Just as well

As I've said before, I try to get up to the Vermont Zen Center once a week and work in the gardens there. Yesterday was that day. Giant swallowtails sipping at the echinacea down by the retreat cabin. The season of butteries is beginning!

Because it has been so dry, sections of the lawn haven't been mowed there. Queen Anne's Lace has been prospering there when otherwise it would have been mowed to smithereens. Just as well.

Wipe the dew off your spectacles, and see that the world is moving.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton

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dragonflies

The other day I was walking from one room to another in the late afternoon. I happened to glance outside and noticed a commotion. Something, some large group of somethings had gathered above the field in the back and was flying around like crazy. They were big and there were hundred of them. I thought they must be dragonflies, but some of them seemed very big from where I looked. It seemed possible that that they were small birds. Allyn said hummingbirds. I took the following photo and went outside to investigate.

You really can't make out much, but they are in the are 5-8 feet above the ground above the area of light shining on the pasture. They were dragonflies. When we got out there we could see what was going on. There was some kind of insect hatch happening in the field and the dragonflies were feasting on them. Again, there were hundreds of them. It looked like some of the insects were mating as they rose out of the field. Most of them didn't last long.

I know as much about dragonflies as I do about chicory. The Biophilia Foundation says that most dragonflies capture their prey in flight due to their extraordinary vision and flight ability. They are called the "Hawks" of the insect world. They can fly 35 mph and can fly backwards. Some dragonflies migrate (that was the one fact that I did know). Later in the year I see them gathering in the same field as they prepare for their southward journey. They buzz around the field in angular patterns, and for that reason they have always reminded me of bombers from the WWII era.

season of day lilies

The whole world is a series of miracles, but we're so used to them that we call them everyday things.
Hans Christian Anderson
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chicory

Chicory flowers blossoming.

Allyn pointed out something to me the other day. She said that the chicory blossoms could only be found along roadsides, That it doesn't seem to appear and grow in fields the way most other plants do. I hadn't noticed that. Full disclosure, I haven't noticed much about chicory over the years. I have been doing a version of this blog for over 14 years. I have taken hundreds of photos of wildflowers which Blogger saves for me. Today I went through my old photos and could not find one photo that I had ever taken of chicory. I had to go out today and take a photo to include in this posting. Truth be told, for me, the line between wildflower and weed has always been a very thin one in relation to the chicory plant. 

It was at this point that I decided to get a fuller understand of this very modest yet ubiquitous member of the current floral landscape. Wikipedia says that chicory leaves are often used in salads, and that its root can be used as a substitute for coffee. Inulin is an ingredient that comes from chicory that is often used in food manufacturing as a sweetener or dietary fiber. There are three cultivated varieties of chicory: Ridiccio, Sugarloaf, and Belgian Endive. Chicory roots are an excellent substitute for oats for horses. It is also used to make Korean chicory tea. There is more, but I'll stop here. 

This may seem like a leap, but there is a real lesson for me here. There is much to value in relation to this plant that I never realized. This lack of appreciation came out of my ignorance and "prejudging" the plant because of how it looks and otherwise appears. Is it a weed or is it a wildflower? This human tendency to make snap judgements about people and things based on their appearances is such a dangerous characteristic. It has lead to suffering, pain and death all through recorded history, certainly right up through this present moment. I am grateful for this opportunity to view ignorance and prejudice residing in my own heart, and hopefully learning from it. I will never see chicory in the same way ever again.

they're gone

I'm happy to report that we have had two clutches of bluebirds this year. Last year we didn't have any. The house wrens took over.

The whole process is wonderful to watch. Believe it or not you start to see bluebirds hovering around the nest in February. When my daughter-in-law, Ellen lived here one winter, she said she saw them all winter long. Then in early spring the bluebirds try to take possession of their quarters. Sometimes there is squabbling. Last year it was with the house wrens. This year it was with some swallows. At first there is nest building activity. Then there is a period of time when it's very quiet there as the eggs are laid and incubated by mom. An increase in activity means that the brood has hatched, and needs food. This providing and feeding activity increases as the young birds get bigger and more ravenous. After a couple of weeks of this frantic activity, the young birds are ready leave the nest. If you're lucky, you can see them teetering at the entrance of the birdhouse. The parents at this point try to provide encouragement. They fly from the top of the birdhouse to bushes and fences not far away; to guide their young to the proper destination.

It was a couple of days ago that we saw one of the young birds getting ready to fly away. I've never been lucky enough to see one actually leave the nest, but it was clear that the birds wouldn't be there much longer. Sure enough, we haven't seen any bluebirds around the nest since then. They are gone. We will see them around the yard, on the fence line in the back as they learn how to catch insects and fend for themselves. It's satisfying to think that one has played a very small part in introducing such beautiful creatures into our world. There's also a tinge of sadness to realize that this occasion is a sign that the summer season is starting to wind down.

symbiosis

Butterflies flock to the bee balm flowers blossoming in the back. Their long tongues are perfectly designed for these flowers. I think this is called symbiosis.

We live in this world when we love it.
Rabindranath Tagore
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Neowise

It's been a tough year. I think we can all agree on that. About a week ago my son John asked me what I was doing about viewing the comet. I hadn't heard anything about a comet. I guess I've been sheltering in place even more than I realized. I started doing a little bit of research on the comet Neowise and how I might be able to see it. At first, comet sightings were only possible in the hours before sunrise. That wasn't going to happen. But then things shifted such that evening viewings were possible. It was said that the comet would be visible in the northwest about 80 minutes after sunset, about 9:45. That was a little past my bedtime but doable.

