tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56969505104662551682024-03-05T08:32:52.636-08:00TrilliumTrilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-82242201033093339102014-11-10T07:42:00.000-08:002014-11-10T07:42:03.359-08:00Pine Seed Saga
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When I'm pining for a naturalist
adventure, I don't jet to an exotic locale, I zoom in for a closer look at a
common animal or plant. As naturalist E.O. Wilson observed, “A lifetime can be
spent in a Magellanic voyage around the trunk of a single tree.”</div>
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Recently,
I collected a cone from beneath a neighborhood grove of Eastern White Pine (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pinus strobus</i>)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>Tagged the Sequoia of the east, this species can live more than
450 years and achieve heights of over 150 feet. Tall, straight, and lightweight,
the trunks of White Pine were once in great demand for the masts of sailing
ships. </div>
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Vast
virgin stands were decimated, but White Pine has been widely replanted for lumber,
windbreaks and privacy screening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
tree also provides a variety of wildlife with food and cover. Bald eagles often
choose a white pine's lofty crown for their nest. </div>
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Pine
needles grow in bundles called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fasicles</i>.
White Pine is the only native eastern pine with five-needled fasicles equating
to the five letters of its name. A mature White Pine cone is also distinctive,
usually between 3 and 6 inches long and one to two inches thick, with a long
slender <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">peduncle</i>, or stem. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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In
all my casual encounters with pine cones, I realized I had never seen a pine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seed</i> and wasn't even sure exactly what
to look for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My cone's scales arched
dramatically outward from the central axis, but at first glance I saw nothing
resembling a seed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried covering the
cone with a dish towel and twisting back and forth with both hands.</div>
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The seeds that dropped out were suprisingly delicate--each
consisted of a translucent wing about 3/4 of an inch long narrowing to a tiny
brown pellet, about the size of broken pencil point. Viewed under my dissecting microscope, the surface of the wing suggested
the hide of some fantastic animal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iridescent
striations incorporating loops and whorls ran its length, continuing over the almond-shaped
structure that enclosed the seed. </div>
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Using an instrument, I was able to halve the miniscule seed to
view the interior. Within was a soft white meaty substance surrounding a
yellowish inner core. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For comparison, I
sliced open a much larger pine "nut" (the seed of the Pinon Pine, a
western species) and saw the same arrangement but in more detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The core resembled a sturdy trunk with short
appendages on one end. </div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">White Pines, like
all conifers, produce both male and female cones. The male cones look like miniature
corn cobs,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and grow in upright bunches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wither and fall off the tree after releasing
clouds of golden pollen between April and June. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">This wasteful
abundance is necessary since pine pollination is dependent on the wind, unaided
by bees or other creatures. </span>Each pollen grain has an ear-like parachute
on either side to increase the odds of it reaching its destination: the ovule
within the scales of a female cone.</div>
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Immature female cones are also quite small and usually go unnoticed as they emerge on the higher
branches. Their tender green scales part to receive the pollen, ideally from a
neighboring tree. Each scale then closes to develop a
pair of seeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By early fall of the
second year after pollination, the cone has enlarged to become the brown, woody
object with which we are familiar. The seeds are ripe but the scales reopen to
release the seeds only when conditions are dry.</div>
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With a good breeze in an open landscape, the propeller-like wings
can lift and spin the seeds up to 700 feet from the parent tree. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each seed carries a miniature seedling, an
embryo with needles, roots and stem, nestled within a supply of nutrients for
initial growth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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By the time a female cone drops from the tree, most of the
seeds have already fallen or blown away. Gray squirrels, mice and voles also aid
in dispersal when they cache pine seeds and fail to consume them all.</div>
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Pines--like cedars, hemlocks, spruces and most other familiar evergreens--are
conifers (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cone bearers</i>). Conifers descend
from the 300 million year-old lineage of non-fruiting plants, classified as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gymnosperms</i> (meaning naked seeds). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gymnosperms have survived geologic upheavals,
climate change, major extinction events, and the formidable competition of the
angiosperms, the flowering plants. <br />
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Today's conifer families are ancient--all had evolved by the
end of the Jurassic 150 million years ago. When dinosaurs reigned, conifers dominated
the plant world. </div>
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Paleobotanist Andrew Leslie of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Yale</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
studying the fossil record, determined that female cones first bulked up during
this period of co-existence. <br />
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Leslie theorizes that this adaptation was a response to the
immense appetites of herbivorous long-necked sauropods such as Diplodicus (90
feet long). Other scientists point out that the rise of small mammals, birds
and even insects may have had an influence. </div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I will never look
at a pine cone the same way again. </span></div>
Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-10123050823535381052014-11-10T07:36:00.000-08:002014-11-10T07:36:40.153-08:00Winter Survival Secrets
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The following appeared in the January 2014 issue of Jefferson County Observer (WV).</div>
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Winter Survival Secrets</div>
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This season is a life-or-death challenge for local wildlife.
Some species escape the cold and deprivation via migration, but the majority who
live here must weather in place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
strategies of warm-blooded mammals and birds contrast with those of reptiles,
amphibians and insects who can't internally regulate their temperatures But all
have intrigued generations of naturalists. Grab your coat and join me on a
search for some animal survival secrets.</div>
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The silhouette of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">drey</i>
is easy to see high in the bare branches of that black walnut tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In early fall, a gray squirrel gnawed off slender
twigs and vines with green leaves still attached. She wedged these materials
between the branches, weaving them into a rough sphere with a hollow center.
She lined the interior with soft materials such as pine needles, grass and moss.
Squirrels mate twice a year and give birth in June and January, so its possible
that two or three squirrel pups are nestled inside with their mother. Gray squirrels
do not hibernate--they hole up during the worst days of winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dreys provide shelter in landscapes where
tree cavities are scarce.</div>
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In the grassy bank next to the meadow, we can see the
entrance to the burrow of one of our resident groundhogs. Also known as a
woodchuck or whistle pig, ground hogs are true hibernators. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: #232323;">A groundhog binges
all summer, then enters an extended period of lethargy while living off its fat
stores. Its heartbeat slows from 80 beats per minute to less than 5, and its
temperature can drop to as low as 38 degrees Fahrenheit. In February or March,
it will reappear with a much slimmer figure. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #232323;"> </span></div>
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Here in this overgrown shrubbery is an abandoned bald-faced
hornet nest that appears to be constructed of papier-mâché. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hornets are a predatory social wasp. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the warm months, a single hornet queen
and her female workers fashioned the nest from wood pulp mixed with their saliva.
When temperatures started to cool, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the
colony produced fertile males and females. After mating, only the fertilized
females survived, the rest of the colony died. </div>
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These new queens sought refuge in small crevices--perhaps
beneath the bark of a rotting log or under the siding of a shed. A substance in their bodies
called glycerol will help them resist freezing. When warm temperatures return, the
queens will revive from their state of dormancy, seek out new sites to colonize
and begin another season of nest building. The multiple layers of this old nest
now provide a winter home for other insects and spiders.</div>
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Certain plants are associated with the reproductive cycles
of particular species of butterflies. A survey of what was growing here gives
clues to the presence of caterpillars in a suspended phase of development known
as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">diapause</i>. After last season's
violets wilted and died, an adult female Fritillary butterfly purposefully laid
eggs in this shady spot. The larvae hatched and burrowed into the earth. When
the new violet plants emerge, the caterpillars will awake to feed and continue
their life cycle. </div>
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When in blossom, the pollinator garden was alive with scores
of nectaring butterflies. Today withered flower stalks stand still and silent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is good that their remains are left undisturbed.
Tiny Silvery Checkerspot caterpillars may be hibernating at the base of the
coneflowers and <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Pearl Crescent</st1:address></st1:street>
larvae may be sleeping at the feet of the asters. Not all overwintering butterfly
larvae hunker down in the soil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
example, the Red Spotted Purple larva stays under wraps by rolling itself into
a leaf of its host plant, the willow. We might be able to find some of these
mini cigar-shapes down by the pond.</div>
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We find the pond rimmed with ice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the most frigid winter, the<span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> bottom of the pond is
unlikely to freeze. The pond's depth is below the frost line. As water
approaches 32 degrees Fahrenheit, instead of becoming more dense and sinking to
the bottom, it expands and rises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
property of water provides an advantage to aquatic turtles and frogs.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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Painted turtles who lolled in the sun here several months
ago are now submerged in the mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
have slowed their body processes to where they can exist on the smallest amount
of oxygen or even survive periods of no oxygen at all. Since it is impossible
to breathe through their lungs while underwater, the turtles have evolved the
ability to take in oxygen from the water through blood vessels in the throat
and special tissues near the tail. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The
bullfrogs that live here are also submerged for the duration but obtain oxygen
from the water through their skin. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They bury
themselves only partially or simply lie on top of the mud. From time to time
they stretch their legs and swim about in slow motion. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">What about the
land frogs and toads?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them, like
the American Toad, can burrow deep into the ground, evading the most deadly
temperatures. Other species that lack such digging ability, must settle for
whatever crevices they can find or crawl beneath the leaf litter. These are
inferior shelters when the mercury plummets. Somewhere nearby may be a
partially frozen Wood Frog, no longer breathing, its heart stilled. If we
unearthed its hiding place, it would appear dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The frog's vital organs resist freezing due
to a high concentration of glucose. When this cold spell is over, the frog's
frozen portions will thaw, and its heart and lungs resume activity.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The wind is
picking up--time to think of our own survival. Let's gather a few sticks from
the woodpile on our way back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we
rattle the tarp, we hear the skittering of a field mouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By removing a few layers of wood, we can take
inventory of its nest materials: grass, wood chips, bits of fur--and surprisingly,
scraps from a cast-off snake skin. The stacked wood creates a honeycomb of insulated
compartments ideal for small inhabitants. Perhaps the snake that preys upon the
mouse and her kin also chose this site for its winter refuge chamber or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hibernaculum.</i> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">There is no
activity at the bird feeders this evening. The Tufted Titmouse has fed well today
on the black oil sunflower seeds and has found a miniscule pocket of shelter somewhere.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The abundant calories will fuel its body
heat through the dark hours. There can be extra warmth in numbers--perhaps
several of the birds have jammed their bodies together in one tiny space. If
you see a Titmouse with a crooked tail on an icy morning, it tells of a cramped
but effective sleeping arrangement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
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Our walk is at its end but has only begun to scratch the
surface of winter survival secrets. As night falls, snow drifts down, adding a blanket
of protection to all the living things that slumber beneath. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></div>
Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-31855285993148374142011-08-22T20:09:00.000-07:002011-08-22T20:20:06.571-07:00Hiding in Plain Sight<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITXisrhp4rZTfOT_UMe38_Wvt2FKmBdO7n3TJh77DEoqSu35WpG74bdpEqh8mH1z8ZA3R54IPmLRmmJFjMayhgtKnNUAfaqZyIVowMvxjkn5RBpveQL5DT9k9CZRoXjHaT_pznH4dKko/s1600/Luna+Emerge+III.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643883619462026370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITXisrhp4rZTfOT_UMe38_Wvt2FKmBdO7n3TJh77DEoqSu35WpG74bdpEqh8mH1z8ZA3R54IPmLRmmJFjMayhgtKnNUAfaqZyIVowMvxjkn5RBpveQL5DT9k9CZRoXjHaT_pznH4dKko/s400/Luna+Emerge+III.jpg" /></a>I attended the 50th Annual Blackwater Falls Wildflower Pilgrimage in early May, near Davis West Virginia. Atop Smith Mountain a group of participants came upon this newly emerged Luna Moth while searching for rare native plants.
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<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0atFKrCgIyuK3GXV-NXM_BC7iM7faYxmR0jXXxM902ntBjCw9xV36OYwx8fP-aCsa7CHHuQQmICUXLICTzmzD5Kq6P02M71ZqjQpsH4G3jZ2DfdfbNeBgd5kGW2-aQKjbDlzsY3s1IE/s1600/Luna+Emerge+II.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643883611650316450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0atFKrCgIyuK3GXV-NXM_BC7iM7faYxmR0jXXxM902ntBjCw9xV36OYwx8fP-aCsa7CHHuQQmICUXLICTzmzD5Kq6P02M71ZqjQpsH4G3jZ2DfdfbNeBgd5kGW2-aQKjbDlzsY3s1IE/s400/Luna+Emerge+II.jpg" /></a> Its wings drooped and its belly was swollen with fluid. Gradually the fluid was pumping into the wings to stiffen them for flight. But meanwhile, the moth was extremely vulnerable.
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<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmsRItZc9_V1SPfTfmVZl5xmRpJhjTwJQ2T8TCC5XhlZYDEpbysS35BxYBZsb-kc40ifg9gtjBRtTqgKfX9MlncPEQK0gZN0KnbtNKmI9CYehM2uMqV0rL94yO2sr9cj4VA4MC72jFyk/s1600/Luna+Moth+Wings.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643883613739679426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmsRItZc9_V1SPfTfmVZl5xmRpJhjTwJQ2T8TCC5XhlZYDEpbysS35BxYBZsb-kc40ifg9gtjBRtTqgKfX9MlncPEQK0gZN0KnbtNKmI9CYehM2uMqV0rL94yO2sr9cj4VA4MC72jFyk/s400/Luna+Moth+Wings.jpg" /></a>
<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUg_RoN8iVTr80y9fnPf9GgZ8B584OJfT_J3EawY11Kq11iYxnftOO32uuT1PfYDz5D5U6VoDA2IltSwnZ2GLBlg4XGhQGFI5yvhEiuATv4S7lFgUeA97GNWbIyZE2zk9rxX11lByJxnQ/s1600/Luna+Moth+Belly.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643883610607375650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUg_RoN8iVTr80y9fnPf9GgZ8B584OJfT_J3EawY11Kq11iYxnftOO32uuT1PfYDz5D5U6VoDA2IltSwnZ2GLBlg4XGhQGFI5yvhEiuATv4S7lFgUeA97GNWbIyZE2zk9rxX11lByJxnQ/s400/Luna+Moth+Belly.jpg" /></a> I marveled at the patterns, colors and textures as it grasped the end of the twigs fallen from the tree above. Suddenly my trance was interrupted by a beeping car horn. All the other participants had returned to their cars and were awaiting me!
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<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKnkj-AmOb053pa-hluT7DE48vctCSR9coXJivFaopuY6ureBomUBo5quGK80l-UHEsVHmle_EPi7_ypgbY5f4on0e5FRi-6l_2EBAQE6HDKqNApKXLHY5gFKPjoYKEFkwgSLiXxGX6I/s1600/Luna+Camouflage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643883578189240130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKnkj-AmOb053pa-hluT7DE48vctCSR9coXJivFaopuY6ureBomUBo5quGK80l-UHEsVHmle_EPi7_ypgbY5f4on0e5FRi-6l_2EBAQE6HDKqNApKXLHY5gFKPjoYKEFkwgSLiXxGX6I/s400/Luna+Camouflage.jpg" /></a> I rushed to join them, but not before I noticed the spent blossoms and pods littering the ground. The petals were shriveled and the pods covered with a pale green furry down. Their resemblance to the moth, clinging to the twig and twisting in the spring breeze, was remarkable. How did the moth choose this spot and perfectly time its "birth" to mimic this cast off vegetation?
