CHAOS IN WHITE: Sandy Blizzard 2012 in North Central West Virginia

The storm was supposed to begin on Monday, October 29, and the weather forecasters predicted three or more feet of heavy wet snow. Of course, I was hoping they were wrong, very, very wrong. By 8:30 a.m., just as they had said,  wet snow was mixing with the rain.

I spent the day doing laundry and cooking things like pumpkin pies (without the crust), applesauce, and homemade granola.  These are all things that would keep for a while without refrigeration.

By 3:00 p.m. it began to snow heavily, and the ground had cooled enough that the snow was accumulating.

I was concerned that our Japanese Bloodgood Maple was still in leaf.  It is very special because  I bought it in 1979 for my dad as a Father's Day gift at a garden center in Louisville, KY, where we were living. It was little more than a twig at that time.

A wispy, ethereal quality was present as a giant, snowy paintbrush left
everything colored in a  delicate white.

As darkness approached, the snow came down unbelievably fast.  My husband, daughter and I went outside with flashlights so that we could shake some of the snow off the maple and other shrubs.

The earlier picture of our birch had changed to this as it bent
closer to the earth.

By 8:30 our power was gone, and we were not to have it restored until November 11, thirteen days later.

There is a special uneasiness, an eerie feeling when the weather is bizarre, and this night had that quality. We rested on couches downstairs in case a tree came crashing through our roof.  No one really slept, and my husband and I dutifully fed our wood stove throughout the night.  Without electricity, it was our only source of heat.

The snow kept falling and so did the trees and branches with loud cracks. Twice during the night we saw red-yellow pulsing lights that seemed to echo across the sky, ending with a stabbing, bright light as transformers for the power line blew.

The next day when daylight came, we saw trees bent downward under the weight of the heavy, wet snow. This is the same birch tree of the day and night before.

The trees created bazaar shapes as they arched under the weight of the nearly two feet of snow we had received.

Everywhere we looked, it was a scene that seemed as if it had been created on the movie set of a science fiction film.  Our beautiful trees with downward bent tops swayed like a strange, hoary creature trying to make it's way into the field. Eventually, almost all of these would sustain some damage.

During the previous night, one vehicle had made its way along the road before the trees began to break. Now the road was impassable with downed trees and large broken branches.

It continued to snow heavily the entire day, and by the morning of the third day, we had received at least three feet.

By Thursday, the road was plowed, and it had warmed enough to create a great deal of thawing. Life began again, stores opened in town as their electricity was restored, but for some, the winter hung heavily upon us as we waited and hoped for our electricity to be restored.

Travelling Down a Country Road

Travelling in autumn down a country road
where leaves like flowers glow the day.
The only sound is the wind's soft tones
and the crunch of tires on stones.

We drive past old home sites

and the remnants of another time, 

where signs of toil and joy in days gone by

stand majestically against the sky. 

Grasses where cattle fed

 in summer's warming sun,

now in autumn's early chill

give way to season's end.

The road winds along the mountain

past aging gates and nature's reclaimed pastures,

and delights with views that seem as if

painted by an unseen artist. 

October clouds hang low upon the mountains,

and the smell of autumn is in the air,

while crimson trees with leafy arms

 reach upward towards the sky.

Then down we go

Past an old fence row
Along this country lane

To a bright red barn

Resting on the mountainside 

Surrounded in peaceful green

The road divides, we make a left
enjoying the beauty of our drive.
We end the day with the pleasant sight
Of tranquil sheep grazing in velvet pastures.

WEEDS IN MY GARDEN: AUTUMN

I used to subscribe to several gardening magazines that I really enjoyed.  They discussed new plant varieties, growing information about old favorites, but most of all, they always seemed to have rules for planting--lots and lots of rules.  There were "how to" instructions for beautifully laid out gardens with everything perfectly planned.

Now, that just isn't my personality.  While I understand the principals behind groupings of the same plant to make a greater effect, I sometimes just don't have the space, especially when I have to squeeze that new plant into my garden.  Besides, my garden isn't just for me; it is also for all of the little creatures that inhabit it.

