Hallow's Eve

My Halloween Owl.

Sandy did not scare my electricity away and brought down only one tree, thus far.  Waiting  for the sunrise to see any damages.  Boy is it COLD outside!  Sandy is on her way north causing levees or dams to break, fires to burn and awesome blizzards.   No matter how many wars man creates, Mother Nature always shows who is really the boss.

Careful Photography

Driving along the road in the Shenandoah National Park this autumn there were many opportunities for photographic moments.  I eventually filled my memory card with an abundance of mountainsides and landscapes with distant vistas and I had to look elsewhere for creative vision.  I saw this lovely bed of dying ferns and stopped to take a photo.

Since this was a small hill at the side of the highway, I did not have to get too low to get the angle I wanted.  I hate giving others a good laugh as I try to pull myself up from the ground.  Many times photographers have to get down and dirty to create new angles in their photography. This time I only had to look up the hill at the side of the road to get the low angle that I wanted.

Later in the day I had to squat a little lower to get these sumac flower heads which are always reliable in fall when looking for red colors. Next I got down on my knees in the wet woods at Gettysburg battlefield to get the photo below.

But be careful...in spite of its dramatic beauty it is dangerous...this is poison ivy. I have to be even more careful and be sure to look up now and again because there are other dangers along the roadside.

Yes, it is blurry because I was having trouble concentrating.

Change of Tenant

You did not ask but I will share. Perhaps some of my visitors remember the soap opera of Fred and Ethel, the osprey pair that built the nest shown in the photo above this summer.  I watched Ethel, who for some reason seemed the more experienced, seduce Fred into the role of fatherhood. Her dance was persistent because he was somewhat dense for a while. Eventually he got the hang of things. 

I never knew whether an egg or two had been laid because the nest is so high, but Ethel did sit patiently throughout the unusually hot summer while Fred brought her breakfast and dinner.  He guarded the nest while she flew to a nearby tree to eat the raw fish he gave her.  Summer came and went without a single hatching of a new osprey.

Eventually they just used the nest as a meet up place to watch the sun set. Then in early October she left for her vacation down south.  He waited a week or so longer sitting in the snag above the nest in the late afternoons.  I could see his solitary silhouette each evening while I made dinner.  Finally, he also began his journey down south.

Today the blue heron, that sometimes argued with them, claims this nest as his perch most mornings and quite a few afternoons.  He is more mellow when I walk down to the dock and allows me a few quick photos before taking off.  

He may stay the winter and it will be interesting watching to see the osprey reclaim their home in spring from this big guy.

Letter From Home

I was late getting home because I stopped on the way to sit by the river today.  Remember those short fall days when sunlight spilled the color of the leaves across the blue glass surface?  The small brown trout waited in that hole beyond the maple root where the children always looked for them.  Trout at peace with the world because the water was now cold and refreshing and  determined children were now in school.  

I sat on "our" bench.  The place where you first touched my hand as I watched the breeze and sunlight play with the top of your hair and realized that you did have a few freckles.  We were at peace with the world back then as well, not looking forward or back but enjoying the moment.

The woods are damp from last night's rain and the pine smells sharp when mixed with the mustiness of the first fallen leaves.  The sun crosses my body in a warm caress and I loosen the green sweater that you said you liked because it brought out the red in my hair.  I wear it often these days.  

I bid goodbye to one more day.  Its end bringing you closer to home when we can sit here together once again.

Bumbling

I have attracted hundreds of bumble bees to my yard this summer.  Lots of other bees and pollinators as well, although very few honey bees.  Our honey bees come from Europe originally, and perhaps our diet is just too rich for them because they are disappearing like snowflakes on a late spring day.  Beekeepers are studying their demise with much concern.

Click on photos for close-ups.

Many of the fat bumblers are still lingering as fall arrives to catch nectar from the last of the cosmos, zinnias, celosia, lavender, sage and their real favorite, a variegated "cat mint" shrub.  Some, just like us, wear their groceries on their hips.

They no longer buzz noisily as I pass and their darting is more like heavy floating from blossom to blossom.  They actually look a little drunk when in reality they are just cold.  

