sprig to twig

A few posts ago, we went for a walk in our woods. This time, we’re trying to locate the markers that tell us where our property ends. Machete in hand, Richard leads the way.

The first thing to stop me in my tracks were these trilliums. A smattering of them were sprinkled across the forest floor, with many more just emerging. I will have to go back in a week or so. You can see how here at the forest’s edge they are pushing through a carpet of English ivy. We have been hacking away at the ivy, with the help of neighbors, but it is persistent stuff, and has nearly strangled some magnificent trees.

As we dive deeper into the woods, the ivy and blackberries give way to natives like these fiddleheads. They are said to be a culinary delicacy, but the one time I ordered them in a restaurant they were a feast for the eyes, but just so so on the tongue. I would rather leave them in the woods where they arguably belong.

Patches of oxalis are just beginning to produce flowers, not that they depend on floral display for their charm.

Working our way to the bottom of the ravine, things begin to get boggy. This was one of only two skunk cabbage to come early to the party, but already our noses alerted us to their presence. There will be lots of them later on, so stand back.

Here is one of three itty bitty streams (or are they creeks?) that converge at the bottom and then empty into a small lake out by the main road. The whole area is boggy now. I jumped across the creek and went in to my knees…glad there was a hiking buddy to pull me out.

Love these patches of native Mahonia.

I leave you with the oddity of the day: a tree growing out of the stump of one of its ancestors. Can you see the roots embracing the sides of the stump? Always something new to see out there. Thanks for coming along.

I have, in fact, been sticking with my commitment to take my camera along on walks. It somehow prompts more attention to details like this tree, whose catkins have tassled up delightfully.

Then there was this holly growing up through a tall cedar and loaded with bright red berries.

Here’s where the warning part comes in. In order to get these shots, and some of a gnarly old apple tree still hanging on to aging, bronzed apples (that didn’t turn out), I found myself scrambling up brushy embankments. A day later, my face began to itch something fierce. Before long, I looked like a victim of something between jungle rot and teen acne. Now, I know what poison oak looks like. My cousin Billy was my partner in crime in the early years. We found some fabulously shiny and colorful leaves in the woods one fall day, and thought that armloads of boughs would please our mothers no end. Quite the contrary, as soon as they spotted us they snatched us up, branches flying, stripped us down and scrubbed us raw with lye soap. We got out of it scot-free, but Aunt Florine swelled up until her eyes were mere slits. Lesson learned. Poison Oak sports oak-shaped leaves with a surface that gets its shine from the sap that causes all the trouble. I didn’t spot any on this expedition, but it must have been lurking there somewhere. My advice is to stick to trails at least until things leaf out and you can tell what you are getting yourself into. Regular applications of tea tree oil have calmed down the itch enough that I can resist the scratching that spreads it around.

Yesterday brought light spilling across the breakfast table. A walk was called for.

The path down through the back of our property gets pretty overgrown by mid summer, but right now the extreme weather has beaten back the blackberries (see…some good did come of it) to reveal great swathes of sword ferns.

A big old hemlock has moss-covered stumps of limbs that look almost like spokes interspersed with the living branches. The close-up view is a nice reward for tramping through brambles.

The way the moss captures the light turns everything sculptural.

I love the way ferns grow out of the mossy trees. Those Oregon grape look so much happier than the ones I planted.

Color, texture…the forest floor has it all.

Now that’s texture!

The people before us sold off many of the large cedars on the property. It was a scarred landscape, but even the stumps are being reclaimed by nature and draped in beauty. She does a better job than I could dream of, so whenever I become frustrated by lack of progress in the cultivated garden all I need do is take a stroll back here. Hope you enjoyed coming with me this time.