Outdoors
Up Moses Creek: Cinnamon Bun eats out
A female timber rattler lived inside an old railroad tie beside our back porch last summer, coming out in the afternoons to lie on the steps in the sun. Curled up like that, the snake showed swirls of light brown, with dark-toasted bands, and her scales gave off a sugary glaze, so Becky named her Cinnamon Bun.
The Joyful Botanist: Bogged down in winter
I’ve been getting bogged down a lot this year. I don’t mean that I’ve been in a quagmire or morass necessarily, but I’ve been slogging through some incredibly beautiful wetland ecosystems in the mountains and throughout the southeastern US.
I’ve been bog stomping.
The Joyful Botanist: Banking on it
There are many places and things that you can bank on in our world. You can call bank on a basketball court or pool table. You can carve a bank on a skateboard. You can donate food to a food bank or blood to a blood bank. You can upload data to a data bank that runs on multiple levels of memory banks. You can climb down the riverbank to take a dip.
Up Moses Creek: A Head of Streaming Hair
Just before sunset on Oct. 15, Becky and I left home for the Jackson County Airport, its runway laid on a flattened-off ridge near Cullowhee named Berry Mountain.
The Joyful Botanist: Fall Wildflower Color
When it comes to fall leaf color, trees are what comes to mind for most. Sure, trees are big and there are lots of them. In Autumn when the leaves change they attract a lot of attention and draw tens of thousands of visitors. Most articles and reports about fall color are referencing trees, and possibly some shrubs. I’d like to show some love for the beautiful changing colors of herbaceous plants on the forest floor.
The Joyful Botanist: After The Flood
Water washes us clean, helps to cook our food and quenches our thirst. Water grows our crops, cools the air and brings the flowers in April and May. Not enough water leads to drought and fire.
Up Moses Creek: The Hatband
I was on the ridge this morning admiring the autumn-red leaves of a gum tree, lit up by the rising sun, when a titmouse landed and, fixing his black eye on me, shouted a word in Bird I know — “Snake!” He shouted it so loud you could have heard him down in the yard. And every time he shouted it, he turned first one way on the branch, then the other. And with every turn, he fixed the eye on that side of his head on me.
The Joyful Botanist: Turtleheads
There are many different wildflowers that signal the seasonal transition from summer into fall.
I used to be overcome with the melancholy of fall when I would see the goldenrods (Solidago spp.) start to bloom, thinking “No, it’s too early for the end of the blooming season and the start of winter!” That’s how I used to think of fall. Goldenrods no longer usher in the sadness for me as I have successfully reframed them as a summer wildflower that blooms into fall.
Up Moses Creek: Walking the log
I’d no sooner opened my book of Robert Frost’s poetry to start the morning right when Neighbor J drove up. A wind had downed trees in his pasture, and he was sawing one up when his chainsaw had gotten pinched — “Can you help me get it out?” A “pinch” happens when the tree trunk suddenly sags or shifts, clamping the saw bar tight in the kerf like gigantic wooden jaws.