In the early colder mornings as I pass they rest covered in dew, comatose on the blossoms.  I think they look as if some craft person has stuck them there for decoration.  The bumblers are different in appearance if you are not afraid to look closely.  Some dressed in shiny black bottoms and others a yellow furry coat all around.

And some I have discovered have attitude!

Ducks in Action

My husband was watching this fellow through the binoculars getting ready to jump to the dock and join his mate.  They like this dock because my neighbor has a leaky hose and thus the fresh water is available to them.  I tried to catch the jump as he made it, but because he was on the other side you don't get the full effect.  Just a wing flap and he has made it.  Below in a grainy photo due to the dark time of day, the male Mallard seems to be spinning some one-liners to the female...no?  Come here often?  Can I help you with that leaky nozzle?  Did you just get in from a migration?  (As always you can click on the photo for a close-up via Blogger.)

And finally, above is a Mallard that I scared (and he scared me) from under my dock when I went down to watch the sunset that same evening.  He jumped into the water from beneath my dock where he was sitting on a float.  It is not the best focus but I wanted to share the water "angel" he made.

Golden Hours

Those golden hours come ever sooner each day. I used to have time to eat a slow dinner and then slip on sandals and saunter down to the water to catch a sunset. Now the dinner is hurried through or even interrupted and the saunter becomes a careful old lady quick trot with camera clutched to my side.  I feel the cold dusting of raindrops as I bump the salt bush while my attention is on the soft muddy sand or sharp gravel.

Sometimes I get there early enough to see the mallards sorting their spaces for the night and pausing for food at the edge of the grasses.  There is one little one that was slow to hatch this summer and is behind in growing before winter.  The others seem to be paying special attention to it.  Other times my trot is too quick and noisy and interrupts deer in the nearby woods and startles the lazy squirrel from his tummy stuffing repast of fallen acorns and forces the mallards to hide from my camera on the far side of the river.

But the eventual "Goodbye" slows me down and makes me breathe deeper and I forget any food that was left to cool on the dinner plate.

Tropicale

So, what does this look like to you? The exotic fur of some animal? The beginning of a new species? The skin of a tropical reptile?  Go ahead and touch it...

Does this photo help?

It is actually the reward of a well tended flower bed top dressed with some early summer compost and nurtured by a long hot summer. This small grove of papaya trees from the seeds of our breakfast discard was left whimsically by my husband as a gardening experiment when he discovered it a few months ago. 

It appears that summer, which is now fall, will not be long enough to let the flowers on this tree set and bear fruit. Nights are now cooler dropping into the 60's and by November they will be quite cold into the 40's and at that time these trees will die and have to be recycled once again back into the compost bin. We do tease the exotic thought that, had we nurtured the seeds from our spring breakfast and got them going inside in early March, we might actually have been able to harvest some papaya from this tropical forest this year!

Quiet

So quiet

I can hear the trees breathe

I can hear the fish move the water

I can hear the call of something wild

I can hear autumn's loving whisper

I can hear the sun kiss the water

Nothing wrong with my hearing.

The Gift

Celosia or Cockscomb

Laced in a ribbon of perfection was this gift of unbelievable proportion that can only be appreciated by those who have been given so many gifts in their gray-haired days and this afternoon it fell in my lap.  Reading a P.D. James mystery, which requires some work on my part as my short term memory is challenged with the introduction of each new but well-described character, I took a glass of white wine out on the deck with the book in hand and fell into the chair sighing as I leaned back in the dappled shade of a late autumn afternoon.  Chores were done and party plans for a volunteer who was departing had been completed.

As I rested my head, I looked high in the clear blue sky directly above and saw between the dance of still-green leaves two osprey playing in sweeping lazy circles, perhaps getting into a Zen mood for their long journey south in the coming weeks.  The angle of the sun caught the soft snowy white of the underside of their wings with each circle they made.  Their dance had been well rehearsed in years before and it was a synchronized ballet of love and friendship as the steady breezes of changing weather caressed their backs and lifted them higher.

I turned back to my book, but soon was distracted by three red-naped flickers whose rusty call demanded my attention.  They were thrilled at the full larder in some dead tree limbs high above or perhaps they were just joyful at the perfect weather that had finally arrived after a hot summer.  They hopped from tree top to tree top in noisy joy acting like teenagers given an early break from school.

