Rainy Day Forest

The Night Forest

Henri Rousseau. Carnival Evening

The snow has lasted a full week with most areas still completely covered with crisp white glitter formed into a crunchy crust that collapses into powder with each step. The dogs' paws sink deep but still dont find earth, their steps making a rhythmic ca-chunk ca-chunk ca--chunk. Daylight is brilliant but not warm and the landscape is high contrast. Impossibly long icicles have formed on the tin roof edges. Well-traveled pathways are defined by transparent turquoise ice all packed down and slippery.

The night softens the grove of hardwoods and pines into a setting for mystery or myth; that place of enchantment. With snow on the ground, and a full moon, one moves in and out of spot lit openings and pools of shaded indigo. The trees are very black. The hemlocks rise above the horizon with their tips pointing at the stars. There is no sound though; usually I hear the whisper of evergreen needles or tenacious and brittle fall leaves rattling but the air was so still. I was in a trance until I heard a car approaching from the west and I waited for it. It passed above me. I watched the headlights burn first through slits in the guard rail and then through the trees until I saw the red tail lights fade away. Quiet again. I waited for I didnt know what.  I heard an owl with a mighty and deep hoot; a single note repeated in some unknown pattern. It echoed back from the little canyon created by the waterfall and filled the walk with the call of the wild. Tomorrow it will rain and wash this magical snow away, and life will return to the normally scheduled winter of subtle colors with a persistent sameness of hue. 

forecast: happiness

yesterday started with yet another downpour. i have never seen such rain; last year we were in a drought. honestly though, ive liked the rain. it fits the mountains. the verdant foothills are rich in color against the gray skies and with the diffused light the landscape is a cinematographers dream come true. but by afternoon, the clouds broke a bit and allowed some light in and i was fortunate enough to catch this early high achiever blast out a breathtaking red.

the rain has her own fans though. this little branch hosted a tree fungus performing its duties in the process of decay.

the hens and trout accompanied me on a forest nature walk. have i ever mentioned how difficult it is to get a decent photograph of a chicken? im sure Dani can back me up on this point. this is an attempt to capture Vera in pursuit of an unfortunate moth.

The barred rocks are examining somebody's find. still, for 3 seconds.

last year at this time of the season, Betty and i went to Burt's pumpkin farm and amicolola falls on a mini-day trip. you can tell it is last year from the blue skies. i havent seen this in days...i would say weeks but there was this one perfect day about 10 days ago.

indian corn and some kind of dark green pumpkin at Burt's.

amicolola falls

the view from the top of the falls.

back at Chickory, the forest sheltered me in a blanket of color hinting at the colors to come. sometimes i lay in my bed in the morning and look out the window where the trees are so thick there is only one tiny spot of sky to be seen. it reminds me of a grand cathedral looking through rows of gothic arches until you see the brilliant stained glass window. my love for this place is so profound that tears come to my eyes frequently and easily. i might be the most blessed person on earth. it sounds corny, but it's true.

is there any greater blessing than to arrive at the entrance of your home and feel excitement at the sight of it?

boxer, who is coming here in 20 days will *hopefully* be greeted by the peak of fall color. if it keeps raining like this, probably not. today it is going to be very windy so many leaves heavy with water are going to fall. tomorrow it will be in the 40's in the morning! i love that. tomorrow night is a big night in Blue Ridge. the opening of the southern appalachian juried art show opens (my piece of the hound and hen in a night garden is in it) and then there will be the grand opening of the Blue Ridge Brewery. That's a big deal because only this year did the county finally give the people a chance to vote for beer and wine in a restaurant. and it was an epic battle.

not much is going on in the garden. the winter rye i planted as a cover crop is coming in nicely. i love how it looks and feels. like a cool moist carpet.

you know? i think "nutty" likes it here too.