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<br />Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-10614607879964179972011-04-21T05:22:00.000-07:002011-04-21T06:07:20.809-07:00Shangri LaLocal native plant aficionados know of a certain secret place along the C&O Canal that enchants lucky visitors with an unusual diversity of native plants. Some of the plants are rare to Maryland and prefer more northern climes. The gully where these plants grow rests between limestone cliffs facing the river, and due to the undulations of the Potomac, has a northern exposure, which makes for a chilly microclimate. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598015530534216466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4e-cSH1wTGZEy2BS7AxA4b0lRapUSSODD3NwaYRvp-dIp20jRk0s3oF1J_9FORcvXMYEdISgHyFwJwu6LOSuudXr1vSBfSa1SiYvA50moFUhXBogI89zHENzn8I03HSpXNqxK99XDis/s400/03+20+11+043.jpg" /> One of the best times to visit is April through May, to see a breath-taking progression of spring woodland flowers, called ephemerals, for their short-lived and delicate nature. Here is what a friend and I saw on March 20.<br /><br />The first photo is Bloodroot. One of the first spring ephemerals to appear. It's roots when crushed supply a bright red orange fluid and is said to have been used as body paint by Native Americans and as dye by early European immigrants. The bloom emerges clasped by fleshly leaves that protect it from the wind and cold of April until just the right moment when the sun is warm and the air still.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598015536363305426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9Lb_qVweCcF1x6ecdlAe-U6rqleIglTuJaqoX9aiOXMt3-38Xo6QOsUvlaGSMdYC_Ku1GF3nMmB525V1AhhQuQ2DW1TzQqIADlNiiQt4dCzh2kGWTyCGq6OrF8FXREbP4PeDqhmHCW8/s400/03+20+11+046.jpg" /> Dutchman's Breeches, so-called for the resemblance to voluminous pantaloons hanging upside down as if on a clothesline. These flowers are pollinated primarily by bumblebees, since some muscle and size is needed to push through the opening of the flower. The bees sometimes bite through the "ankles" of the breeches to obtain the nectar.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598012323179255074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUeS1fAQB5HyxfN7u3HrqYhTMoUm-Jipsl0diryTiKbl0xjbBiWv-w2fn6HHFFDIQcueP1PuYKCNBxIQe9xrHZ6pvDnRVYlIY7jnE1DDUTPxV-psk3p_UFUvjB74wI96ujPAW8e44zfc/s400/03+20+11+023.jpg" /> Shangri La boasts a variety of ferns including Christmas Fern, Maidenhair Fern, Blunt-lobed Woodsia, Bulbet Fern. One of the most marvelous is Walking Fern. The leaves of the fern are long and thin, extend out in a more or less radial fashion, and the tip of the leaf literally plants itself it a new spot, growing another fern. In this way, it 'walks" over the surface of the mossy rocks where it grows.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598012321290236962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6V5xXzj8haUquV39pCZMqnig3nyYvK8yRbChZf0Z8_cb1ju_CTb2N4qhh1BTMFntfWcKSiwUNeLAY3RflzZWzykzNOB_t_NZIcOBInZMIEqZyTK8TnC2iHTyDqvsxVgmnWforFrbJrAE/s400/03+20+11+017.jpg" /> Adder's Tongue or Trout Lily. Not blooming yet, but there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of these leaves emerging. The common name refers to the spotted appearance and shape of the leaves. In a few weeks I will return to see drooping yellow lilies polka-dotting the forest floor.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598012313318079810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfAG9Z-Twn70ctCnp0cRCc-P6Ry0JMwBKCbU9DqIcyeihYYICg-ZuofjTmgCxWBewwPs1992Il8g9GkNRAnCHIF9UN3B0O9evsPuPG5Gb3r3rbr1A50UgExdDro0XnBwbIhx4wdZBFS4/s400/03+20+11+009.jpg" /><br />Sedum, a dainty succulent.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598012312748950738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxiMwxW_wbXgkvWEwTJpgBgxd6vTAgtI2So-F9cRO9zYFy0CXdgSQouwkOa_hJjh-NZP4GkyojUhGUpcGvikJb-STadahWhO8lFbNASrQZBx-u_KAMeETaeb4_YPjjLIT8X-b-NxFcjo/s400/03+20+11+006.jpg" /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598012308504110274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxlDDql4jdzcXAlA-_OrcwKOvo4RNUeHJOCQYk6uWoIHAFX3KpQvEUWOZNRfIbh_pjvH3X7AqeAmdstrf2stoUIp9UC24XR7bBaMBEVmvQUtJqqU8P8jh9sn4H1znDzN4xOYVICBBlfA/s400/03+20+11+005.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">More Walking Fern. </div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598021261171196482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3c97oIuupPcpEcHGCb4ci_r0ZUXAy_SoLD9fhuTlxPxHQChc466SZqzenrJiGilF5q_iKVvhZywPELfHpsoP8Rg2o_G7cld90eatQA1rhw0kEFzJ-z7EesA9ee4QDjBkTqwO2G11hMY/s400/Mayapple+Emerg.jpg" /> And finally, a newly revealed Mayapple. Its leaves unfurl like the canopy of an umbrella. </div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-25646338250253270362011-04-21T05:06:00.000-07:002011-04-21T05:21:39.275-07:00Salamander Nursery<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06m5KESS7o6WaIg4Sy83WNH5ClT5o81CQpDqJ7u8FtbaIbHHNBALOTF_HwFnMFqY2qeacARSDYwFi3HwExjYnwL4xnpr3RlLGBwKFiqRWC1lQKCGaJpZK5Ytxinn0wbselcKuy9BbOCQ/s1600/03+19+11+061.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598010114475596098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06m5KESS7o6WaIg4Sy83WNH5ClT5o81CQpDqJ7u8FtbaIbHHNBALOTF_HwFnMFqY2qeacARSDYwFi3HwExjYnwL4xnpr3RlLGBwKFiqRWC1lQKCGaJpZK5Ytxinn0wbselcKuy9BbOCQ/s400/03+19+11+061.jpg" /></a>These photos were taken on March 19, 2011 at an old pond situated in the woods at a nearby state park where I'm working as a seasonal naturalist. I have the pleasure of studying the different stages of nature as they occur in the various microclimates and habitats in the park. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598007811078912034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjep5wNpWrkR21QAkWICsBCV9sD5Ovf0HvUmzmOywtjUhagcZOmJrHJrpwLcPBOlvOs372XTLOmk-tijLjFR9wTKcvMHLAY5sZ2MkFbjVrjfQVg08yueyg_rbYC-hruV-SXjMByYCKN2vE/s400/03+19+11+059.jpg" />I had a hunch that salamanders might breed in this old pond as it functions quite like a vernal pool. Sure enough the pond was dotted with slimy globs embedded with black eggs. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598009661816668658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6di9J_BrCd_5bICdZoADlfvIujzjGzXTuM7NhdEPgOArEjajzcnacJtl6-QDWWcmau-AALHXsJ7DIdJVbenvYP7OZ3iKmhrr04eWw1PUdBBSm5itf66mTbUPv5QujQpgjiPqgJiiFFM/s400/03+19+11+064.jpg" /> I wasn't sure if they were frogs or salamanders, but later I found that my photos matched the images of eggs laid by the Spotted Salamander. This is a common salamander, but one who could become endangered as its woodland habitat becomes scarcer due to development and as climate change makes vernal pools dry up.<br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo73b1zgcn07cgCm1wyZdCqOqXzH8F7fF5JdOusIddQux2ZTZb4glevUjMfvmVOpTxbZC5Xt7XJ324zSHH3fEVDojEgqE_mDHffP8hzQ-5NFyGPEZqpBi8eHi_Kb-HjN3KmWxTY1Wu5Ww/s1600/03+19+11+058.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598007560123686450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo73b1zgcn07cgCm1wyZdCqOqXzH8F7fF5JdOusIddQux2ZTZb4glevUjMfvmVOpTxbZC5Xt7XJ324zSHH3fEVDojEgqE_mDHffP8hzQ-5NFyGPEZqpBi8eHi_Kb-HjN3KmWxTY1Wu5Ww/s400/03+19+11+058.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-63973535796073795882010-09-18T12:15:00.000-07:002011-02-25T10:30:04.513-08:00Monarch Miracle<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518338931782199442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuPYz9j43LciezWxCCgf0kPBWfJ1qmd03-eN1l93yTPdezxd0WwXcJ2tG_JqfZMGdoJe2LZxgRLvtZnwwUFdztArp8QL1WEOnmfKGqBCFFPUwMV9gWzfQwbZxcuXj1IAKLbxnVcv_Cgo/s400/08+22+10+035.JPG" />This August I tried hand-raising Monarch caterpillars. So far I've released 3 and have about 4 to go. Some of them I obtained as tiny eggs, others as partially grown caterpillars. I harvest Common Milkweed (As<em>clepias syriaca</em>) for the caterpillars from the roadside or nearby abandoned fields. Plants in the milkweed family are the primary host plant for Monarch larvae. The fluid in these plants is a white, sticky substance containing a toxin. The toxin is tolerated only by Monarch larvae and some other insects that have evolved to feed upon it. The Monarch larvae, and the ensuing butterflies, are permeated with the toxin, which makes them a foul-tasting, potentially sickening morsel. The distinctive coloration of the larvae and adults signals a warning to would-be predators.<br /><br />After a couple weeks of nonstop eating and growing, during which they shed their exoskeletons several times, they secure their posteriors beneath an overhanging stem with a silky substance. Dropping their heads, they assume a position in the shape of the letter "J." Within 24 hours, the caterpillar convulses and the exoskeleton splits open and falls away a final time, revealing a chrysalis of green and yellow, still ridged with abdominal segments.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518340648885437170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRNlAF5YXIriuS8-i1ywK6PMk2oYlsMhC9D9Y_N4rnAcTkgVedEtbWCpNegTprYAuNcdXOyo-BJGdn70Fvn2tmm2Goscmwijvr-yLr4x7jgcAd3n11dJY5NWSPvsgbT6_AkZJe3vQQes/s400/Monarch+Chyrs+I.jpg" /> Soon, these ridges smooth away, and and the chrysalis becomes a pendant of opalescent pale green, studded with tiny gold jewels. The black stem is called a <em>cremaster.</em> Using a microscope one can see that the topmost end of the cremaster is composed of many tiny protrusions topped with knobby hooks. They appear to attach to the strands of the silk in much the same fashion as the human invention of velcro. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518353004064372434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bRhQchIKHekpJfccBnwnN-IMfB-Cj1qEadjSfvtvtz7rncU6j12AMhMLvVAC0FFQcm7853e3AZsbBpcaglVkZPFLQ15UzuXmiQrqqgd50kAafDznMN-K8YRqiWPBJk2ySuJG4eZQ1XI/s400/Monarch+Chys+CU.jpg" />After about 10 days, the chrysalis membrane becomes transparent. The body and wings of the adult butterfly can be seen inside, appearing almost completely jet black, with the exception of the deep orange pattern of the wings. The swirling shapes remind me of an Art Nouveau design of tree limbs silhouetted against a blazing sunset. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518353209952092306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y_LIJ-2El-mVY5EqrPTfR4q8exLljLSX1yjwPn3oGwxyDCiQWdor-GNcl0uqZhuaQRbKg3qoixdHDbSw1cQ0ZTJH_3ex72m1fbWObJ5UDFiyb2AUPuLwZLvDO1bl-HP4vI7j3mxxZD4/s400/Monarch+Pre+Emerge.jpg" />I have yet to catch the exact moment of emergence. I think they wait until I leave the room! When I return there is the fresh, rather droopy winged adult, clinging to the remnant of it's casing. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518353388225388786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXnhTzLxQNQGcFS-jUVVqoSs4vq9k3dWumUpVH0HTHXX8bCevCg-VIuDOA3KZ6mB5HF3f-ixPhLYBVaAfSoCoX8RLjMxfSB0jfjZ84c3FL0bJZ8YNTMxWeUoG9XS9bT5bfGUeOFoaVr8/s400/Monarch+Emerge+I.jpg" />Over the next couple of hours, the Monarch balances delicately on four legs, turning itself from side to side, flexing its wings, unfurling its proboscis and wavering its front legs. Monarchs belong to a class of butterflies known as <em>brushfoots ( Nymphalidae)</em>. These butterflies do not walk upon their furry front legs, but hold them flexed and close to their thorax. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518358192485599506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ua4YvVatz45jYP4HYwofF5btZbGnnyDOJb5gY30akkOqk4CeaXFrM4E9ZTUK9_zvXrgbMG4pV4VGmTCT4UTrs6fBuYWgSQ6fb7WqGcp4CwPFihTKJROCI_ZeGdlt5SVUWJ0UtzINGzE/s400/Monarch+Emerge+II.jpg" />As the internal fluids transfer to strengthen and rigidify the wings, the body slims. Once during this process, I witnessed a drop of deep red fluid fall to stain the table beneath. Finally the wings are laid open in full color and shape. They slowly open, close, open, close, then suddenly take a maiden flight. The Monarch remains rather sluggish and calm for a while, enough time for me to take it on my finger and release it in a field tall with goldenrod blossoms. The butterfly shown below is a female. The wing pattern of a female has thicker veins of black than a male and lacks small black dots on the hind wings. Entomologists believe that the black dots on a male are vestigal organs. Evolutionary precursors of the Monarch emitted pheremones to scent pouches to lure females for mating. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518341351161755698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OGJaBbI9CRIei4OnohsrOsTrULmpkQ2ycSXZarA3PethUGOOshUvZ8jDmZZzsGbfI6epfPRMyoCOsD9Fn24NIqUo2LOSnWADW1lqlmbL3_fBC_zuWtrXAQwmE_u8Em59rDctmKYciio/s400/09+13+10+017.jpg" />This generation is the last of the summer. The late summer Monarch butterflies in the eastern U.S will participate in a mass migration of 1000's of miles to a special place in the mountains of Mexico. There they will overwinter together in clouds of fluttering wings, clinging to the trees. The people who live there hold a festival each year to celebrate the return of the Monarchs. Traditionally, the Monarchs are believed to be the spirits of the people's ancestors.<br /><br /><br />In the spring, those Monarchs who have survived the winter will mate and begin the northward journey, laying eggs, then dying. The generation from these eggs will hatch as caterpillars, metamorphose into adults, continue northward, again mating and laying eggs, then dying. By the third or fourth generation, the butterflies have reached their northern terminus and the summer is ending. They must return to Mexico, a place they have never seen, to begin the cycle anew or perish. How do they do it? No one knows.Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-69245730045613506822010-07-22T07:56:00.000-07:002010-07-22T08:01:21.349-07:00We Are Watching You<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_4kyp9q8GkRwrZbBDwc4Klngrp8Jct41GD2nIDnPggjl2QEjKYB9JX4DHVDvoFJAycMiFP_olsX4bRw2phgX5Z5eJXCrx16-SpPbFYzsjwavunSMK9o6n_7j1mfWO3VffD1H0JXBni8/s1600/Bluebird+Greenbrier.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496745449939356466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_4kyp9q8GkRwrZbBDwc4Klngrp8Jct41GD2nIDnPggjl2QEjKYB9JX4DHVDvoFJAycMiFP_olsX4bRw2phgX5Z5eJXCrx16-SpPbFYzsjwavunSMK9o6n_7j1mfWO3VffD1H0JXBni8/s320/Bluebird+Greenbrier.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>The end of a hot summer day was perfect for a nature stroll around the lake. When I take the time to sit quietly, creatures come investigate, or emerge from hiding. This green frog and bluebird both seemed as interested in me as I was in them<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8DiTfkW44TA_auzB7GIgaVldwDwF6fmnv40lVw0ke-5jg9_zX4geFJ_mxi8YEGpyI2EPUAHJhIKrLePGz3d28X9H1LWAgiLumKO1yuuXkhZN2_YSu1MQ0cSEp9uiwKjC-ozjITzyGRk/s1600/Green+Frog+Greenbrier.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496745628699866114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8DiTfkW44TA_auzB7GIgaVldwDwF6fmnv40lVw0ke-5jg9_zX4geFJ_mxi8YEGpyI2EPUAHJhIKrLePGz3d28X9H1LWAgiLumKO1yuuXkhZN2_YSu1MQ0cSEp9uiwKjC-ozjITzyGRk/s320/Green+Frog+Greenbrier.jpg" /></a>!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-82911571177619167722010-07-14T06:28:00.000-07:002010-07-15T05:37:50.480-07:00Owl Prowl<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KQ0BdPCKkrv9n21wE4c7RRTAbPu5yvcQhxXwFl0rKMHM00W0ShN3Tb_rCbPtWMiAiyma93I8c0mJsVX2D14KKb-J13HVyhpRokT59Q3JdgdeY70FgH-T5d2PkzWJEf_QNK4kKF5XSRY/s1600/SawWhet+Watercolor.