Before I could return to the story of the novelist who had hung himself (or was it actually murder?) the ducks in the river started laughing like old men as if some dirty joke had been told.  Their flat quacking laughter carried all the way up the river.  I could just see the Vs cutting the surface of the green water through the tree trunks as they moved back and forth calling names and laughing.

The final gift on this precious afternoon was the lilting song of the common house wren perching on the snag of a nearby tree to celebrate sunset.  The call was so pure and sweet and phenomenal because it came forth in such silver song from such a small brown bird.

Who needs pearls, rare orchids or Swiss chocolate when my neighbors provide this talent for free?

Long Journeys Begin with the First Whup.

I am always amazed at the combination of strength and beauty in birds. Some, like pigeons used bits of iron in their heads and shoulders to determine direction from the magnetic poles of the earth. Others must line the stars and moon and the sun in some magical mapping strategy, because they return to almost the same resting places when going on their thousands of miles migratory journey twice a year. Hundreds of millions of birds make the 600-mile non-stop trip across the Gulf, or take the longer route around it twice each year.  The longest trips are more than 24,000 miles round trip each year!  Almost half the birds in the United States are migratory species.  Birds fly an average of 15-45 miles per hour, making me now feel guilty that I do not get off the couch more.

These feathered athletes need places to stopover for rest and refreshment, and it is amazing at how these places are within yards of the place they stopped the year before.  Therefore specific habitat such as forests of maritime live oak and pine that rim the Gulf are crucial for their survival, as are undisturbed water ponds and marshes.  And some birds like Osprey split up for the winter months down south taking separate vacations and then reunite successfully months later.

I was thinking of this when I saw several species of birds  on Aruba.  They have over 200 species and  I saw only a few.  My photos are not great as I was with family and did not want to hold people up while I diddled and dabbled.  Many were shot from the open window of the car!  But you may enjoy the Olympian fliers of Aruba.

Desert Islands

My recent escape was to the desert island of Aruba.  Temperatures were about 90F with a constant trade wind blowing across the whole island.  Why would I leave the beautiful fall in my woods for such an experience?.  I had 'points' that were about to expire and that made the condo FREE!!  It was the low tourist season for them and that meant no waits in line at any restaurants, no re-scheduling of any tours, beaches that were not crowded and a swimming pool that might have only one other family using it at the same time as we did.  The weather was hot, but the shade was just fine.

Their desert is exotic and full of a quiet beauty that I do not see where I live.  I even saw small succulent flowers blooming in the valleys between rocks and squat barrel cactus waiting to trip me.  I did not see the rattlesnakes or boa constrictors that live there.  I did see several lovely birds which I will post for your edification later.

One side of the island  has crashing beaches with waves tossed on sands by the trade winds.  The rocky shores are worn coral and volcanic rock along a line that sometimes becomes caves.  This side of the island has enough wind to power their wind farm and their wind surfers.

The tourist side of the island with low-rise and high-rise hotels has beautiful calm waters and extensive beaches with rocky outpatches for snorkeling and watching dozens of species of fish and sea creatures and sipping island drinks while watching the best sunsets!

Those are a few of the reasons that I went.

The First of the Aliens

It sneaks around corners and into pathways that you had forgotten were there.  Because it is so exquisitely erotic and such a nuanced change, you are forgiven if you forget how it heralds the cooler weather that will be followed by the colder weather that numbs the toes.  Just when you have lost your heart to this brilliant tease and promised way too much to get it to linger longer, the lovely season will move on and disappear into a crisp gray landscape for months and months, until your heart has fully healed. 
The first brave height-challenged agarics emerge from the decay of the end of summer and cause you to pause intrigued, wondering if indeed fairies do dance beneath their shelter under an autumn moon.

This is followed by the early show-offs who are not afraid to paint themselves red and yellow and then strip away each leaf in a slow seductive dance.  Why does this season seem so short?  Why is it so time-challenged?  

This tree in the photo above that grows down by the water and which my husband calls a 'wildplum' (which is a misnomer I am afraid), is the first to begin the flirtation this month.  