have a great weekend everyone. and thank you for your kind words and prayers for my mom. xo

the bear

he is an apparition that exists only in the magic hour. impossible to capture in photos fully. leaving the shutter open i can record his movement-look closely at the photo below and you will see his muzzle smelling the tree trunk. and the darker part suggests a kneeling figure. the shaman wannabe in me likes that happy accident of photography. i think he is a young bear because of his astonished open gaze and shiny black coat of new looking fur. his muzzle is without scar. he brings myth and mystery to my evenings making me alive and alert because i respect his wildness.


i am low by the creek and under heavy canopy it is night for me early on. i know he comes from across the creek and so i look and wait, more hopeful for him than any lover i can recall or imagine. every dark place pulls my eye. the forest is so alive with movement it is hard not to be fooled over and over again. the creek flows and splashes up little diversions. the leaves are starting to fall and hummingbirds reach for the last of the nectar while red can still, if faintly, be registered by those tiny eyes. black hornets with an impressive nest at the apex of the roof inspect me and move on. the bear, like many things, doesn't come at the time of my choosing and i give up the watch and prepare dinner..........oh yes! wild alaskan salmon on my george forman grill. i did not plan it but in retrospect my unconscious mind was clearly in the driver's seat.

the chicks are inside with me and love kitchen time as they are sure to receive a taste of everything i am having. suddenly the chicks adopt a familiar weird, low and frozen stance while emitting a worry trill. the bear is here. how can he be so quiet? he is more cautious than i, every step tentative. the bear doesnt see me but the twitching snout tells me he smells me or the salmon. he is probably smelling a billion other scents i cannot detect. he is disappointed the bird feeder has been taken in. he checks every place where bird seed has ever been. i am surprised he doesn't come up on the deck. He has before and though i usually let it go so i can watch him, when he touches the dish i am compelled to step out and protect my very very fragile satellite reception; tv becoming as mythological as the bear lately.

he moves on and upward to the west and the night unfolds merrily; heavy in riches and good fortune.

crystal clear early spring

i drove the long but scenic route. 10 lanes and tall buildings give way to 8 in the suburbs and down to 4 where the commute from that point is an hour to the heart of the city. i pass the last stand of old properties defiantly seperating business parks, the dixie 400 flea, and the right turn for all the lake people.

Kurt serenades me plaintively from the grave. "where do bad people go when they die? not to heaven where the angels fly!"

i take the 2 lane left towards the mountains. i pass the auto shop of a famous nascar driver, a meat and three palace, and a place where you can pay to fish a trout out of a pond. there's apple houses, and in the summer, a petting zoo of goats and lambs and piglets. rows of gleaming and fragrant chicken houses are stacked along rolling pastoral hills laden with all manner of bovine creatures. next is the forest fire tower and a row of smokey bear signs. i read them and shake my head yes in solemn agreement.

soon my range appears and i am first day at school excited. everytime.

the mountains are big and blue on this day and the air is crystal. low winter sunlight beaming through the endless line of bare trees strobes my eyes and makes me see blood red in my peripheral. it goes on too long. the almost home stretch offers a long range view of the big frog; his back looking hairy now that you can see the trees on the ridgeline. the final, real home stretch is a dead end into wilderness. it's anything but dead with the abundant wildlife who call it home. the road winds and banks and is a ribbon of mercury in this light. evidence of fires puff out of little cabin chimney pipes. mixed with an army of white pines and sparkly decorations it is a greeting card for all the senses.

an american flag in metal swings open with a groan and smashes into a fallen virginia pine bearing a tremendous bounty of cones. i take in the last mountain view and roll down to the black water. the little Christmas wreath i put on the hens door is still in place but i may have lost one of those fancy hydrangeas from china. the goldfinch sak is empty of thistle and the other feeder is empty too. the evergreens are full and lush and the field in the last of the light is almost glowing through the dark giants blocking my view. it seems i've been gone longer than i have.

inside i get the little heater all cranked up and sit quietly. i reflect on an absolutely correct drawing of eva by my friend margaret, stuck to an old white refrigerator with magnets. i listen for the nightbirds and prepare for a chilly evening with rain.