Summer. It's about time!

Penstemon

Full moon. Summer solstice. It’s about time for blog entry!

The tangled wood is almost impenetrable and the garden is overwhelmed with weeds after the rains of previous weeks. In honor of National Pollinator Week, I searched for some pollinators amongst the flowers that seem to have bloomed late this season.

Grasshopper on Evening Primrose

I enjoy watching the activity around the penstemon. The tubular flowers fit the bees’ hairy bodies like a glove. It seems that tiny green bees like to visit yellow flowers, such as coreopsis and evening primrose. 

Hidden amongst the flowers and foliage are insects that will take front stage later in the summer, with their song and stridulations. Is that a young grasshopper on the primrose petal? A katydid seeks camouflage on a milkweed leaf.

Katydid on Milkweed Leaf

May Day Greening

Sassafras Flowers

I celebrate this day of fertility rites, workers rights, May queens and maypoles by embracing all that is vernal in my tangled wood and garden: the large bumblebees that roam for nectar; the promise of herbaceous perennial shooting skyward; fiddleheads and knobs of ferns as they too awaken; bird sounds all; dried oak leaves to crumble; spicebush and maple-leaf viburnum defying ivy.

The woodland canopy is colored with green unfurling leaves and the soft browns, beiges and ochre of oak flowers. The house wren has returned. It has been singing loudly and can be seen flitting amongst the lime green sassafras blossom.

 The storm-damaged dogwood tree seems more fragile than ever. But its boughs will support the nesting boxes for at least another year. Its emerging leaves appear v-shaped amongst tentative flower bracts. Springtime brings me hope and energy. 

Flowering Dogwood (Cornus florida)

A lumber yard for wildlife

A red-bellied woodpecker calls from way up in a tree. It has claimed a hollow, decayed branch for a nest. I spot its brilliant red head protruding from a hole. Judging from all the other birdsong I have been hearing, the nesting season has surely begun. From a spring-clean up of my garden there is quite a pile of dried material that could be put to good use. A lumber yard for wildlife: stems of hollow-stemmed Joe Pye for solitary bees; little bluestem grass leaves for weaving and its fluffy seed for lining a nest; stiffer stems of goldenrod, echinacea and sedum for firmer structure. The adjacent woodpile is a source of twigs, which the male house wren will use to stuff all three of the little wooden bird boxes. I wonder which one the female will pick to raise a brood in this year.

A brown cloak in the sun

There has not been much to report these past few weeks of cruel, late winter. However, there are signs of spring besides emergent flowering bulbs. An ardent song sparrow has been sitting atop the holly bush and singing its heart out even amidst falling late winter snow. Yesterday as I looked out on the garden I spotted a large butterfly. I ran outside into the spring sunshine, camera in hand, because I knew that I had seen a mourning cloak (Nymphalis antiopa), the first of the season and a true harbinger of spring. It landed on a large stone in the sun, wings open so that its dark brown wings could absorb radiant heat from the sun. It sat there for several minutes providing me the opportunity to get a good close-up photograph. Yellow margins on the wing and azure blue iridescent spots add refinery to a somber, brown cloak. After a while the beauty took off and fluttered around me before landing again on my head! I felt a tickle in my hair and a feeling of joy. We have both come through the winter to bask in spring sunshine at last. Mourning cloaks are thought to be the longest-lived of all butterflies. Adults can live up to 10 to 11 months and most of them overwinter. Only some migrate south in the fall.

Promise of spring

Yesterday radiant heat from the sun was melting the blanket of snow and my face was warmed along with my mood. Melt water was audibly dripping revealing flowering snowdrops and crocuses in small pockets of bare earth.

Today is a dull day with snow in the forecast. But the birds are singing as fervently as ever. I’ve been observing them for the Great Backyard Bird Count. The squirrels must be hunkered down because they seem to be leaving the bird feeder alone letting the chickadees and titmice have a free run. A northern cardinal is singing high up in the holly tree. White-throated sparrows are scratching about in exposed leaf litter. A song sparrow spends some time in the safety of the cage surrounding the feeder. A furtive dark-eyed junco is hopping about beneath. A white-breasted nuthatch spirals down the trunk of an oak tree and in the distance I spot a downy woodpecker. Last but not least, the tiny Carolina wren pays a fleeting visit to round off my list.

Un-wanted winter pruners

They usually visit unseen, leaving chewed-off twigs and cloven footprints in the dirt. Lately, I caught sight of a pair of them in the act. They came through a break in the overgrown Japanese ilex hedge. This was just a quick visit, a walk-through for sampling easy to reach plants along a well-trodden path. They seem particularly partial to red-twig dogwood that, I must say, has brilliant red stems in winter because of them. 

Whenever I see a white-tailed deer in the garden I’m torn between admiring their beauty and regretting their very presence.They are only just beginning to frequent gardens in this area. I have seen first-hand the damage deer can do to habitat in woodland and parks and I fear for the native plants and vegetables I plan to plant in my garden.

I cringe when I hear a duck hunter’s gunshot echo from the Sound early on a weekend morning. And, I would probably not like to hear a deer hunter’s gun even more. Besides, I’m not partial to eating venison. But how should we control the burgeoning numbers of this prevalent herbivore? Re-introduce their major predator? We have after all created the problem by reducing areas of wild land for the suburbs. Replacing forest openings with lawn and foraging material with exotic and tender plants. Meanwhile, before we ever come up with a solution I am researching fencing options.

A Bright Winter's Light

When I look out on the garden on a snow-less winter’s day I appreciate the subtle colors and textures of this dormant season. Oak leaf litter, furrowed bark, straw, grey fluff of seeds, and black beads of fern have replaced the dominance of leafy green. A blue sky framed by stark tree branches seems all the more vivid. As do a cardinal’s plumage or red twigs of dogwood. In summer months I barely notice the blue on a nuthatch wing, or yellow on a white-throated sparrow. Does the tufted titmouse always sport an orange flank? At the winter bird feeder, against a muted background, the red-bellied woodpecker and all the other hungry visitors reveal their true colors. The seed heads in the meadow have been nibbled and pecked. Now the dried grass stems catch winter breezes and late-afternoon sunbeams.