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493767627960109426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KQ0BdPCKkrv9n21wE4c7RRTAbPu5yvcQhxXwFl0rKMHM00W0ShN3Tb_rCbPtWMiAiyma93I8c0mJsVX2D14KKb-J13HVyhpRokT59Q3JdgdeY70FgH-T5d2PkzWJEf_QNK4kKF5XSRY/s320/SawWhet+Watercolor.jpg" border="0" /></a> Excerpt from my journal--November 7, 2009<br /><br /><br />In bed all day hoping to elude the symptoms of a virus. I want to join 19 other people who reserved a spot to accompany Steve Huy, a bander of saw-whet owls to his mist net site. We convene at 9 PM. Feeling better I make a cup of black tea at the last moment to sustain me and rush out to the car, only to find that my kitchen clock has betrayed me and I'm already late to meet the others at the commuter parking lot. With my cell, I ring Carolyn, the organizer of these once-yearly jaunts, for directions to the site.<br /><br />I've worn the recommended boots, scarf, gloves and jacket. I later learn that in the past some women have shown up in high heels! The night is cool, the sky dark enough to see many stars as I travel into the lesser developed south county. The shape of South Mountain crouches blackly to my left. Monument Road twists and turns up the mountain, round and round, up and up. The turnoff is onto a narrow blacktopped lane that continues steeply upward, weaving in and around trees. It goes on for some time, and just as I seem to be cresting the mountain, and see lights blinking in the valley below, I run smack into the butt ends of cars huddled by a utilitarian shed. A communications tower erupts on top, silhouetted against the starry sky.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJqH_-wGrI_4AS6FVkiOwXR4Ds0UhVrXJRauJLya7iPEykI85o_qBuBxi4FjFYob6BTXKA5eXvIg_TvkbXxhwxRVrF5ADQpkFREFq453LeoCHtKRowVSIm1cSE14ohL0Q-RVzua8LckM/s1600/SawWhet+Cutout+BW.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493768095828178514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJqH_-wGrI_4AS6FVkiOwXR4Ds0UhVrXJRauJLya7iPEykI85o_qBuBxi4FjFYob6BTXKA5eXvIg_TvkbXxhwxRVrF5ADQpkFREFq453LeoCHtKRowVSIm1cSE14ohL0Q-RVzua8LckM/s320/SawWhet+Cutout+BW.jpg" border="0" /></a>The second I open my car door, I hear a very loud sound piercing the darkness. It sounds like the friction of large rhythmically moving mechanical parts. But the irregularity in frequency and the varying duration of each shriek makes me think of a neighbor's dog whose vocal chords had been surgically altered to eradicate an obsessive bark. Only in this case something has gone terribly wrong. The noise is that much more affecting due to the lack of information I'm receiving from my favored sense of sight. I later learn that this sound is a recording of saw whet vocalizations blaring at high decibels from a speaker by the mist nets further into the woods. Supposedly the owls come to investigate the "intruder" to the territory.<br /><br /><br />Carolyn greets me with a flashlight and we stumble to where Steve is speaking about saw whets and his project. As shadowy figures we huddle by a security fence. Steve tells us that before the banding project it was thought that saw-whets numbered only in the hundred thousands, but now are believed to be in the millions. They are very small owls, maybe 5 inches--in response to a question about their size, Steve says he doesn't keep that information in his head because it is in books, rather the "owls fit in my hand." He says that although the males are smaller than females, there is no easy or quick way to identify an owls sex, but he has banded several thousand owls now, and so usually has a general impression of an owl's sex based on his accumulated experiences.<br /><br />Two shorter individuals in the front of the group ask questions and I recognize their voices, both fellow WV Master Naturalists. From their profiles, I see Carrie's ubiquitous baseball cap, and Ursula's fluffy hair cut--she is not a wearer of hats. My eyes slowly adjust to the faint light--from the stars, nearby "light pollution," and a just rising waning moon--enough to make out their facial features. At this level of light I see in monochrome. I read that owls I have have many more rods in their eyes than humans, so not only see much better in dim light, but in color too!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n9LucN4JDlqsQG7JRYz658J2HkooOjic4vl1VSG60Aww8Dp_oKPh-KzIj9SbkJC757SWYMyam-WI9LAc31Mu6ztb17DW25yKmi4_CUxQUB4WMz5adacsiQFA81CrF0tEeFscR3MW49U/s1600/SawWhet+Cutout+Green.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493767737266432674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n9LucN4JDlqsQG7JRYz658J2HkooOjic4vl1VSG60Aww8Dp_oKPh-KzIj9SbkJC757SWYMyam-WI9LAc31Mu6ztb17DW25yKmi4_CUxQUB4WMz5adacsiQFA81CrF0tEeFscR3MW49U/s320/SawWhet+Cutout+Green.jpg" border="0" /></a>The question of the utility of banding saw-whets is questioned since they are so "plentiful." He explains that the well-being of saw-whets reflects the well-being of the boreal forest, and our ecosystem as a whole. Predators, including birds of prey such as the saw-whet, are at the top of the food chainand ecological disruptions often first present themselves at that level, since toxins accumulate as they rise through the food chain. Most of us have heard of the endangered falcons and other birds due to DDT use and the resulting thinning of their egg shells.<br /><br />Steve says saw-whets travel in spring to breed in the boreal forests of Canada and migrate south in the fall. Those northern forests are crucial to a healthy ecosystem and the life cycles of many other birds as well. The boreal forests of the world are much vaster than the earth's rain forests. They are being diminished by the lumber industry and by climate change--as we lose the freezing temperatures, and the duration of the freezes in the north. Wood boring beetles are not being controlled by these seasonal changes, and so they proliferate and take the lives of more and more trees, reducing habitat for breeding birds.<br /><br /><br /><br />Finally it is time to check the mist nets! The recording has been screeching away for an hour. We troop in the dark down a path. A sign in the stern wording of a government agency warns against tampering with the nets. I had never seen a mist net and always wondered what it looked like. Saw-whets are relatively low fliers. A series of poles rise to maye 8-10 feet at most. The poles are spaced about 12-15 feet apart. Each net is about 8 feet tall, but loops up at the bottom forming a trough. The bird flies into the upper part of the net, then falls into the trough, and is secured. Two or three horizontal swaths of netting are stretched between the poles to form tiers of alternating netting and troughs. The line of netting extends 50 or more feet in one direction with another line jutting off at an angle midline.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qefN2CiX5wlsqKnoCznBoCJ4-TQy1Hu52CggHJZ7_IFnFjjktrffQ8z3cIen4bHlRLOiPteMOKEdc2y6qdiDFKMdhS0tQBtc7sa8QI9nE-x0KH9LPMrMmM-4kerbc0gdgzvITaQuNPw/s1600/SawWhet+Cutout+Blue.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493767867651939266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qefN2CiX5wlsqKnoCznBoCJ4-TQy1Hu52CggHJZ7_IFnFjjktrffQ8z3cIen4bHlRLOiPteMOKEdc2y6qdiDFKMdhS0tQBtc7sa8QI9nE-x0KH9LPMrMmM-4kerbc0gdgzvITaQuNPw/s320/SawWhet+Cutout+Blue.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />We take care not to entangle in or damage the netting as each net costs $500-600. The holes in the net are as large as quarters--surprising since I envisioned a mist net as being very fine. The threads in the net are indeed very fine, and tension placed on the net is very loose. I can see how a bird could fly into it, be caught up, and not harmed. Close by the nets, the owl call is deafening. Ursula, shouting in my ear, confides that she purposely left her hearing aid at home.<br /><br />There are no owls in the nets, Steve announces so we troop back to the security fence for more waiting. It occurs to me that we are like well-meaning spiders awaiting prey. What is the word for attributing animal behaviors to humans?--a reversal of anthropomorphism.<br /><br />Ursula tells me she has gone on owl prowls twice before. She describes Steve placing the little owls in mesh envelopes that hug them closely as they await banding. The owls do not struggle but calmly submit to the banding process. She describes them as beautiful and adorable, without tufted ears as horned owls have, but with facial disks like barn owls. Ursula, Carrie and I trade wildlife stories amidst other groups chatting in the dim light of the crescent moon. One couple lights up an iPhone looking at birding info and listening to bird calls--at first. Later I hear canned laughter coming from the device. The glow from the digital screen lights up their faces and distracts my gaze from the moon and stars.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvt-4N9HJ83PskRGVETKSirgcIL3dUCxp89hIl1TNmWOZ9y_E4MA2sdn1GUgtX0AQ_HZRw5zZ5vEsFd1YIiOO5cmDCLYevdaEuyC5JA9cp6XLZ4f_Rt5WzFWv4hl5X5UeeOMR4YVO2mQ/s1600/SawWhet+Cutout+Orange.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493767965696364050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvt-4N9HJ83PskRGVETKSirgcIL3dUCxp89hIl1TNmWOZ9y_E4MA2sdn1GUgtX0AQ_HZRw5zZ5vEsFd1YIiOO5cmDCLYevdaEuyC5JA9cp6XLZ4f_Rt5WzFWv4hl5X5UeeOMR4YVO2mQ/s320/SawWhet+Cutout+Orange.jpg" border="0" /></a> Ursula confesses about driving to a Christmas bird count one year and an owl flying into her windshield. She stopped and picked up the dead owl, placed it in her car and took it to the birding group to share as found on the roadside. She did not tell that she herself had been in the moving vehicle that killed it. She tells of meeting Scott Wiedensaul when he came to a friend's home to band a species of hummingbird unusual to this area. She says he is a very nice, unassuming man despite his fame as an author. We share a chocolate chip cookie I brought and Ursula wishes for ginger snaps and hot chocolate.<br /><br />Time to check the nets again. The moon is now high in the sky. We again trundle down the rocky path with our flashlights but the verdict is no owls tonight! It is 11 PM and I have reached my limit. We return to the cars and two groups leave. A few other folks remain, perhaps to wait longer for the owls to make an appearance. I am somewhat disappointed after having waited two years for this opportunity. But as a dirunal animal, I enjoyed the novelty of a noctural foray and the company of other nature lovers. It is said we must take on the characteristics of the creatures we study and want to commune with. To study nocturnal predators, we go out at night, we wait, we cast nets, we use lures and mimicry, we boost our sight with artificial light, we dress for the weather and terrain. Perhaps I will have better luck next time if I add more meat to my diet.Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-86409048417887014782010-06-08T06:28:00.001-07:002010-06-08T15:55:06.352-07:00Ensnared<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtGMAl3gxPKqgwKgzdlnD0yh3x81El7Vjb_e8hU12IHZGjsiy1MtQ7clLKrrA4bia7_qODiszPqAt1GPzLQ3ua3nGyzozkPQFO00pz1PntghtvQ1mnJ1F-OJWLnSj4R1qY1wmk2yWo7Q/s1600/blog.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480394256111713346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtGMAl3gxPKqgwKgzdlnD0yh3x81El7Vjb_e8hU12IHZGjsiy1MtQ7clLKrrA4bia7_qODiszPqAt1GPzLQ3ua3nGyzozkPQFO00pz1PntghtvQ1mnJ1F-OJWLnSj4R1qY1wmk2yWo7Q/s400/blog.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsi0g1wqviUZ1dJuczpK3dalpC8VeiMy5bvlel8ZV3EnEyYXEsY0P2VjTV65_81Yu_UMGM8MI_NNtf_VCj5c1kfBzpndSCc1geVWvtSaWfHvabi9_ke2bV9zoCMHZI32MrVbBoipT9los/s1600/blog.jpg"></a><div><br />It was such a beautiful evening, calm with slowly drifting fluffy white clouds in a robins' egg blue sky. I took a walk around the nearby lake, mostly looking for ferns. I spied an overturned, collapsed canvas camp chair that some one had forgotten. I turned it over with a mind to sit down and watch the sun set over the lake. Fortunately, one leg was broken so I slowed down enough to see what looked like a female Black Widow huddled in the middle of the canvas next to her web. I enjoyed the little shudder of danger she evoked. </div><div><br />Black widows (Latrodectus mactans) are pretty intimidating even at only 1/2 inch long. The contrast of the red on the swollen black abdomen shouts "beware!" The only other time I had seen one was in California and I believed they were not as prevalent in the more humid Eastern climate. They do prefer warm climates, but can be found as far North as Oregon in the western U.S and New York in the east. </div><div><br />L. mactans is the largest and most notorious of the spiders known as Cobweb Weavers. Species in this group are found worldwide except in the colder latitudes. All are poisonous. The Black Widow has a red hour glass on the bottom of her abdomen. Since this spider's hour glass is indistinct or broken up, and it's abdomen actually more dark brown, I believe it may instead be a Northern Widow (Latrodectus variolus). Both species live in this area. Black Widows are often found near houses, outhouses, dumps and trash heaps, usually under objects, as this lady was. Northern Widows prefer undisturbed woods, stumps and stone walls. There are also Brown Widows and Red Widows. </div><div><br />Most spiders do not readily bite, unless seriously provoked. According to <em>The Golden Guide of Spiders and Their Kin</em>, if you receive a bite from a Black Widow you will likely not even notice it -- at first. But as the venom circulates in your bloodstream, you will experience abdominal pain similar to appendicitis, as well as pain in the muscles and soles of the feet. Saliva flows then the mouth becomes dry. You sweat copiously while your eyelids swell. After several days of agony, you will recover, most likely. </div><div> </div><div>There is no first aid for any spider bite, but physicians can dispense medication to lessen the suffering. Its best to seek medical care at the first symptom! An antivenom for widow bites exists but has it own dangers. Children, people over age 6o, or those with pre-existing health problems, especially heart disease, are especially at risk of complications from a widow bite. See <a href="http://uuhsc.utah.edu/poison/healthpros/utox/vol4_no3.pdf">http://uuhsc.utah.edu/poison/healthpros/utox/vol4_no3.pdf</a></div><div><br />This spider had certainly captured my attention. I was ensnared not by it's web but by the prospect of a comfortable seat, and then mesmerized by its deadly aura. I left the spider unmolested, the camp chair turned upright, it's broken status obvious to any other human roaming that wooded, rocky part of the lake shore. I expected the spider to find another place to hide now that it was exposed to the light and weather. </div><div> </div><div></div><div>Next time I am tempted to go "dumpster diving," I'll be sure to watch where I put my fingers--and other parts of my anatomy.</div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-49575754979910841142010-03-08T03:57:00.000-08:002011-01-08T17:16:50.123-08:00The Beautiful Forms of Ferns<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL8Ii8scwKKMiHLUZpze5rFKar3uyZkTdGL-ulYx-o-zWtyjp-tJ9x78AwStR9nK_-oLohDaLWZ8u_RjGLWW5Fog-yLxzWbEo5Efn4RyGiejg_VgNAuo0uemvm2acax5xPiJ1cPDMaRY/s1600-h/02+21+10+011.