Survivor

Gabbie and Tess are playing normally again. Gabbie survived her period of forced inactivity; her incision is mostly healed.She is overjoyed to be free of the leash. The two are playing and running at breakneck speed once again. But sometimes they overdo it and need a rest.



As we began a trail walk with the dogs the other day, I noticed a day lily blooming. It's a reddish variety. It is a survivor in mid-August;day lilies stopped blooming a month ago. Day lilies are beautiful flowers; there are hundreds of varieties. We started collecting them about ten years ago. I didn't realize until last year that day lilies are called that because each flower on the plant blooms - are you ready for this? - for one day. This one was truly a survivor because it started blooming five weeks ago.

The survivor for this summers crop of day lilies

Other day lilies in Bittersweet Woods

One other flower is in the survivor category, too. Several spiked lobelia continue to bloom, nearly a month after they started to appear. Some flowers are slightly blue now, most others are still white. The plants seem to be everywhere, often in heavily travelled areas. I don't recall seeing them in previous years. Maybe it is because we've had much more than average rain this year. Or, maybe I was not paying attention....




One other aspect of survivor status was this toad, who did not survive predation. Gary the garter snake (see July post on Bittersweet Woods blog) was observed swallowing him. It's amazing how snakes can swallow prey so large.


It's all part of the natural goings on in Bittersweet Woods. Are you paying attention in your area of the woods?

Silent Night?

I think of nights as being quiet, still, and cool. That's true in the cold weather months, especially when there is snow on the ground. But in warmer weather, the nights become progressively noisier. It starts with spring peepers, sometimes as early as late February. Then by April robins then woodthrushes start singing just before daybreak. That's how I know spring is here.

By June, a crescendo of night sounds builds which peaks in August. Like now. I stepped outside just after dark the other night with the dogs. They did their usual scan of the perimeter for trespassing deer, rabbits, or squirrels. I was struck by the cacophony which greeted us - the shrill din of an August night. Unsilent night. A solitary rumble of thunder rose up behind the wildlife orchestra.

If you listen carefully, you can sort out crickets, tree frogs, and katydids. Each has a distinct sound. Crickets are the continuous whirring. It is almost extra-terrestrial. Tree frogs start up in late July each year. They chatter in staccato ack-ack, ack-ack, ack-ack sounds. I'm not sure which breed of frog they are. If you can tell from the video, let me know. Several of them chirping simultaneously create an echo effect. Katydids start up in late August. I just heard the first signature ch-ch-ch-ch-ch (say it as fast as you can) chirp last night.

Tree frog calling

I recall the first time I paid attention to the summer night sounds. We had a swimming pool at our prior home, so we were often outside on warm evenings. I became aware of the really close by loud exotic chirping of a tree frog. Suz asked what it was. I didn't know and walked over to the back corner of the yard where a thicket of ferns grew. On the pool deck was a small dark object. I turned on the flood lights and saw the frog. It was small - would fit entirely into the palm of my hand -and shiny. And loud. But it stopped as I approached and stooped down for a closer look. I thought of tree frogs as residents of distant rain forests. But here one was on a midwestern suburban pool deck. Cool.

My next recollection of noisy nights was on a backpacking trip to the Red River Gorge area of Kentucky. It was late August. We were camped near a muddy stream. It was humid, still, buggy. Too warm for the sleeping bag, too noisy to sleep. Deciphering the sounds was easy in this resonant stream valley. Each sound seemed sharp and distinct, like seeing the stars in a bright western sky. I became restless at all of the noise and from the itching of chigger bites acquired in an afternoon bushwack adventure when the trail disappeared. Eventually, the long day's slog took its toll, and I dozed off. When I awoke the next morning, there was only muffled snoring from a nearby tent and gentle cricket buzzing in the background.

For me, these night sounds are comforting, reassuring sounds. They bring back pleasant memories, and I marvel at the diversity of wildlife in Bittersweet Woods. I take it all in, knowing that soon enough it will be quiet and cold as winter sets in once again.

Night sounds in August

Gabbie has a boo-boo

Gabbie had a cyst removed from her right rear leg, a boo-boo in kid-speak. She can be outside only with a leash for a week or so until the incision heals. This means limited mobility for her and temporary loss of a playmate for Tessie.

