Fireflies

The first fireflies of the season were spotted lighting up our garlic and rhubarb bed last night. A barefooted Huxley (he says 'It's nearly summer, I need to get used to bare feet!') wandered off after them, yogurt popsicle in hand.

I can certainly understand why so many adventurers from past myths were spirited away by these sorts of mysterious lights - who can possibly resist their magic?!

 

...and sweet-smelling, eye-catching roses from a walk earlier in the week. Because there was no way I could have caught a firefly with my camera!

The taste of spring to come

Magnolia blossoms, fuzzy and ripe to bloom... soon-ish. Patches of green grass under my boots. The taste of the saltbox under all that snow and ice.

So thankful for...

1. The forest. The return of the forest from Old Man Winter. The last of the ice is receding and the greenery is pushing forth.
2. Listening to the tufted titmouse couple singing back and forth to one another. They might have been protecting their nest from me. I might have been oblivious as I watched them for a good five minutes, then stopped stalking them.
3. Hearing the loudest woodpecker ever, it sounded like it was dinosaur sized! But as it swooped from one tree to another, I found the type of tree (and how hollow it is) can create a visual impression of a collosal bird, when in fact it's just a regular sized woodpecker.
4. Sitting in the sun, on a bench, alone. Quietly a smile crept over my close-eyed face.
5. Making two dozen chocolate and yellow cupcakes for a birthday celebration.

So thankful for

Today is Wednesday and we're in week three of kid soccer and school. It's important to me to remember the more lovely moments of my days, the wonderful little details that make each day extra special.

Misty bike path

1. Watching steam rise off the fields this morning.  Mystical. Magical. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for it. Or it's just the fairies and gnomes taking a sauna this morning.
2. Oatmeal for everyone! Starting a morning with a chill, with a bowl of coconuted, blueberried, walnuted, mapled oatmeal.
3. Pilates class #2. The first one felt like a joke. This isn't a workout! I can't feel this! We barely moved! Foolish mortal, the next day your core felt used. Two days later your core wants to go on strike. On the other hand, you woke up without the stiff joints and hunched shoulders. This pilates thing is really working out well for me. And the classes are free at work, so: Bonus!
4. The joyous fun at our pizza dinner out last night. The boys chose to sit together on one side, so my love and I got to sit together too! We were given a table quickly and all of the food was consumed with smiles and laughter and sharing.  Everyone got their fare share of calamari, there was no hoarding this time. Although Dashiell did pick up one piece that had a leg attached to another so it looked like pieces from Barrel of Monkeys, but with deep fried seafood instead!
5. Listening to Dashiell's stories from his afternoon of wading in the Dead Branch Brook in Chesterfield to study the health of the river. Using Rapid Biotic Assessment, he and some friends scrubbed river rocks, gathered insects and learned how a river can be deemed healthy or unhealthy. Tea quickly followed to warm up afterwards. Both lads will take part next week in the Manhan River.

Hidden talent: Finder of Ravenel Stinkhorn Mushrooms

On my way to get an almond croissant this morning and I stopped in my tracks. The unmistakable smell of stinkhorn hit me. Up in the air went my nose. The smell was so strong, I thought I’d turn around and find a field of them staring back at me with their one, cycloptic eye. Not getting too close, realizing it might be a private residence and not a College owned building. Poking around the woodchipped landscape, I couldn’t find anything.

As I walked away, there it was. The smell again. And then I saw the midget stinkhorn. All by itself. What it lacked in height, it made up for in epic stink.

 

A most stunning fungus.

This is a talent I never thought I’d have. I mean, it never even occurred to me (having never heard of stinkhorn mushrooms until five years ago). But I’m adding this to my resume of what I can do really well: 

“I am a locator of Ravenel Stinkhorn mushrooms.”  There are not many people who can make this claim. 
My nine year old son also has this talent. Heather and Huxley: Stinkhorn Hunters.

PS: I would like to extend this talent out to “Locator of chantrelles and lion’s mane and morels”. But, one mushroom at a time.

Riverwalking

We found a gentle stretch of river to explore and what a lovely Sunday afternoon was spent by all! No one fell (a few close calls though), no creatures (besides us, that is), plenty of birds (but none of them stopping to say 'hello').

