Book of February: Trackards

February 1, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

A constant in my field bag is the laminated set of Trackards created by Naturalist David Brown in 1998. I’ve had the good fortune to spend time tracking with and learning from David and continue to do so each time I use his cards.

The prints and scat are hand drawn and life size so I can place them beside the sign to help make a determination about which mammal was on the move.

No print or scat is too small! You’ll notice that measurements are on the side–helping to determine the size of the print and the straddle (width from outside of one print to outside of other)..

David has also included the mammal’s preferred method or pattern of locomotion, which is also useful in correct identification. In this case, the fisher, a member of the weasel family, moved from a slanted bound to an alternate walking pattern.

Another handy thing–he’s made it easy to locate the particular cards by adding the mammal’s name on the edge.

These two photos are from David’s Web site.

David has found a publisher so the Trackards you purchase may look a wee bit different than mine, but the information is still there. And where I have thirteen cards because he made use of the front and back of each, the new decks contain 26 cards.

While you’re at it, take a look at his books. I have the older version of The Companion Guide to the Trackards and plan to order his newest book, The Next Step.

Trackards by David Brown: Don’t leave home without them.

Three-legged stool

January 29, 2016January 30, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

Support comes in many manners and I can’t help but think that many of us would probably benefit from having more than two legs to stand on. But then again, we have family and friends to lean on and serve as our third leg of the stool.

It’s the same in nature, where three-legged stools don’t necessarily resemble seats at all. Take for instance the tree lungwort (Lobaria pulmonaria). A friend and I stumbled across this leaf-like lichen as we tramped up and down several ridges today.

When it’s wet, the upper side turns bright green while the underside is creamy white. Today we found some that ranged from aqua to olive in color.

The thallus or body is easily distinguished by its lobed form. The ridged and pitted surface is said to resemble lung tissue–thus the common name. During the Renaissance era, when the physical form of a plant was thought to determine its use, tree lungwort’s similarity to the structure of a lung led to the belief that it healed respiratory problems.

So here’s the thing. Typically, lichens consist of two partners who benefit from the presence of each other–one being fungal and the second being an algal partner. (You may have heard the old line that Freddy Fungi and Alice Algae took a liken to each other and live symbiotically ever after). For the tree lungwort, the fungus provides the rigid structure and anchorage. Simultaneously, the algae gives it the ability to gain energy from the sun–think photosynthesis.

But . . . there’s a third partner or leg of the stool for tree lungwort–the fungus and algae live in a relationship with a blue-green cyanobacteria that helps the lichen gain energy from the sun, but also absorbs and fixes nitrogen from the atmosphere. When thalli eventually fall off trees, the decomposing lungwort adds nitrogen to the forest floor.

While this leafy growth uses the tree as support, it doesn’t take any nutrients from its host, making it an epiphyte. In our area, moose are said to feed on it. And natural dyes may be made of it.

Its leaf-like structure provides an example of a foliose (think foliage) lichen.

There are two other forms of lichen. Common button lichen with its thin gray surface or thallus and flat, black disks is an example of a crustose lichen (think crust of bread).

Beard lichen is a fruticose (think fruit–branching structure like grape branches). I don’t know about you, but mnemonic devices help this old brain.

As is our habit, we paused often to take a closer look–at the vascular system of a decaying beech leaf resembling a stained-glass window;

The false tinder conks decorating an old paper birch;

The rings of life healing a hemlock wound;

A winter crane fly pausing during flight;

A pyrola peeking out from the snow;

And a speckled alder catkin preparing for its spring fling.

We shared three hours and three miles plus our knowledge, wonder and support–performing as the third leg of the stool for each other.

Celebrating the Slush

January 27, 2016January 30, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Another warm day and the snow has turned to slush. Not my favorite condition in January, but it does bring its rewards.

X marks the spot–at least that’s the mnemonic device we use to identify members of the canidae family. Can you draw the X in between the toes and the foot pad? In this case, a coyote marched along on the prowl. Check out those nail marks.

Some little brown thing must have caught its attention because it did some poking around before continuing on.

Though I wasn’t wearing snowshoes today, both the coyote and deer followed in my tracks–the easier to move. Which came second after me? The deer. Notice how the print is a bit more muffled and features more debris atop it. The pine needles on the coyote track have been pushed into the print with the animal’s weight.

It wasn’t just my track that it followed. It obviously traveled to and fro in its own tracks.

Sometimes mammals use the tracks of others and sometimes they use their own–where the snow is already packed down. This is almost a perfect record of the forward and back path.

An even fresher record made today–red squirrel. This one has happy feet–it avoided the coyote so far.

Though my eyes were always on the lookout for mammal sign, other things caught my attention like the spiraling scales of an Eastern white pinecone.

As the female cone of the tree, each scale once embraced two winged seeds that nestled near the core. Perhaps the white, tacky pitch on the tips is intended to keep mammals at bay. If that’s the case, I don’t think it works well, because I often see tree stumps piled high with these scales.

Mealy pixie cup lichen also decorate tree stumps. With the snow diminishing rapidly, the minute world of the lichens is reappearing. As early colonizers, they seem to prefer challenging environments. If nothing else, these goblets appear ready to be shared at a feast.

Maybe the British soldiers will take advantage and each can show off what a fungi he is–especially in that mind-boggling relationship he has with an alga.

Enough already. I’m finished celebrating the slush and hope that this wintery sky means snow and colder temps are on the way.

Aimless Mission

January 26, 2016January 26, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 2 Comments

A friend and I wandered aimlessly today with a mission of finding bobcat tracks. I should know better. Go without expectations.

So, yeah, we didn’t find any prints that were most certainly bobcat. We did find coyote and fox. And plenty of deer, turkey and ruffed grouse. And had great fun exploring while catching up. And taking time to notice and wonder.

While Dick strapped on his snowshoes, I took a look at the rhododendron bush that grows beside the barn. Today’s temp–45˚. A January thaw following last week’s deep freeze. Thus, the leathery leaves looked happy rather than curled inward as they do when the temperature falls. And last summer’s new growth offered a spring palette.

The woody capsules are like flowers unto themselves. I’m just realizing that though we have several rhododendrons growing by the barn and house, I’ve never seen any babies. Once ripened in the fall, the capsule splits open and its many seeds are dispersed by the wind–probably becoming bird food.

As we snowshoed about, trying to avoid breaking through ice in this rather swampy woodland, we saw where the deer had eaten red maple buds and bark, as well as where some had bedded down. But one of my favorite finds was a stick. Or so it may appear.

It’s a small, half dead balsam fir that served as a signpost. Can you read it? “My name is Buck. Keep out. Unless your name is Doe.” Yes, this is a deer rub created when antlers were pushed up and down, creating tags of bark dangling at either end with smooth wood in between.

Then we came upon nature’s classroom–an uprooted tree. As a forever student, it’s a place I like to frequent.

