THE VETCH IS BACK!

All morning, before the sun snuck around to the front of the house, I pulled a certain weed from my perennial garden that just will not die! It took me over 2 hours to yank only the stems from around my other flowers, so they will receive light and whatever water is left after the deceptively delicate demon-plant has sucked it all from the soil.

The Last of the Crown Vetch at the back of the garden.

The root system below the fern-like plant is a high-strength, industrial grade woody vine. Three years ago, I sprayed a small patch of it with Round-Up, covered the stuff with 5 mil black plastic and secured it with large rocks, so it would receive neither light nor moisture. It fried and smoldered underneath through the intense heat of summer (it faces west), and froze solid in the temps of winter…and when I uncovered it the next spring…IT WAS ALIVE! Or some of it anyway, and it continues to return in that spot every year for me to pluck up. Unfortunately, the rest of the garden did not get that same aggressive treatment. So, on this Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, while others are on picnics, playing golf, or at the annual opening of community pools, I am tiptoeing through a steeply sloped battlefield, doing hand-to-stem-combat and murmuring things like, “I hate you!” “You are of the Devil!” “Thank-you Ohio Department Of Transportation…brilliant idea!”

The pile was much bigger before I let it fry in the sun!

See, at some point in the past, ODOT thought it would be a good idea to plant crown vetch on the steep sides of highways in order to stem the tide of erosion….and for that application it was a brilliant idea because, as I mentioned, the root system could hold together a pre-fabricated bridge. But now, having learned the hard way, we know that introducing a non-native plant or animal into an ecosystem can be like opening the kingdom doors for the Trojan horse. In the end, the good gesture turns out badly.

I’m sure the previous owner of the house planted crown vetch for the aforementioned reason on the steep grade by the driveway (eventually these invasives wind up at garden centers). My vision, though, has been to annihilate it and create a garden where native plants thrive in the hot sun and dry soil for which they adapted…but if I wait too long, even just a few days, and plant things before yanking up the vetch…it becomes a hideous, overgrown, choking mess of pretty, green fronds and sweet, pink flowers!

But beauty is definitely in the eye of the informed beholder.

A FEW WILDFLOWERS AT PPW

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Trillium

Pink Lady's Slipper

Wild Comfrey

Hoary Puccoon

Wild Geranium

Columbine and Rock Cress growing on Dolomite Rock

Bluets in the Prairie

American Columbo

Can grow up to 25 years before blooming once and dying

SPRING WILDFLOWERS AT PRAIRIE POND WOODS

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Trillium

Pink Lady's Slipper

Wild Comfrey

Hoary Puccoon

Wild Geranium

Columbine and Rock Cress growing on Dolomite Rock

Bluets in the Prairie

American Columbo
Can grow up to 25 years before blooming once and dying

I TOOK A WALK TODAY...

...THEN PRACTICED THE ART OF SITTING IN ONE PLACE!



On the way up to my favorite ridge for morning birding, I caught a glimpse of movement high in a tree and fairly far away. Usually I don't bother when something is that far off in the distance, but I had gotten a late start, so I wasn't going to be choosy. I'm glad I looked, because I faintly made out a male and female Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Two days before she had visited the feeder, and he, just yesterday, when I snapped a few photos of the handsome and colorful dude.



Also, on the way up, I heard a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (yes we have this exotically named bird), a Red-eyed Vireo, Hooded Warblers, Ovenbirds, Wood Thrushes and a Wild Turkey. By 9:30 most of the action had ceased, but I decided that maybe I should just sit for another half-hour. Maybe with all the chatter and fluttering over, something singularly interesting might happen...and it did. 

Sitting on the same spongy log I perched on last year...when two fawns sauntered by and we exchanged glances...two yearlings walked by again. Did I have my camera? No. But the scene replayed itself. They stopped, looked at me (or towards me), browsed some vegetation and moved on down the well-worn path. I could have stood up, walked three steps, and petted them.



What I love about nature is its rhythms and predictability...and also the occasional unpredictable anomaly. While I'm not overly sentimental about deer (i.e., hunting them), any face to face with a wild creature does stir the heart and soul. But this encounter, while rare, is not all that strange. Like most animals, deer have certain territories and ways of getting around those territories for resources and refuge. So if I went up to the ridge every week and sat on my cushy log, odds are I would encounter the same two deer on a regular basis.

I've already been fantasizing about putting a camouflaged swivel chair up there to take in all 360 degrees of bird songs and sightings...so those deer and I may become well acquainted by the end of summer.