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446620574587089250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL8Ii8scwKKMiHLUZpze5rFKar3uyZkTdGL-ulYx-o-zWtyjp-tJ9x78AwStR9nK_-oLohDaLWZ8u_RjGLWW5Fog-yLxzWbEo5Efn4RyGiejg_VgNAuo0uemvm2acax5xPiJ1cPDMaRY/s400/02+21+10+011.JPG" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>I have a new resident in my household. A fern. It lives in a pot next to a window. Since I am attempting to advance my learnedness about the ways of ferns, I adopted a forlorn little fern from my local florist's greenhouse. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446239041717987042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Xenrvu3YMg2ydm2Q_8mVlYwt-OCjOZGAFWxqS95xvgwdWsf4bcBpRr5fFih13W_hOGPZI7oZBRZktkt_fly5SP1n_kBOAUdnoJ-IF6NAJCPmHIdLnU7DPzKxGbEAbkt_d7jYGBL2ivA/s320/03+08+10+003.JPG" /> I don't know its species or particular habits, but I do know that in general ferns like moisture. (June 2010, I have since identified this fern as a Boston Fern (nephrolepsis exaltata var. bostoniensis), a mutation of the species that is native to Florida, West Indies, and the Asian Pacific. It has long been cultivated on a commercial level for the florist trade, beginning in Boston--hence the common name. ) I try to keep it happy by placing it right next to the humidifier. So far it is thriving. It is putting out spindly runners (known as<em> stolon</em>) so I have placed another pot next to it, but so far no contact made. Living with the plant so intimately, I get to watch the birth of each new frond. (The entire frond is the fern leaf. ) </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446239051781788754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHepLd1Fu4EO2_WKBEju6iufZm_zbCNyewwgdg5MRr_WRknrPsNiFwHS3qpAm9EgFfKrp9hRDiy8_TaPLqZDvogKsJey1JnrXwre6wewYr2lgCetU39upVVpXA6ND8Hj4AZ9ATbY5YyNU/s320/03+08+10+001.JPG" /><br /><div>Each new frond emerges from the center of the other fronds that encircle it. (Writing later--this is only my first impression, the new fronds also emerge around the perimeter of the clump of fronds, halfway in from the outside perimeter, or wherever. ) Each frond begins as a fuzzy question mark, with a pale green clench of tiny new pinnae within the swirl. Pinnae is the word for the fern leaflets that are placed horizontally along the frond stem. (Singular = pinna.) </div><div></div><div>The tiny clench gradually unfurls into a very long and narrow many toothed shape. This fern's fronds look to me like series of pennant flags alternating on a central pole, a flexible pole like a bamboo fishing rod. The pennants also bring to mind a double row of Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in a strong wind.</div><div></div><div>Each baby frond is like a very complex flag display that was somehow lovingly folded up by impossibly tiny hands. (Perhaps by fairies?) I have not yet been able to visualize how the frond grows longer and adds new pinnae at the same time. The tender fist of new pinnae remains, (or continually emerges?) at the end of the frond as it lengthens, finally disappearing as the last pinnae unfold. I wish I could aim a video camera to film the process and then speed it up like those old nature films. Fern time is quite different from human time. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446239856043583714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0Vx3KyLEveK7GdoEKIpZz4QIC8cgkLRuaWzJZiZuVjGe9r7M94q-p_gR0cpNYVf6oxULOOlPHCnZS7YhPH5kwOq_XWKBMkJefIGQr4VQbZ2LPXEei2VpvltFpvz-UR_2ZU8YrPQAAVY/s400/Fern+Frond+Emerge+II.jpg" />Last month, I visited one of my favorite places to go in February, when it seems spring is dragging its muddy feet--the National Botanical Garden conservatory in Washington DC. This time I was on a mission to see the 'prehistoric' plants--ferns, cycads, conifers. They have their own room in the gigantic greenhouse, where mist periodically descends from above. Here one finds exotic ferns from all over the world. Photography was challenging as my lens kept fogging up! Top photo and below show some of the graceful and beautiful forms that I found similar to those of my "pet" fern. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446243356151881970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjZ1g5_4pqAQB9gJHqpUNk0dgZUCILQv_5XaqQecIF0aHAi_YiGHAGl5tVzadCBJmPRtjU1qAbv9b8L2-cs4STglYy5NMLE4Q5At_uYdsVFvJ82xX943p2KgFvNQDXiV8qmy5BorNwgE/s400/Fern+Frond+Emerge+BG.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446241962647948466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0J9PooF4avVCo2eyTlh94Oqycwg69OowLmw8HvF9Uwz22WJvLXQtkPn4I6UA6EBDgUSzCya4swu7NN6eOSfzLdLyniN3lng-P_ZTPWKkYbkFlpat9gvZjfh4-ZG_Dz9zAW5eIX7Xt49g/s400/Fern+Frond+Tip+BG.jpg" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446241959798505826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQlWgpKWfYr0JnZ3xuTDBqxEIfS8S1oRsEfKtsdISSVtvtE5JD_F7H95Wnw2mwqabF7Fqm05e7X_IQkzcXNOdkqTuMEHmKsYahy3w3B9xerNzED7THwv0GeePVc3G41qUGB4FSJncs3Q/s400/Fern+Frond+Emerge+Center+BG.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446241947017823346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmorH7HPrU2lByg8z-QhUR5aLeIvbl-uyhDkg1RQU9d7KEfcU4LyqKflXWFyi9NQXvtnPj69Bna76NywmwSWvRzliLiEPGJfXoWyboVYfcgUFV90JtSHbjfhVxyNzzxsWCiSlyNiOPQfU/s400/02+21+10+005.JPG" /></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-78320092960238554352010-02-02T06:29:00.000-08:002011-01-08T17:25:20.491-08:00White-Tailed Deer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HPctM02LZNNpfEWZXziWqVERzrCbYRw3kaKYJ3fFATvajFarypXan5D9Np1yd7-3Mc6Y2u6gdN991dv0hpUCtijkbRHH3VJfibB_0sfMO4zlg9fJVqNSaAdiAVRN3qPzfUvYRgwwvmo/s1600-h/Whitetailed+Deer+Pair.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433653534309706306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HPctM02LZNNpfEWZXziWqVERzrCbYRw3kaKYJ3fFATvajFarypXan5D9Np1yd7-3Mc6Y2u6gdN991dv0hpUCtijkbRHH3VJfibB_0sfMO4zlg9fJVqNSaAdiAVRN3qPzfUvYRgwwvmo/s320/Whitetailed+Deer+Pair.jpg" /></a> I took these photos on a late afternoon drive on back roads. Temperatures were in the 20’s. The recent snowfall reflected the colors in the fading western sky. The Antietam National Battlefield, protected from hunters, was aswarm with herds of white-tailed deer. The young deer pictured were grazing in a family group directly behind a house. Their elders remained close to the forest edge, but three of these youngsters came running eagerly toward my car, their legs flailing like awkward stilts. But they halted abruptly, as if their mother had called out to them, still too far away for me to capture a good closeup. The expression on their faces here seems to say "why did mom tell us to stop? I'm looking but I don't see any dangers. "<br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435666546361498242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQ4IbO-qkUfvVXhdYT_WVi4OJCKmWxXfdpQb5yM0H3iCUqhqdhnGVyi6N17AFshZLecrp0hTq_DKL_uFE3Q5NffFishgvWpKjUqX6JIoYS3KOgSlJJIWcjQoPMcXNhsZkmp78JOs2014/s320/White+Tails+Antietam+I.jpg" /><br />I realize I tend to dismiss white tails as not worthy of my attention due to the overpopulation and frequent sightings. I am upset by the damage to formerly favorite places like nearby Catoctin Mountain National Park due to over browsing. Perhaps too it is a way for me to cope with the reality of all the hunting that goes on each fall—a way to distance myself. So I’m writing this post to correct my prejudice and teach myself something about these animals. </p><p><br />Once can imagine the ancient predators of these deer —cougars, wolves and indigenous human tribes. But they were extirpated from these parts--not all that long ago. Bear still live here and coyotes have arrived from the west but these animals can only take down a young fawn or perhaps an adult deer impaired with an injury or illness.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435666549882135218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZ33iyEWFXRUMnI7O8Uq5U2LfnBhgfqq18dP2o-8Zp32-3mZTYr-mKbsErnyH0X_p1HjhdCtCJdsZhVLVjuPKPbkPLZAHt7tQt4-w7HVnK1uLc9DZItEjbJOiNoleJorAyb2aK_oI0iA/s320/White+Tails+Antietam+II.jpg" /><br />I am learning to respect hunting as a tradition, especially when the meat is preserved or eaten and other parts of the animal utilized. (Click <em><a href="http://www.paleotechnics.com/Articles/PDFs/usesofdeer.PDF">here</a></em> for a fascinating article about different traditional uses of parts of the deer.) From a naturalist standpoint, I know the deer population needs controlling so they don’t completely decimate the environment and I consider it potentially a humane activity.<br /><br />I dislike it when I come upon the leavings of a slaughtered deer ditched illegally along the roadside or in a field, as Squirrel and I did on the Eastern Shore of Maryland this past fall--right at the entrance to a wetlands nature preserve. Disposing of deer carcasses in this way is a serious threat to human health especially if near water, and it also endangers the deer themselves because it can spread Chronic Wasting Disease, a serious problem in other states, but which I believe has not yet surfaced in Maryland. Deer carrion is a source of food for scavengers like vultures, hawks, eagles, and foxes.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAfdHWKUCHjDDbJF3tV1KCsAMwB7h0UUJmjWyIk-xXQEsNHoQaVIxFCbMKx8bk92d-n-r_1II48tZpGeEsB8ud_2goXAtPRAtYabwksF8KrjQSmWLquH5rRK9Qg6NgCk-_D58efwZQQk/s1600-h/Bambi+German+Cover.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 293px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437211025348362258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAfdHWKUCHjDDbJF3tV1KCsAMwB7h0UUJmjWyIk-xXQEsNHoQaVIxFCbMKx8bk92d-n-r_1II48tZpGeEsB8ud_2goXAtPRAtYabwksF8KrjQSmWLquH5rRK9Qg6NgCk-_D58efwZQQk/s320/Bambi+German+Cover.jpg" /></a><br />I can hardly think of deer without remembering the impact of reading Felix Salten's books as a child. Many people are surprised to learn that the character Bambi was not an original creation of Walt Disney’s. Felix Salten was a highly successful and prolific author in Austria. His book <em>Bambi: Eine Lebensgeschichte aus dem Walde</em> was published in<em> </em>1923 . It is a "coming of age" story about a young male roe deer. In 1928, the English translation, <em>Bambi: A Life in the Woods</em> was a Book of the Month club sensation in the U.S. </p><p>The Salten family was Jewish; in 1936 Adolf Hitler had Salten’s works banned. Salten and his family left Austria (which by then had become part of Germany) in 1938, settling in Switzerland. In 1939 he published a sequel -- <em>Bambi’s Children: The Story of a Forest Family, </em>which details the deer's struggle to survive while being pursued by "the thundersticks<em>."<br /></em><br />Now that I know Salten’s back story I will need to go back and re-read Bambi's Children--it must reflect some of what was happening in Europe at the time, similar to Richard Adam’s <em>Watership Down. </em>Based on Adam's battle experiences in 1944 Holland, <em>Watership Dow</em>n is about another easily dismissed animal, the rabbit. <img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 309px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 309px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435668462449634146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1if-_quWNr0kEbpAKXtRZkBmPVutX3SAgK0f7hLx00rghF7lHzNfRLmRn03rGuZY5SOszvytdU1Md-mWF0dXp3iSC4vYfADuIQhQFKrcuyUZIVfcrdNpLa3q0LfZ_H-OtC3WyquMPJmY/s320/Bambi+frontispiece.jpg" /></p><p>The Bambi books are written in a simple but not childish style. The animal characters are anthropomorphized, but the descriptions of the forest and the facts of their lives are realistic. The Disney animated version of Bambi was released in 1942 -- it has moments of lyrical beauty. The movie’s artists took great care to accurately portray deer anatomy and behavior. </p><p>The original Bambi was a Western Roe deer <em>(Capreolus capreolus)</em>, native to Europe, about half the size of our white-tailed deer (<em>Odocoileus virginianus virginianus) </em>native to southern Canada and most of the U.S. However, these two species share many characteristics. </p><p>A male white-tailed deer on average weighs about 135 pounds, females 120. White-tails have a reddish coat in summer, a gray-brown coat in the winter. White-tails communicate in many different ways, including sight, sound and scent. They snort or raise their tails to signal danger to other deer in the vicinity. Deer can make a range of sounds that are unique to each individual, including bleating, squealing, snorting and grunting.</p><p>Deer prefer habitat where wooded areas intersect with open areas. They feed in both areas, and can use the forest for cover. The open areas may be croplands, pasture or landscaped yards. When portions of forested areas are cleared for residential development and roads, or conversely, when croplands are transformed into residential areas with trees and landscaping, habitat for deer is created. It is thought that roe deer proliferated during the Neolithic period when agriculture began clearing forest in Europe..</p><p><br />Capable of leaping over a barrier up to 12 feet in height, white-tails are heedless of most fences. As many a rural home owner learns to her frustration, white-tails feed on a wide range of plants. Attracted to woody shoots and stems (such as freshly planted ornamental shrubs or tree seedlings), deer also eat nuts, acorns, berries, mushrooms, leaves and grasses. Their favorite cultivated crops are soybeans and corn. </p><p>Perhaps we should thank them for grazing on invasive plants like honeysuckle, poison ivy, and green briar. As ruminants, deer can eat these highly fibrous foods due to a digestive system with a four chambered stomach. Partially digested food is returned to the mouth so they can “chew their cud” which is then swallowed again to complete the process. Cows, bison, big horn sheep, goats, llamas, camels and giraffes are also ruminants. </p><p><br />Hunters prize the bucks’ multi-pronged antlers as trophies of their prowess (the deers’ or the hunters?). These are termed antlers because they are lost and replaced each year unlike horns which grow continuously on animals like sheep and goats. Antlers on does are extremely rare but do occur.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZJmNoWUm0krypm3WAamVqelayCB70FaaZW7ldPx0DCKZBdFtnt8TCQ8LLq9fvUcfwM2nr_nnbSHIMCcvGTi3PVFUc9lP5DpN91YE-uR_fqQdr4redcZcGWPAAVHkcAecKiwpZkF-iEg/s1600-h/Bambi+poster.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436630013820817762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZJmNoWUm0krypm3WAamVqelayCB70FaaZW7ldPx0DCKZBdFtnt8TCQ8LLq9fvUcfwM2nr_nnbSHIMCcvGTi3PVFUc9lP5DpN91YE-uR_fqQdr4redcZcGWPAAVHkcAecKiwpZkF-iEg/s320/Bambi+poster.jpg" /></a><br />One can often find shed antlers lying in the woods. Antlers begin sprouting on the male deers’ heads in late March and early April. Skin and blood vessels cover the bone of the antlers as they grow. This covering is known as “velvet.” In late summer, the males’ testosterone levels rise, the bone of the antlers hardens and the velvet dries and falls off. Deer scrape and scratch their antlers against trees and other objects to help shed the velvet. The color of antlers ranges from white to brown. Biologists don’t seem to be certain about why—perhaps heredity.