The tree fell years ago. Did anyone hear it?

Among the roots, rocks and dirt, we checked for animal or bird sign and didn’t find any.

But the moss, lichen and liverwort garden is exquisite with its variegated colors and textures.

This miniature world resounds with a sign of its own: “Clean Air Here.” Lichens and mosses won’t grow were the air is polluted.

Other life forms also like this spot and see it as the perfect nursery.

As is common in these woods, we stumbled upon the stone walls and barbed wire that speak to the land’s historical use. Borrowing a line from Robert Frost, this sign once read: “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Gone are the days when the wall and wire are set again.

Long gone.

And so it was that we wandered and wondered along on an aimless mission–not finding the tracks of the bobcat(s) that journey here, but enjoying plenty of other signs along the way.

Shell Pond Speed Date

January 23, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

While our thoughts were (and are) with our family and friends south of us along the Eastern Seaboard as you deal with a major winter storm, my guy and I drove over to Evans Notch for a hike around Shell Pond.

Whether you’ve traveled this way before or not–a summer photo might be just the dose you need today.

We parked near the trailhead for the Leach Link Trail because Stone House Road is never plowed beyond that point. Others had skied, walked and snowmobiled before us, but no one seemed to be snowshoeing so we left ours behind. As it turns out, that decision was fine. We dug some post holes in a few drifts, but other than that, we really didn’t need them. I did, however, use micro-spikes–and am glad because it’s a rather wet trail and we encountered lots of ice, much of it just a few inches below the snow.

Thanks to the owners of the Stone House for putting much of the land under conservation easement with the Greater Lovell Land Trust and for allowing all of us to travel the trails–whether around the pond or up Blueberry Mountain and beyond.

Before the airfield, we turned onto the Shell Pond Loop trail. It’s blazed in yellow and easy to follow. Some trees have come down, but we got over or around them. We took care of a few today and the rest will be cleared by summer.

Of course, some trees were intentionally harvested. We found these beaver works near the beginning of the trail where the brook opens into a small wetland.

On top of the lodge, you might be able to see the lighter color of fresh additions to the structure. This was the first of three.

Lodge number 2 is toward the far side of the pond.

But it’s lodge number 3 that I’d stay at. It’s worth a payment of a few extra saplings to get a room with that view.

The beavers aren’t the only one making changes in the landscape. Pileated woodpeckers in search of food do some amazingly shaggy work on old snags.

Winter debris covers much of the trail. Strong winds have brought much of this down.

And two of the most prominent trees make themselves known among the debris. A hemlock samara beside a yellow birch fleur de lis and a hemlock needle atop a more complete fleur de lis flower of the birch.

Shell Pond takes on an entirely different look in the winter. We could hear the ice whales singing as we ate our PB&J sandwiches and sipped hot cocoa.

While we ate, we noticed a mink had bounded through previously. I’m always thankful to have David Brown’s Trackards in my pack.

Continuing on the trail found us taking in views of the cliffs, which we don’t normally see so well once the trees leaf out.

Before continuing through the orchard, I wandered closer to the brook in search of this–the fertile fronds of the ostrich fern that give it its common name because they resemble plume-like ostrich feathers. Come spring they’ll release their spores.

The sun tried to poke out as we crossed the wind-blown airfield.

From the field, we always admire the Stone House and its setting below Blueberry Mountain.

Walking back on the road, we spotted a classic snowshoe hare print. Most of the tracks we saw were filled in by blowing snow, but these were textbook perfect.

And then . . .

And then . . . on our way back down the road, I introduced my guy to the wonders of telephone poles. We found several sporting chew marks, scratches and hair. Yup . . . bear hair. Black bear. Even the shiny numbers were destroyed on one of the poles. Of course, my guy was sure someone would come along and ask what we were doing as we inspected one pole after another. I was hoping someone would come along and ask what we were doing. Bear poles. Another thing to look for as you drive down the road–think tree bark eyes, winter weed eyes and now, bear pole eyes.

I took this photo on the Shell Pond Loop trail a year and a half ago. Oh my.

Those of you who have traveled this way with me before will be amazed to know that we finished today’s trek in just over three hours, even with the added walk down Stone House Road. Yup, not an advertised three hour tour that turns into six. Hmmm . . . Apparently it can be done–I just need to get Mr. Destinationitis to join our treks for a Shell Pond Speed Date.

The Homecoming

January 22, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

The other day a friend handed me a piece of paper and told me to read it later. We were about to go tracking, so I stuck it into my pack and forgot about it. This afternoon, as I prepared for a hike up Mount Tom in Fryeburg, I found the paper.

I’d originally thought it was an article, but instead, it’s a quote from the October 1967 issue of Yankee. A friend had given it to him and he passed it on to me: “We hunt as much for the memories as for the birds. For the memories, and for the hours afield in the autumn woods where a man can get back, for a while, to remembered realities, to a time and a way of life close to the eternities of the land. It’s hard to explain this to the outlander who never knew such things. He thinks of it as an escape. To us it is more like a homecoming. We live here, of course, but only in the leisure after we’ve done the stint at our jobs do we go out on the hills and up the brooks. There we find the truth of our world, even the truth of ourselves.” ~author unknown.

I reflected upon those words as I slipped into my snowshoes at the trail head. I’d made a decision to end one of my freelance writing/editing jobs this week (not Lake Living, which is my all time favorite writing job. Hard to believe the spring issue will mark my tenth anniversary!) and declutter my world.

It will never happen, but certainly the porcupines that inhabit this mountain should consider the same.

I had a hunch I’d see evidence of their existence once I got up into the hemlock neighborhood, but a small stump dump early on provided ample den space.

I didn’t even realize as I climbed toward the summit that I wasn’t taking too many photos. Instead, I was cued into the tracks left behind by two people who had traveled this way before me and the porcupines, deer, hare, coyote, bobcats and little brown things. While the people stuck to the trail, I wandered this way and that as I tried to decipher what I saw–my own zig zag trail reminiscent of those I followed.

I didn’t get lost today, though truly, when I do get fake lost, it’s a time to understand myself better– listening to my inner self sort things out. Most of today’s trail is an old logging road. And most of what I saw was familiar. Perhaps that’s what it’s all about–knowing a place so no matter where you are, you recognize it.

The community changes abruptly from birch, beech and maple saplings to hemlocks and pines. I, too, can change abruptly and have a tendency to be blunt. I don’t see that as a bad thing, though occasionally I do regret what I’ve said.

And then I began to look up and notice other parts of my surroundings like these old deer or moose scrapes on striped maples. Forever scared, they provided nourishment in the past–and may do so in the future when the time is right.

One striped maple still sported a few seeds that have yet to go forth in the world. What’s holding them back? Don’t they know the time has come to let go?

