Category Archives: Nature/Ecology

Nature appreciation as well as conservation topics. (I don’t have a “green” or “environment” category — both terms I have big problems with.)

How dogs see the wilderness

toilet

(Just back from a week in the Adirondacks. More soon.)

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Peak experience

I’m taking a break and highlighting some classic posts from my first full year of blogging, 2004. A trip to the Adirondacks supplied the material for my 400th post at Via Negativa, a milestone I reached after only eight months of blogging. (Please click through to read the whole thing.)

Climbing Algonquin Peak:

We find a shelf of rock facing east where we can sit and watch the clouds swirl past, ogling the iconic, landslide-scarred face of Mt. Colden whenever they clear. The lunch is as luxurious as I can manage; my only regret is the absence of a white linen tablecloth. After tea – Earl Grey steeped with spruce – I sit with my back against the stone. My companion lies supine for a while, and finally says, I can feel the whole mountain underneath me.

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The names of underwings

underwing moth

For some reason, the names of many moths in the genus Catocala have bizarrely soap-operatic names. Here are some of my favorites, as encountered in the wonderful new Peterson Field Guide to Moths of Northeastern North America by David Beadle and Seabrooke Leckie:

  • The Penitent (Catocala piatrix)
  • The Betrothed (Catocala innubens)
  • The Old Maid (Catocala badia coelebs)
  • Obscure Underwing (Catocala obscura)
  • Widow Underwing (Catocala viuda)
  • Tearful Underwing (Catocala lacrymosa)
  • Oldwife Underwing (Catocala Paleogama)
  • Youthful Underwing (Catocala subnata)
  • Sad Underwing (Catocala maestosa)
  • The Bride (Catocala neogama)
  • Once-Married Underwing (Catocala unijuga)
  • Mother Underwing (Catocala parta)
  • Darling Underwing (Catocala cara)
  • The Sweetheart (Catocala amatrix)
  • Magdalen Underwing (Catocala illecta)
  • Sordid Underwing (Catocala sordida)
  • Wonderful Underwing (Catocala mira)
  • Charming Underwing (Catocala blandula)
  • Connubial Underwing (Catocala connubialis)
  • Girlfriend Underwing (Catocala amica)
  • The Little Nymph (Catocala micronympha)

I suppose the way these moths lift their forewings to reveal bright pink-, red- and orange-striped hindwings suggested something feminine, like a petticoat, to the lepidopterists who named them.

I’m a little embarassed to admit however that many of the underwings look pretty much alike to me, even with the help of a field guide, so I’m not entirely sure which species is pictured above. (Maybe the Sweetheart?) This is the one I saw back on September 2, and my mention of some of these names prompted Luisa to incorporate them into her poem for the day, “Telenovela” (which is Spanish for “soap opera”).

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Leaves on a scanner

View the slideshow on Flickr.

Posted in Photos, Trees | Tagged | Spot a typo? Please let us know | 10 Comments

Oak Apple Gall

This entry is part 26 of 34 in the series Small World

Incidental planet, Biblical
metonym for bitterness,
a green anti-fruit filled with air
in citrus-like sections
& harboring a larva at its core.
The oak’s response to a bit
of foreign matter is not
unlike the oyster’s: wall it off
inside a solid tear-drop.
Come fall, it turns red
but doesn’t rot, lapsing instead
into tough brown paper,
a manuscript in the round
that whelps a wasp.

Posted in Poems & poem-like things, Trees | Tagged | Spot a typo? Please let us know | 3 Comments

Drinking Companion

There comes a point, toward the bottom of the second pint of beer, when every passing thought sounds like a line from a poem — something about the evening light, perhaps, or my falling intonation as I address my pronouncements to the praying mantis beside me, who turns her head to follow the glass as I raise & lower it, & when I set it down empty beside her, rocks slowly from side to side on her four hind legs. Her people are more recent immigrants than mine. She hasn’t yet learned all the rules about when to open the green umbrella on her back. It’s a good thing I’m not drinking cocktails, I tell her. Her fighter’s form is impeccable as she retreats to the underside of the table, though she does tremble a bit. The decor here is a little rustic, but I think she’s thinking this would be a good place to die.

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Pitcher plant heaven

pitcher plant family

(August 18) I’ve decided to remove the original introduction to this post to try and hide the location of the bog from plant thieves. My apologies for those who didn’t get a chance to read it before the re-write.
Continue reading

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Knots

This entry is part 12 of 34 in the series Small World

With some trees, the knotholes
are among the last things to go.
You can find them staring up
from the ground, eye sockets
that never belonged to a skull.

It makes sense that trees would grow
their hardest wood around the weakest
points in their architecture.
This is called the branch collar,
& it is woven with wood
first from the branch
as it overlaps onto the trunk
& then from the trunk
as it overlaps onto the branch.

Behind the collar, in the parent
trunk or limb, the branch core forms:
a cone of decay-resistant wood
shaped like a spear with the flared
base facing outward, keeping
the agents of rot at bay
long after the rest of the branch
has fallen off. This is the knot.

Arborists talk of intergrown
& encased knots, loose & sound
& pin knots, red & black knots.
We who know them only from lumber
might imagine hard pills the tree
had been unable to dissolve.
We would not be wrong.
Each time a tree says yes to the sun
a no begins to form, firm & sharp
& pointed inward.


Based on a photo post from March 2011.

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Sweet flag

sweet flag (Acorus calamus)

My friend Lucy’s farmer neighbors, who are named Brown and raise brown cows, have a large colony of sweet flag (Acorus calamus) — a favorite brewing herb of mine — growing in the boggy corner of a pasture, and since the cows weren’t eating it we stopped by to ask if we could dig some.

Nobody was home; they were all out in the barn castrating pigs. One of the Farmers Brown paused long enough to smile and say sure, take all you want. She was young, fit and efficient-looking with frighteningly white teeth.

It was dusk. The closest cows looked enormous as they chewed and steamed. I rolled under the electric fence, dug into the muck with a giant fork and came up with a savory tangle of white roots.

The aroma was unmistakeable, musky and strong, with hints of nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon—the quintessence of spice. It was more than mere imagination that led Walt Whitman to associate it with lust and the Lakota Indians to chew the root and rub it on their faces before going into battle in order to quell fear. Medieval Christians strewed the leaves on the floors of churches during holy week so its incense would rise from underfoot. A strong and complex smell can evoke such a mixture of emotional responses.

To me, sweet flag stands for something holy, too. This I believe: that no matter how crowded the earth gets, it will always have ungrazed corners and so-called vacant lots, feral, unclaimed or neglected places that together constitute an unoffical country whose flags are legion, albeit unrecognized by any government. Even as species disappear and ecosystems collapse, the natural world will remain sovereign and will still harbor inexpressible sweetness and delight.

There must’ve been enough sweet flag in that small corner of the pasture for 100 batches of beer. We stopped when we filled a small bag—if I need more, I know where to get it. The farmers were so good at their work, we never heard a squeal.

Posted in Brewing, Philosophy/Religion, Wildflowers | Spot a typo? Please let us know | 6 Comments

Critic

A male hummingbird
circles the metal pink
flamingo in my garden,
circles & touches it
with its all-purpose bill.
Amazed? Perplexed?
Combatative? Appalled?
The sun sinks behind
the trees & the first
katydids start calling
as the hummer zips
in for a landing on
the single rusty leg,
perching sideways
just below the tail,
& taps the pink wing
with its diviner’s
wand of a bill.

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