Category Archives: Nature

Acknowledging that it’s December. . .

December 12, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

Once again, it’s December. Too soon, as always. Although the pre-Christmas busy-ness has been no more extreme than usual, the details have kept my mind too crowded to devote time to writing. Or to much thought, in general, for that matter. It’s hard not to let the post-Thanksgiving lead-up to December 25 become an endurance game of checking off never-ending lists. Lights replaced on the playroom tree? Yes. Whew. Cross that out. One small victory. On to the next task, with many more to follow.

Last year I wrote about the fine line between reveling in the spirit of Christmas and veering off the deep end into holiday excess. (See here.) It’s an issue I guess I’ll grapple with until I’m physically unable to haul out the decorations. But that might not stop me. Will I be directing my daughter, or some kindly, younger neighbor? I hope not. But then again, no one else could do it to please me.

Anyway, the wreaths are up on our house and on the old maple stump out front by the road. The stump survived another year. This summer it played host to a thicket of tall green foliage.

As long as any part of the decaying tree remains, we’ll decorate it in December. For me, it’s a reminder of the true spirit of Christmas: because a baby was born many years ago in Bethlehem, out of death comes new life. That is the best antidote to holiday excess I can imagine.

For my first post on this subject, see Deck the Tree Stump, posted almost exactly two years ago.

Faith and Spirituality, Friendship, Nature

The Red Tree and the Legacy of Eugenia Brown

October 28, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

Today is the day for that steady, late fall rain that washes much of the brilliant color from the trees. In tomorrow’s sunshine, many branches will be newly bare. Gutters and lawns, though, will gleam red, orange and gold. One of the brightest patches in our area will be beneath this magnificent tree.

Located behind our church, it’s adorned with some of the most vividly red leaves imaginable. I’d always assumed it was a maple. When someone referred to it as an oak, I knew that wasn’t right. But in September, when Kiko and I were sitting in its shade for the Blessing of the Animals, I realized I was wrong, too. This was no maple. The leaves, still green then, were the wrong shape. And there were berries. Bluish-purple berries, like elongated blueberries.

What was this tree? No one seemed to know. But mention “that red tree by the church” and everyone knew exactly which one you meant. I began an internet search. Googling “trees with blue berries” didn’t provide a quick answer.

Then I remembered my little tree book, which I’d recently brought from Atlanta. As I mentioned in a previous tree post, a neighbor gave me the book when I was a child. She encouraged me to look closely and appreciate nature as we saw it all around us. She was Eugenia Brown, a Southern lady with a Southern name, a proud graduate of Decatur’s Agnes Scott College some decades before. (Daddy thought she was too old to be talking so much about her Agnes Scott days.) Mrs. Brown was a wise woman, and I’ve only recently begun to realize the impression she made on me. She wasn’t particularly religious, but I can see now that when we examined leaves, acorns, pine cones, shells and flowers, she encouraged my sense of wonder for that vast and easily overlooked array of amazing little things God made. His little creations–those unique, tiny masterpieces of design–they have always brought me joy. For that gift, I thank Mrs. Brown.

I found the book, and sure enough, I discovered the tree almost immediately, recognizing it from the handy close-up painting of its red leaves and berries. It’s a Black Gum tree. Also known as Black Tupelo, Sourgum or Pepperidge. According to the concise text, “Black Gum leaves are smooth and shiny, turning brilliant red in fall. The dark blue fruit is eaten by birds and small mammals.” Bingo.

Yet again, thank you, Mrs. Brown. And thank you, God. Had I not known Mrs. Brown, had she not given me the tree book, I might not be able to find such solace in the beauty of little things and the God who made them. How wonderful it is that our God designed bright red canopies with plump blue berries to shelter and sustain His littlest winged and furry creatures! To paraphrase that old hymn, His eye is on the berry, and I know he watches me.

035

Community, Nature

Fall: Still Here!

October 27, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

Early last week it appeared likely that the great beauty of the season had passed. I hadn’t been looking, and I’d missed it.

But my pessimism was unwarranted. Just look!

I understand how Ebenezer Scrooge must have felt, awakening after his ghostly visitations, to realize with elation that he hadn’t slept through Christmas. Scrooge hadn’t missed that momentous, holy day, and I haven’t missed this spectacular season. The sudden, gloomy cold snap didn’t last. Fall is still here, at least for a few more days. And recently, it’s been as brilliant and colorful as it should be.

I don’t have to drive to the mountains or down to the Valley to appreciate the show. Fall is playing just outside my windows. The view down the street, with the trees arching overhead, can hold its own next to any grand sight.