Amongst the evergreens a paper birch offered a twist on life. I believe this is the result of sun scald–the heating and freezing of thin bark. Typically, the white reflective bark helps the tree avoid such danger–but something obviously happened to cause this candycane-like stripe..

Though it was getting late in the day, rays of sunshine illuminated the darker side of things.

As I followed more porcupine tracks at the summit, a dried leaf captured my attention. In my ongoing attempt to draw an imaginary line showing the boundary of white oak, I added another dot.

Nestled within animal tracks, three leaves told me more about the members of this neighborhood–white oak, beech and Northern red oak.

So then I searched for the white oak trees–and found them. My bark eyes still don’t cue into this one immediately and I need to learn its idiosyncrasies, including its ashy gray color and blocky presentation.

I discovered a snow-covered nest that made me ask–bird-made or human-made? It’s constructed of reindeer lichen and sits upon a base of sticks about four feet up in a scrubby old oak. I was as excited by the find as I was by my wonder and lack of an answer. What fun would it be to know everything?

From the summit, I could see Pleasant Mountain’s ridge–giving me another sense of home. The view isn’t spectacular, but that isn’t the point.

Heading down, a second old favorite came into view–Kearsarge North. I stopped frequently as I descended–to listen and watch. And smell. Twice, a strong cat-like pee odor tickled my nose. The tracks were there, but I couldn’t find any other bobcat evidence. One of these days.

A rainbow of color presented itself among the paper birch trees–such variation for what is commonly called white birch.

Near the bottom, the Mt Tom cabin speaks to an earlier time when living off this land was the norm. Though I like to think that I could stay here by myself for a week, I’m not so sure. Of course, that would force the issue and surely the truth about myself would be revealed. Maybe it’s best left a mystery. ;-)

Before slipping out of my snowshoes, I paused beside the staghorn sumac. It was my height, so I had an opportunity to examine its hairy features closely. Animal from The Muppets must have cloned himself.

There was a time when I was easily unnerved being in the woods alone. And I still have moments–especially when a ruffed grouse erupts. Geesh–that can certainly make my heart sound like it’s going to jump out of my body. But, the more time I spend out there, the more time I want to spend out there–exploring, discovering, wondering. This afternoon, I finally followed the full moon home, thankful to find even an inkling of my spirit. I recognize that the word “home” has come to mean more than one place. Our abode is our home, but time in the woods is also a homecoming.

Chillin’ at Heald Pond

January 19, 2016January 20, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

It was chilly this morning. Understatement. It was mighty cold, given the wind. But that didn’t stop the intrepid Tuesday Trackers of the Greater Lovell Land Trust from exploring a property under conservation easement. For some though, that was enough. A few of us had intended to explore a trail in Stoneham, but postponed that trip for another day. The temperature was dropping as the wind increased.

My brain and body, however, were still in exploration mode, so I drove to the Heald/Bradley Ponds Reserve. A sip of hot cocoa and I was ready to continue.

Mill Brook takes on a different look in its winter coat.

Below the tree that lays across the stream, a series of twists remind me of flames–frozen in time.

As the water cascades over the old dam site, the ice builds up, creating a new scene moment by moment.

I love the combination of newer dam beside the old foundation stones. History was made here.

And above those very rocks a sight that warmed my heart–an otter had been chillin’. In my next life please let me be an otter. I know they are fierce predators, but they seem to have such fun and they LOVE winter. Me too.

An upward climb . . .

and another downward slide

back to the water. Check out those webbed tracks on the angle noted for members of the mustelid family.

A mink had also passed through. Oh my! I could have turned around then and headed home, but I didn’t.

Near the kiosk, a pileated woodpecker has been enjoying a feast. I found scat among the wood chips below. If you go, look for it–filled with carpenter ant bodies.

Despite hand warmers, my fingers were feeling the cold, so I bee-lined to Otter Point. Whenever here, I feel compelled to check on the dragonfly exoskeletons.

No otter tracks at the point, but there was plenty to capture my attention including ice coating a witch hazel leaf. The contrasting yet complimentary patterns and color demanded a closer look.

A few wintergreen leaves featuring their winter hue poked above the snow.

As I started back on the trail, the wind made my eyes water and burned my cheeks. It provided a good excuse to turn onto the blue loop and climb toward the summit of Whiting Hill, all the while warming me. And so did this red oak leaf.

Nearby, a faded beech leaf. Take another look at the witch hazel, wintergreen and oak–notice their veins. Compare them to the beech. So many differences for something we might simply call a leaf.

At the summit, the sky and mountains offered a dramatic view. Winter blues dominated the scene. Happy blues.

As I enjoyed the sun’s warmth, I focused in on my nearby surroundings. I wasn’t the only one appreciating extra layers today–the crowned formation of Northern red oak buds don their own warm and fuzzy coats.

An aster waits patiently–huddling yet ever ready to go forth and multiply.

And then I saw this. Another slide? No–actually, it’s a tunnel of sorts created by a ruffed grouse. The middle photo shows the bird’s scat. The bird plowed through the fluffy snow as it fed at the summit.

Everywhere I snowshoed (the zip ties work so far as they hold my snowshoe strap together), there were mouse tracks–the risky business critters of the world.

I’d seen fisher tracks crisscrossing my trail as I climbed toward the summit. And then on the way down, not much of anything except mice . . . until these tracks below a hemlock. We had light snow yesterday that has filled in many tracks, but these were quite clear–making them easy to ID.

As the trail turned sharply left, I entered the home territory of another mammal. Within these tracks I always see the winter lobster.

A snowshoe hare–its smaller front feet land first–one before the other and often at an angle. Then the larger hind feet swing around and make a deeper impression as the hare pushes off in a bound toward its next landing spot.

I felt like I was at the scene of a hare convention.

And no convention is complete without some scat. Take a look at the vegetative substance of these milk duds.

This morning we were talking about the fact that we’re seeing many more tracks right now than is normal for January. We think it’s the snow cover–easy enough for them to move around. And it’s been warmer, though you couldn’t prove that today.

As I headed toward the parking lot, the milkweeds that grow at a former homesite across the road called to me. Their parachutes were in constant motion in the wind, but still they clung on to the pod.

I couldn’t feel my toes, so I didn’t have to worry about them. ;-) But my fingers didn’t appreciate it when I took my mittens off for a photo call. Despite that, I’m so glad I spent the afternoon chillin’ at Heald Pond.

Focused Moments

January 16, 2016January 16, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Thanks to our oldest son’s girlfriend, I learned a few more things about focusing my camera this afternoon. Our indoor still-life was a pinesap stalk covered in seedpods that I had discovered near the stonewall on the cowpath the other day. Somehow I’d missed it in its flowering state, so it was a welcome surprise to find it poking through the snow. I only took one–leaving the others to do their work.