Astronomy in Vermont has its good points and its challenges. We still have dark skies. That is a huge blessing. But we also have mountains. The comet was near the sun so visibility was only possible when it was low on the horizon. I drove around a little bit on Monday, sort of a dry run, looking for spots with good views to the northwest seemingly free from street lights and  other sources of light pollution. I started to notice that this quest in and of itself was therapeutic. My daily worries just seemed to drop away the more I focused in on this project.

The weather forecast for Tuesday night was for partly cloudy skies. I thought I would give it a shot. I had picked my spot and called my neighbor Pete to see if we wanted to meet me there. Pete is the finest amateur astronomer I've ever met. He is the one who got me started on astronomy many years ago. He wasn't able to make it, but gave me some good tips on how to proceed. He said I should look to the northwest at 345 degrees on a compass. I said I didn't think I had a compass. "You probably have one on your phone," Allyn chirped from the living room. She was right, I did.

I headed out to the town office parking lot with my binoculars about 9:30. There were some small hills there, but hopefully not too tall. Good dark skies, however. I started moving around to try to find the best possible position, to minimize the size of the hills by moving away from them. I ended up on the road between West Rutland and Tinmouth. Fortunately  there was little traffic at that time of night. I hauled out the binoculars but didn't see anything. I pulled out my phone and found the compass app. Turned it to 345 degrees and looked up...There it was.

Science Times

Obviously I didn't take this photo, but of the pictures I've seen, this one comes the closest. I don't really know how long I stood there, in the middle of the road on a dark night. The world of Donald Trump and the pandemic, and Black Lives Matter had completely fallen away. There was just this shining apparition, the vastness of space, the beating of my heart. It was the most uplifting experience I've had since returning from Brazil back in March which seems like such a long time ago.

I moved out of the road, looking at the comet from various vantage points. Once you knew where it was, you could see it with the naked eye. Driving back home I reflected on how people that I cared about had helped me to have the opportunity to view this: John, Pete, and Allyn. I'm not sure I would have seen it without the help from Pete. I was very grateful, not only to have had the chance to see this, but just to be alive, to be healthy, to have people to care about, and people who care about me. To live in a place and a world where it's possible to experience the miraculous, even if it's all by myself on a quiet country road on a dark summer night.

names

Great Angelica appearing.

It's hard to tell from this photo, but this plant is very big. It's a cool plant with a great name.
Same with the Queen Anne's Lace which is appearing now as well.

And then there's Cow Vetch. What an awful name for a very beautiful flower.

Linden

White bracts, which are modified of specialized leaves, appearing on the Linden trees.

Oops, wrong Linden.

day lilies

July is the season of raspberries here, but it is also the season of day lilies.

All of us love therm here on the other side of the creek, but nobody loves them more than the deer who visit us in the mornings and evenings. Allyn is not going to give them up without a fight (the cows love them, too but we don't have any cows here this year).


       

She uses deer repellent on the day lilies and the hosta which is something that the deer apparently enjoy even more than the day lilies. Full disclosure, I know which flowers in our yard are the day lilies. I'm not 100% sure which ones are the hosta.

berries

Sweltering days of summer over the weekend. We had soaking rains, but it did little to fill up the Ira brook. It would be easy now to step from one side of the creek to the other without getting one's feet wet. Wary brook trout gathering in shady pools. July is the season of raspberries. Allyn brought me a handful yesterday afternoon. A tangy summer treat if you know where to look.

Yes, today may not be the day for answers but to finally let your heart break open to the vastness of the question.

Matt Licata

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neighborhood

Tall Meadow-rue

The world of life, of spontaneity,

the world of dawn and sunset

and starlight, the world of

soil and sunshine, of meadow

and woodland, of hickory and

oak and maple and hemlock

and pineland forests, of wildlife

dwelling around us, of the

river and its well-being, all of

this...(is) the integral community

in which we live.

Thomas Berry

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cinquefoil

This blog is basically about the changes in the natural world here in rural Vermont. There are times during the year when changes are either easy or hard to notice. Spring and Fall are easy. There are lots of changes. Surprisingly the winter season is the next easiest. I don't really know why. The middle of the summer is the hardest, not a lot is changing around here. The saving grace in past years has been that there was a lot of activity in the human realm. People were vacationing, traveling. There was a lot of sporting activity of all kinds. Those were the things that pulled me through. This year though, things are much quieter.

The other day I was driving around in the pasture in the back, and I noticed the cinquefoil was starting to blossom. It is a lighter shade of yellow than many of the others, but beautiful.

This photo really doesn't do it justice. Anyway, I thought a brief posting on the yellows of summer would be nice. I went out in the morning and in the field where I had seen a lot of cinquefoil activity just the day before, I couldn't find one flower to photograph. It was cloudy and I thought that maybe the flowers were closed. I scrutinized the field very closely and still couldn't find any evidence of cinquefoil. I went back to that same field yesterday to record some activity on the Linden trees (more on that later), and, once again, the field was full of flowers. It was in the afternoon. Seemingly the cinquefoil are late risers. I was able to glean just a little bit more information about some of my neighbors here in the natural world. This is not something I learned from the pages of my wildflower book. It was learned by looking.

It is looking at things for a long time that ripens you and gives you a deeper understanding.

Vincent van Gogh

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yellows of summer

St. Johns Wort

Black Eyed Susan

day lilies

Happy Birthday Owen!

This big boy is five years old today! I know he looks like Huck Finn, but it's actually Owen Kahle. Happy Birthday, Owen!!

spring to summer

Leaves darken as spring turns to summer.

Grass turning from green to brown.

Delivery of wood to Pete's house.

Delivery of wood to my house. Yikes.

mist

The first day of July. A much needed dollup of rain yesterday. Mist and fog in the valley this morning on our walk.

Tree frogs call from a nearby bog. Rabbit bursts out of the brush along the roadside. Newly minted apples shining in the green.

Cows in the pasture, munching on breakfast.

Now it's time for mine.