You probably have equally glorious views close to home, too.

Don’t forget to look.

The show is on now, but it’s a limited engagement!

Family, Nature

Running Behind

October 20, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine 2 Comments

It’s happening again. Another season is flashing by, like a series of blurry images from a train window, beyond the grasp of my full appreciation.

Summer and its dark green humid beauty came and went, without leaving much of an impression. Was it hot? I can’t really remember. Now it appears I’ve almost missed fall. I noticed today that the leaves of our little sassafras tree are past their yellow-gold prime. Some branches are already bare, and dry leaves litter the lawn.

Yesterday morning we awoke to a heavy frost. Even though I had the presence of mind to search out most of my cold-weather dog-walking clothes, they weren’t sufficient. Around noon, Kiko ventured outside and settled in a patch of sun-drenched pine straw by the fence. He didn’t last long. Soon he was back inside, in the warmest spot he knows, beside a heating vent beneath a sofa. Like me, he seems perplexed by, and unprepared for the sudden cold snap.

I’m not sure what has captured my complete attention recently. Nothing of substance, apparently. Mostly, I’ve been distracted by life’s tedious minutiae, which seems even more Byzantine than usual. Passwords need to be changed, credit cards updated. Familiar web sites are suddenly “new and improved.” (I don’t want new and improved; I want old and understandable.) Pin numbers, unnecessary before, must be created. In my volunteer work, simple emails are being replaced by drop boxes, google docs and Excel spreadsheets I can’t access. At every turn I need my daughter’s tech help. She’s rarely here, due to her junior year course load, drama commitments and social life. A trivial task that should take a few minutes somehow eats up most of an hour.

I’m surprised to look out the window and see the sun low in the sky, the lawn in shadow. I could go finish some project or other. I should probably start dinner.

What I’d rather do is cuddle up with Kiko, now snoozing warmly among the sofa pillows. Maybe it’s a good thing that winter is nearly upon us. Winter is the time for hibernating, and that strikes me as most inviting.

Food, Nature

Spontaneous Squash Garden

July 21, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

This summer, the compost pile in the remains of our maple tree stump has found new life as a squash garden. No planning or intentional planting was involved. Last fall we deposited many squash seeds in the compost, and evidently squash loves compost. The decaying wood of the old tree was quickly hidden by fuzzy, thick vines sprouting large green tri-lobed leaves. Tightly curled, wiry tendrils of vine anchored themselves to the grass, gaining ground. And then the bright yellow blossoms started popping up. The last time the tree stump played host to anything this interesting, it had been a lichen extravaganza.

I wondered why most of the blossoms never bore fruit. I thought it was something to do with a deficiency or an excess in our spontaneous squash patch.

But that’s not the case. I recently learned that squash plants produce both male and female blooms. Only the female blossoms, if visited by bees carrying pollen from male plants, will develop into squash. I noticed that the bees didn’t typically flit quickly from flower to flower in the squash patch. They immersed themselves, heads down, in the depth of the blossom for long periods, seeming to luxuriate in an abundance of pollen. Sometimes two or three bees would settle in at the same flower. There seemed to be plenty of the good stuff to go around. When they finally emerged, they moved lethargically, a bit like over-served drinkers stumbling from a bar as dawn breaks. The dark form in the photo above is one such seemingly contented bee.

It’s easy to tell the difference between male and female squash blossoms. A plant produces far more male blooms than female. The males sprout from long, thin stalks in the upper parts of the plant. Female blossoms appear near the base of a thick vine. They seem to grow from a small, bulb-like proto-squash. These are partially visible in the two close-up photos above.

Two male squash blooms, one fresh, one wilting, appear in the photo above. Now that I know I won’t be sacrificing future squashes, I might try harvesting a few boy blossoms to cook. Although, maybe not, because I hate to deprive the bees.

I thought I recognized the big leaves in our squash patch. They resemble those of the acorn squash the squirrels planted among our black-eyed Susans last year. There are now two dark green acorn squash hiding under the foliage. I’m hoping they remain overlooked by local wildlife so I can let them stay on the vine to ripen for a while yet. As I’ve learned, stuffed acorn squash makes a tasty fall meal.

The photo above shows spirals of thin, pale green threads, like wire wrapped around a pencil, that sprout from the larger vines.

There were two kinds of leaves in our squash garden. From a vine with somewhat smaller foliage, there has appeared an elongated oval variety I’d simply call a pumpkin. It’s gone from white to pale yellow in the past week and is now about the size of a typical grocery store eggplant. I’m hoping to see it turn bright orange and join us for Halloween.