<br /><br />In October, the shortening length of the daylight hours triggers the breeding season. Male white-tailed deer use their antlers to establish dominance and fight for breeding rights with the does. By November most does are pregnant. In January, the bucks' testosterone levels drop and the antlers fall off. The males who are in the best physical condition lose their antlers last. Gestation ends in May or June when the fawns are born. Most fawns are single births, but does in good condition often have twins.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKcrmJTwaS4liBO_xeazwVET0kVVdFSRi-nSSCmyLQ4Q-wSgNZ2kqn1g13Ift0iBu5Pj4CMSsnW5_gqao7_6OSBXTBvJ-tr6C_th06gMWO_I-cbHxJ-K31TlDcRpcGu8BJW1XxC8_ONk/s1600-h/White+Tail+Family.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435667563323574066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKcrmJTwaS4liBO_xeazwVET0kVVdFSRi-nSSCmyLQ4Q-wSgNZ2kqn1g13Ift0iBu5Pj4CMSsnW5_gqao7_6OSBXTBvJ-tr6C_th06gMWO_I-cbHxJ-K31TlDcRpcGu8BJW1XxC8_ONk/s320/White+Tail+Family.jpg" /></a><br />A white-tailed deer's home territory is usually less than one square mile. Family groups consist of a mother deer and her fawns. When a doe has no fawns, she is usually solitary. Bucks may live in groups of three or four, but are mostly solitary in mating season. The large groups I saw on my drive appeared to consist of several adult females with their half-grown offspring. </p><p>Newborn fawns lie still in a carefully chosen spot and are visited several times a day by the mother, to allow nursing and grooming of the infant. After a few weeks, the fawn is led by its mother to explore the world beyond and sample vegetative foods. A fawn is supposedly capable of living independently of its mother at only two months of age. But the young deer I saw were enjoying a lengthy association with their family group.</p><p><br /><em>Many facts about deer taken from an article by Brian Eyler, Deer Project Leader, for Maryland DNR.</em> </p>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-19426050018977104602010-01-21T01:40:00.000-08:002010-01-21T14:51:50.396-08:00The 'Wild' Headwaters of the Conococheague<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JuUnndy8dKgHAKWvj6iiCj3lUnlis-sIkbI_eK3NrBCT2YXrZWJR_3QDUba7Nai2HfX1e2WzHPbCpgm7lA8EINw8_eTB1Aexq8hL1a_y6YInJs2JPeUH5ylhoYKE8QkOYdZ1uiMQcHI/s1600-h/Michaux+Forest+Sign.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429147857220526178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JuUnndy8dKgHAKWvj6iiCj3lUnlis-sIkbI_eK3NrBCT2YXrZWJR_3QDUba7Nai2HfX1e2WzHPbCpgm7lA8EINw8_eTB1Aexq8hL1a_y6YInJs2JPeUH5ylhoYKE8QkOYdZ1uiMQcHI/s400/Michaux+Forest+Sign.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div>Continuing on the exploration of my ecological address, I set off last weekend to find the origin of the Conococheague (pronounced locally as CON-OH-CO-JIG with the emphasis on the first syllable) , one of the namesakes for my USGS watershed. The Conococheague has an Eastern and a Western branch. The eastern branch begins in <a href="http://www.dcnr.state.pa.us/forestry/stateforests/maps/fd01_map.pdf">Michaux State Forest</a> in Pennsylvania--its starting point lies very close to Caledonia State Park.<br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429147854454572642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 98px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 165px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzdCk5m9YPClY3N4x171FTfWO1FBX10Sw4KFx5Nw0fEpgjGRm0mWsMjldWeHGWp1cxUPhdtCvfJfsrW_oIxbWtoGqM2dt3nCSw8oh1Lui9iN8lMDdpoS_LRJbpvwjsPYFTYq_QcJ3WuU/s400/Michaux+Bust.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>The more than 85,000 acres of forest are named in honor of Andre Michaux, a French botanist, who was sent to the New World by the King and Queen of France in 1785 to gather plants for the royal gardens. From the 1700's through much of the 1800's the land was owned by the iron industry. The forest supplied large amounts of wood for the charcoal needed to fuel the furnaces. Iron ore was dug from open pits, and transformed into "pig iron," for tools, stoves, and other necessities (including cannon balls for the Revolutionary War). Back then, a visit to these mountains must have been a very different experience.</div><br /><div>The iron industry finally abated due to competition from new technology, and the area then became known as a center for forestry. The first Pennsylvania nursery for forest trees was sited here. In 1903, a forest academy was established -only the second in the nation to train professional foresters. Michaux still provides lumber and wood products--it is managed sustainably. These days water appears to be its most valuable commodity. But also recreation-- hiking, mountain biking, bird watching, cross country skiing--and fishing, boating. The Applachian Trail passes through.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429149863519896818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnm5CVNmnb9niU9rzFA-rHC_7k8H9dtd6l4YGmzqXV0RFA-PyDfrMhw7I6yYfArhLd0S2Toix5YpzTCkvzZt8Jo9uXJWrp9BDlk4A1G0nTOd32E_AxA_xYFnt0LAYFGZGwjs2B4WysJ0/s400/Chambersburg+Water+sign.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>The eastern branch flows west to Chambersburg before making a turn and heading south to the Potomac. The water that flows down the mountains and rises up from springs within Michaux are known for their purity since no industry or agriculture (other than intermittent selective logging) is present. So Chambersburg taps the water close to its source before it can be contaminated, treats it, then runs it to the city via gravity. Chambersburg is not required to even test for certain pollutants.<br /></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429146809822536450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmzlc2ZFXQWnoqNYX2I_-j6vOWnUmY47qgAneWAardY1o8J8k3M9OKtnPDDNIDeGiCKrvCJhAROdT0AWavoVlkm9JCcsR2CTlNFgkXtgKqE3WNrnoAfpSg8EKjFn5pLiacnIdK-2YuBk/s400/Chambersburg+Water+Treatment+Plant.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>On my little trip "up" that way (north and at a higher elevation) I visited the old reservoir (below) which was drained a few years ago due to a leaking dam. (The Long Pine dam and reservoir nearby is much larger and quite fine for a day of meditative kayaking.). I'm not sure if this stream pictured is the Conococheague or considered another creek at this point, but certainly the water flowing here flows into the 'Cheague. The fisherfolk cast their flies upon the waters here now.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429146805653287714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuc7fX93pNYcm55E2bYxqiT9pErdTiDC7HCDnwAfY9gBntZORtZoYuWMlskMZulnNt68TroYtvQd9Kebkck_AfCkEeglCPy9Wy4GfvI5TbNXiYrX2SkIoigEbAF7FG3WihdRfsQmepvL8/s400/Chambersburg+Old+Reservoir.jpg" border="0" /><br />The reservoir bed is being restored to forest. My friend Bill, my forestry consultant, conjectures that the new trees in this photo (in the white protective sleeves) include water loving species like sycamore near the stream, and also varieties of eastern hardwoods like walnut and oak. I'm finding that when I search for information about my local watershed, it is often the fisherfolk, especially the fly fishing aficionados, who are most in the know, at least of those who aren't biologists, surveyors and designated water quality keepers. The fisherfolk are the ones on intimate terms with the creeks and streams, and the fish therein. If a creek runs through it, they are interested. Which makes me more interested in them and what they do. I just might have to finally look into fly fishing...</div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429145490391432450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2o7zlHm9g7C2GrsAAnegpfk66jYp5cv7VCaDrfXYhH7X08OE_PdcBRzTGZIG2xq2VkCmHw8z3-7WA4wU_GR8QcgrfRPRuBKLLd5L0XbaoDesaKEvLapuTs2ztm0vtK9tMoNfG03wUzVc/s400/Conococheague+Birch+Run.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Not disposed to hiking on this day, I drove around trying to get as close to the beginning of the Conococheague as I could. I found this bridge and sign next to a mobile home park. Not a bad place to set up housekeeping-- at the foot of the mountains, at the headwaters of the Conococheague.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429148795144451922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrIlQ0brxKLv5SWmcswFZ30qIYtJX6riYZLhFPPC3MjD18it8CnJGthMYXgCLa0AT8GP77xPbBsCOaHLNdaDOyCHOI6lOiQleH1E-onX-uRWa3plQE72DV3A_yutymict4AJTCHaoK4E/s400/Conococheague+Trailer+Park.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429148804646348578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75x6ky9RRz9W6G6a6ulCESLbeeHU51uDf10Oi7b6Kh1DkPiESSWGuWOAi311FTgADHaCQaQb4AguKh9O0uSeh7g4sYr-GzXtJOBv8REl-I3v2apRcD0qVWiNR1hTzfmtfzwsivESE-zg/s400/Conococheague+View+Upstream+Michaux.jpg" border="0" /> </div></div></div></div></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-1340574815301554912010-01-08T06:13:00.001-08:002010-01-10T07:44:32.871-08:00My Ecological Address Part One: Watershed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTusA1E4_i3s81QqcLMxSdRy2-fed0RLVaLkIp_MqwgUe2-YS4YyzFHgqM9TpM_kFnwkO5-_gKRkqS8UfYdYq4yORC_1Bj8_hQDnGF50Y7nZGWNeIN1KMN8AMwi0HfNSXXOqIEBa5apqM/s1600-h/Conogeague+Watershed.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424372167619653778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTusA1E4_i3s81QqcLMxSdRy2-fed0RLVaLkIp_MqwgUe2-YS4YyzFHgqM9TpM_kFnwkO5-_gKRkqS8UfYdYq4yORC_1Bj8_hQDnGF50Y7nZGWNeIN1KMN8AMwi0HfNSXXOqIEBa5apqM/s400/Conogeague+Watershed.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I decided to blog my journey as I discover my ecological address. Essentially I will use myself as guinea pig, see what can be learned, and also see the [appalling] degree of ignorance I currently have about my ecological address. The Audubon site has links that help you figure out all the different ecological overlays for where you live. <a href="http://www.audubon.org/bird/at_home/Explore.html">http://www.audubon.org/bird/at_home/Explore.html</a><br /><br />The first category of links is Watersheds. I click on the link to the Environmental Protection Administration website, punch in my zip code and a map of my Watershed comes up. I knew I live in the Chesapeake Bay watershed and the Potomac River Valley, but more specifically I find that I live in the watershed designated as <em>Conococheague-Opequon</em>, by the United States Geological Survey, aka Cataloging Unit 02070004. <em>Conococheague</em> and <em>Opequon </em>are nearby creeks that drain into the Potomac. Sound like Native American words, as is <em>Potomac</em>. (A tangent to research but let’s keep focused here!)<br /><br />There are links to various other sites. I can peruse multiple water quality studies and link to a range of water quality advocacy groups for my watershed. I try to read over one water quality study and rapidly begin drowning in technical terms. I’ll need to get help from a new friend who is a fish disease expert.<br /><br />I learn that I live in what is known as the Upper Potomac River Basin (within the political state of Maryland,that is). A fact sheet on the total miles of wadeable streams in this area shows that the Fish Index of Biotic Integrity (FIBI), which is based on fish populations, is 55% poor, 31% fair and only 14 % good. </div><div><br />That does not sound encouraging.<br /><br />Do you know the FIBI for your area? FIBI sounds like a particular concern for fly fishermen--indeed a group called Antietam Fly Anglers are the ones who posted the fact sheet. <a href="http://www.dnr.state.md.us/streams/pubs/upperpotomac.pdf">http://www.dnr.state.md.us/streams/pubs/upperpotomac.pdf</a></div><div>They have also posted a report from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service on intersex fish being studied in the Potomac and its tributaries including the Shenandoah River. <a href="http://www.antietamflyanglers.org/docs/endocrine.pdf">http://www.antietamflyanglers.org/docs/endocrine.pdf</a><br />This is when features of the female sex organs are found in the sex organs of male fish, and vice versa. It is believed caused by pollution in the water (endocrine disruptors). </div><div></div><div>Again, rather alarming. My drinking water comes from the Potomac River, it is “treated” but I need to find out more about how that works…<br /><br />The EPA site is mind-boggling. There is an Envirofacts page <a href="http://www.epa.gov/enviro/">http://www.epa.gov/enviro/</a><br />where you can easily find air quality, radiation, toxic waste emitters, compliance reports, etc all according to your zip code! I did not realize how easily available all this information is online. It is not something that is talked about everyday on your local news, in your local paper, or among your co-workers ‘around the water cooler.’ But it should be. Why isn’t it?<br /><br />Well, just one hour of discovery and I have a multitude of more questions. Perhaps that is the point, once you begin knowing your ecological address you become engaged with the reality of the world in which you are living on a different level.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Of course as living, breathing inhabitants of our local ecosystem we are already unavoidably involved but we are disconnected from consciousness of it. I see that working my way through the Find Your Ecological Address project is going to be much more time consuming, complex and enlightening than I expected. Life-changing might not be too extreme a word. Pretty crafty, Audubon.</div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-60254249469012354412010-01-04T05:47:00.000-08:002010-01-04T08:13:16.311-08:00Pileated Woodpecker<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovZwikHXYbNcAjgDuCXT5hW25UTtQIfPyRlNqMKx-8h6KXM3nse4AvIubPp4Fgr86YXkTXPC8nxpK9pe129Xls1N4IXvFqrJpudtcxoddAgWDAWKAwr76lKOgzSVgNaRzCzb9GGYZmW8/s1600-h/Pileated+Tree+Shannondale.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422881344468887906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovZwikHXYbNcAjgDuCXT5hW25UTtQIfPyRlNqMKx-8h6KXM3nse4AvIubPp4Fgr86YXkTXPC8nxpK9pe129Xls1N4IXvFqrJpudtcxoddAgWDAWKAwr76lKOgzSVgNaRzCzb9GGYZmW8/s400/Pileated+Tree+Shannondale.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8E821e8F7sh3T-lr9cX_u-VwCr4IkbZStk2mgxxYuGvUoIxdh36RoIlpaX6Kb-gRQBXrx_Fut-colA5QrSnp8n0pJIogqmxpS5sL1ud0KP8UeizwvDX41hAO0m3702Ly-j6sg24-Eqk/s1600-h/Pileated+at+Cheryls.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422881338776259010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8E821e8F7sh3T-lr9cX_u-VwCr4IkbZStk2mgxxYuGvUoIxdh36RoIlpaX6Kb-gRQBXrx_Fut-colA5QrSnp8n0pJIogqmxpS5sL1ud0KP8UeizwvDX41hAO0m3702Ly-j6sg24-Eqk/s400/Pileated+at+Cheryls.jpg" border="0" /></a> Here are some snaps of the Pileated Woodpecker mentioned in the post below. By the way, <em>pileated</em> means capped, from the Latin <em>pileus=cap</em>. It is pronounced with the long <em>i</em> sound as in <em>pie</em>.<br /><br /><div></div></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-65313478458337353202009-12-31T07:47:00.000-08:002009-12-31T08:01:18.517-08:00Maps in Our Heads<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfONNd1ljpgZ3fxFpYFdEwKokmyyws3Qb11Xhk-wdhWwMxgEiuDtWzSS1t_Kc1U_MdfM2BS67cgF41lOxoFBBXuw-6iDvohtQhmvmVSy2GGSVrsfTjZgzo7bN-vVi_Ch5FHn629vBZFg/s1600-h/Frost+Wall.