First Acts

This is the emotional time of year when passions run high and nature throws her dramatic fits due to all the farewells that are happening everywhere. Goodbye flower petals, goodbye butterfly wings, goodbye warm air kisses. This time of year is filled with rushed goodbyes.

An angry front of cooler air that had brought a gray hello moved in last week. It was preceded by the most exciting swirls of dark clouds, some hung high and others were gray and feathery and just grazed the tops of the trees. This storm was silent. Even the lower part of the dramatic winds only moved the low hanging clouds and did not bend branches or toss their leaves. The leaves that still had a strong grip shivered ever so slightly as if in excited anticipation of the powerful event yet to come. The sun was shoved abruptly behind the horizon as bright stage lighting was not needed for this drama. There were no special effects such as thunder and lightning. Only the power of the air moving like a giant invisible hand pushing up high.

I stood barefoot on the dock and shivered myself, although not from any cold, because the air temperature was still very nice. No birds, no fish, no wildlife hung about to welcome this first act. I was alone in the audience.

Paying for That View, Our Last Adventure

We had to take a half mile climb up a steep but paved road. With my heart pounding in my ear, I looked back at the parking lot in the distance to see how far we had come.

Now only 800 feet more up a man-made ramp to the actual tower. See, people have made it and are returning. You can do it.


It is not far. Keep telling yourself that it will be worth it for the view.


Well, I guess it was. In the distance are the blue mountains just past the spruce and fir trees that struggle with this harsh climate. This is the well earned view from Clingmans Dome.
Now you can sit and rest.

Domestic Squabble in the Meadow

We had lunch beside this fungus and lichen covered log that rested beside the log on which we sat. Its stunning beauty was more enticing than any elaborate centerpiece in a fancy restaurant and the lighting was far lovelier than any candle arrangement. We ate sliced asian pears that were as crisp as but more sweet than apples. We had crunchy crackers and cheese, to complete the gourmet meal as the fall whispered its way into the tall trees in the ravines.

We also sat not far from this very rare beauty in the photograph above. It appears to be a white-leaved maple tree. I have never seen his before and there were no others the same color nearby. Is there such a thing as an albino tree and how does it produce food with no chlorophyll?

The last day of our travels it began raining steadily and the skies were very overcast. We realized we would probably not be hiking very much on the leaf covered and slippery trails. Therefore, we made a plan to drive to a distant valley that hung between 6,000 foot peaks. Getting there is a real challenge because the paved road soon changes to gravel and becomes a narrow lane and then becomes very winding with many blind curves. We had to keep alert as we encountered a few cars as well as large trucks coming down the mountain as we were trying to make our way up. We passed safely, but sometimes with only inches between the vehicles and just a few feet from the steep drop off on one side. This was not a trip for the weak of heart.

We were determined to reach the top because we had been told by the ranger that we might be rewarded on an overcast day by seeing elk that had been re-introduced into the area a number of years ago. "Surrounded by 6000-foot peaks, this isolated valley was the largest and most prosperous settlement in what is now the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Once known for its farms and orchards, today Cataloochee is one of the most picturesque areas of the park."

As can be seen from the photo above, we were rewarded with a sighting of elk, actually an entire herd. We saw several striking bull elk and a number of cows as well as younger calves. Most were collared or tagged and close enough to photograph. You can see the tag if you click on the photo.

Just as we approached this large bull saw that part of his harem was on the other side of the road. He bugled loudly several times (such a haunting call) before lowering his head back and trotting over to that side of the road to herd them back and away from some of the younger males that were casually grazing nearby. The testosterone in the air was palpable.

If you click on the photo above you can see more clearly the cows hurrying ahead of the bull and the young males on the far right wondering what all the fuss was about. They will probably figure it out next year.

Smokin', Really Smokin'.

These mountains are called The Great Smokies and are part of The Great Smoky Mountain National Park which protects the larger range of this group of mountains. It is a natural wonder that lies between the states of Tennessee and North Carolina and is part of the Appalachian Mountains. Fall is the most popular time of year to visit this area because the many hardwoods break forth in remarkable color. If you get up early, you can beat the rush as well as catch the best light for photography on the driveway...and you will be least likely to be hit by a car driven by a distracted driver as you run back and forth across the highway for best views.