After trying different settings with the camera (and phone), I was ready to play outside. The beauty of today’s snowstorm became my focal point. And in the spirit of celebrating that beauty, I decided that I’m not going to name or describe the photos. I’ll let them speak for themselves.

Thanks for stopping by to share in some of the moments I focused on today. Happy snowstorm.

My Need To Get A Life

January 14, 2016January 15, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 11 Comments

About two weeks ago a friend and I exchanged e-mails about mammal tracks we’d spotted that day. His big find was plenty of bobcat tracks at Bald Pate Preserve, while mine was mink tracks by Sucker Brook in Lovell. And that’s when he commented, “We need to get a life.” ;-)

Yup. So today I did just that. With a friend in tow, I revisited the Red Tail Trail off Hurricane Mountain Road in North Conway. Our mission was to move slowly through the landscape in search of signs of nature in winter.

Oh my. Such a boring task. What could there possibly be to see? Everything is brown and gray and ever so drab.

From the start, mouse tracks show the suicide mission these little guys make each night as they scramble this way and that in search of food . . . and cover. Mice are nocturnal bounders who travel above ground for long distances–risky behavior since they are tasty treats for most predators. White-footed and deer mice have similar-sized feet and bodies, so their prints are difficult to distinguish from each other. Their print pattern reminds me of that made by squirrels, only in miniature and their long tails often leave drag marks in the center.

Here’s another favorite meal for many predators–evidence that a vole lives nearby. We were in an old logging area when we found this. While a vole is similar in size to the white-footed and deer mice, its tail doesn’t show in the track. Plus, two other things stood out to us. The tunnel in the first photo is typical vole behavior. While we received 6 inches of snow in western Maine on Tuesday, North Conway only has about two inches on top of ice. Voles are shy of sky space, so tunneling is one of their behaviors. With ice below the snow, this tunnel was exposed and reminded us of spring when vole tunnels become visible in melting snow. The other behavior of this little brown thing (LBT) that is different from its cousins, the other LBTs like mice and shrews, is the zig zag or alternating pattern when it walks. Voles vary their walking pattern, but they don’t bound like the others. The pattern is visible for a few steps above the ruler.

And who might those predators be? We found the diagonal pattern typical to the weasel family. We thought that this one was a mink, but now that I’m in my cozy den, I’m questioning our ID. It may have been a short or long-tailed weasel. (1/15/16: Changed my mind back to mink. My ruler kept sliding, but the measurements we took, and we took several, clearly indicated mink, so that’s my story and I’m sticking with it.)

Further up the trail, we were more certain that this one was a weasel, though, again, short or long-tailed is the question. Suffice it to say–weasel.

And still another family member–only a bit larger in size. Notice the tear-drop shaped toes. And the loping pattern. A fisher had recently crossed the trail. We followed its tracks for a bit and then bushwhacked back. On our return we came across a second set of fisher tracks. And then, as we backtracked beside our own snowshoe prints, we realized they’d traveled together and then split apart–perhaps hoping to find some good chow.

As we moved beside and away from the river, we also saw deer, snowshoe hare, coyote and fox tracks.

Winding our way up through the switchbacks, one other critter left a calling card.

Based on the behavior, I want to say it’s a ruffed grouse. I must admit that we didn’t follow the tracks, but grouse are also tunnelers and there’s a bit of a tunnel here. Usually I find their scat. By now, you are probably thinking that I really do need to get a life.

We laughed about how we used to not even notice everything on the ground–dismissing it as tree litter. Ah, litter it is. But more specifically, we were in the land of hemlocks and birch trees. Hemlock cones, cone scales and winged seeds (samaras) are part of the array. And the yellow birch catkins have released their fleurs-de-lis scales and seeds as well.

One of the things we weren’t thrilled to discover–the white, wooly and waxy coating that the beech scale insects secrete to cover themselves. Oy vey. This beech tree doesn’t stand a chance.

So back to happier thoughts, including the polypody that let us know it was time to head home and curl up by a warm fire–the temp was in the low teens.

Even the river rocks wore several layers.

Just before we arrived at my truck, we stopped to admire this mighty fine artist conk. It will still be there on Saturday–join me and the wonderful folks from the Upper Saco Valley Land Trust for a walk on the trail–weather permitting. I’m not so sure it will actually happen this week given the forecast.

No matter. These were only a few of our finds. There’s so much to see and wonder about and every time I visit, I’m in awe of this special place. And thankful for the life I’ve got.

Snow Be It

January 12, 2016January 12, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

The action at the bird feeders was crazy busy this morning–as if a snow storm might be on the horizon.

Some goldfinches managed to dine together in peace, while others displayed a midair squawk over perch choice.

The hairy woodpecker often had the suet to himself, until, that is, the nuthatches, titmice and chickadees flew in.

And somehow the female cardinal managed to pose upon a perch across from a chickadee. She never looks quite comfortable up high.

Her guy always checks out the local scene before foraging for seeds on the ground. He’s not the only forager in the neighborhood.

And beyond the feeders, the ice rink is open. Of course, if you want to use it you need to bring your own shovel. My days of being the human zamboni ended a few years ago.

I’d intended to join friends in Falmouth for a tramp today, but with the impending storm, I decided to stick closer to home. And so this afternoon found me exploring familiar grounds, wondering what I might see. What could possibly be different?

Ah, the intrepid raccoon had passed this way. I love the pattern it leaves behind, with each set of prints on the opposite diagonal.

And then there’s the vernal pool. Nothing new about that, but at the same time, it’s ever changing.

The fact that dainty Queen Anne’s Lace is filled with spiky seeds seems almost an oxymoron. A beautiful one.

The snow was just starting to fall when I happened upon the QAL. And so I continued on, crossing the road and disappearing into a familiar place–Pondicherry Park.

With every step, I needed to be mindful of where I placed my foot to avoid slipping. Though I’m weary of ice, I never tire of the formations it manifests.

I’m going out on a limb here, but believe based on the structure of the single winged samara that these are green ash seeds that litter the ground. As the wing surrounding the seed tapers toward the tip, it is straight versus the slight curve seen in a white ash. In addition, the white ash samara is wider than a green ash.

And then there is the ash leaf mystery. Leaves still on trees? Ash leaflets are not marcescent so why have these leaves withered and stayed attached to the twigs? Ah, but when some trail management was conducted this past summer, the cut branches that crowded the path were tossed aside. The leaves died then and there, thus not being “cut” off by the tree and falling in a normal manner.

Of course, the marcescent leaves of witch hazel and American beech against the blue of Willet Brook provided a display worthy of attention as the snow began to collect.

Witch hazel isn’t the only witch in the park. Witch’s butter decorates a red pine trunk.

Likewise, witch’s butter isn’t the only fungi. Jelly ears decorate a fallen oak branch.

There’s always plenty to wonder about. In this case, a very, very dead snag–leaking sap. How can that be so?