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421428647240581298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfONNd1ljpgZ3fxFpYFdEwKokmyyws3Qb11Xhk-wdhWwMxgEiuDtWzSS1t_Kc1U_MdfM2BS67cgF41lOxoFBBXuw-6iDvohtQhmvmVSy2GGSVrsfTjZgzo7bN-vVi_Ch5FHn629vBZFg/s400/Frost+Wall.jpg" border="0" /></a>I realized this morning that one of the things that so delights me about nature is that it is completely free from the boundaries that humans have set for ourselves with our artificial states, counties, countries, private land, and other types of so-called ownership that have little relevance to the ecosystems they chop up into pieces. (I’m not against private rights to land among humans, but I’m for an awareness of nature’s rights, and a sense of stewardship and commons.) It is also this characteristic that has most threatened and challenged us, that we have struggled to control.<br /><br />Birds fly hither and yon at their whim and in response to weather, available food, water, breeding territory, shelter, seasons. For example, a female pileated woodpecker visited the suet feeders on a friend’s deck during the recent big snow, giving us a flash to a prehistoric past. These woodpeckers wear a bright red crest that looks somewhat like a red Santa hat. It contrasts strikingly with the black and white bars and zigzag patterns on its face and body. The birds are what I imagine to be pterodactyl like—our largest woodpecker, they have narrow hatchet shaped heads that they must slant to the side and twist and turn to adequately scan for threats. We felt honored to see her up close. Pileated woodpeckers frequent my friend's territory because of the many dead trees that provide food and shelter. But designating any backyard deck as an Official Pileated Woodpecker Feeding Station will not draw these birds matter how many signatures are obtained. <br /><br />The snow falling right now outside my window does not discriminate: it blankets, chills, and nurtures vast areas oblivious to where commuters rush, crops grow or children with new Christmas sleds watch the skies. Or where my property ends and your’s begins. It frustrates or thrills according to one’s frame of reference. Put snow in a giant frame called global climate and see what it brings up for you.<br /><br />On a snow-covered fire road in West Virginia last weekend I saw the footprints of humans and dogs, but also raccoon, deer, squirrels, and even a black bear. The road according to human law was in a wildlife “management” area, but only I and my companion walked there because this fact made it accessible to us. The animals roamed at will on the road and off, over the mountain, through backyards, farms, wherever they wanted, wherever was safe from human interference.<br /><br />I love maps. I remember one of the major features of the classroom when I was growing up were the maps showing the world and all the different countries. Each country glowed in a different color—pink, green, lavender, orange, yellow, all surrounded by the deep blue of the ocean and accentuated by the whites of the arctic and antarctic. We learned the shapes of the continents too. Sort of. There are different types of projections of the round world onto a flat surface--but none can portray the contours and ratios as accurately as a globe. The choice of those projections determines how a young brain (or an older one for that matter) conceives of one’s own country and its place in the world. Remember the map used in the King and I that showed Siam as gigantic and all the “enemy” countries as tiny. The exaggeration was cartoonish but point made.<br /><br />Those bright colors on my school map said that country boundaries, the human politics, were the most important thing that we needed to learn. I haven’t been in an elementary school room for many years. But when I visited my grandson’s preschool last year, I saw--placed down low on the wall where the tiny students could study it at their leisure--a large world map that showed not country boundaries, but ecosystems and the animals that reside there.<br /><br />Nature has its own system of territoriality, its own “politics.”. As we grope toward learning to live in tune with nature, finally realizing that it is crucial to our own survival, I’m wondering how our maps will change-- on our walls, and in our heads and hearts. I know my political address, but do I know my ecological address? Audubon has a neat worksheet to start discovering this at <a href="http://www.audubon.org/bird/at_home/Explore.html">http://www.audubon.org/bird/at_home/Explore.html</a>.Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-38823198328959856352009-10-07T05:26:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.752-07:00L is for Luna<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoyXeKV30-DNVG_rju12VTtLheYMxC2GfSMBRVtHj5DohY_9T8-MJAaSwEChOQdQ2Fwd6IpZkc71HZSl9YoJpESdVNJdwTkp8lugEEZsVA5eYnpLlyXhmgPAtc4IYhR9w0G0QjIfzCfU/s1600-h/10+04+09+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389833925075203698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoyXeKV30-DNVG_rju12VTtLheYMxC2GfSMBRVtHj5DohY_9T8-MJAaSwEChOQdQ2Fwd6IpZkc71HZSl9YoJpESdVNJdwTkp8lugEEZsVA5eYnpLlyXhmgPAtc4IYhR9w0G0QjIfzCfU/s400/10+04+09+004.jpg" border="0" /></a> "The world today is sick to its thin blood for lack of elemental things, for fire before the hands, for water welling from the earth, for air, for the dear earth itself underfoot. --Henry Beston<br /><br />The moon is one of those elemental things. Often I'm surprised by the moon blinking bright when I open the blind in the early morning dark or when it appears like a ghost in the midday sky, or on an evening drive as it rises slowly from behind the mountains like a hot-air balloon.<br /><br />How removed is my awareness from the moon, its phases and cycles. How would my life change if I made an effort to be aware.? How would I apply this knowledge? What different choices would I make, knowing, anticipating each full moon, each new moon, marking the times of moon rise and moon set?<br /><br />And conversely, how would my life need to change in order for this awareness to come naturally, to be an imperative of my daily requirements for living, to be noticed, observed assimilated as easily as I now note whether or not the sun shines? I plan to find the answers to these questions.<br /><div align="center"><a href="http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/?">Alphabet Bloggers</a></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-84022856337433993832009-09-30T02:56:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.759-07:00Knee Deep in Moss<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjim_bvsvA1FLE3pVqslRnB2bDUn2j5bKUg3xViH4z9KcWkq1mRSRv0Llv9XELxjawTEwJwgCgXPeE28Sz9WcSzrvwwTP2j-StgeN2fyqkIYHDFdK_gB0cuz3n0ZrksWF0vj5VHoCXhS7U/s1600-h/09+20+09+016.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387234043639824690" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjim_bvsvA1FLE3pVqslRnB2bDUn2j5bKUg3xViH4z9KcWkq1mRSRv0Llv9XELxjawTEwJwgCgXPeE28Sz9WcSzrvwwTP2j-StgeN2fyqkIYHDFdK_gB0cuz3n0ZrksWF0vj5VHoCXhS7U/s400/09+20+09+016.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div align="center">"One <em>touch </em>of nature makes the whole world <em>kin</em>." --William Shakespeare</div><div><br /><br />I have always loved to see moss cozying up to the feet of trees, draping over decomposing logs, and cushioning rock surfaces with luxuriant velvet. </div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387235883117401474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYaNprUVPXILFNCdxhUlO0bdVjglGUZjtHDtdCm5lYBOUJzq2lOAJ4wzEEQlLXjEpImEhFJruM1MDhDocLTnd84tKtnd3it0iV3PNginznvMzcEW7oB1XurFlQb71EIAtxibUNMrkV0WM/s400/05+02+09+079.jpg" border="0" />A neat thing about mosses is that to get to know them in their natural habitat you must usually get down on your <em>knees</em>. Doing so immediately takes you out of your usual way of looking and perceiving and engages you physically. </div><div><br />Your hands and <em>knees</em> ground you at four points. Perhaps your trousers get damp and a little dirty. You feel the different textures of the leaf litter and inhale the perfume of the humus. You stroke the furry surface of the moss and it tickles your hands.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5o1sU9mYGn_b-qkklvY8P7Ue3wopwIxVLTrK7ptPt-Q_MBk_kM8iWJ6mE3egJeWZZu_Uu-YfXAucMFli_WImX-2cLD5xRzEdKdSRet9-eDtL6fbP2fVCkyu5X-WFQtKM2BMWvmzbGSg8/s1600-h/09+20+09+025.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387236871020580706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5o1sU9mYGn_b-qkklvY8P7Ue3wopwIxVLTrK7ptPt-Q_MBk_kM8iWJ6mE3egJeWZZu_Uu-YfXAucMFli_WImX-2cLD5xRzEdKdSRet9-eDtL6fbP2fVCkyu5X-WFQtKM2BMWvmzbGSg8/s320/09+20+09+025.jpg" border="0" /></a> You marvel at the vibrant shades of green that seem to glow amidst the surrounding shades of brown and grey. Or perhaps the moss serves as an emerald background for jewel toned fall leaves. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>The undulating surface when seen from your full height now becomes a miniature jungle of lush intricate plants. Moving your face ever closer, tensing the muscles around your eyes to sharpen your powers of sight, you attempt, but just fail, to focus clearly on the details you know are there. You bump up against the limits of the human eye.</div><div><br /></div><div>You are literally brought down and humbled by this so-called 'primitive' plant. But you are also lifted up in awe. I find that nature frequently brings me to a kneeling posture, physically or otherwise. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mosses have been much on my mind lately as our nature writing group has been reading Robin Wall Kimmerer's <em>Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses</em>. Kimmerer is a bryologist, a botanist specializing in mosses and liverworts--or bryophytes. She is also a descendant of North America's indigenous people. Her writing is scientific but also rich with mood, metaphor, myth and sensuality. She is the type of nature writer with whom I feel a <em>kindred</em> spirit.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cId3VS2CzGHUQHXU8Qr1U0nmyBV4O60BDQuFShX0OMe4GcxBet_ZE0Y9tEXkWAC9uIlwNusP93O-eMzLY1zRY30wkcEXNN60wY2pO0GuY-Qft76OgH5Ka15BbSKuNIRVG1H4dtr1IYg/s1600-h/Moss+Hairlike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387240095745895826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cId3VS2CzGHUQHXU8Qr1U0nmyBV4O60BDQuFShX0OMe4GcxBet_ZE0Y9tEXkWAC9uIlwNusP93O-eMzLY1zRY30wkcEXNN60wY2pO0GuY-Qft76OgH5Ka15BbSKuNIRVG1H4dtr1IYg/s320/Moss+Hairlike.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mosses will divulge many of their secrets, through the use of tools like hand lens, microscope, and field guide. Different families among the bryophytes are easily distinguished but species identification can be very challenging. I like to think of bryophtyes as a phenomenon, a clan of diverse members, sharing <em>kinship</em> not only among themselves, but as ancestors of other land plants. In some ways they are strikingly similar even to us mammals. </div><div><br /></div><div>From Kimmerer's book, I learned that mosses are the 'amphibians' of plants. They are the ancient form of plant life that first transitioned from the water to land. Mosses live in communities or colonies with individual plants huddled together shoulder to shoulder. Their life style and reproductive cycle is dependent on this close proximity.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Moss have no roots to take up water from from where they are anchored--their substrate. They dry up, fade and shrink or plump up and green out depending on environmental conditions. The plant takes in CO2, water and minerals through its entire surface. Living close together helps them retain moisture not only for themselves but as participants in an ecosystem. Other organisms benefit. For example, many insects utilize the moist protection of mosses for their own reproductive cycle.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-42ITv3ixO0sN-k1JTimcIQawClRH4cg69WcGVfbhu3lR_NRkqgDy_4TAdN8N0VY_TAiTbPt3_gc8pFkyKEGs-pdRNHT50OXci7Bxnk9qwuUYMDrmRBfgZijsuDOHcAqW4yk52cOtM4/s1600-h/Moss+Sporophytes.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387241047705972658" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-42ITv3ixO0sN-k1JTimcIQawClRH4cg69WcGVfbhu3lR_NRkqgDy_4TAdN8N0VY_TAiTbPt3_gc8pFkyKEGs-pdRNHT50OXci7Bxnk9qwuUYMDrmRBfgZijsuDOHcAqW4yk52cOtM4/s320/Moss+Sporophytes.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div>Moss plants occur in two life stages. In the gametophyte stage the plants are green and grow without sexual reproduction. When conditions are right, the gametophytes form microscopic male or female organs. The male structure containing sperm is called the antheridium. The female structure containing the egg is called the archegonium. This a reproductive innovation which mosses first developed. All land plants living today use this strategy of enclosing the egg within a protective womb. </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Mosses produce no flowers so they ask for no help by animal pollinators. (Insects inadvertently do help the process along sometimes.) For the male sperm to reach and fertilize the female egg there must be a fluid vehicle. Rain, dew, mist or splashes are required. With sufficient moisture, the antheridum swells until it bursts. It also releases a soaplike substance that helps the miniscule sperm penetrate the surface tension of water droplets to better hitch a ride. </div><div></div><div></div><div>With luck the sperm is able to reach and travel down the neck of an archegonium to an egg. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once fertilized, the egg is nurtured within the archegonium and grows into the second life stage--the sporophyte. Kimmerer explains science has discovered special cells in the female moss organ that work to transfer nutrients from the parent plant to the developing egg. She compares this function to human placental cells. <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-o1pcoh-8tc6lEvxu2fuvDvvzECGnkp1C0gk0GdeUKUVMDmxeR3DulxAUh9mNp147GRgc7upJ279nGRz1vi_-UeKvqzFXDec0hnHQUx72CoHieNZZeTDROthzNf6nC_ITXqyESsntQ0o/s1600-h/Sporophyte+Capsultes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387242850031010130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-o1pcoh-8tc6lEvxu2fuvDvvzECGnkp1C0gk0GdeUKUVMDmxeR3DulxAUh9mNp147GRgc7upJ279nGRz1vi_-UeKvqzFXDec0hnHQUx72CoHieNZZeTDROthzNf6nC_ITXqyESsntQ0o/s320/Sporophyte+Capsultes.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div></div></div><div>Mature sporophytes are usually brown or colorless with a capsule full of powdery spores elevated on a stalk above the green gametophytes. Special teethlike structures on the capsules are responsive to the level of humidity. They open to release the spores when the air is dry (and thus better for dissemination). </div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-o1pcoh-8tc6lEvxu2fuvDvvzECGnkp1C0gk0GdeUKUVMDmxeR3DulxAUh9mNp147GRgc7upJ279nGRz1vi_-UeKvqzFXDec0hnHQUx72CoHieNZZeTDROthzNf6nC_ITXqyESsntQ0o/s1600-h/Sporophyte+Capsultes.jpg"></a></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Those spores that find a hospitable home will form a new colony of moss, carrying the genetic material of the parent colony forward. The scattered colonies of particular moss species in a patch of woods are all close <em>kin </em>to one another.