Chomp!

The first time the road-trimming crews came down our lane, I was horrified. I had never before seen or heard such a sight.
The sound is unmistakable—
something is being devoured.
Nothing is safe from the whirring monster held high—consuming every growing thing that dares protrude beyond the line.
Afterwards, there is silence. An eerie stillness, as the dust settles.

The roadside plants are twisted remains—no care for aesthetics. Broken branches, torn stems, tangled vines where there had been lush life. A barren, tortured landscape rims the lane.


It used to bother me that this destruction seemed unnecessarily harsh. Why must we clear all green life with this gargantuan egg-beater? What are we afraid these plants will do? But, over the years, I’ve learned.

This is farm country, and for good reason. The humid summers and mild winters of the Ohio and Miami River Valleys are the perfect growing environment. Our silty clay loam soil has high nutrient levels. Everything here grows BIG.

BIG is great, if you want it—but a problem, if you don’t.
In the southern Midwest, poison ivy isn’t just something you get around your ankles. It’s a vine the size of your arm, hanging from a tree, with leaves the size of footballs.
And that bothersome, annoying ragweed plant? It’s the Giant Ragweed, Ambrosia trifida, sometimes 12 feet tall!

Yessiree! This is big weed country. And although the process seems extreme, in just a few weeks, the scars will be covered with a new greenness.
Reaching, emerging, swallowing—everything.

Summer sun

When I think of sunflowers, I think of children.
Sharing the wonder of planting, growing and reaping something of beauty—with such grandeur, that it becomes an impressive experience, long remembered.
A small seed to place in the soil—surging toward the sunshine, standing strong against the wind. Watching each sunrise.

Reminding us how small we are, too.
A simple lesson of life.
A simple, summer pleasure.





But the actual sunflower itself is anything but simple. What we casually call a "flower" is, in fact, a dense cluster of many tiny flowers, called "florets", each producing one fruit. And the pattern of their spiral arrangement in the center of each flower head, is successive Fibonacci numbers. How incredible!

And, to think, I regard it as a simple, summer pleasure.

The quest for the best

This summer’s trip to Maine has revved up my interest in making hiking/climbing a more regular part of our recreation. Unfortunately, it also finished off my favorite hiking boots—a gash in the side, now makes lacing them futile. My trusty boots ...memories of many places and much enjoyment. Sniff.
I hate the thought of finding new boots almost as much as I hate car shopping. So many new materials, styles, colors, ...prices...its hard to know where to begin the hunt. And, although I’ll buy almost anything else online, boots must fit—perfectly.
So, I started with the obvious--the local sporting goods stores. I didn’t get any closer to discovering the perfect boot, but I did learn this: women don’t hike.

I found women’s walking, running, basketball, cross-training, “lifestyle” (whatever that means) and “fashion athletics” (for those who want to look athletic?)
Men, on the other hand, have an entire hiking section to choose from. (AND, tennis, basketball, running,...)

So,...do stores not carry hikers for women because women don’t hike? Or, do women not hike because they can’t find the appropriate footwear?

10-horse Sunday

An early morning canoe trip seemed the perfect plan for a hot, muggy August day. So, with yard work behind us and our play shoes on, we headed for Cowan Lake State Park--long, red canoe sitting atop little black car.
Our plans to be on the water early were pushed aside by a wave of rumbling clouds that kept us tuned in to radar reports until mid-morning. We dropped the canoe in and pushed off by 10:30. Still plenty of time to paddle around before the heat of the day.
Cowan Lake is great for canoes, kayaks, sailboats...anything slow. And because the engine limit excludes most sport boats, the human activity on the water and the general noise level is less than at the more recreational lakes in our area.
It's a peaceful paddle--with lots of shoreline and backwater to explore. There's a lot to look at, going slowly and quietly along.
Our little cooler held lunch which we ate on the rocky edge after pulling the canoe up and out for a break at Austin Island. Aside from that, we spent the day paddling along, misty rains a welcome relief from the heat. And glad the sun was behind heavy clouds.
In the distance, we could barely see something leafy and green along the water's edge, far down the lake. Determined to answer our curiosity--we stroked on. We were handsomely rewarded. Acres of American Lotus--their creamy yellow blossoms nearly a foot wide, leaves two feet across. For the rest of the afternoon, we paddled between them, up to our necks in loveliness, in a sea of flowers.

I have passed down the river before sunrise on a summer morning, between fields of lilies still shut in sleep; and when, at length, the flakes of sunlight from over the bank fell on the surface of the water, whole fields of white blossoms seemed to flash open before me, as I floated along...
Henry David Thoreau

American Lotus, Nelumbo lutea

The world has much beauty to show us, if we take it at
10 hp.

A ghost of the past

Along the trail to Flying Mountain, in a dense, green, heavily wooded area—it appeared against the shaded darkness. Even in the shadows, its white silhouette stood out in clear contrast to the deep, rich tones of the woods.
And, though I hadn’t seen one in many years, I immediately recognized it as being familiar to me. Funny, how just a second’s look instantly triggers a memory. An Indian Pipe, a ghost from the past, seen once, long ago.

Monotropa uniflora, with its eerie character, has an unusual life. Easily confused with fungi, it is actually a flowering plant. What makes it so unique is its lack of chlorophyll—the green coloring essential for photosynthesis.
Instead of generating its own energy from sunlight, it lives as a mycoheterotroph, in the darkness beneath its host tree in very shaded woods. In a mycoheterotrophic (phew) relationship, the host, usually a conifer or deciduous tree, is photosynthetic. A fungus in the soil acts as the middleman connecting the Indian Pipe above, to the nutrients in the tree's roots below.
This complex 3-piece relationship makes propagation difficult—the seed of the Indian Pipe must quickly form the fungi connection in order to grow. Indian Pipes, also known as ghost flower or ice plant, are native to dark, dense woods of North America, and are described as scarce to rare in occurrence.
Read more about Monotropa uniflora here and here.

Tender heart

I walked the yard tonight--the first time since getting back from Maine. This weekend I'll be playing "catch-up"--getting back on top of what one week's neglect can do.
My herb garden that I had been so proud of restoring this spring, is now overgrown with phlox. At least it's pretty--even with bindweed lacing the tall strands together. And hiding underneath a very unruly mint-like creature is the re-emerging poison ivy I was sure I was finished with. The ivy, apparently, disagrees.
The weeks of summer sun have toughened the tender, green sprigs into leathery, stubborn ropes. I'm not looking forward to wrestling with it, but if I turn away--all of this spring's efforts will have been wasted. A garden demands an attentive keeper.
My new delphinium has started to blossom--icy colors on delicate, wispy petals that seem as if they'd fry in the late summer sun. There they stand. Trying not to be swallowed by their pushy neighbors.

Tenderness is rare in a late summer garden.


And in the field, although the milkweed has become old and toughened, a tiny caterpillar cruises along in search of a tender meal.


He seems to know that new, green leaf is meant just for him.
He's looked it over carefully--front, back and top.




But where do you take the first bite?

Summer heat

With a forecast of a near-100-degree heat index for this afternoon, my mind immediately runs to cool thoughts. A bowl of cereal and cold milk for breakfast, some juicy, fruity snacks for lunch and pasta salad for dinner.
And although the yard needs attention and I'm eager to be out exploring, I'm fussing around inside--shades drawn, windows clamped down and sealed tight.
This oppressive heat is more difficult for me than winter's worst wind.
And, the stillness outside my window makes me think the natural world has decided to hibernate, as well.

I look forward to the refreshment of fall.

Rain droplets on leaves
Acadia National Park