this walk, in this place, on this particular day, had an almost spiritual feeling. I came away renewed, cleansed of care and so blessed by the beauty of this place. I don't know why this specific time was different, but I think this is what Shirin Yuko is about. The forest bath; complete immersion in the place and the moment.

And I am grateful.

Am I Blue?

There are certain forest tracts that I only walk in the late fall when the undergrowth dies back and the path is wider, and I can convince myself that every errant blade of grass does not have a ninja tick awaiting my arrival. Today there was blue in the sky and I was feeling intrepid so I set out to explore. 

The small gravel area where I parked was surrounded by a thick carpet of vinca minor, or periwinkle, a low growing ground cover that has a pretty blue flower in the summer. The leaves are a lovely deep and glossy green and remain so almost all year. Vinca is however not native and considered invasive, its thick mat choking out less aggressive native wildflowers. 

These purple leaves caught my eye. They belong to bittersweet nightshade which you will probably find climbing a fence somewhere in your neighborhood. The flowers and berries are gone but it makes a pretty garland. There is a deadly nightshade in this plant family, which is of course deadly, but other family members include the tomato and potato. I read that this plant is called bittersweet because when first tasted it is bitter on the tongue, but then unpleasantly sweet. I also read that ingesting of the berries should be considered a medical emergency. Believe I will just look.

There is a lot of downed wood, some courtesy of the County, but the wood that has fallen naturally and been on the ground for a while has some interesting surprises. This is Leafy jelly fungus, appropriately named for its shape and texture. Its was attached to a small hardwood branch and the cluster in the centre would probably fit on a loonie.

And then I found Orange jelly on a conifer log and

a huge cluster of Lemon Drops.  This species is one of  

the commonest woodland cup fungi, but despite being a vibrant yellow, they are really tiny, measuring 3mm or less, and could be easily overlooked.

This photo on the cut end of a tree trunk, has a lot going on in it. There is a cluster of purple cup fungus on the right and a tiny slug with a stripe in the centre. At least I think it is a slug because it has no shell, and he was obviously very busy so I didn't disturb him by plucking him off to have a look.

The most exciting thing though, (well, I think its exciting), is the small blue fungus. There were several prone sections of the same tree and on each cut end, there was a little bit of this turquoise fungus. Its botanical name has some 26 letters so we will call it Blue-Stain fungus. My reference book says it is "widespread and common", but as I have only seen it only once, I will remain a little skeptical. These cup shapes are the fruiting body of the fungus which appear when there is a lot of rain, but in their absence the fungus remains as a blue stain in the wood, hence....   

 As I walk along in a happy glow, I am scared startled by a snake. I don't know why I always see snakes; I don't want to and they should be able to feel my approach and absent themselves. Yes, I know it is just a garter snake. But he was about an inch at his widest, so one of the larger ones that I have seen, and he had attitude! I thumped my foot on the path and rustled the grass, but he just pulled his body back into a striking posed and glared at me, so I ventured off the path and made a wide berth around. So now that I know the snakes are awake and prowling, every time I step on a long branch that in turn stirs the leaves beside the path, I levitate slightly. 

I find fungus interesting as there is such a variety of shape, size and colour. I also find that they are almost impossible to identify. I think that what I have seen is unique enough that it should be easy to put a name to, only to find that it matches no photo in my reference guide, and that a photo is not enough.  What tree is it growing on, what colour are the spores, does it have gills etc. Generally the answer to all of the above is "I don't know". However, I live in hope and snap away.

 This one is like tiny whiskers and look like they are growing along the growth rings.

 Slimy, and growing at the base of evergreens.

 Delicate little porous fans.

Poisonous?

This one I know. It was a large example of the Shaggy Mane, being about 6 inches tall.

My eyes were drawn from the floor of the forest up to a high branch where someone was not happy at my presence in their neighborhood. Sorry, I come in peace.

The understory of smaller maples and beeches is a colourful contrast to the looming upper story of conifers. A noise on the path caught my attention and I turned just in time to see the white flag of a deer. It paused a safe distance away to look back and I could see that it was a buck, but he was not interested in allowing me a photo opportunity.