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Mosses are extremely adaptable--they are found in every ecosystem on earth. Species number over 22,000. Their variety is seemingly endless. Next time you go walking in the woods spend some time on your knees. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div align="center"><a href="http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/2009/09/k-is-for.html">Alphabet Bloggers</a></div><div><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-18171096777398741172009-09-24T18:59:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:25.038-07:00The Art of WaitingSpiders that weave these funnel webs are in the family Agelenidae. This spot of woods in West Virginia was full of their mysterious looking "caves." The spider creates a net to catch the insects who careen into the supporting strands above. The cave is where the spider lurks, is alerted by the vibrations of the web, runs out to grab the hapless prey, then retreats to the safety of the cave to dine.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Qw2fqvadmUMpovEKfDrNlOoQbWP6gmadOEW5A9Bd662kPLxKoS0xOqt2e_a8Hgg4V9L94yDfHpmhdFVxd1zyDZ7wsTRwzoH_6HIMyW0Ts3YyYxEF5S7zrkD48HiqnnPbW6pb3dB_FCA/s1600-h/09+20+09+061.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385220858475343762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Qw2fqvadmUMpovEKfDrNlOoQbWP6gmadOEW5A9Bd662kPLxKoS0xOqt2e_a8Hgg4V9L94yDfHpmhdFVxd1zyDZ7wsTRwzoH_6HIMyW0Ts3YyYxEF5S7zrkD48HiqnnPbW6pb3dB_FCA/s400/09+20+09+061.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOC5aom3yQ0rMHlw0exU6SoPSEbCcp7SwTur5WMdaFlhjXhxPbPkch_0ipOGOwys5I7Lq8PlCf7w5dyClHx7jocVbej7mrumtI5kKAsncH2-SS09q6BMPlHXqgAdHRIQ1OAl8T0LkT7w8/s1600-h/09+20+09+062.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385223648960045682" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOC5aom3yQ0rMHlw0exU6SoPSEbCcp7SwTur5WMdaFlhjXhxPbPkch_0ipOGOwys5I7Lq8PlCf7w5dyClHx7jocVbej7mrumtI5kKAsncH2-SS09q6BMPlHXqgAdHRIQ1OAl8T0LkT7w8/s400/09+20+09+062.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This particular spider was not happy with my attentions. She hunkered down to shrink her body size, ready to confront what was threatening her. In this case, it was only my camera flash, illuminating the shadows and her four-eyed face. Rudely, I didn't ask for her permission to post her image on my blog. She had no choice but to remain silent (unless she could spell words out in her web as Charlotte did.) But it would have a been a nice gesture on my part.<br /><br />This spider had constructed one of the more impressive dens among the many scattered about the forest floor. These types of spiders live for one year. I like to think that through the cycle of seasons, in her struggle for survival, this spider added a wealth of experience to her instincts.<br /><br />Imagine the knowledge the spider must have accumulated about insect habits and haunts. Imagine the spider selecting that "just right spot" for this web, maybe her final masterpiece. Imagine her manufacturing-within her own body-a never ending spool of silken thread. Imagine her slowly amassing and shaping the individual strands to create this fine mesh architecture.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SffS0fV0xrq85EHh1IHAl0JtMCFeRfJnuw_fTKOLZwZKfC1xVkLNEiFuUmidi6Xuc3qHEOFEngDaz7P4Yxu4DfaYApMCnuKKWo3QdhoT1KZgOl2pwUYrb6pWQZlBn_aCh-9jNW5I6XI/s1600-h/09+20+09+063.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385767451547717314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SffS0fV0xrq85EHh1IHAl0JtMCFeRfJnuw_fTKOLZwZKfC1xVkLNEiFuUmidi6Xuc3qHEOFEngDaz7P4Yxu4DfaYApMCnuKKWo3QdhoT1KZgOl2pwUYrb6pWQZlBn_aCh-9jNW5I6XI/s400/09+20+09+063.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3crhMUT_TLyEvxBguTqPXfqf7W7qKkO7IsaH94wKJIbUC74aXGiGRmU9gXjn5DA5000F6oNPkXC_39MY1OnsYkRVIv-imy5p0jBf11nLHIrhwjoRVnKsVBAkNyE1YlnULVActN4-cro/s1600-h/09+20+09+066.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385767953583941058" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3crhMUT_TLyEvxBguTqPXfqf7W7qKkO7IsaH94wKJIbUC74aXGiGRmU9gXjn5DA5000F6oNPkXC_39MY1OnsYkRVIv-imy5p0jBf11nLHIrhwjoRVnKsVBAkNyE1YlnULVActN4-cro/s400/09+20+09+066.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Imagine the spider settling into her shady tent. Imagine her waiting hour upon hour for her meal. The sun rises, passes overhead and sets. Crickets chirp, the last butterflies and moths flutter their weary wings. Gnats buzz. In those long hours, does she sleep, does she meditate, does she simply wait--alert and poised to respond-- as only spiders can?<br /><br />I learned very little about this individual spider and her clan by simply snapping her photo and walking on. If I had been patient, if I had practiced the spiderly art of waiting, perhaps I could have learned much more.Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-38419349243169020482009-09-22T17:40:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.956-07:00Just As They Came<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUpM3lga3j32tEKwx9otS4TGe1dIe6Q9IeG8_nP_KOQe4qDibUujf6KV39YCqetIMGW0ClbYZ51eGGtbk1IVLcDjtY8W3aw47E720IO92tkghyias28pEsgphNmYZj-vOHEdQSUPuIS8/s1600-h/Rain+on+Water.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384456896665474978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUpM3lga3j32tEKwx9otS4TGe1dIe6Q9IeG8_nP_KOQe4qDibUujf6KV39YCqetIMGW0ClbYZ51eGGtbk1IVLcDjtY8W3aw47E720IO92tkghyias28pEsgphNmYZj-vOHEdQSUPuIS8/s400/Rain+on+Water.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />A rainy evening walk. A path in the woods by a lake. </div><div align="center">Just words on paper. Just as they came:<br /><br />Grace. Graceful living and dying. Acceptance. Quiet. Each true to its own nature.<br /><br />The sound of rain on leaves. A tired sound. Late summer, early fall. A different sound, a variant drum. Does each leaf sound a different note according to its shape and size?<br /><br />A Harmony. Cohesiveness. All are in tune and aware of coming winter. Aware of each other. </div><div align="center">The shifts. Day/night, the angle of light.<br /><br />The laurel. More glossy, thick, shiny. Recent rain? Water clings in oblong drops. Bubbles, irregular, rounded shapes. Spatters reflect the light, gray sky.<br /><br />Gentle breeze, yellow leaves sprinkle like cherry blossoms.<br /><br />Two older people walk the perimeter. </div><div align="center">Spicebush red berries, river birch catkins. Moss and lichen.<br /><br />The fallen leaves make shallow cups along the path. Hold rainwater. Reflect light like mirrors.<br /><br />Soft steps. The ground moist. Dry dust tamped down.<br /><br />Sounds. A cricket, a woodpecker. Rush hour traffic.<br /><br />My foot hurts. Body shape. Gray hair. Lines.<br /><br />Water level low. Mud exposed. Water striders.<br /><br />Twirling leaves caught in web. Spider’s body and legs moving -- </div><div align="center">agile and purposeful as a weaver’s hands, a knitter’s needles. </div><div align="center">The only frantic movement visible.<br /><br />All is muted, colors, sounds.<br />Grays, blues, slate green, taupe, dove, sand. </div><div align="center">Rotting wood, logs. Startle. A frog jumps.<br />Frogs singing, insects singing.<br />Light rain pinging on the surface of the water.<br />Rhythmic scribbles of light gray on dark. Ripple pattern.<br /><br />Breeze like green breath. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/2009/09/j-is-for.html">ABC Wednesday</a></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-43506204399639434202009-09-15T04:14:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.845-07:00The Itch<blockquote><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyB-GnkNf4-TGplS7NUBETIO7-nJ6IsUk4VRglbkXGNp6Vo211eifROGBkxfT-GSdri1aZbsZOHKRrTSTRWOw8xAgKZ15rvr4eQpuKX_bIn-4nsJIIYcB7683697W6ImZuULd6u3y3Wc/s1600-h/Chestnut+Sapling+Sunlight.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381665127174460290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyB-GnkNf4-TGplS7NUBETIO7-nJ6IsUk4VRglbkXGNp6Vo211eifROGBkxfT-GSdri1aZbsZOHKRrTSTRWOw8xAgKZ15rvr4eQpuKX_bIn-4nsJIIYcB7683697W6ImZuULd6u3y3Wc/s200/Chestnut+Sapling+Sunlight.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyB-GnkNf4-TGplS7NUBETIO7-nJ6IsUk4VRglbkXGNp6Vo211eifROGBkxfT-GSdri1aZbsZOHKRrTSTRWOw8xAgKZ15rvr4eQpuKX_bIn-4nsJIIYcB7683697W6ImZuULd6u3y3Wc/s1600-h/Chestnut+Sapling+Sunlight.jpg">"In <em>indigenous</em> ways of knowing...a thing cannot be<br />understood until it is known by all four aspects of our being: mind, body, emotion, and spirit." </a></p><br /><p align="left">–Robin Wall <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Kimmerer</span> </p><br /><p align="left"><br />I started this blog to as way to encourage myself to write more, and to document a journey I am choosing voluntarily, but also one which is calling me and can’t be denied: to draw ever closer to nature, to form a deeper <em>intimacy </em>with nature, to form an ‘understanding’ using all four aspects of myself: mind, body, emotion, and spirit.<br /><br />Intimate as a verb means “to make known” and as an adjective “on very familiar terms.”<br />I knew <em>instinctively</em>, but am just now able to articulate, that in order to create intimacy-I must be in relationship not just to snippets of “nature” as I encounter them here and there, but in a committed relationship, over time, to a <em>particular</em> place, a <em>particular</em> habitat, with <em>particular</em> plants, animals, seasonal changes, climate, and so on. And not just particular <em>species</em> of plants or animals, but particular, <em>individual</em> beings. (I'm thinking of Ernest Thompson Seton and his <em>Wild Animals I Have Known</em>, especially the wolf <a href="http://www-tc.pbs.org/wnet/wp-content/blogs.dir/3/files/2008/11/naturecomic3_lobo.pdf">Lobo</a>, and Julia Butterfly Hill and her relationship with <em><a href="http://www.sanctuaryforest.org/pages/page-45">Luna</a></em>.)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNJEtGIu_TNDnQwK4D23U8FnVO__Y_G4vFj0OP7dkHb_VIwXdc_eeVrNjZjm9NW2M48h5RihbeTjLqyZWh8d4ll8BJxKE7DEAI3K3JqCQKV6JijgZV_OgaZC40Rm9rP1kwWNoJOSyB2E/s1600-h/08+08+09+266.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381665767525230466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNJEtGIu_TNDnQwK4D23U8FnVO__Y_G4vFj0OP7dkHb_VIwXdc_eeVrNjZjm9NW2M48h5RihbeTjLqyZWh8d4ll8BJxKE7DEAI3K3JqCQKV6JijgZV_OgaZC40Rm9rP1kwWNoJOSyB2E/s200/08+08+09+266.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And the time spent must be particular moments of my own “being,” that is, moments of ‘being’ fully engaged and present with these particular individual other “beings.”. And these moments must be strung together in clumps of continuous time, as large as I can make them, and must occur as frequently as possible.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the phenomenon of blogging has started to detract from creating intimacy with nature. I find myself spending too much time looking at a computer screen and checking for comments.<br /><br />Also, I have lost my way in learning the names of these beings. For example, I realized that it was important to learn native plant Latin names and/or common names. These names are a form of shorthand—a word or brief set of words that humans have agreed designate a group of beings who share certain fundamental characteristics that differentiate that group from other groups of beings. <em>Species</em> is a human concept, one that keeps shifting. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7rwWS6M-V_zN-36-k2jVKCF1e9vUlXtbVtSe21cU6ERDubrOlLalMSMj1jrPuepWP7fj7-CFCOQZE1W2gTko_-qfPZTYj0RO-OezDFS0bUKQ5JJ99HzFXJacrlZL8vU06GzuCdxasaU/s1600-h/Field+Guides.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381665308650199346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7rwWS6M-V_zN-36-k2jVKCF1e9vUlXtbVtSe21cU6ERDubrOlLalMSMj1jrPuepWP7fj7-CFCOQZE1W2gTko_-qfPZTYj0RO-OezDFS0bUKQ5JJ99HzFXJacrlZL8vU06GzuCdxasaU/s320/Field+Guides.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I hoped to use these words to document and convey to others my experiences of intimacy with individual plant beings in particular habitats at particular moments. Learning the names was fun at first, but rather quickly began to feel uncomfortable. I found it had become the primary goal, rather than simply a tool. The process of identification-looking things up in field guides- although fascinating, began to distance me from an experience of intimacy, rather than bring me further into it. Why was this happening?<br /><br />Classifying species is the science of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taxonomy">taxonomy</a>. Taxonomy has a beauty all its own. It is essentially the arrangement of things or concepts in a hierarchical structure. It is something the human mind does automatically to order our experiences of reality. It is a way of seeing the world that is continually rewarded and reinforced by our culture. It has given us "dominion" over the earth. But it has its hazards. </p><p align="left"><br />Edward Abbey, in <em>Desert Solitaire</em>, wrote: The <em>itch </em>for naming things is almost as bad as the itch for possessing things.” And ponder these quotes from Walt Whitman:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsHBZaBcw5Q2Dcv8IbSJDaRNRa4fZUYqe-hqwzF2ZsIPJTakfy2c6qncAzPF3B7U-S0lZk6gW_sUY7e21NvfHXa3lq_kBk6KfAg8oeAUl5HdnnHXzLTm-so6I0VlDIVINL0QUswX9GAY/s1600-h/MoonBelly.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381670874060341490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 140px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsHBZaBcw5Q2Dcv8IbSJDaRNRa4fZUYqe-hqwzF2ZsIPJTakfy2c6qncAzPF3B7U-S0lZk6gW_sUY7e21NvfHXa3lq_kBk6KfAg8oeAUl5HdnnHXzLTm-so6I0VlDIVINL0QUswX9GAY/s200/MoonBelly.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"When I heard the learn’d astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars."<br /></span><br />AND<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds<br />and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free-margin, and even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.<br /></span><br />Philosopher Martin Buber wrote about the <em>I-Thou</em> relationship versus the I-It relationship. According to wiki wisdom: I-Thou is one of mutuality and reciprocity, while I-It is a relationship of separateness and detachment. I-Thou stresses the mutual, holistic existence of two beings. I-It treats others as objects to be used and experienced.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaJh-iHjMCD1Bd04WJKY0hLWtpu7of9mkKqKU8LjbWkTkrVabPhyUzuInnQkxLoNcg66-avVGmWZ8YpwU6_12cBnO_TFT9uapT5LKF0BgMhklRx9uLwE0DM8WwS2AMMZ7MtW0OQ06x30/s1600-h/07+17+09+137.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381670548835407042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaJh-iHjMCD1Bd04WJKY0hLWtpu7of9mkKqKU8LjbWkTkrVabPhyUzuInnQkxLoNcg66-avVGmWZ8YpwU6_12cBnO_TFT9uapT5LKF0BgMhklRx9uLwE0DM8WwS2AMMZ7MtW0OQ06x30/s200/07+17+09+137.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I have not studied Buber’s work-only read a summary of it. While he wrote mostly about relationships between humans, Buber recognized I-Thou encounters could occur between humans and animals or human and trees. He also suggested that <em>in order to experience I-Thou,</em> <em>a person has to be open to the idea of such a relationship, but not actively pursue it.