Just Flying By

A Magnolia Warbler in the birch tree.

In May, while I was fixing dinner, I saw a pretty, little, yellow and black bird looking back at me through the kitchen window. I grabbed my camera and took a few pictures.

I had no idea about the species of this bird because I am a neophyte in birding. This visitor wasn't hard to identify with the yellow stomach and distinctive head coloration and eye band.

I learned that my new friend was a Magnolia Warbler, a wayfarer on the way to Canada and the summer breeding grounds. Although it was new to me, the bird is considered one of the most common of the warblers.

The Magnolia Warbler was given this name because the first specimen was collected among the magnolia trees in Mississippi around 1800. An insect eater, the female will lay three to five green or white eggs with brown markings.


I finally decided that this was possibly a female beyond her second calendar year. I used an interesting website for identification that was created by the McGill Bird Observatory, a project of the Migration Research Foundation in Montreal, Canada.

http://www.migrationresearch.org/mbo/id/mawa.html#asymb

ON THE EVE OF SUMMER

The Lady Slipper: Spring's Beautiful Maidens

The spring orchids, especially the lady slippers, (Cypripedium acaule) are among the biggest treats in store for the person who ventures into the woods on a May or June day. They have long been the subject of folklore.










A native American chief was going off to war, and to comfort his young daughter, he promised to bring pink moccasins to her when he returned. He was killed, and she then died of grief. The mother fell asleep on the girl's grave, and when she awoke, she saw the pink moccasin flower. Thus she knew that the father and his loving daughter had been reunited.

The scientific name for these delicate and beautiful flowers has an equally interesting origin. "Cypripedium" is the Greek name for the slipper of Venus, the goddess of love. Other common names for it are not so flattering. They include camel's foot, squirrel's foot, steeple cap, whippoorwill shoes, two-lips, and the worst of all, old goose.

The pink one is not found west of the Mississippi River.



The lady slipper will only survive for a year or two if transplanted because it depends on a symbiotic relationship with a the Rizoctonia fungus where it is growing. The rhizomes for it can be as much as three feet long. Also, the flower should never be picked because it will interfere with the plant's life cycle and it's chances for reproducing. It is illegal to pick or dig these plants in several states.

While the average life span of the plant is twenty years, it may take at least five years to go from seed to flowering stage.

Although the lady slipper does not produce nectar, its pollinators are attracted by its color and fragrance. There is speculation that it produces a pheromone scent that attracts the males to mate. Bees enter from the front of the pouch but can't get back out that way so they must exit through a narrow passage. It is here that they get pollen on their back hairs.

The seeds are as tiny as a grain of powder.

The lady slipper was so popular during Victorian times and dug so frequently, that it was thought to be extinct.

The roots have been used for a number of medicinal purposes including pain relief. Native Americans used it to treat toothaches.

There are lots of hairs on this plant to keep it from being eaten. They contain a fatty acid that can cause a rash similar to poison ivy, another good reason not to pick it. This same fatty acid is also poisonous to people and animals.

And this reminds us of a quote by President Theodore Roosevelt.

"Wildflowers should be enjoyed unplucked where they grow"

The Snow Trillium

With petals peeking from the ground

as if standing on tiny toes,

the snow trillium reaches upward

embracing winter's cold

while warming in a mellow sun.

The first flower of the season,

the hope and promise of regeneration

of a cold and sullen earth

emptied by snow and windswept chill,

now shivering with life's new vibrations.

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.