The pond appears to be uninhabited by waterfowl. I imagine it would be a good spot to see turtles in the summer. Shagbark hickory trees display their unique bark. Their trunks look like someone has torn random vertical strips all around their circumference.

As I finish my walk I notice a small and delicate pink Herb Robert still blooming in a patch of sunlight.  It is the only flower that I have seen today in this bit of forest. It seems tiny and too frail to have survived the recent frost but there it is, a small thing of loveliness in contrast to the grandeur of the oaks and conifers.

Beauty in the big and the small. 

November 1 - Samhain

Samhain is a festival that begins at sunset on the 31st of October and finishes at sunset on the first of November, in accordance with the Celtic measurement of a day.  It marks the end of the harvest and the beginning of the "dark time", which according to the Celtic calendar, compromises the next six months. It was considered a gateway between the two seasons and a time of release or letting go, just as the trees let go of their leaves. Samhain is a fire festival; the symbolic lighting of fires that would be needful for warmth and light, and also needed as protection at a time when the the veil between this world and the next was believed to be very thin. The waxing and waning of the seasons are the markers of your life when your sustenance comes from the ground, and your light is governed by the celestial bodies, and the fire means whether you will survive the winter or not. To celebrate the harvest and ceremonially prepare for the dark time seems appropriate and I imagine the uncertainty of survival might make one wonder if the ancestors were coming for you in the near future. 

Last week it was October; warm, sunny, gloriously coloured, and lulling me into the fantasy of a never-ending fall. Denial is often a comfortable place to visit. However this new month has begun with rain, chilled temperatures and gloom; as if the heavenly lights have dimmed, muting all the colour, and ushering in the very real possibility that a dark time approacheth. sigh. But as I sat and drank my coffee, that beloved and necessary elixir of life, I noticed that the front yard, even on this dismal day, was a really busy place, and I decided that a closer look was in order.

The sparrows were gathered in a noisy group in the shrub next to the house. Having, I noticed, emptied my peanut feeder, they were perhaps discussing what other restaurant might be open in the area.

 A solitary mourning dove was perched with ruffled feathers out of the breeze.

A male Northern cardinal was waiting quietly from the eaves to give his mate the all-clear to visit the yard. Mrs Cardinal is very cautious and he is very careful of her. I could hear the blue jays squawking in the nearby treetops waiting for the sound of peanuts hitting pavement in the driveway.

While the squirrels listened for the same sound, they kept busy in the daily game of finding buried peanuts and re-burying them. I have noticed that even the blue jays will bury peanuts if the ground is soft. They hammer them into the ground with their beaks then cover the spot up with leaves and other debris. This is however, often followed by a wily chipmunk or squirrel digging up said treasure and carting it off to a new spot. The squirrels are getting little tufts of white fur behind their ears, and their coat is getting thicker in preparation for cold days. They are also quite insistent that the kitchen door should open and peanuts should ensue.

Amongst all this activity were several spots of remaining colour. The shrub rose is still ablaze.

A few delicate roses bloom, surrounded by clusters of tiny rose hips. 

Several late blooming lavender sprigs add a touch of purple.

At the base of the Japanese maple some brilliant red leaves are still intact.

This Polygonum affine (I think) shines in the fall when its foliage turns all manner of reds and purples. It is not obvious because it is low growing, but well worth a moment's admiration.

This hopeful Lamb's Ear or Stachys, has poked out a few lavender blooms in case it is still summer. I'm glad that I'm not the only one confused. This plant can be a bit invasive but it is worth the lovely gray foliage and the delightful, soft texture of the thick leaves.

The hydrangea flowers are drying out but their soft colours are quietly lovely.

These seed pods that look vaguely like horseshoe crabs with their rounded shape and spike, (or very small alien skulls), are insurance that I will have snapdragons in the spring.

Yup, still blooming.

I am not a big fan of change. I prefer changes to be made slowly, gently even; like the seasons should gracefully meld into one another. I think many might agree that this year we would just like to know what season we are actually in on any given day. As in life though, changes come daily and as I am not as a rule consulted, I am not generally prepared. You might think that you would eventually reach a point at which you would no longer be surprised, but apparently I am not there yet. So in the meantime I will continue to take small timeouts, quiet moments to adjust my thinking and my emotions, and I will get there eventually.