<br /></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU3dwUBy-JmzmWpYmUz_4D7Qul3rWpKPRdTs9wgb0S_hxHsPuHq3c0EA2E22GZkJXZd_XP-cCwMofPuEi2WH5dukVXQM6VOc9_Bkl07zIU11xhwDdfOvfKshyphenhyphenY0PIy0fd0YcuVPWjeQM/s1600-h/Reed+Seed+Ball.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381667725757000354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU3dwUBy-JmzmWpYmUz_4D7Qul3rWpKPRdTs9wgb0S_hxHsPuHq3c0EA2E22GZkJXZd_XP-cCwMofPuEi2WH5dukVXQM6VOc9_Bkl07zIU11xhwDdfOvfKshyphenhyphenY0PIy0fd0YcuVPWjeQM/s200/Reed+Seed+Ball.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Naming and classifying, which the human mind does brilliantly, is almost like a weapon --or more accurately-a sharp tool, that must be handled very carefully and according to certain protocols if one does not want to destroy intimacy with the being/object to which it is applied (or the real being itself!). </p><p align="left">I want an I-Thou encounter with nature using not only the tools of my mind-my left brain, but with all of me, right brain, body, emotions and spirit. </p><p align="left">Does this mean I will stop learning the names of plants and other living things in English and Latin or any other human language? No. But I won’t be so quick to scramble to identify things. I will tap into more than my itch to name. I will sit quietly, observe. I will allow nature itself to speak to me. And I will listen more carefully to the language without words.</p><p align="center"><a href="http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/?">Alphabet Bloggers</a></p></blockquote>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-66260629816353193772009-09-11T00:16:00.000-07:002010-06-06T04:53:24.133-07:00What We Leave Behind<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusiANnCdGQCLrK2DDCFCw9PmFBe02GyTrgXXp3QxoDJGawZhBMuGp7LWJ5sWlTr_df7bfayCbdXJ4-e6GkHQmIR2FCtAleOy_miQ3ORitf13sJaQjgM33zPK5JoNFmA_6PwYoCCvgnn0/s1600-h/What+We+Leave+Behind+cover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380124621411373746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusiANnCdGQCLrK2DDCFCw9PmFBe02GyTrgXXp3QxoDJGawZhBMuGp7LWJ5sWlTr_df7bfayCbdXJ4-e6GkHQmIR2FCtAleOy_miQ3ORitf13sJaQjgM33zPK5JoNFmA_6PwYoCCvgnn0/s320/What+We+Leave+Behind+cover.jpg" border="0" /></a> I'm reading <em><a href="http://www.sevenstories.com/book/?GCOI=58322100883510">What We Leave Behind</a></em> by Derrick Jensen and Aric McBay. Its about the unsustainability of civilization due to our waste problem. Their subject matter is sobering, but the writing is so warm, self-deprecating, even humorous that is goes down smoothly. I can't recommend the book enough. Fascinating and very eye-opening.<br /><br /><br />I live in a condo so I am super conscious of all the waste. This is a good thing. Everything that comes in and goes out has to be carried (usually by moi) up and down a flight of stairs. (Well most things--there is the plumbing system.) I recycle but do not have pickup at my door. I must separate out the cans, bottles, and papers, place them in plastic bags, and drive to the recycling bins.<br /><br />Usually I can drop things off on my way to work. I put the bags in the back of my mini SUV and often forget about them, driving around for days, sometimes weeks before dropping them off. Then of course I'm left with the plastic bags, but I try to reuse them. I also use ziploc freezer bags for various purposes, but wash them out and reuse, sometimes for years. It might sound obsessive, but it is very easy to do. They seem to last forever.<br /><br />In my former life living in a single family home in a rural area I used to compost all vegetable waste. We didn't eat much meat but sometimes I'd add some chicken bones or fish skin. I did not tend the pile since I didn't garden. Without any attention at all, over ten years all our vegetable waste compacted itself, decomposed and the 5 x 5 bin encircled with chicken wire never filled up.<br />But now this waste goes down the drain after being chewed up by a disposal. At least it used to. My disposal is broken now so it goes in the plastic trash bag, then to dumpster, then is collected by a big truck and carried to the landfill. Where, enclosed and submerged with literally tons of other households' garbage, I think it turns to methane, a global warming gas.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalNNtOhxb4Xvr2mLTfpyjx2j_nXhDBpjZcFIA7vnl1dnoXdtbv37VSVeb6JZzTVjme2ysgCR6GlliZ9qQEov-WySYLJq5TDIsAadPyTReyBvvu1ytJpo7d459SQuWjvXm5nKvDE8XNIU/s1600-h/Refuse+System.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380123452521334402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 304px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalNNtOhxb4Xvr2mLTfpyjx2j_nXhDBpjZcFIA7vnl1dnoXdtbv37VSVeb6JZzTVjme2ysgCR6GlliZ9qQEov-WySYLJq5TDIsAadPyTReyBvvu1ytJpo7d459SQuWjvXm5nKvDE8XNIU/s320/Refuse+System.jpg" border="0" /></a>In Jensen's book he explains the history of garbage, from ancient times to now. It began to be a problem as soon as soon as large groups of people began living in one place. In more recent times, refuse used to be collected as valuable by "swill children." Cities kept large corps of hogs specifically to process the refuse. Hogs roamed New York City and cleaned the streets.<br /><br /><br />Here in the 21st century, the bulk of my personal waste is junk mail fliers (which fortunately can be recycled) and packaging. I have listed my name on the DO NOT SEND lists on the internet and called companies directly to get the catalogs stopped. I can order online, but then that puts you on their catalog list again, so I usually have to call the company again. I do get the Sierra Club magazine as part of my membership and a few newsletters from professional organizations I belong to. I would prefer online versions. I subscribe to an online version of Orion.<br /><br /><br />Funny how a lot of good things we can do for the environment also saves us money. I've stopped ordering online except for books (I should use an independent bookstore instead)! But I mostly use the library. I do not subscribe to any actual magazine (although I'd love to get The New Yorker) because of the waste problem and also because I think about the boreal forest diminishing and song birds disappearing. (I'm not imagining this, it is actually happening.) Most of the trees are going to catalogs, I've read.<br /><br /><br />I am continually amazed at the amount of packaging that food and personal care purchases come encased in. The blister packs are the worst. I am starting to make purchasing decisions based on the amount of packaging. A simple cardboard box is appealing. Or no packaging at all at a farmer's market. I do almost always use cloth bags now for my grocery purchases. It took a few months to get that habit established. If I forget and do get a plastic bag, I save and reuse repeatedly, then recycle. Once I gave a thumbs up and called out to a lady with several kids in a parking lot using about a dozen cloth bags for her weekly shopping. She ignored me and probably thought I was harassing her.<br /><br />It is easy to become discouraged when trying to make decisions that minimize environmental damage, slow down global warming and so on. Since our economy is based on consumerism, then as consumers we have tremendous leverage. What can we do with it? If we are changing our consuming behaviors due to our environmental awareness, we should probably let the companies know.<br /><br />I guess I have some letter writing to do. But do corporations read letters?<br /><br /><div align="center">Think Green Thursday</div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Derrick Jensen and Eric McBay, What We Leave Behind, <a href="http://home.sevenstories.com/">Seven Stories Press,</a> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Copyright 2009 by Derrick Jensen and Eric McBay. Book Design by Jon Gilbert.</span></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-38192583722658876462009-09-01T04:17:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.838-07:00Nothing Gold Can Stay<div align="center">Nature's first green is gold, </div><div align="center">Her hardest hue to hold; </div><div align="center">Her early leaf's a flower; </div><div align="center">But only so an hour. </div><div align="center">Then leaf subsides to leaf. </div><div align="center">So Eden sank to grief, </div><div align="center">So dawn goes down to day. </div><div align="center">Nothing gold can stay. </div><div align="center">--Robert Frost</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRQCon4F0xF9wLAKLcDWeHLq2pl3AWm7iji-6x9XXX6oTLOINThA58cCNqJVq3ZfuQLhKGqXG3xYtFH6o4olRhB_AtRLtzWl4U2_bWmmOYNdXL0lmy0l75nYwGStnmnRsHxOuMbGEzEE/s1600-h/05+31+09+088.jpg"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376459105946104946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRQCon4F0xF9wLAKLcDWeHLq2pl3AWm7iji-6x9XXX6oTLOINThA58cCNqJVq3ZfuQLhKGqXG3xYtFH6o4olRhB_AtRLtzWl4U2_bWmmOYNdXL0lmy0l75nYwGStnmnRsHxOuMbGEzEE/s320/05+31+09+088.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>This past month as the green has faded from the landscape, </p><p align="center">a feeling of melancholy and loss has grown. </p><p align="center">Was I only responding to the end of summer? </p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWi_98oUfgvCZ3X_b_CgkJEASiqP8QzjvkaStXkRBW6rPv0hwsYHBqziIXeJeoUXtkXYvCOL4A8mzY_wKC61e6EMeUuHrzuGFsjC9Lilk28ovSy5U5rS3EOV_NXrz7ZYYxdrbULzWbl1E/s1600-h/Coneflower+Butterfly.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376459098824921042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWi_98oUfgvCZ3X_b_CgkJEASiqP8QzjvkaStXkRBW6rPv0hwsYHBqziIXeJeoUXtkXYvCOL4A8mzY_wKC61e6EMeUuHrzuGFsjC9Lilk28ovSy5U5rS3EOV_NXrz7ZYYxdrbULzWbl1E/s320/Coneflower+Butterfly.jpg" border="0" /></a>This morning I realized that August of this year </div><div align="center">marks a decade since my father died.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zvt0mXrCvvcISgRRkLJLK4rL0jCnDeu9zUsyXsFWy09QyccN3pBK1-mfhWafuG_gqr4kWKgo4RX2mWJMbIUYIANOPL-N9LhwE9rEzjUmA7kjqFqcDWJBOdeF_uhPvI66WygSJmUqBZ8/s1600-h/08+12+09+128.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376459095009657346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zvt0mXrCvvcISgRRkLJLK4rL0jCnDeu9zUsyXsFWy09QyccN3pBK1-mfhWafuG_gqr4kWKgo4RX2mWJMbIUYIANOPL-N9LhwE9rEzjUmA7kjqFqcDWJBOdeF_uhPvI66WygSJmUqBZ8/s320/08+12+09+128.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing gold can stay.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrsm6rjn1kkmsFcKI_PdHr_w4R_pKrbyk29fhWOBHIN4MObNECEF7fIS3nUsPDlLiEGDY5DuO4PcXxFrkJONazDw_NAnudArP-V0Rn_Sl7o3TdRTE6LbIJjmGSuTwLWesi8N275v82m0k/s1600-h/08+11+09+219.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376459087177888066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrsm6rjn1kkmsFcKI_PdHr_w4R_pKrbyk29fhWOBHIN4MObNECEF7fIS3nUsPDlLiEGDY5DuO4PcXxFrkJONazDw_NAnudArP-V0Rn_Sl7o3TdRTE6LbIJjmGSuTwLWesi8N275v82m0k/s320/08+11+09+219.jpg" border="0" /></a> I love and miss you Dad. </div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-85212952620728913972009-08-29T09:15:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.779-07:00Aspen Eyes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjbUoBW_GKP1sA-yypCuACo7Nj6Ggy12476OVU4juLqAlZ8lnKRlTSS1_fjnLhMwUDr9AcEh1mrBo1T_V8_UAW-AGzHHE8ZAq5rbPpXQFky_L6FE43__GkjQB_LqzepsuF9pq0UJvcF0/s1600-h/08+13+09+051.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375420738225952770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjbUoBW_GKP1sA-yypCuACo7Nj6Ggy12476OVU4juLqAlZ8lnKRlTSS1_fjnLhMwUDr9AcEh1mrBo1T_V8_UAW-AGzHHE8ZAq5rbPpXQFky_L6FE43__GkjQB_LqzepsuF9pq0UJvcF0/s400/08+13+09+051.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The eye with which I see God is the eye with which God sees me. – Meister Eckhart</span></div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-89010438784152130292009-08-23T20:45:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:24.915-07:00The Swan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CjeYDMIx5QN_k03BCmSR-zeN2f4bqE32tGp605mnsFA5XqlhhwGu2Xon-2ueNBCLQQKvAazdJWMMDFAkrc2sv-E6j_dUhxvGV0_ZZGM4_Ed3M5raA-O7T1w5b6rdms7jreAp_L_X_No/s1600-h/Swan+City+Park.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373374553562303714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CjeYDMIx5QN_k03BCmSR-zeN2f4bqE32tGp605mnsFA5XqlhhwGu2Xon-2ueNBCLQQKvAazdJWMMDFAkrc2sv-E6j_dUhxvGV0_ZZGM4_Ed3M5raA-O7T1w5b6rdms7jreAp_L_X_No/s400/Swan+City+Park.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>If I were to make a collage of my childhood memories, there would be many images of swans. I read and reread my volumes of Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen, eyes tracing every line of the old-fashioned pen and ink illustrations. I especially remember the story of The Seven Swans, bewitched brothers who could be restored to human form only through the long suffering loyalty of their sister. Her task was to remain mute while knitting seven shirts out of nettles. Who of us hasn’t felt kinship with the ugly ‘duckling’, hoping, as he did, to someday find that niche where we feel right and true and beautiful--swanlike. I owe my love of nature in great part to my paternal grandmother. The backyard of her modest home was separated from a large city park by just a narrow alley and hedge. It was magical to slip through a gap in the hedge, holding my grandmother's hand, and enter a vast world of huge trees, squirrels, fat goldfish, fountains and flowers. We spent hours walking the paths where swans glided to and fro across a lake. Nana died more than 40 years ago. She is forever connected in my heart with swans.</div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696950510466255168.post-54403353809373220512009-08-23T20:10:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:34:25.023-07:00Grass SeedsMore on the theme of seeds. The magenta colored seeds of this wild grass growing in a hot, dry, 9000 foot elevation in Colorado hang from a stem that abruptly makes a right turn.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OFXhyhK48VNT0oPQH8l6TbX9yph6_R_qioLOCN51EDSlC6EfM7iCbD9v6RuBr67nDhaaJah3NTQwd4QO_VUjDKXpWXRI-PyFdqvZvUNnzhS33wOvjGpiLHhggE8SYxAomA7aJQQynNE/s1600-h/Grasses+Karens+Land.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373363431507303634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OFXhyhK48VNT0oPQH8l6TbX9yph6_R_qioLOCN51EDSlC6EfM7iCbD9v6RuBr67nDhaaJah3NTQwd4QO_VUjDKXpWXRI-PyFdqvZvUNnzhS33wOvjGpiLHhggE8SYxAomA7aJQQynNE/s400/Grasses+Karens+Land.jpg" border="0" /></a>Growing next to them is this tiny grass whose seeded tip curves to form a shepherd's crook. What is the evolutionary advantage of these shapes, I wonder?<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhus8OJgy3lJaLHiNzxKX5CaJVbG-85lq1_Y4BX2a1qXXzqrxwO6I1mJ7OPZSq_wh1s6kaZswhhln4iEtXWw9XoBnjaAC6eqvgJmfQPBM3TB3uiMf6KsU1yLdbR1lGkIsmBqW4Swtbbc/s1600-h/08+12+09+100.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373363429168849106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhus8OJgy3lJaLHiNzxKX5CaJVbG-85lq1_Y4BX2a1qXXzqrxwO6I1mJ7OPZSq_wh1s6kaZswhhln4iEtXWw9XoBnjaAC6eqvgJmfQPBM3TB3uiMf6KsU1yLdbR1lGkIsmBqW4Swtbbc/s400/08+12+09+100.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>Trilliumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13923743866284878167noreply@blogger.com1