Westfield River September 2013

 We'll be doing more of this sport until it gets too cold and starting up again next spring, when just enough warmth returns.

silent walk in the snow

Nature provides an inner massage of the body. Gently organs relax at the silent touch nature brings.

The silent prey, who wishes to live another day.

The silent predator, who doesn't wish to be exposed.

A woodpecker crackles against the bark of the snow-polka-dotted firs.

Decayed trees are more engrossing than any Brancussi; layers of leaning forest nourishment.

These journeys are not always what we expect them to be. And thank goodness for this unknown.

And the twittery twittery hullabaloo of chickadees playing tag in the high away branches.

Spring flowers

This is the album cover for the Bloodworts' new album entitled 'Blooming'.

I slammed on my bike brakes when I spied this bloodwort blooming on the edge of the trail. Luckily I didn't slide to a crashing halt this time.

Snowshoeing on the first day of spring

For the first time in over two years (at the very least), I'm snowshoeing again.

 

The first and last time this season to wear those mammoth winter slippers, after we welcomed another six inches of snow yesterday. (I feel so foolish assuming each snow storm will be the final one of the season. I wonder if I'll be right this time?) I'm so glad I hadn't cleaned out the back of my van - so glad i put the snowshoes there in the first place, in February.

 Welcome first day of spring. Mother of Nature, it is always a refreshing surprise to remember we can expect anything from you. All this new snow, what a fond, final farewell to winter - out with a bang! 

Those bright sprigs of greenery will punch through that rapidly melting snow in no time and WHIZ! KERPOW! spring will be racing through the land again!

nesting snow

Nearly a snowy heart in the nest, stabbed by a pine needle.

 

 

 Overflowing with chilly winter.

 Topped off, by just a dash of ice.

the last of the snow (for now)

One last walk through the snow before the warmth takes it away.

Then more cold will arrive.

 

And with any luck, more snow before our winter is through! 

(I'm talking to you February 8 storm!)

evergreens

The stilt-y evergreens are like toothpicks swaying above the trail.

But underfoot they exist it many other shapes.

Collecting the leaves and needles of their neighbors...

...slowly emerging from the crystal snow.

miniature snowy habitats

An 'A Frame' for voles to skitter safely to and from.

A high rise for insects and fungus to hunker down during winter.

Ruffles on the slowly decaying tree trunks for white breasted nuthatches to poke around.

nesting along the trail

Wintertime means fewer flora and fauna to seek out and identify. Even the birds' songs are few and far between.

But the lack of leaves on the branches allows us a view into bird nests that would usually be hidden, 

as they should be, for the raising of their young.

Made of cat tail fluff, leaves, mud, moss. 

Perhaps chipmunks came along, post-birds, to enjoy some berries.

The inside and out, mostly mud on the inside, the intertwining of plastic refuse on the outside gave this home a ghostlike, Miyazaki appearance from below.

 

So many branches intersecting in one place, was perfect camouflage, the thorns the perfect defense. 

The chicks of this brood must have learned the art of balancing along each strand of bush, before they learned to fly.

bike before snow

The ice patches left on the trail look like world maps.

If I'm to ride the trail on my bike at least once a month, like I did last year, then I can cross off January.
And just in time, with 3-6 more inches of snow on the way in the next 24 hours.

  

But for now, I'm imagining a fantastical world beyond the asphalt.

trail treasure

Too icy to bike, not enough snow left to ski, I'm left using my own two feet to find some peace in the outdoors, away from everyone. 

No confines of a building around me or business hours to strap me to a chair, just the open sky and cold, strong air to breathe in.

And there are so many treasures to find, just by looking a little lower or higher than I usually would. 

Like small alien crafts that settle on a sapling branch.

Their civilizations already abandoned for other locations.  

ski x 8

The perfect storm of gorgeous winter weather and the winter break allowed me to get out skiing for eight days in a row. Damn the forty degree temps of this week (and my broken pole) that put an end to my world record.
I feel great finishing off 2012 and starting 2013 thoroughly enjoying New England the way it should be in winter.