Perfume

Flying Cats

I am barefoot on the dew fresh lawn, always barefoot these days in spite of the times a piece of wood or small edge pokes my foot.  The morning air is cool at last, even though the air feels like a wet-shower filled bathroom.  I am closing in with my little hand-held camera on some butterflies that are landing on glistening flower heads in search of the earliest nectar.  Last night's two inches of rain has kept everyone still until the mid-morning sun finally peaks through gray clouds and surprises with very warm rays on the shoulders and arms.

Just behind my head I hear the purr of a cat or perhaps it is a small kitten in the throes of some extreme pleasure.  But since I do not own any cats and since I know that cats do not fly, I turn ever so slowly in the direction in question.  At an odd angle with my head, I capture this hummer as he looks for the zinnias that now have wreathes of those yellow star blossoms that convey the sugar.  This pink zinnia will provide no reward.

I am a tree.  I do not move except to push the camera which makes a tiny click.  She suspects something, but is not sure why the tree is so strangely shaped.  She lingers every so briefly, before flying to the bee balm in the bed by the sugar maple.

Since she filled my heart I feel creative and  go back inside and add some magic (photoshop) to a photo of an old beaver pond I took last spring.

Summer's End

Weather has broken which means the fat lady is packing her ancient dusty trunk with overheated memories and planning on heading south where she can lounge by the swimming pool for a few months while sipping something cool and intoxicating and telling tall tales to anyone who will sit by her side and listen.  Each year when I think she is too much of a personality to handle, I also find that I regret the departure of her in-your-face attitude.  I find I miss that heavy perfume she insists on wearing and the multi-colored scarfs that she drapes here and there.  So go read the old post above, and then come back and enjoy the butterfly parade.

Not a native but taken in the museum butterfly arboretum.

The Woodland Witch

There is this crazy lady that lives in my woodland, and open minded as I try to be, she sometimes scares me.  She could be classified as a tree-hugger by more moderate environmentalists and perhaps as a witch by those less kind and with a younger more myopic view of life.  Me?  I just tolerate her.  I don't want to drive her further over the edge as I must interact with her fairly often.  This particular story involved her herb garden.

The new morphing on her part is that she now thinks she is one with the woods.  She has been observing it so many years that talking to the birds and squirrels is pretty normal for her.  But last week she decided to be a savior.  She had noticed that her parsley was being eaten by caterpillars.  These were probably future black swallowtails as these tend to favor parsley and fennel, both of which are in the Woodland Witches garden.  They were doing a number on the leaves for a few days, but when she went out to water her herbs, she noticed that most of the little buggers were gone.  You would probably look on this as a good omen, the demise of predatory insects without the use of any pesticides.  We should all be so blessed.

It seems a discussion ensued (with herself which tells you she really is a witch) and it became clear that the many birds that live in her yard were eating the little caterpillars as fast as they grew.  Oddly, she saw this as a predicament!  Her solution was to take the largest caterpillar and bring it inside her home and house it in a small glass mixing bowl to protect it from the birds.  I am not making this up!  She would clean the bowl daily of poop and then add a new parsley sprig as the little green worm-like creature got bigger every day, which, of course, it did almost before ones eyes.  I cannot begin to describe the odor that such an odd little green worm-like creature emits as he is being moved from his house for cleaning!  Only a witch would tolerate this!

Eventually it seemed to go into a stupor.  The Woodland Witch had read an article about these creatures being like Chimeras and re-inventing themselves as something so totally different that it could be considered a form of re-incarnation by some.  When the caterpillar climbed to the top of a twig she had placed against the glass he spun just a few silk threads around his chubby waist and seemed to throw back his head and hang himself in despair.  But instead of death he morphed into the loveliest green silk chrysalis as any 5th grader could tell you.

Our witch lady took him outside and carefully placed the twig in the shelter of the front porch and far from any predators.  You may be able to see it just above the sign in the photo below. She was eager to see this Chimera come out of the chrysalis after the magic spell had been completed.

Of course this story does not end here because she looked carefully and did find one more of these caterpillars and now is daily cleaning the home and feeding the stomach of a second tenant!  I do not need to tell you the name of this crazy old-lady witch...do I?  But I will show you the results of the magic.