The ice lining the banks of Willet Brook crinkled and crackled with the flow of the water, adding an eerie sound to the landscape.

Meanwhile, in Stevens Brook, several pairs of mallards quacked constantly, announcing their presence.

The snow increased as I crossed the Bob Dunning Memorial Bridge and

walked past the Stevens Brook dam.

At home, it’s still Christmas. Snow be it.

To you, my son

January 7, 2016January 7, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 13 Comments

We walked from baggage check-in to the stairway in a matter of minutes and then he looked at me and said, “Well, this is it. Bye Mom.”

I’m never ready for that moment. And he knew it when I could barely squeeze out the words “I love you.” A hug and a kiss as tears welled in my eyes and off he went with his backpack and ski boots slung over his shoulders. Another semester before him with two more on the horizon.

During the hour-long drive home, I kept thinking about him and the fine young man he is becoming. And so it seemed only appropriate as I headed off for a late afternoon tramp in the woods that he should be on my mind.

This is to you, my son. I know you’ve already got much of life figured out and that you’ve always been perceptive, but you know me–I like to add my two cents for whatever it’s worth.

Sometimes the trail you choose to follow will be well trodden.

Other times, you’ll choose a path others haven’t considered.

Either way, you might encounter thorny bramble or

a variety of obstacles.

I know you won’t be afraid to rough things up as you consider your options.

And I hope you’ll cross boundaries, mindful of other people’s property.

Occasionally, it will be smooth skating.

But breaking through the ice isn’t all bad, especially if it leads you in a different direction.

Look for the Ys as you continue to ask questions.

Seek answers, even if they aren’t totally fulfilling. Certainly, they’ll lead to more questions.

Don’t let the little mites get under your skin, or they’ll eat away at you.

And don’t stockpile all your hemlock cones in one deer print or someone else may beat you to them.

As you grow among your peers

reach for the sky.

Find beauty in the simple things.

Let your thoughts crystalize.

Share your ideas.

And at the end of the day, don’t forget where home is.

To you, my son, we’ll always be here for you and we love you. Safe travels, study hard and make sure you get plenty of sleep. Love, Mom.

Going With The Flow Mondate

January 4, 2016January 5, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Our first Mondate of 2016 had us swerving this way and that and never quite reaching the summit. Such is the way of life–and our best choice is to go with the flow.

We drove to Hurricane Mountain Road in North Conway to begin our trek up the obscure Red Tail Trail. Well, it’s not really obscure. Mountain bikers know it well. And at least a half mile of the trail is part of the Cranmore Conservation Easement held by the Upper Saco Valley Land Trust. I’m going to lead a hike for them in a couple of weeks, so I dragged my guy along for a reconnaissance mission.

And we got lost. Fake lost once again. This time, the wrong trail–the Kettle Ridge trail, which isn’t signed. That was my first clue. The second was that we were immediately climbing and I couldn’t hear water. I’ve only explored part of the Red Tail Trail once before with Jesse from Upper Saco Valley LT so I knew it followed the brook beside Hurricane Mtn Road from the start. After about fifteen minutes of climbing and not feeling like it was right, we retraced our steps and I found the trail sign I’d been looking for–hidden behind some trees. Lesson to those who follow me–you never know if I’m leading you astray ;-)

Two signs actually within a matter of minutes and we were golden.

For about a half mile the trail follows a nameless brook. It must have a name, but I can’t find it anywhere so I’m calling it Red Tail Brook. I was looking for interesting things to share with people and as usual, nature didn’t let me down.

Water created icy legs as it cascaded over the rocks.

Speaking of rocks, I can’t begin to imagine the moment that this boulder landed beside the brook. It must have created quite a roar and thud. If a boulder rolls in the woods and no one is around to hear it . . .

My guy begrudgingly posed beside it.

And Red Tail Brook flowed behind.

Atop the boulder, polypody ferns let us know that the temperature was in the teens. Fortunately, we were out of the wind as we were on the backside of Mount Cranmore.

Life on a rock! Life rocks. And this rock is full of life.

One itty bitty piece of life clung precariously with hopes of taking hold on a permanent basis. I’m not sure this boulder is the right choice, but a yellow birch scale clings tentatively.

Yellow birches need moist conditions to germinate and grow. Moss-covered conifer logs and stumps, along with rocks offer the best chance for survival.

We were in Eastern hemlock territory so hemlock cones, seeds and scales were also abundant.

As were red squirrel middens.

It may be a single track bicycle trail, but it’s not a single turkey trail. Their oversize prints covered the lower part of the range.

From top to bottom, deer prints crisscrossed the trail.

We also saw plenty of snowshoe hare tracks. Though my guy claims he saw an actual hare, I can at least say that I knew by the signs left behind that they’d been active.

Prints below a 45% cut on a shrub and plenty of milk duds–aka snowshoe hare scat–were evident everywhere we turned.

My bark addiction is not to be denied. A wee bit of light brown between furrows makes me think I’m looking at Northern red oak, until I recognize the flattened ridges and gnarly furrows and realize I’m starring at a big tooth aspen tree. Of course, its leaves with those well-cut teeth and flattened stems serve as a banner.

False tinder conks and artist conks decorate the trees.

After lunch (PB&J, some yummy chocolate raspberry bars my sister made and hot cocoa), we left the brook behind and began to ascend the mountain via a number of switchbacks. My guy, of course, was always ahead as he appears here–disappearing into the trees.

The community kept changing–sometimes we were in a recently logged area where paper birch, gray birch and cherry trees dominated the landscape.

Other times it was a mix of evergreens, including white and red pine, hemlocks, firs and spruce trees.

And then the S-turns got serious–one curve after another. The higher we climbed, the more we realized that there were a lot of false summits before us, but a glorious view behind us.

Mount Washington and Kearsarge North provided a brilliant display.

With my telephoto lens, I pulled in the Mount Washington Observatory and fire tower atop Kearsarge.

The Mount Washington Valley spread out below us. We felt like we were so close to the connecting trail between Mount Cranmore and Black Cap Mountain, but the sun lowered and we’d left our headlamps behind. Every time we thought surely the next turn would be the summit, we were wrong. So . . . rather than worrying about reaching that destination, we decided to turn around and head back down the trail. At first, we bushwhacked together and then it became a game. We took turns as one of us bushwhacked while the other followed the trail, curious to see where we would meet. Competition took over, and we were soon running to beat the other to our meeting spot–wherever that may be. Somehow, what took us a while to climb up turned into only an hour’s journey down.

I, of course, got off track a couple of times and had to yell to my guy to figure out his location. He had the last chuckle when I chose a wet spot for my final shortcut-turned-longcut.

At last we reached the trailhead, tired but exhilerated. On this Mondate we went with the flow and loved the opportunity to learn and play together along the way.