The fall weather is perfect for wearing that favorite sweater in the morning and removing it to let the warm sun hit your shoulders in the afternoon.

This area got its name because the fog frequently hangs over the ranges in the early part of the day and looks like smoke in the valleys. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and with very good reason. There are over 800 hiking trails but the parkway is also lovely for the more sedentary tourists who do not wish to leave their car. The photos have been reduced in size. While these woods have the reputation of having the densest population of bears, I saw not a one! (What I DID see is yet to come.)

Then Again on the Other Side of the Continent

Fall in the mountains on the East side of the United States is very different than striking gold in the Rocky Mountains. Here is more like a bordello. Like striking sex? Here we have a hussy that is not afraid to flaunt her seductive beauty. She wears colored veils that she throws at your feet whether you look away or stare straight at her as she strips away those veils. She paints her toenails and fingernails with kaleidoscopic colors. With the same compelling feeling a photographer gets when capturing sunsets, this photographer cannot stop snapping away as every view is too lovely to not try to archive in digital pixels for years to come. This scene above was along a mountain river in Southern Virginia as we set out on our trip. (Click for a closer view if you have prurient interests, natch.)

This photo was along the road on the Blue Ridge Parkway early one morning as the sun peaked over the clouds hanging just at the horizon and sent a ray of light in the direction we were headed. Someone was keeping an eye out for us I am thinking.

A Hillside Treasure of Golden Coins Part 5

Sometimes you get very lucky.
Sometimes you are in the right place at exactly the right time.
Sometimes the earth empties her treasure chest of gold at your feet.

Golden aspens filled the hillsides as I gazed open-mouthed.
They glittered like gold coins from a pirate chest.
This is the kind of wealth you can store in your mind's heart for the cold winter.

One of my (our) tasks was to scatter ashes of loved ones.
We left our wealth in exchange for this beauty.
It was a golden offering of peace and rest.
(Boreas Pass Road, Colorado)

A Rose by Any Other Name? Part 4

Imagine my disappointment when my research revealed that this Rocky Mountain marmot which I had photographed in the high mountains is also known as a "Woodchuck, Groundhog, Whistlepig, or Marmota monax of North America." I had thought he was somehow more exotic than the similar creature from my area.

Why is he so cute here sitting on the edge of the rock studying me and NOT so cute when he is eating away at my cone flowers in my front yard and then lumbering his fat butt under my deer fence? Actually this one IS cuter. His face is a little different shape and his coloring is more interesting...don't tell my groundhog I wrote that thought...PLEASE. (Click on photo for a closer reveal.)

Close Encounters During Afternoon Rush Hour Part 3

We were rewarded on one of our hikes above a dam with this view of wild goats before we even left our car to begin the hike! Someone said they were licking salt from the gravel. I was just trying to be as relaxed as they were about this encounter.

We hiked up to a snowfield or two and enjoyed the freshest air ever made and shared even though it lacked the molecules of oxygen necessary for humans that live at only 30 feet above sea level. Lack of oxygen makes you feel like a child sometimes and so at least one of us (not I) slid down the field on a butt.

On the way down the trail we got the strange feeling that we being watched and when I had the compelling feeling to turn my head to look back up the trail I saw these lovely wild goats studying us ever so carefully and following as closely as they dared. Clearly they were wondering why we were not moving down the trail faster. They must have had a schedule to keep, unlike us and begrudged our leisure attitude during rush hour.


This was a mother goat with three kids and they were all such a lovely snow white that their coats gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. I do not know if the young ones were all hers or she was just 'kidsitting' that day. Clearly we were not moving fast enough for them as they soon left the trail to stand out surefooted on a large rock promontory overlooking the dam.

With views like this, can you blame the goats for living here? (Take a little breath as this photo is really worth clicking on.)

