Nature is Never Spent

I'm at the farm, and I think we're probably at the peak of the autumn leaves colors right now. As I was driving around town doing errands this morning, I could pretty much just stick my camera out of the window at any point and take a picture of pretty pretty trees.

The sky is never this clear and blue in the summer. When it's hot, the atmosphere is a swirling soup of water vapor and heat rising, coming across from other regions, being absorbed by the city and the earth and radiating back into the sky... it makes a haze which is moody and gorgeous when the sun is rising, and it condenses into gorgeous cumulus piles and puffs later in the day. But it never gives me the lightness and joy of a cool, clear autumn or winter day.

The changing leaves overlapping the sky, glowing with the sun behind them... even when it's not a good day in other ways, we still have that. It's amazing.

One of the things I like about hiking in the woods and hills is seeing the different textures, the way things decay in patterns. Boulders, lichens, leaves, bark. There's such beautiful variety.

I love the way hickory leaves glow against the sunlight.

It's cooler today, but there's smoke in the air. There are wildfires nearby. This is not a surprise given the dryness we've been experiencing for the past few months, but it is very unusual for this part of the country. In the 25 total years I've lived here, I can only remember three or four years when fires were a concern.

The young magnolia trees are covered with buds at the tips of their branches. A few of the creamy white blossoms have already started opening.

Yesterday I was sitting out on the front porch at the farm in the late afternoon. There was little breeze, and except for the crows and the occasional sound of a distant neighbor target-shooting, it was quiet and peaceful. On the verge of being too warm. I was concentrating on some work I had with me, but every once in awhile I would hear a thump from the direction of the east side of the house. It was a muffled thudding sound, as if something heavy was hitting the soft ground. For a moment I wondered if my dad was dropping chunks of firewood over the pasture fence, but I saw him inside, so that wasn't it.

Finally I realized it must be the black walnut tree. The seeds of the black walnut, when they drop, are the size of a baseball, but more dense. The actual nut at the core of this huge fruit is a little bigger than an English walnut, and the outside of the shell is very rough. The shell is covered with a thick green rind which turns black as it ages, after the nut falls from the tree. The green rind, I learned from experience as a child, will stain your skin dark yellow, and there is no washing it out. I believe it can be used as a natural dye.

So the thump that I thought was heavy pieces of firewood was just nuts falling from a tree. Big, heavy nuts—lots of them. You can't even walk in that area without rolling around on them like a cartoon character on a dropped bag of marbles.

It's difficult to tell, this fall, if the leaves are wilty and brownish because it's been so hot and dry, or simply because it's fall. I suspect the former. Their appearance just looks... off. Most of the trees are still as green as ever, but then there are sections that are dead brown. And I've never seen sumac wilt the way it is this year. It's pretty hardy.

The ornamental pear trees along the block where I exercise are just starting to turn, a little. They're lovely when they do -- lots of the leaves will be four colors at the same time. Right now there are just a few red ones. Not like the maple tree out in front of the Target store. Half of it, the west-southwest half, is blazing red. There's another maple, a short and slender one by one of the local elementary schools, that's almost a tree-harlequin, the southwest side leaves red and the northeast side leaves summer green.

I'm at the farm, where we have an attic fan and the windows and doors open and cool air, but not mosquitoes, flowing through the screens. Last night was even more delicious than the day. In the morning, I took the dogs for their walk through the woods and I was a little surprised to see the clearings, which were low and brown two weeks ago, full of tall green weeds and saplings and revived flowers. The sun coming through the trees is always so pretty.



On one of the woodland sunflowers was a small brown butterfly. I stepped slowly closer to see if I could get a picture of it with the little camera I had in my pocket, and it didn't move. I thought I was awfully lucky to have found a sluggish butterfly, so I got closer and closer, until I saw, with a start, the eight green legs of the butterfly's killer, locked in the death embrace.

The embrace, linked for the squeamish

I have two willow trees growing in large pots on my balcony. Like almost all my potted trees, they simply sprouted on their own and I allowed or encouraged them to grow. It's amazing how many tree seeds find their way here. I could have nothing but bare pots some spring, leave them exposed to the wind and elements, and in a few weeks I would have a couple of dozen trees growing, at least three or four species.

The willow trees have been going for several years, and the senior of the two is taller than me. Unfortunately, they have some sort of fungus that causes their leaves to curl up and go bumpy at some point each spring. Because of that, I've decided I shouldn't transplant them, like I try to do with my other trees when they get large enough. One of the willows is growing in the same pot as my maple tree, and I wondered if I should just go ahead and cut out the willow to make more room. It doesn't even have that many leaves anymore, it's just a tall, slender trunk with a few branches at the top.

I'm glad I didn't. I noticed today that the hummingbirds like to perch there while they're checking out the area, getting ready to go for the feeder hanging under the eaves. They don't perch on the shorter trees or any of the stronger, bushy plants. I think it's an elevation issue as well as the type of surface they like to grip with their little feet.

That's true for most of the animals that come to my balcony: they have their preferred elevation, cover, and surface types. The squirrels will go anywhere, but the doves prefer the floor, the songbirds prefer the rail or the medium-height branches, and the hummingbirds and dragonflies like tall, slender stalks. It's a good illustration of why monoculture isn't good for biological diversity. It's not just a food variety that's needed, it's spacial variety as well.

My favorite tree in the old square on campus. For size perspective, that chain barrier around the base of the tree is about thigh-high to me.