WILDWOMEN WEEKEND

This past weekend a group of my old (and one new!) friends spent two days taking in the gorgeous display of wildflowers and migrating birds in Adams County, and enjoying much-needed, but too infrequent, time to just "be." We shared good food and good stories. We laughed and cried. We checked each other for ticks. It doesn't get any better than that.

On Friday and Saturday night American Woodcocks started their aerial courting displays exactly at 8:45 pm and we watched their silhouettes against a cloudless, dusky sky. Then, right on cue, at 9:15 the Whip-poor-will began his loud (some said, obnoxious) repetitive call in the pines near the deck. After all that...the silence...and brightness of the stars.

During the early morning we took birdwatching hikes on the property at Prairie Pond Woods. Late morning we left for jaunts to local nature preserves to see spring carpets of Trilliums, Violets, Wood Poppies, Bluebells, Jack-in-the-Pulpits and courageous flowers hanging off rough rock faces.

Sometimes nature came to us, as when a flock of 30 Cedar Waxwings congregated in the Persimmon tree so we could watch them dive out for bugs. Or when three Indigo Buntings came to the hanging feeder. Or, in an odd moment, when a Scarlet Tanager left its familiar tall tree tops to perch on a deck chair!

My friends, like nature, are one of my spiritual lifelines. Deep friendships are sacred. Mine give me encouragement, purpose and context. I love the growth I see in them...even though we all acknowledge (and sometimes laugh about) the few things that beset each of us year after year. But my friends extend the grace I need to deal with my humanity. Like the wildflowers and warblers that show up every April, my friends are faithful, reliable and bring me comfort...and a whole lot of joy!

See you next year, you wild women! --Cindy

WHAT A WEEKEND FOR WILDTHINGS!!

When I arrived at Prairie Pond Woods on Thursday morning, I walked the Refresher Course and heard or saw the usual, over-wintering suspects, plus some recent, mid-April visitors...Tree Swallow (in pic), Brown Thrasher, Ruby Crowned Kinglet and Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher. I even noticed an Eastern Bluebird pair darting in and out of an old nesting box (Evidently, we put the new ones up too late or they just don't like the decor).



Then, during the night, late summer arrived on a very warm front up from the south. We went from 60's to 80's overnight. But what also arrived Friday morning, no doubt helped by that warm wind at their backs, were about 9 species of neo-tropical birds! I made note of Blue-winged, Prairie, Hooded and Black & Whitle warblers, and spotted several Ovenbirds in the woods, along with the ever-lovely Scarlet Tanager and Indigo Bunting. Then I topped it all off hearing the unique songs of the Wood Thrush, White-eyed Vireo and Yellow-breasted Chat! As I was leaving on Sun, I'm pretty sure I heard a Common Yellow-throat, too.



It made me happy that these migrants had a good tail wind on at least part of their return from South or Central America to my own little plot of land just a few miles, "as the warbler flies," from the Ohio River. I'm filled with awe that they arrive just when the caterpillars and other insects emerge from various egg casings and other winter confinements.



We should all be filled with gratitude for the way they help balance the bug population! The week before, just after dawn and an overnight rain, I took a walk in the woods. Scattered all over the forest floor were thousands of white spider webs showing up against the rain-darkened leaf litter.



The picture just doesn't do it justice because they were in every direction and far as I could see. Now that's a smorgasbord just waiting for Ovenbirds, Towhees and the Wood Trush!



Next Post: All the Wildflowers seen, smelled, touched and enjoyed!!!

EASTER THOUGHTS...FOR WOMEN

Reading Luke's account of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus this bright Easter morning, engaged many thoughts and emotions for me...especially around the women who played such an integral part during those gut-wrenching days.

As Jesus hung on a cross, many women, spiritual sisters of Jesus, some who had traveled from Galilee, stood at a distance watching hopelessly and helplessly. This holy man, this teacher, someone who had treated them graciously as equals, was being tortured to death for no reason that they could understand. Hours before they had been wailing for him in grief, as he walked to a horrible place known by everyone as The Skull. As they beat their breasts, he turned to tell them not to weep for him but to weep for themselves... These same women followed the council member, Joseph, to the cave he purchased, and they watched in sadness as he laid the body of Jesus inside it.

And now it was their turn.