Of course, by that time, the compost may have something completely different in mind.

Family, Nature, Parenthood

This is the Way the Roses Grew, (And a Daughter, Too), Part III

July 16, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine 2 Comments

By the spring of 2013, four years after planting, the red double-knockout roses along the fence had grown quite dense and bushy. In early May, they were bursting into explosive bloom.

By late May, the same was true for the pink trellis roses.

The trellis roses had become our favorite photo backdrop. Above, our daughter poses in a high-low dress, a style that enjoyed a longer period of popularity than it merited. At this point, D’s blink-and-you’ll miss it middle school career was nearing an end. It had been an enjoyable and satisfying two years. With her involvement in drama, she’d found her niche. She loved performing in two musicals, both pretty good for middle school fare: Thoroughly Modern Millie (ensemble) and Guys and Dolls (at last, a small named role as Agatha the Mission Girl). While she’d never been exactly shy, with all but her closest friends, she’d been more reserved than outgoing, a characterization that was no longer consistently accurate. As for her core group of elementary school buddies, she’d drifted apart from some and strengthened ties to others. Despite her ongoing tendency toward extreme procrastination, she managed her coursework. She was on the cusp of high school. At thoughts of the new school year, she was understandably a little anxious. But she was ready to leave middle school behind.

Before the eighth grade dance (an event of far lesser significance than the sixth grade dance), our daughter sits with Kiko, who exhibits his typical nonchalance.

In 2014, the roses were still denser and more luxuriant. This is despite the aggressive pruning my husband gives them every year in late summer. If he didn’t do so, the fence and garage might well be invisible by now. They could, conceivably, pull a Sleeping Beauty’s castle number on us if we got very lazy. Otherwise, these hearty, disease-resistant roses need little care. From now on, the challenge will be reining them in.

As for our daughter, as with any teenager, we face a constant choice: when to pull the reins, when to let her run free. Like our roses, she’s easing quietly but speedily toward maturity. Once she began high school, it’s been one milestone after another, toppling like dominoes in quick succession. I remember very vividly her concerns as the first day of high school approached. Could she learn to navigate the confusing corridors of a much bigger school? Would the coursework and homework be overwhelming? She second- and third-guessed her decision not to go out for field hockey, as so many of her friends did. Try-outs would have interfered with our sacrosanct vacation time in Cape Cod. Would her participation in drama be enough to give her a sense of belonging? All those worries proved unfounded. Her freshman year brought many firsts. She took them in stride.

The summer after freshman year, right on schedule as she had hoped, she got her driver’s permit. On Day 1 as a new driver, she attempted the most notoriously narrow, winding road in our neighborhood. (I was cringing.) She was determined to drive as often as possible so she could get her license on the very day she became eligible.

Soon she was a sophomore. There were more firsts.

On April 1, right on time, she became a licensed driver. The day fell during our spring break visit to Atlanta. D was able, at last, to take my parents’ iridescent gold PT Cruiser out on the streets legally; she’d been circling the church parking lot in it since she was eleven.

That day she drove us to Callanwolde, an arts center housed in one of Atlanta’s several historic mansions associated with the Candler family.

Now sophomore year is over, too. Our daughter is halfway through high school.

This summer, more often than not, she’s out with the car, among friends. It’s just me and Kiko at home. His day is as full as he wants it: a morning walk, followed by sleeping in the sun, moving to the shade, then back to the sun.

And while our dog loves a ride in the car, he’ll never require his own vehicle.

Family, Nature, Parenthood

This is the Way the Roses Grew (And a Daughter, Too), Part II

July 3, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine 2 Comments

By early May of 2011, two years after planting, two of the three climbing roses had reached the trellis. The shrub on the left lagged a bit behind. Narrow vines were bursting forth with bright green leaves, and buds had formed.

The red double knock-outs by the fence and the porch were nearing peak bloom in the photos above. They had filled in considerably and surpassed the nandina in height.

This view from our neighbors’ yard shows the dense barrier formed by the red roses along the iron fence.

At this point our daughter was twelve and nearing the end of sixth grade. She was more than ready to be free from the annoying constraints of elementary school, with its hallway stop signs and arbitrarily awarded stickers for standing quietly in line and not acting the fool. That April, she and I had accompanied my parents on a Danube River cruise. She’d been more like a sister or friend than a daughter on that trip, a capable, fun companion with whom to explore Budapest and Passau while my parents remained aboard the ship. She’d certainly seemed older than twelve. Somehow it’s comforting that, at least in the photo above, she looks much as I think of her today.