Vicarious Pleasures Part 2

I will share with you another day of hiking in Colorado filled with dramatic views and you do not have to find your hiking boots or that worn rain parka. We hiked every day between 6 and 8 miles and every trail was so different in topography and flora and fauna. This trail took us up to about 12,400 feet. While I did not feel the hubris to attempt any "14ers" which is a common goal among hikers in the area, I felt that this climb was a more than acceptable achievement allowing me to pat myself on the back for such endurance while panting like a dog during most of the hike. I am so thankful to the powers that be in this universe that allow me to enjoy and complete this type of challenge at my age. It was mind altering as I stood in the moss and grass covered valley between the two imposing peaks of granite that will still be there erect, proud and strong, long after I leave this earth.

The trail was dry enough to miss most of the puddles of cold water as we headed up and up. The water, melted snow, was crystal clear and the moss and grasses a deep green as if it were spring. Musical gurgles of tiny waterfalls serenaded us during our small lunch near a huge boulder.

The little chinchilla-like Pika were peaking in and out of the rocks as they gathered mouthfuls of grass for the coming winter and whistling while they worked as they often do. They were the only wildlife we saw at this altitude. The lack of oxygen to breathe at this level meant I had to just enjoy the scenery while trying not to concentrate on breathing in and out. I got a vicarious pleasure at touching the snow field at the end of summer. The field is not seen in this photo but was just behind me. (I re-sized the photo above as it was too large for blogdom so if you click on it, it will be a bit grainy.)

"whistling"

Room With a View

A change of view is always necessary medicine. Thus our visit to relatives in Colorado was decided. After a brief visit in Denver we headed out to Breckinridge, Colorado, and drove straight up the side of either Peak 8 or 9 to our condominium which sat on the steep and pine covered hillside across the from the mountain with the empty ski trails and above the valley filled with fall tourists. Just before we left our car a red fox came along the edge of the parking area and proceeded to jump like a ballerina and land with a very feminine stomp on some small rodent in the grasses. He was unsuccessful (big surprise with that kind of ballet move) and moved on as we exited the car with our suitcases.

The air was wonderful but so thin that we could barely get our suitcases up the first flight of stairs and into the main bedroom before breathlessness took over and we had to collapse on the edge of the bed in shock staring at each other. I did manage to get enough air to get the photo above of a lovely sunset from our deck.

This next photo is the same view from the deck the very next evening after spending the better part of the day hiking Spruce Creek Trail. The weather for the day consisted of sun, gentle rain, snow, followed by more sun and heavier rain and then a gentle blizzard as we reached Mohawk Lake above timberline. As we headed back down the mountain we heard thunder and were pelted by hail as we hurried for the parking area. (We had dressed in layers and so were not dismayed by the cornucopia of weather that mother nature offered.) When we got back 'home' I took this photo above from the deck which shows the powder sugar topping that had dusted the peaks and more clouds portending the heavier weather that moved in over night. If you click on the photo you can see the ski trails.

This is the sunny view that greeted us the second day after a night of rains at our lower altitude and snow at the mountain tops. Most of this snow had melted by the end of the day, so I was glad to have captured it.

Evidence of Success

In the waning days of this past summer, I had been waiting for a visit from my son one long afternoon and for the third time in as many quarter hours went to the front door to look out to see if I could spot him coming down the driveway. The view was empty, the same as before. I opened the door anyway almost as if this action would encourage his arrival and something made me pause on the the threshold before closing the door. I didn't see or hear anything specific or even unusual, but there was a feeling I got that something was different or out of place. It was as if the air has been vacuumed away from the front of the house. I cannot explain it, but I really felt the change.

My first thought was that something was being very still and trying to hide in fear near the garden or beneath the leaves of the flowers. I scanned the front yard for an animal in the garden and scanned the outside of the fence for deer, but saw no movement or odd shape.

I gently stepped further onto my porch and just at that very second a large adult bald eagle flew across my front yard only twenty feet in the air and just 10 yards in front of me. He was gliding slowly and smoothly into the trees in the ravine on the other side. I caught my breath as I watched him disappear into the leaves in total silence. It was as if he was a ghost or a shadow of a great bird.