Normally we let them out, they go tearing out the door to explore and to protect the perimeter of our home from invaders, imagined or otherwise. Now,Gabbie waits to lunge outside, but submits very reluctantly to the leash being attached. Tess races out only to come back to look inquisitively at her restrained friend. Gabbie looks at me the same way - as if to say "WHAT is going on here?"



Can't you see I want to play now?

It's also much slower going walking on the trail than they are used to. Gabbie can't chase after squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and other wildlife. Tess makes the effort halfheartedly, knowing the Gabbie is not with her. She often glances at us and Gabbie.

She stays close to Gabbie, sensing that something is not right. Fortunately, this will pass in a few days. Soon they'll be playing, sprinting after wildlife, making unauthorized incursions into neighboring yards, and occasionally rolling in poop. Ah, the life of a dog.

Paul and Judy from North Dakota visited yesterday. They claimed to have a business purpose for their visit, but they really want to see our Old English Sheepdogs (OES to save keystrokes). They have an OES big boy puppy, Bentley Bear IV. They miss their dog and lit up when Gabbie and Tess burst outside and made our guests suitably welcome with incessant licking, herding, and pawing. We together recounted the dogs' antics and characteristics. And there were recollections about pets of yesteryear.

I realized how much enjoyment they bring to us despite episodes of extreme annoyance. Gabbie and Tess are sitting beneath my office chair demanding to critique this post before it is published. Ain't gonna happen, girls.

The wood thrush

One of the most beautiful woodland sounds for me is the song of the wood thrush. I miss it now that they have stopped singing for the season. We hear them from late April to July in the early morning, late afternoon, and at dusk. Some days they never stop. Where to they get the energy? Suddenly, in late July, the music dies. They cease singing for the season, though we see them often.

Click and listen on the video above in recorded in June this year in a stand of pig nut hickory trees in Bittersweet Woods. 

Woodworking Therapy

Woodworking conjures up images of skilled carpentry, saws, miters, routers and such. Like the Yankee Workshop show on PBS. Woodworking is great therapy, one of my doctor clients tells me. For me, the therapy is working in the woods - woodsworking, you could call it. I needed the therapy yesterday. Dad is in the hospital; some difficult decisions loom ahead. After a hospital visit, some hard work in the woods sounded good. Clear the brush, clear the mind.

I decided to tackle a logjam in the stream from a recent torrential rain. I trudged down to the jam with mattock, lopper, and a small chainsaw. It was a gnarly, humid day. The dew point pushed 70. Gnats, mosquitoes, and biting flies were out. I walked the trail, then stepped into the creek bed and scoped out the mess. It was suitably vigorous work. There is little skill required for this woodworking. It is mostly persistent hard, grubby work. Pull out roots, pry out rotten logs, drag smelly muck out of the way. Keep from stepping in water over the top of my otherwise waterproof boots. Cut the tree lying across the stream into sections. Lug the sections across to the bank.

Much of the wood was from a downed osage tree. Osage is very hard wood, about like cutting a concrete block. The wood is bright yellow; it burns like coal in a fireplace. The sawdust piled up on my boots like gold dust. After about 40 minutes, the jam was mostly clear. The pretty rock riffle in the stream was once again visible.

I trudged down towards the waterfall, sweaty and muddy but satisfied at the outcome. I removed a log from the upper table of the falls. I stepped below the falls in the stream. Looking upstream was a beautiful vista - the falls, water flowing towards it, swaying sycamore trees. I took this in then headed for home.

Several plant and animal friends greeted me along the way. A frog jumped from the bank as I left the stream. A rufous-sided towhee hopped just a few feet from me under some black raspberry bushes by the trail. I came across a patch of delicate white lobelia wildflowers. Back at the house, our resident garter snake languidly crawled into the flower bed near the porch. It was as if the residents of Bittersweet Woods were assuring me that whatever lay ahead, things would be OK.



I walked into the yard to the sharp pinging of a sledge hammer striking a splitting wedge. Suz was chopping out the last vestiges of a locust stump which was decidedly mower-unfriendly. We took a few more swings and the stump remnant gave way. Time to clean up and get back to the hospital.