Some Call Them Weeds

January 2, 2016January 2, 2016 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Shades of brown, gray and green dominate the winterscape now that we finally have some snow. It’s those browns that frequently draw my focus as I admire the woody skeletons of bygone summer wildflowers. Of course, some call them weeds.. I’ll admit that they do grow prolifically–especially in land cleared by humans, e.g. the field and power line I frequent.

But . . . come meet a few of my winter friends.

This is Indian tobacco (Lobelia inflata). Guides say it tends to be alone, but I’ve seen it grow in colonies as well. The papery calyx is all that is left now.

Inflata refers to the inflated seedpods, which are two-chamber capsules that split open to drop their seeds.

Minute and scaly, the seeds self sow.

I struggle with the ID of this member of the mint family. Knowing it is a mint is the easy part. Notice the square stem? I believe it’s bugleweed or water horehound, but I’ve also toyed with motherwort. Either way, both feature toothy calyces that whorl around the stems. I keep flip-flopping because the dried seedpods seem larger than bugleweed, but all were on single stems and the area is known to be wet–though not consistently. Maybe knowing it’s a mint is enough.

Both hardhack (steeplebush) and meadowsweet are members of the Rosaceae family. Their dried fruit structure is known as a follicle, meaning it splits open along one line–like a milkweed. But these two plants have five follicles encircling a central point.

Showy goldenrods grow abundantly and it’s no wonder given all their seeds. They depend on the wind and my snow pants to disperse. I refer to plants that stick to my clothes as volunteers. And if they are sticking to me, then they are also sticking the fur of mammals that move about this area. Today I found deer, bobcat and squirrel tracks.

Both goldenrods and aster seeds have small, single-seeded fruits called achenes. A receptacle holds the fruits in place until they’re ready to head off on their own.

Check out the crown of hair, called a pappus, on this aster. These act like parachutes and enable the fruits to float along in a breeze, thus spreading the flowers far and wide.

While the goldenrod flowers tend to grow in dense clusters, aster flowers are found in a single arrangement.

A turn to folklore explains how the goldenrods and asters are related. Two young girls talked talked about their future. One, who had golden hair, said she wanted to do something that would make people happy. The other, with blue eyes, said that she wanted to be with her golden-haired friend. When the two girls told a wise old lady of their dreams, she gave them some magic corn cake. After eating the cake, the girls disappeared. The next day, two new kinds of flowers appeared where the girls had walked: Asters and Goldenrods.

Another way to identify goldenrod in the winter is to look for these galls. The goldenrod ball gall, on the left, is a round gall in the middle of a stem. In the spring, the Goldenrod gall fly lays her eggs on the stem. Hatched larvae chew their way into the stem and the gall starts to develop. The other is a Goldenrod bunch gall created by a tiny fly called the Goldenrod gall midge. It looks like a mass of tiny leaves. While it stops the main stem from growing, tiny branches extend outward.

Though not an insect, I did find a spider on the snow today.

And then I came in, bringing a few finds with me. My guy is lucky–bouquets come cheap around these parts.

Some call them weeds. I call them volunteers who add beauty in any season.

Book of January: A Guide to Nature in Winter by Donald W. Stokes

January 1, 2016March 13, 2019 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

Book of January

I have a number of winter nature books, but one of my go-to favs is A Guide to Nature in Winter by Donald W. Stokes. My copy is old (1976–it was a very good year–I graduated from high school) and a bit weathered, but that’s because it has seen frequent use.

Divided into eight field guides, Stokes covers all aspects of winter: winter weeds; snow; wintering trees; evidence of insects; winter’s birds and abandoned nests; mushrooms in winter; tracks in the snow; and woodland evergreen plants.

For each topic, pen-and-ink drawings by illustrator Deborah Prince and the author are included in the key, as well as natural history descriptions.

The natural history descriptions are just that–Stokes’s descriptions are part of the story that Kevin Harding of the Greater Lovell Land Trust reminds us to share with others. Here’s an example: “St. Johnswort (Hypericum perforatum)–An old country custom in Europe was to hang a special yellow-blossomed plant in your window on the eve of St. John’s Day (June 24), in order to repel bad spirits and counteract the evil eye. In general, the presence of this plant was considered a good omen, and since it was thought that the plant warded off lightning and revealed the identity of passing witches, St. Johnswort was allowed to prosper around the farmhouse. It became known as St. John’s Plant or St. Johnswort (wort meaning “plant” or “herb”). When the plant immigrated to North America it left its traditions behind, and although still as effective as it probably ever was against evil, St. Johnswort is now seldom used for that purpose.” Of course, then he goes on to describe how the plant grows and the seed heads that will appear in the winter landscape.

One of the things I’ve learned from this book is to keep it simple. In the chapter about winter trees, Stokes encourages the reader to begin with the six most common deciduous trees: oak; maple; ash; beech; birch; and aspen. Learning these along with the evergreens provides you with knowledge about 80% of the trees in your forest. I’ve spent the last couple of years developing my bark eyes. I still have much to learn, but can eliminate the common species when I encounter bark I’m uncertain about.

It’s well worth taking the time to read A Guide to Nature in Winter from cover to cover–it’s an easy and enjoyable read. I say it won’t take long–unless you are like me and you pause to underline (yes, I mark my books up–even write in the margins, oh my!) details and take time to understand what you do see along the trail. I probably should invest in a more up-to-date copy, but I feel right at home engrossed in the one that I have.

And it’s also easy to turn to a particular chapter to figure things out. The simplified, illustrated keys should bring you quickly to an identification. And as I said before, the natural history description will further enhance your learning.

The book is available at Amazon.com, but if you live near an independent book store like Bridgton Books, then I strongly encourage you to shop there.

A Guide to Nature in Winter: Northeast and North Central North America, by Donald W. Stokes, illustrated by Deborah Prince and the author, published 1976, Little, Brown & Company.

The Wonders of Wilson Wing

December 30, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

A wander at Wilson Wing Moose Pond Bog Preserve is the perfect way to celebrate the start of snow season. The 20.7 acres of land near Horseshoe Pond that was donated by the Wing family combined with the twelve acres surrounding Sucker Brook that The Nature Conservancy previously owned create the Preserve, which is a Greater Lovell Land Trust property.

My friend Jinny Mae and I donned our snowshoes and headed off on the trail, not sure what we might find. It was snowing lightly when we started, so we didn’t expect to see any mammal tracks.

Thus we were delighted with our finds–especially this one which was rather fresh. A look at the formation and we knew we had a member of the mustelid or weasel family. A few measurements of prints, straddle and stride–and we determined it was a mink.

In true mink fashion, it enjoyed a slide into the brook. We also saw mice, red squirrel, deer, bird and domestic dog tracks–some were blurred by the snow, but the pattern and behavior helped us come to a conclusion. Well, the bird stumped us at first. It wasn’t clear at all. But then we saw juncos. And under the platform were clear prints beside some muted ones.