In the mid-1800's eagle watching was common in this area. Hunting, pesticides and habitat destruction had resulted in the loss of most of the bald eagles until decades of restoration work in the mid 1900's was implemented so that these dramatic birds of prey could return to safe roosting sites. If bald eagles now fly across my front lawn in such a magnificent ballet, I think we are succeeding. (Moment of truth: this photo was taken at another time and in another place.)

Spooky time of the Year

As fall settles into the role of a familiar guest in my front yard my roses are seduced by the cooler air and send forth the best blossoms of the year. They are larger and more fragrant than ever. Yet I need to be very careful if I want to bury my nose in the lovely pink silk beauty.


My zinnias also hide surprises as I lean forward to check out the delicate and lovely yellow centers! Eeek!

My walk back from the dock at sunset also keeps me on my toes as this fellow was hanging just above my head on the path back to the house. Is it Halloween yet?


I decided to share some of the spookiness with my grandkids. I don't need to be the one having all the fun.

Juices Flowing

Just days before this post I am filling a suitcase with layered clothing for my trip, yet, I am feeling full of the creative juices as the air turns crystal clear and crisp fall winds are encouraging me forward. (Well, as most of my readers know, I am back.) I love this time of year. Did I mention that I absolutely LOVE this time of year? Everything is going into a deep long sleep but all are giving out the most beautiful vibes in the process to encourage us to remember their energy and their spirits, and of course I will remember. I will daydream throughout the gray-blue winter days of their warmth and loving spiritual hugs. Their farewells are as passionate and as demanding as the grande divas of opera are in their farewells. It is the lieto fine of this year for me. I am not overly fond of winter and will spend much of my time curled into my chair in front of the fire until early spring with its enigmatic chores. But this fall...right now...I will dance and dance and lift my arms high to honor the moment. (Please click on the photos for some fall art expression.)

Hummmm

I sit on the deck of my house waiting with telephoto in hand to catch those darting and faithful hummingbirds. There are at least three that visit the feeder with increasing regularity as the sun begins to retreat. They will fight with each other rather than eat like buddies and usually the weaker one has to leave for a time until the top bird gets his fill. I have seen them dart and chase each other for quite sometime at sunset before one of them wins and is allowed to drink.

This time I have decided to wear dark colors and sit very still in the deck chair as prior attempts at photographing these flirts have been met with gray blurs. The mosquitoes are biting and it is hard to sit still and wait for the buzzing hum of the bird to alert me. My arms are getting fatigued from holding the focus and my camera battery is waning. I have seen such lovely photos of these birds including photos with them landing on people's arms on other blogs. Why are my hummers so very timid?

Years go while birding on a boat on a river in Belize we came across a hummingbird spinning like a top on the calm surface of the water. Our guide motored closer and we scooped up the hummer who was so much smaller than I ever thought. He weighed nothing in my hand...seeming less than the composite of his feathers. We returned him to land but he was very weak and landed in nearby grasses, perhaps to die anyway, but at least knowing someone cared.

Suddenly I hear the hum just behind my head, then to the right and then to the left behind my field of vision. I squelch the strong desire to turn and look. He has discovered my presence and is actually checking me out before he heads to the feeder. The first time he disappears back into the woods, but the second time he becomes braver and flies over my head and onto the feeder nestled in the moonflower vine at the other side of the deck.

He actually sits on the feeder but each sound of the click of my camera causes him to rise and hover inches above the feeder anticipating any danger. Then back to sitting on the feeder and another click and he hovers. This goes on for some time before I have too many photos to download with ease and I return to the house to see what I have captured. They are far, far less than I had hoped in terms of clarity and I have resized some that I have sharpened to post here. Although hardly good photos, you can click on them to see the few late travelers who visit my deck in the afternoons as winter pushes forward.