I discovered the pretty combinations in the magazine pictures didn't work in reality.  The creeping Jenny and the dead nettle among the hostas, while beautiful, soon threatened to strangle the garden. So didn't the uninvited native plants like the asters and hay ferns.

While beautiful in their own right, I was intent on raising only the more "glamorous" plant cultivars. Even the showy goldenrod did not escape my weed removal plans.

Then one day, I began to realize that many of these "weeds" were disappearing in the meadow area, obviously falling victim to over browse by deer.  That is when I became concerned and decided maybe I shouldn't take these native ones for granted.  So, I started allowing them to grow in my garden pretty much wherever they showed up.

At first I added a few native great blue lobelia plants which soon spread and became decorated by beautiful swallowtail butterflies.  This pipevine swallowtail is sipping nectar from a lobelia that popped up beside  my grandfather's old grinding wheel.

I transplanted several kinds of native ferns into the garden including sensitive, interrupted, cinnamon stick and Christmas ferns. A tiger swallowtail found a lobelia that had managed to pop up through the fern.  Even the hummingbirds were attracted to the nectar.  I've discovered that although they may prefer red, they will feed from other colors of tubular shaped flowers.

I also added some Black-eyed Susans to my flowerbed that now reseed regularly and provide blooms from June through September.  Because the goldfinches eat the seeds, I allow the spent plant to remain even though it turns an unsightly brown.

 Thanks to the addition of the native plants, I now have a colorful fall garden.  Here a spicebush swallowtail rests on a great blue lobelia with cultivated autumn joy sedum in the background.

Another pink and blue combination with the Japanese anemone 

providing the pink.

Near our garage, several Joe-Pye weeds started to grow.  I allowed one to grow unchecked, and it reached ten feet.  Then I was pleased to discover that the seeds provided a food source for the goldfinches.  A male sits on top of the bloom and is dwarfed by it.

I trimmed one Joe-Pye weed back during the summer to see what would happen.  As expected, the plant branched providing multiple small blooms.  It too attracted the goldfinches.

And so didn't the sunflowers that came up from the winter seed dropped by the birds. Both a male and female goldfinch are enjoying the seeds as they ripen.

 This area started with sedum, but asters, golden rod, and snake root popped up making an even prettier late summer and early autumn picture.

Tall volunteer goldenrods started to grow.

Until they became so tall that the blooms fell onto the sedum making this beautiful contrast.

New England asters filled in around an old pole.

And I transplanted a goldenrod for a little extra color.

Now my garden isn't boring anymore.  It has lots of color and little creatures living in it. Yes, there are some additional weeds that aren't the showy, blooming kind, and even if, as in the picture, a corner of it is dissected by a temporary clothesline, it's still colorful.  It's definitely not going to win the "yard of the month" award given by little, old ladies who ride around in cars and who use a rigid checklist of what should be in an "award winning" garden.  But my garden is unique, a one of a kind, a riot of quirkiness, just like its creator.

Our Phoebes Take Flight

Every spring, we are delighted to see our phoebes returning to the overhang above our garage doors. The female tidies up last year's nest with fresh moss and settles in.  They return much earlier than other birds, sometimes as soon as March, and do not build a new nest, preferring to "remodel" last year's.


This particular nest has long streamers of moss although most are actually neatly made and quite tidy. According to Cornell University's All About Birds website, the female may take up to two weeks when building  a new nest.  They generally prefer to place their nests under structures such as bridges, or in this case, as I previously mentioned, in the overhang area of the garage roof.  

After another 15 to 16 days of sitting on two to six white eggs, her young ones will hatch.  Here are three little heads peeking out of the nest.  When they first hatch, their eyes are closed, and they have sparse gray down.

Their time in the nest is brief, being only about 16 to 20 days.  Sometimes the female may chase the male away as early as the egg laying period although he usually hangs around defending his territory and running off predators These little ones are growing up fast, and it takes a lot to keep them fed.  

I love having them near my garden because they feed on insects. The phoebes like to perch on the eight foot locust poles that surround the vegetable garden and hold the deer fencing. The birds will fly out, grab an insect, and then fly back to the same pole to watch for more.

