neverspent: vintage art of ferns (Default)
Tonight we have thunderstorms and a toad appeared on the porch. Then I noticed that a few pitches above the rain and thunder, away down in the woods, frogs were singing. Not even spring peepers, but regular tree frogs, like April. It would all be rather friendly and comforting if it weren't still early February, in a year that winter never came.
neverspent: art of bridge (rural bridge)
I'm back at the farm. I knew the drought in this part of the state was becoming severe, but driving here through the hills almost made me gasp with how obviously bad things have become. I'll probably write more on the general situation later, but this morning I walked down to the pond and saw something I've never witnessed before: our spring-fed pond is almost completely dried up. The spring bubbles out of the ground nearby and flows into the pond, oxygenating and cycling the water before it flows out into a little creek at the other side. Or it has done with basically no human interference for the 29 years we've lived on this place, but now the spring has disappeared. The sight of the cracked mud and stranded lilies and the pathetic, murky pool that remain were a bit of a shock, even though I was prepared.

It's nothing like this lake in Texas or this one in Florida, but the condition of our little pond is a very personal illustration for me of how this disaster affects natural systems.

Images of a dry pond )

Even though it was an unpleasant surprise to see how things have changed so quickly, it was interesting how some things are still hanging on and taking advantage as well as they can. Bless the frogs and dragonflies and raccoons and birds and waterbugs and anything that can live in green mud.
neverspent: vintage art of ferns (Default)
Peepers!

I went out for a short evening walk with my dad when I arrived at the farm on Friday, and the first thing I noticed was that I could hear a faint chorus of Spring Peepers. They're tiny little frogs with high pitched voices. Alone I guess it would sound like a baby bird peeping, but hundreds of them together (which they always are) can be quite loud. You'd have to shout over them, at times. You almost never see them, but you'll be driving along in early spring and when you pass a low, wet area or damp wooded area, suddenly the air is filled with this high, pulsing frog chorus. It's very atmospheric and a strong aural sense memory for me.

You can listen to a single peeper here and the lovely, pensive chorus here.
neverspent: vintage art of ferns (ferns)
Inspired by the experience of finding a toad under a rock, and by this how-to article, my niece and I made a toad house. Here's what I did:

1. Start a day or two before you want to "plant" the house.
2. Find a medium-sized plain terra cotta pot and saucer. Use a hammer to knock a large chip out of the rim. Then use glue to glue most of the pieces of the pot back together, after you realize there is no way to be delicate with a hammer on terra cotta. Also, glue the bottom of the saucer to the bottom of the pot, so that when you turn the pot upside down, the saucer is right-side up.
3. After the glue has dried, tell your 5-year-old what you're up to. If you make it sound exciting, she'll be excited. She may want to go right out and hunt for toads. You can use this to motivate the next step.
4. Go outside and hunt for pretty little things with which to decorate the toad house. At the farm, we have an abundance of broken pottery and glass from the mid 20th century always working to the surface, so we were able to find lots of this. Little stones and marbles would work just as well though.

Found decorations for toad house


5. Glue the decorative items to the pot mosaic-style or in some sort of pattern. Work quickly. You are in a race against time before your 5-year-old loses focus and moves on to the next interesting thing. I used a hot glue gun since it was the fastest method.
6. When you're finished decorating, go outside and find a shady, protected spot. Ideally, it should have some plant cover and moisture and bugs to eat.
7. Hollow out the soil a little where you're going to plant the pot. If your "doorway" chipped into the rim is small, dig out a "pathway" into the hollow as well.
8. Put the pot down over the hollow and pack soil around it so it's steady.
9. Put soil into the saucer on top and place moss in the soil. Water.
10. Go away and wait for Mr. Toad to move in!

Toad house, installed with moss
neverspent: vintage art of ferns (Default)
Early summer. Everything around the farm seems densely, pungently alive. If you tried to stop things from growing, you couldn't. They would just lurch back, thicker than ever. It's lovely with the flowers and hayfields, vegetable gardens, herds, flocks and young trees, but you can't have some without all. We also have more black ants and houseflies than we've ever seen. They're everywhere.

I walked the dogs in the evening and came across some brilliant things in the woods. In a low spot where a small stream crosses the road after rains, among a jungle of honeysuckle, blackberry brambles and wild strawberry runners, a wild rose bush was growing.

Wild rose


Then there was a gorgeous moth on the road. (A Giant Leopard Moth, I believe.) I think it might have found its final resting place, but I didn't disturb it in case it was just having a quick nip.

Spotted white moth


And best of all, a teeny tiny toad. I love toads. They eat lots of insects and hop harmlessly across your path in the evening. I think of them as a good omen. And when they're little, like this guy with grains of white sand on his nose, they're awfully cute.

Baby toad

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neverspent: vintage art of ferns (Default)
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September 2014

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