Though we neither saw nor heard any red squirrels, their presence was well pronounced. I was surprised to see a midden. All fall, I searched for caches. Usually cones are piled in various places, but this year I found only a few. Were they fooled by the warm weather?

I don’t know if it’s because it is winter and everything seems more pronounced or what, but the ash bark appeared chunkier and corkier than ever. Of course, the snowflakes added to the scene.

We were beside Sucker Brook, which flowed with winter magic.

And ice. Its many forms of presentation always fill me with awe and wonder.

And whimsy. Check out these gigantic feet and

the hemline of this snowy skirt.

Another favorite (oops, I forgot, everything is my favorite, but these really do stop me in my tracks–or snowshoes) is hobblebush. In any season this shrub provides an incredible display, but its the winter buds that are especially astounding. (OK, wait until it blossoms and I’ll be saying the same thing.) While most buds have waxy scales that protect the leaves, hobblebush is naked. The same is true for witch hazel buds. What you see in these photos, is miniature leaves clasping each other. And embraced within, the flower bud. Here’s hoping the snow provides warmth until spring.

Another “favorite” display adorned a rock hidden beneath the snow.

Common polypody ferns seemed to hold the snow tight between their curled blades. That made us pause and wonder once more.

And because we did so, we realized that clusters of sporangia were ready to catapult their spores into the world.

They look like miniature clusters of balloons waiting to broadcast the arrival of a new year. But, why were the pinnae curled inward? It’s certainly not a stance that would protect the spores–those are to be spewed outward in order to further the population. We know that the blades curl up if conditions are dry, but it’s hardly been dry the past few weeks–lots of rain and now snow. My research turned up little, but I wonder if it’s a protective measure similar to the rhododendrons in our front yard. As nature’s thermometers, they let us know what the temperature is based on the behavior of their leaves–about 40˚ they extend outward, about 32˚ they droop and in the low 20˚s the rhodies’ leaves curl. I’m always sure they will die and drop off, but that’s not the case. Could it be the same for the polypody? Do their dense covering of scales located on the underside prevent the loss of moisture? Now I need to keep track of the temperature and see if it follows the same pattern.

Worth a wonder. Worth a thanks to the Wing family (and especially Dr. Wilson M. and June Wing) for helping to make the Preserve a place for all of us to wander.

Finally Flakes

December 29, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

White stuff fell from the sky today–a late date for our first measurable snowfall.

Yesterday, I saw a dandelion blooming in Denmark as I participated in Maine Audubon’s annual Christmas Bird Count. Today, I assume that yellow blossom is snug below about five or six inches of snow.

While on the bird count, I practiced using my new macro lens, but didn’t have the telephoto lens in my pack because it wasn’t working correctly. Miraculously, I solved that problem this morning and am back in business–taking photos with several different foci.

From the get-go, the feeders provided a source of energy and entertainment. I wonder who ruffled the red-breasted nuthatch’s feathers?

Perhaps it was a cat. Let the tracking season begin! I noticed this set leading from the barn, where we watch anywhere from one to six neighborhood cats emerge. I’m not sure which one owns these prints, but it stayed close to the house rather than making the usual venture to hunt below the feeders.

After scooping the driveway snow, I was antsy to check things out in the woods. The vernal pool is covered with slush–we need a few nights in the deep freeze to firm things up. Looks like we could hit negative digits by next week. Not sure our bodies are acclimated for that this year. Pile on the layers.

Without meaning to, I flushed three ruffed grouse–only their prints showed their presence. And my heart beat.

A flock of turkeys had also traveled my way, leaving behind their trademark signature.

I hadn’t expected too many tracks, so pointed the lens toward the snow and its presentation on a variety of subjects.

Atop asters and hardtack,

balsam fir and bulrush, each crystal clung.

Some were embraced by cinnamon and sensitive ferns,

Still others formed blankets of protection.

And then I turned my attention elsewhere. The leafy liverwort in the genus Frullania beckoned a closer look. Like mosses and lichens, liverworts are nonvascular flora.

Most are green, but Frullania is brown. As it weaves in and out of the crevasses on the ash bark, its structure reminds me of ricrac, that zigzaggy trim we used to add to sewing and craft projects.

This hornet nest always deserves an examination of structure, texture and design. Constructed from chewed up wood strips mixed with sticky saliva, this is an incredible undertaking.

Each tiny cell once housed an egg. While the males and the old queen died in the autumn, the females who mated have burrowed into tree stumps and other cozy spots to survive the winter months.

One of my favorite finds today: clusters of striped maple samaras dangling from a tree–waiting for the right moment to disperse. Insect wings come to mind.

Because the ground hasn’t frozen and we’ve had so much rain lately, I left a few slushy prints.

As I retraced my steps, I discovered I’d had company. Unfortunately, I never saw the two deer that crossed behind me. We were silent partners in the winter world.

Home again, I’m thankful for the male cardinal that graces the backyard on a regular basis. Sometimes his mate accompanies him, but I didn’t see her tonight.

It’s beginning to look and feel like my favorite season has arrived. Flakes finally fell–YAHOO!

Making a list

December 17, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

and checking it twice. That’s what the busy beavers on a friend’s property appear to be doing right now as they ready for winter.

When JoAnne asked if I wanted to see the recent beaver works, I jumped at the opportunity.

Today’s rain didn’t stop us from heading out to explore. She first discovered this new pond when she walked down a sloping field and noticed through the trees what looked like water–where it wasn’t supposed to be.

A creek flows through her neighbor’s property and once supported several mill sites.

It continues, or should I say continued, across her property, coming in from the right. That is, until things changed.

This past summer, in the middle of what is now the pond, JoAnne stood beside the then creek and marked a property boundary with pink tape.

The ribboned tree was on the far side of the creek before her new neighbors came knocking.

At a former dam site, they took it upon themselves to do their own construction. It needs work as we could see some holes, but I’ve no doubt that they’ll be on that in no time.

Their industrious nature was evident everywhere we looked. No tree species was spared. Once felled, they trimmed the branches and carried or dragged them to the water.

With their large front teeth, beavers bite chips off trunks. Their rodent teeth never stop growing so gnawing wood helps keep them in check. Because their lips are located behind their teeth, they can keep their mouths closed while they work. No need to hum a logging tune.

Some trees are particularly tasty and it seems that they like more than just the bark and cambian layer, the softwood just beneath the bark. Or perhaps they are cutting them into log-size pieces to make for easier carrying and maneuvering in the water.

Nothing was safe, including the sapling that had grown beside the shed.

Sometimes things don’t work out quite the way they intend.

The upper part catches on other trees. All that effort . . . for naught.

We stood in awe and wondered about how nature plays tricks on them occasionally.

We marveled at the thought of them standing on their hind feet to work.

And we noticed their oft-traveled roadways throughout the area.