A Very Impressive Weed

Eupatorium fistulosum

This plant found in a moist field in West Virginia has been given the common names of Joe Pye Weed, Trumpetweed, Queen of the Meadow, and Purple Thoroughwort among other things. The name Joe Pye Weed probably came from the name of an Algonquin native (not named Joe) that used the weed to treat various illnesses including typhus. It is a perennial that can get 10 feet tall and this clump was about 6-7 feet high. It is considered a weed by farmers. The height and the lovely deep rose color caught my attention as we were driving by on our misty, rainy day. It is related to the sunflower but the flowers themselves are hard to identify and what you see as they mature is lots of pink feathery fuzz. Butterflies love them. I used to have a wild plant at my other house. Maybe I will try to find some room for one here. (Click on photo for better view.)

The Lunch Crowd

"I tell ya, Fred, I am gonna stop eating at this place for lunch. It is gettin' to be just too darn popular!"

More RED

Mid-August begins the change of colors in the high mountains of West Virgnia and these photos were taken August 19 in the Canaan Valley area. They are all the rich reds that nature can throw at you and if you are redesigning a room for fall, these hues should be very helpful. Mother Nature never seems to get it wrong in terms of color combinations or saturation levels. The photos have been reduced in size, but clicking on some of them will enlarge them somewhat. I think they are smile inducing even in this smaller size.

(Still very far away and enjoying 33 degree mornings.)

Red Sally

Pseudotriton ruber

From my research it appears that this red salamander is found throughout the Eastern United States. It lives near springs and swampy areas. This little delight was in the middle of our hiking path (a utility road) just above the the Blackwater River and I was amazed when I really saw it. It was like a lovely jewel that someone had dropped on the path.

There was a small ditch filled with water from several mountain springs on the uphill side of the trail and that side was also covered with deep green and lime green mosses and ferns growing lushly to accompany the lyrical sound of the gurgling water. He was only 2.5 inches in length and initially I mistook him for one of the new maple leaves that were starting to fall in the Canaan Valley mountains. It was the alert observation of my husband that brought our hike to an abrupt halt for photos and insured we would not step on him/her. He lay very still much like some of the wild snakes I have encountered. I am sure he was thinking "I am a red leaf. Move on. Please, just move on!" which after a few camera clicks, we did. This red color has not been enhanced or photoshopped although I did do some sharpening of the photo. Amasingly, this is the true color. I think he/she is a young specimen as the spots are supposed to blend into the back when they are mature. (Click on photo for a slightly closer look.)

Even though I am not here I look forward to any comments on this when I return. I love comments!

Youth is Wasted on the Young

Fledgling cardinal photos taken in early August.

Farewell to the Fat Lady

Just when I think that I can no longer stand the heat and pulsing humid breath of summer in my face, just when I can no longer bear the light of the sun washing everything bright white, summer begins its departure. I have changed my rhythm to moving very slowly or at least, determinedly, toward whatever destination awaits in the shade where the air does not feel as though it is pushing on me like a wet blanket smothering whatever initiative I had before I left the house. I have portioned my chores into smaller units and no longer feel that I must weed each and every flower bed. The flowers are bending low from heavy rains or turning to rust or just forming heavy seed pods. The goldfinch have eaten most of the zinnias to bristly heads. The butterflies are the only ones who continue to dance like feathers across the lawn. Perhaps it is because they know how short their life is.

The garden holds the fall colors of red and yellow tomatoes and hot peppers and spaghetti squash and beans. The greens are gray and tired or turning to parchment beige. The insects no longer sing happy rhythms. They buzz with intensity like burning saws as though they were beginning the cutting of firewood for the cold nights ahead. All sound is dizzy percussion.

And then it happens. When I wipe my glistening brow as I pause from the harvest and look up at the tree tops and the sky, I notice something so slightly different that I cannot identify what it is. The angle of the sun has changed, the color of the sky is a different blue, and the high tops of the tulip trees begin to fan a cool breeze my way tossing a golden leaf here and there in the process. The cooler air kisses my hot forehead. I now realize that it is summer that has packed her heavy trunk and is dragging it away up the driveway followed by the sound of dried leaves in the wind. Suddenly I miss her and wish she would stay just a little longer.