Kiko was five then. His appearance remains unchanged. By mid-May of that year, the pale pink roses were in full bloom.

As for our daughter, she’d decided to cut her hair, which had grown longer than ever before. (I hadn’t been in charge of her hair for several years.) After great deliberation, she’d made the change, just in time for the sixth-grade dinner dance. In our area, this is a pivotal event that heralds the end of elementary school. It’s orchestrated in minute detail by tireless PTA committees, highly anticipated by parents and sometimes even enjoyed by students. The theme that year was “A Night in the Tropics.” For the girls, the dance meant the need for a new dress, one closer to semi-formal than Sunday School, despite the school’s insistence that it adhere to strict school-day dress code regulations. Many girls, like my daughter, appealed to parents to let them try out higher heels than those to which they’d been accustomed. Photos from that night show her and her friends in that slightly uncomfortable coltish stage: all bony shoulders and long legs, little girls teetering in big shoes on the verge of growing up.

By 2012, the following year, three years after planting, even the climbing rose at left had attained trellis height and begun to wind its way across. In late May, all the roses, red and pink, were in lush, abundant bloom, turning our courtyard into a cozy outdoor room.

Wet dog 005

Our daughter had made the jump from tween to teen, from elementary to middle school, and we could all breathe a big sigh of relief. Just as she’d expected, she reveled in the greater freedom: changing classes, her own locker, electives like shop, news team and drama. And once in a while, the opportunity to walk into town after school with friends. We’d read and heard much about the minefield of the middle school years, a life stage fraught with angst and peril. While I understand that not all kids are so fortunate, for D those worries were overblown. No doubt it helped that she entered seventh grade with a solid group of long-term, likeminded friends and an attitude that helped her forge new friendships.

And then there’s Kiko. Lying in the cool grass of three summers ago, he looks exactly the same today. A dog can be a big help toward denying the passage of time.

Family, Nature, Parenthood

This is the Way the Roses Grew (and a Daughter, too)

June 17, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

DC Prom 009

During the month of May, our back courtyard is the site of a rose explosion. First the red roses along the fence pop. Then the pale pink climbers on the garage trellis follow suit. Each year our family marvels. We can’t believe these roses. I’ve written about the evolution of the space behind our house from cement wasteland to cozy enclosed garden. See Up From the Concrete, Roses. When I looked back at the photos from that 2012 post, I was surprised to see just how much the roses have multiplied in three years.

On the last Saturday in May we hosted a gathering and hit the weather just right. The evening was pleasantly warm. We were on the porch or in the courtyard from beginning to end, surrounded by roses. Several friends asked how quickly they grew. How long did it take the pink roses to reach the top of the trellis? Seemed like two years, but I wasn’t sure. So I looked back. The changes were dramatic.

This is the way the roses grew.

The porch addition, the courtyard and lawn panel, and the changes to the garage were completed in May 2009. Most of the plantings were in just before Memorial Day. The climbing roses, each shrub almost two feet in height, were planted at the sides of the garage and between the doors. The above photo shows the porch without screens and the yard as yet unfenced.

Along the fence line, we alternated red rose bushes with taller nandina. We didn’t realize then how quickly the roses would overtake the nandina. When the plants were first in, the transformation struck us as spectacular, a vision of instant lushness. Six years later, we’ve grown more accustomed to our leafy flower-filled courtyard, and I’m amazed at how relatively bare it all was back then. Hardly spectacular. So much of the iron fence plainly visible, the unadorned white glare of the garage and the stark, naked trellis.

I also forgot how young our daughter was when we began the project. In this picture, from July 2009, she was ten and just out of fourth grade. Goodness, she looked like a little kid. Maybe because she’s our only child, and we tend to talk to her more or less as we would an adult, she’s always seemed relatively mature. I’ve never wanted to rush her growing up, but I generally think of her as older than she is. Yet on that summer morning in her PJs six years ago, she sure looked like a ten year old, with little-girl bangs and short hair. That was back when I still laid out her clothes every morning, when I could shop for her easily, when my mother would sew full-skirted Sunday dresses for her. Back before pierced ears, make-up and high heels, before she developed her own unique sense of style, very different from mine. Way before she needed a steady supply of long gowns for drama events and prom. That was my little girl. Wow.

Kiko was nearly two. With relief I note that he looks exactly the same now as he did then.