One of the truly curious things–most of the trees have fallen toward the water. Chance? Instinct? Engineering skills? They’ve learned how to fell a tree in that direction, thus creating the quickest route back to safety?

The lodge is large. Accessible only via underwater entrances, the beaver family has protection from some predators. Outside, we could see part of their winter feed pile. We suspect there are more sticks below the water that will be available once the ice finally forms.

When all is said and done, statues like this will remain to remind JoAnne and others of these natural engineers and how they altered the land to create the water world they need for survival, which will ultimately benefit other wildlife.

As for their checklist:

*dam secure?

*lodge in good repair?

*food cut, moved and stored?

How about you? Have you made your list and checked it twice?

Sunday Surprises

December 13, 2015December 13, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

As I headed into my smiling place today, I was certain that I wouldn’t find anything of interest. But this Sunday wander made me realize that the gift of wondering means being open to surprises.

I began my traipse following one of the more recent logging trails where sliding over slash is the name of the game.

I can’t wait for three feet of snow to make this an easier adventure. In the meantime, I made do.

Some moments I did think I was sinking to China–where my friend Judy Lynne would have to be on the lookout for me.

And then pumpkin orange polypores called out, proving slash is good for something. Cinnabar-red Polypore (Pycnoporus cinnabarinus) I do believe. It pays to have Fascinating Fungi by Lawrence Millman in my pack.

As is its habit, it was growing on a downed cherry log. I picked one fruit to show the pore surface beside the cap. Millman describes it this way: “Caps are kidney-shaped orange to dull reddish-orange, azonate and covered with warts and wrinkles in age. The pore surface, in the words of mycologist Gary Lincoff, ‘looks as if it had been seared by a hot iron.’ The pores themselves are usually more angular than round.” I had to look up azonate when I got home: without zones or circular bands.

Cinnamon fern grew abundantly in this boggy land and as usual, I was drawn to the drama it provides in death.

Most of the pinnae or leaflets have fallen to the ground, where their curved forms add texture and interest even as they begin to break down and give back.

Watching over all–a large colony of British soldiers, their red caps ever so bright in this miniature world.

I reached the main logging road at last. A few weeks ago I thought that the logger had finished his mission, but apparently not. That’s okay, because after I found a bunch of bobcat, coyote and deer prints, I headed back into the woods leaving the muck behind.

Bunches of white pine needles adorn many of the young hemlock trees–all in keeping with the season.

And the hair cap moss speaks of starry, starry nights and geometric designs.

But my best find of all was a total surprise. In fact, I didn’t think it was natural at first. An old baseball or tennis ball that somehow landed in this place where few venture? I touched it and it felt almost leathery. Inside, the duff was powdery. Time to turn to Millman again. I think my ID is correct: Pigskin Poison Puffball aka Earthball (Scleroderma citrinum). WOW! Look at that warty surface. And it was huge compared to other puffballs. My heart was singing. (Fortunately I kept the song in my heart though I was in a place where no one would have heard me!)

Eventually I made my way back to the snowmobile trail where I continued to wander for a while. Wintergreen is the plant of choice for this stump garden.

Bracken ferns have turned from green to a light bronze patina. Most have fallen or been knocked over. This one especially appealed to me because it has retained its structure and even portrayed an uplifting spirit.

The past few days have been delightfully, though unusually, warm, but I found some ice. And even an ice ghost.

From ghosts to witches–in the woods, I never know who I’ll happen upon. Witch’s Butter (Tremella mesenterica) is another that stands out amongst the grays and browns of the December landscape.

Not all is gray and brown. As I wait for snow, the colors of the season remind me that without its covering, there’s much to enjoy.

I was about to head down the grassy path that leads to our cowpath, when two things gave me pause. First, the droplets of water that adorned the grass.

And second–this gall on a meadowsweet plant. I’ve passed it numerous times and decided today was the day to try to figure it out. If my guess is wrong, please feel free to correct me. I think this is rose bedeguar gall, aka Robin’s pincushion gall. Meadowsweet is a member of the rose family, so maybe I’m right. Then again . . .

One last find that I always enjoy looking at–the fruits of sheep laurel extending below the leaves and reminding me of jingle bells.

At last I was home again, thankful for a Sunday wander wonder-filled with surprises.

Welcoming Embrace

December 10, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 4 Comments

It was a wee bit foggy when I arrived at the trailhead for Bald Pate Mountain today. I was on a return reconnaissance mission in preparation for an upcoming hike for Loon Echo Land Trust.

As I walked along, I felt the welcoming embrace of the fog–soft in its touch as it enveloped me.

My intention was to hike to the Foster Pond Outlook first because it was getting dark earlier in the week when I’d visited. I was on my eternal search for bear claw marks. Instead, there were other discoveries to be made.

Like me, the pines were wrapped in the fog’s grace.

And the pond invisible, yet I trusted it was still there.

I discovered the light of the season . . . in leaves lingering still,.

in bark appearing snowy,

in beauty revealing inward,

in miniatures branching upward,

in droplets anticipating release,

and mountains floating beyond.

This is the season of expectation. I expected to find bear claw marks, but didn’t. Instead, I found warmth and light. And some other cool things to share with others.

I welcomed the fog and its revelations. I reveled in its embrace. Happy am I for opening my eyes and heart and mind.

Thinking Big

December 6, 2015December 8, 2015 ~ lmachayes ~ 8 Comments

A return trek to the old neighborhood off Hut Road in Stoneham left me thinking big.

J.M joined me for this exploration and it’s a wonder we got any further than our parking place beside Great Brook.

It was a sensational, albeit too warm for this time of year, December day. We could have spent all our time taking in the sounds and smells and sights as the water coursed over the rocks.

But we pulled ourselves away and went in search of a time gone by. Single and double-wide stone walls line the old road and mark pastures and gardens. Miles of walls.

And dotting the landscape–piles of rocks picked from the ground. This was farm country before the forest took over.

We called on the neighbors and were glad they didn’t mind us examining their root cellar. The only contents–old porcupine scat in the back corner.

The foundation is big and must have supported a large family. Today, it’s home to a large family tree.

It always excites us to find other signs of life–including a stone-lined well; it’s a deep subject.

The neighbors lived up the street in an equally large home. Were they related? We’re still trying to figure that out.

We paused beside Willard Brook before turning back.

Passing through rich woods, we found ourselves in the land where giant polypores and chaga thrive.

That’s not all that thrives here. Moose browse on striped maple and piles of scat were abundant.

We practically tripped over the biggest scat of all. Well, J.M. tripped. And that’s how it caught our attention. Classic. Love it.

Equally impressive in size and perseverance. And age. The sugar maples.

And because J.M. was with me, we saw things I may have passed by like the ice patterns on leaves. We celebrated hiking together knowing that the small things in life are the biggest.

wondermyway

Wonder along with me as I wander through the woods

Mammals