 One of my favorite Internet birding aids is the Cornell University All About Birds website.  This link will give you more information about the phoebes as well as allowing you to listen to their song.  

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Eastern_Phoebe/sounds

On page 4 of this Perdue University PDF, you can find information and instructions for building a nest shelf for phoebes.  

http://www.agriculture.purdue.edu/fnr/wildlife/PDFfiles/NCR338.pdf

These two are just about ready to fledge.  They are looking down at me as if to say, 

"We see you strange creature."

This one seems to be saying, 

"I'm thinking about it, but it's a long way down."

Opps, rough landing on that first flight.

I wonder if this little bird is saying:

I don't think I like this. I want my comfy nest.

Mom, help!!! It's hot here!

The fledglings usually leave very quickly, but some experts believe the parents may take care of them for up to two weeks after they leave the nest.  I'm looking forward to their return next year when once again the little ones will be fun to watch.  Sometimes we have to rescue them when they make a wrong turn and end up in the garage, but they usually take off and are gone before we know it.

Until next year....

Dwelling Among the Beauties and Mysteries of the Earth

Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.   Rachael Carson

I love Rachael Carson's comment.  Nothing seems more welcome to me than those very first glimpses of flowers pushing their way through last autumn's leaves. Uplifting and comforting, Nature shows us the infinite greatness of the Creation and the value of all life. When we learn to appreciate this, humans seem very small in this grand order and overwhelmingly destructive.

 The spring anemones 

This is a rue anemone (Anemonella thalictroides) whose name is from the Greek word for "wind" because the flower was believed to bloom when the wind blows.  It was used by the herbalists for everything from headaches to leprosy. The anemones are members of the Buttercup family, and worldwide there are some 85 species with about 25 found in North America.

Jack Sanders in his book "The Secrets of Wildflowers" says that the Romans would pick the first anemone of spring and say a prayer that it would protect them from fevers while the Crusaders are said to have returned with the poppy anemone, a red and white flower that was believed to have sprung from Christ's blood.  Some even believed that this anemone was the "lilies of  field" mentioned in the Bible.  Egyptians, on the other hand, believed them to be a symbol of sickness, and the Chinese called them the flowers of death.

The flowers below are light pink, which according to some sources, occurs if the blooms are among the earliest. The leaves of Dutchman's Breeches may be seen in the lower right hand corner while the heart-shaped leaves of wild ginger are at the bottom center.

To determine the difference between the rue anemone (Anemonella thalictroides) and the false rue anemone (Enemion biternatum), you have to count the number of sepals.  Even though they look like petals, in this case they are actually sepals that are neither green nor leaf-life. 


This is a true rue anemone because there are more than five of these white sepals.

Even though the leaves are very similar in shape, this is a false rue anemone because there are only five of the white sepals. Both plants are members of the buttercup family.

This plant is a wood anemone (Anemone quinquefolia).  It also has five sepals like the false rue anemone but its leaves are very different.  The leaflets are divided into three to five parts.

Jack Sanders says in the earlier mentioned title that the anemones should be established in a garden through the use of seeds collected in the spring. Anemone seeds should be planted in the spring and rue anemone in the fall.

 The Hepaticas 

Also in the buttercup family, these delicate flowers are among the very earliest of the spring flowers.  Their leaves are green throughout the winter and give the plant a head start on blooming.  The flowers appear so early that there are few agents for pollination, and it can self-fertilize. The hepatica's leaves and stems have tiny hairs. 

The plants have either pointed (Hepatica acutiloba) or round (Hepatica americana) leaves. The pointed ones are called "sharp-lobed". The sharp-lobed leaf can be seen in the bottom left corner of the picture.  Because its leaves are lobe-shaped, it is associated with the liver and was used by some Native Americans to treat liver disorders.  Some of its common names are liverleaf, liverwort, and squirrel cup. It can be white, pink or purple in the color of the bloom.

After a long, cold winter, Ralph Waldo Emerson probably said it best

 when he wrote:  

                      Earth laughs in flowers.