A year after planting, the climbing roses had nearly doubled in height, but were still a long way from reaching the trellis. The vines were spindly and thin. In this photo, taken in April 2010, our eleven-year old daughter models her classic (she would now call it old-fashioned and babyish) Easter dress.

By July of that year, the red rose bushes were considerably denser and as tall or taller than their neighboring nandina. Our daughter, eating a homemade popsicle, wears the tie-dyed shirt she made for her fifth-grade production of Alice-in-Wonderland. Her hair still slightly wet from the pool, she was a typical, somewhat scruffy rising sixth-grader. I don’t remember it ever entering my mind that she was in an awkward stage. Hindsight is bracingly clear-eyed. Still, compared to the less than stellar preteen me (with glasses that evoked the cartoon character Morocco Mole, braces and an unflattering short hair cut), my daughter at eleven was a personification of tween elegance and beauty. Much like our roses during their pre-adolescence.

To be continued. Next up: Flowers and girl continue the climb.

Family, Nature

Flight of the Maple Seeds

May 14, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

One sunny, breezy day last week I was out on our back patio talking with my mother on the phone. There was a near-constant clatter as winged maple seed pods hit the gutters. They drifted down on the porch steps and onto Kiko, who was sleeping peacefully on the top step. Although the sound of the seed shower was far louder than rain, it didn’t phase him. For some reason he didn’t associate it with the approach of his fearsome nemesis, the thunder creature. See here and here.

I held the phone out so Mama could hear the clickety-clacking. She asked if I remembered how the maple seeds rained down in such abundance every spring at my grandparents’ house. I don’t exactly remember the flight of the maple seeds there, but I certainly remember the big old trees. The enormous silver maples that frame our Virginia house were a major reason the place felt immediately like home. See here.

That was about a week ago. The seeds continue to fall, in greater numbers than I can recall. There are many more yet hanging on; from the look of the branches, it would appear that none have fallen. Yesterday evening my husband spent a while shoveling the thick coating of seeds off the driveway. That hasn’t been necessary since we lived here.

Radiant 012

If there are many more seeds than usual, is that bad or good, or of no consequence? I haven’t been able to find a clear answer. One online source suggested a larger seed output may be a reaction to stress. Sending out more seeds is an effort toward ensuring the survival of the species. Sort of a maple tree insurance policy. I hope this doesn’t mean our last two old trees are singing their swan song. It’s not only the maples in our yard that are overproducing; all those around us seem to be doing likewise. Whatever the reason, it looks like the helicopters will continue to swirl through the air and pile up on the ground for a while yet.

The accumulation of the seed pods around the bases of the trees reminds me of the cicada spring of 2004. See here.

The design of the maple seed pod–a delicately veined, elongated angel wing, and its flight–are among nature’s awesome little marvels. I love it that in the concrete base of our front porch, towards the center, there is one perfect imprint of a maple seed pod. Every spring it finds plenty of company.

002 (2)

It’s hard not to track the maple seeds into the house on our shoes. To bring them inside in a more pleasant way, this year I painted a floorcloth that depicts the seasonal output of the trees. There are buds in various stages, including their first appearance as tiny nubs on bare winter branches. Of course I included seed pods and silvery green leaves. Because the floorcloth is in a heavily trafficked area in the kitchen, it usually wears its share of three-dimensional debris, maple and otherwise. Art, like life, tends to be messy.

Nature

Spring, Still Springing

May 6, 2015 Wildtrumpetvine

002 As the earth tilts toward the sun, spring’s carefully choreographed lineup continues, introducing beloved recurring players every day. The second wave of cherry trees has peaked. Sidewalks and lawns below are transformed into pink carpets.

Our redbud’s bright pink flowers are beginning to be edged out by the first of the tree’s yellow-green, heart-shaped leaves.

The mulch around the base of the tree is now pleasantly pink. Periwinkle vines, hearty and fast-growing, seem to pop up overnight.

Fluttery yellow blossoms decorate the small sassafras tree by my daughter’s rope swing. Their lemony fragrance floats in the breeze.

Dogwood blossoms, like white lace against a dark green ground.

Tulips, favorites of the deer, are rare in our neighborhood. They flourish in a few center-of-town spots.

Our Japanese Maples, so recently bare, wear spiky clouds of brilliant, luminous red.

Azaleas, that staple of the Southern spring garden, are nearing their peak.

Rhododendron, up next. More spring favorites are waiting in the wings.

A blog about motherhood, marriage and life: the joys and frustrations, beauty and absurdity, blessings and pain. It's about looking back, looking ahead, and walking the dog.