They probably had no money or business standing to buy a tomb. No political clout to protest this injustice. But they had their cultural role...to do the unlovely work of preparing a dead body for burial. Such a long two days. Such anguish and emotion. They had been unable to do or say anything to stop it. And now this person they came to love, and the hope he had given them of something beautiful and new, was gone forever. So they prepared spices and ointments, the one thing they could do, and anxiously awaited their time to honor him. But first, even with the eagerness to go to him, even amidst all the adrenaline rushes as they recounted the events and wondered about their future, they rested.

And now it was God's turn.

Indeed, the new and beautiful hope was not dead. In fact, as they rested, it came alive after being lifeless. The old spiritual culture was dead...torn in two and opened up. Jesus entrusted the most significant spiritual news ever, not to the apostles, but to a bunch of women whom the men considered silly and full of idle tales. But the resurrection brought a new, life-affirming theology of the heart, and maybe Jesus knew how much these women treasured him.

So one Mary, his mother, first saw him incarnated into this world as a baby, and another Mary saw him as he re-incarnated as Head of a whole new world order. A world where stereotypes and biases don't blind us to the marvelous things God is doing...or wants to do.

And so now it is our turn....

"I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." -John 13:34

"Let us relinquish the future. Let us relinquish it to God, who upholds us in our pain, who frees us for doing what is faithful, but who frees us from the need to prevail... Gathered around Word and sacrament, fellowship and prayer, a confessing church, in the midst of encircling chaos, will stand in the name of God's peace. A community of reconciliation in the midst of division, of the cross in the midst of compromise, and of joy in the midst of despair, it will play its part by bearing witness to Jesus Christ, crucified and risen.

George Hunsinger
-from Bearing Witness

WHAT'S HAPPENING THIS SPRING EQUINOX

At the end of February, we finally got the bluebird boxes up that several "friends of Prairie Pond Woods" helped decorate. Their artwork will forever be on display. Last weekend, Craig said he saw a male and female bluebird near the two new boxes adorning the garden fence. After getting the binoculars, he concluded that it was the male flying back and forth between them, whille the female sat on a wire and looked on.

For several weeks now, the woodcocks have been flying overhead at dusk, moving from one field to another and calling their nasaly "peent" to attract a mate. Only once have I seen them in the daylight, after I practically stepped on one; its well-blended plumage hiding it in the dry, tan grass and brown leaf litter.

While taking a walk, Craig and I scared up a pair of Wood Ducks, no doubt the ones we saw on our pond last year. They flew through the woods, maneuvering around tree trunks and branches, and were out of sight within seconds. This is so strange to witness because it is more common to see ducks flying straight across open skies for long distances. But Wood Ducks not only possess uncommon beauty, they are uncommon in their nesting behavior, choosing to raise broods in tree cavities near water.

As of this writing the daffodils are up and many are blooming. The lilac bushes are leafing out. The birds are ramping up the volumes and frequency of their songs. It is a great time of anticipation!

I TOOK A WALK YESTERDAY...

For over an hour I tromped through the 9 inches of snow and ice that had fallen 3 days earlier and knocked out both power and phone service to all of Adams county. When we arrived at Prairie Pond Woods to remedy a potentially frozen water pump and pipes, it was overcast and the land grayed out. But today, after the blue sky welcomed the sun back to its arcing route, the landscaped gleamed glorious!





Every tree and exposed vegetation not buried by snow was encapsulated by frozen rain. The woods glistened white and brittle, except where the damp, darkened bark contrasted almost black against the mounds of snow heaped on their branches. The prairie looked like acres of cotton balls, where thick crusts of white covered mounds of big bluestem and Indian grass. In every direction I looked, almost constant white, with bursts of prismatic color nearly too intense for my eyes. It was magical!



I took more than 200 hundred photos over two days, and grieved that, for my skill level anyway, it was impossible to truly capture the magic of each vista. In my heart of hearts, I also wanted badly to share this beauty, but the lack of electric power (no water) and no phone (not even cell towers were functioning), prevented me from inviting anyone to come and see it.



After I could not think of any angle or place where I had not taken a picture, I returned to the house, and we continued on with the business of “surviving” the ordeal that began the evening we arrived in the dark…and I mean…DARK. It was spooky.



Craig mentioned on the drive down that he planned to string a 50-foot extension cord, and then some, to the water pump down the slope behind the house so the lights in the housing unit would keep the pump from freezing.



“Really?” I asked, rather disbelieving. “And where are you going to get that many extension cords?”

“I’m going to make one…a 100-foot one when we get there…from the romex I bought at that garage sale…and then I’ve got all these other ones,” he said pointing to the back seat. There behind us laid a huge pile of neatly wound red, yellow, green, brown and off-white colored extension cords.

“Okay, whatever you say.” I said with pure resignation. I love my wanted–to-be-a-Boy Scout husband and his “can do” attitude.



So when we arrived, as if on a mission from God, he fastened male and female ends to the off-white cord by the beam of the truck headlights. We threaded it through the garage window and uncoiled it down the slope with our headlamps on and our fingers crossed. We really wanted this to work, especially since the next night’s temperature was dropping to 7 degrees. After several trips back to the garage (9 inches of hardened snow is difficult to walk in) for electrical tape, adaptors and walkie-talkies, that mission was finally accomplished. But we still had to address our relative safety and comfort in the house. Not to worry, my hubby had a plan.



Again, with the dedication of a first responder, he strung five extension cords upstairs, which all flowed from one large cord coming from the garage across the basement and up the stairs. These would power the wood burner fan, the fridge, the freezer and a couple lamps. The long cord traversing the backyard met up with the cord coming from basement and they both went underneath the garage door straight to a $13,000 generator we call the Roadtrek Van! It all worked flawlessly.


So, I write this from a battery-powered computer, near a bright window with a deck-full of snow reflecting in. The very element that took away my light now helps me see, and for that I am grateful. It is a good thing to be reminded of how fragile we are, how dependent we’ve become on modern conveniences, and how wonderful it is to experience the reward of resourcefulness. Each time we thought of some new, efficient way to do something, or figured out the best sequence of actions, we would high-five one another for being so darn capable!

After days of scooping buckets upon buckets of snow to melt by the fire for flushing, we turned our aluminum garbage can into a receptacle that will capture the snow melting off the roof soon. We went to bed before 10:00 every night and got up at 7:00, in synch with the daylight and our own tired bodies. 

After 5 days without a shower or bath, I boiled some roof water and took a sponge bath on the freezing side porch, while gazing out at the hills quickly losing their diamond-like adornment. It made me happy and content, this small act of self-care that needed only snow, flame and a thick towel. I felt like a wild woman. And, after standing there with the wind chilling my damp body, I decided I am a Wild Woman, and went inside to stoke the fire.






TO SEE MORE PHOTOS OF PRAIRIE POND WOODS BEDAZZLED BY WINTER, CLICK HERE.

I TOOK A WALK TODAY...

I took a walk this afternoon around 4:30 in the rain. Not exactly what I had planned, since I’d waited for hours for a break in the showers, but as soon as I stepped off the porch it started up again...or rather, down, again. I decided to forge on because the temperature was so mild for January 10th, and a little rain never hurt anybody.

I had been walking less than 2 minutes, when I spotted three white flags waving and moving up towards the prairie ridge, as I walked towards the bottom. Definitely not a surrender, but a retreat from someplace close to where I stood. I think deer are one of the most amazing creatures on the planet. They are not exotic, or terribly interesting, but they have the supernatural ability to appear and disappear like four-legged wizards. I decided not to track them, as it was getting close to dusk and I wanted them to find their favorite place to bed down for the night…which is probably what they were already doing. Oops.

When I got to the woods, I stopped to listen to the clacking of raindrops hitting the dried leaves on the forest floor. It was strangely similar to the sound they made hitting my nylon raincoat. Not the muffled thud of a summer shower absorbed into the soil and the decomposed leaf litter. This was crisp and clear. I closed my eyes to hear the syncopation and wondered, putting a twist on the proverbial riddle, if I wasn't there in the forest would the rain still make a sound?

I remember having the other question posed to me as a young girl and found it philosophically intriguing, "If a tree falls in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound?" But as a pondered this, my head tilted back receiving the sprinkling of holy rainwater, I realized that the question is anthropocentric at its heart. The glorious truth is that there are thousands, if not millions, of other organisms in a forest that would hear or feel the falling of a tree. Human receptors are not the only indicators of whether something is real or not. It reminded me of a similarly poignant question posed by musician Bruce Cockburn in a song about the rainforest, "If a tree falls in the forest, does anybody care?"

Finally, as I traversed back through the prairie, the rain let up. I headed for the house; making one last stop to check for any damage the deer had done to the fruit trees planted this past fall. It was minimal, for which I was grateful, so I think they’ll make it. Next year, we’ll probably see lots of deer helping themselves to our peaches, cherries, and apples...or maybe we won’t. If I stand in the orchard and don't see any deer...does that mean they're not there?