Nephroma Helveticum, Fringed Kidney Lichen

Day 48: Yesterday was the first dry day we've had in a month, so I went out for a short local walk, noting in my pedestrian travels that quite a lot of debris and even some fairly good-sized trees had come down during our parade of blustery weather events. I wasn't thinking about canopy lichens when I stepped over a stick, but my mind registered an observation which filtered to the surface of my consciousness a hundred feet distant: "That looked like Kidneys." I decided not to backtrack, lured forward by the prospect of finding interesting fungi further on. Then, after having completed my circuit of the loop, I thought I might go back to photograph a bracket fungus I'd noted, and by that point, I'd forgotten all about the Kidney stick. I was on my way back to the trailhead when again as I stepped over the stick, my brain insisted that I take a closer look: "Those ARE Kidneys, and you've never seen them here before." Sure enough, the short, broken twig was covered with Nephroma helveticum, its rich mahogany-coloured apothecia rimmed with the creamy "fringe" which supplies its common name, Fringed Kidney Lichen. The light was very dim where the stick had fallen, so I carried it to a bed of step-moss where a log served as my tripod for a long exposure.

Networking

Day 47: Although we speak the same language, I could bet that what you mean by "networking" is something entirely different than I mean by the same term. Having played around with making a couple of simple bags and a snood, I decided it was time to up my game with the challenge of clustered stitches in a dainty doily. Despite appearances, I do have a "pink and fluffy" side, and it manifests largely in a love of lace, whether knitted, crocheted, tatted, made with bobbins, woven or otherwise. However, the days of antimacassars and jabots have passed, and lace-work is seldom seen in homes or on garments, and certainly not to the extent it was employed in the 1800s and earlier. Lace-making, it would appear, is a dying craft, too time-consuming for the hurried, busy lifestyles of modern times. It must be said that lace demands hours from its creators, and substantial after-care in laundering, starching, pinning and drying. Yet to me, lace is art and, as such, adds elegance to any setting, even one as down-to-earth as my rural home.

Sailor, Take Warning

Day 46: Let's talk about the phrase, "atmospheric river" for a minute. It's being bandied about here in the Pacific Northwe't again while several more are poised to surge over us in the next few days. The media have only recently picked up on the term and, in true form, are using it to get people all stirred up as if it was something new and dangerous. In point of fact, "atmospheric rivers" are nothing new. They were formerly called "moisture plumes" or "warm sector jets" or "pineapple express" events, but "atmospheric river" sounds much more threatening, and that's a lure the media can't resist. They occur when moisture-laden tropical currents extend their fingers into our cooler northern latitudes. Now it must be said that if a particularly heavy moisture plume stalls over an area, that area is likely to see some hard rain and possible flooding, but these three are expected to be fairly short-lived. The first one has already passed through, and I gathered a modest 1/4" of rain, hardly enough to bother putting on a jacket when I went out to fill the bird feeders. That said, "atmospheric rivers" are often accompanied by strong winds and the inevitable power outages associated with them, so take appropriate measures in case one of them decides to stick around. "Red sky in the morning / Sailor, take warning / Red sky at night / Sailor's delight." The photo above was taken at 7 AM. I've made extra coffee and have meals I can heat on my camp stove.

'Til Hell Freezes Shut

Day 45: I am going to be tying fringe until hell freezes shut. Since the summer-and-winter will be an "heirloom" piece (not that I have any heirs), I decided to create a more luxurious fringe by doubling the number of strands over that left by the warp alone. I've hemstitched by fours, so each cluster receives an additional pair cut from the thrums (loom waste) which is folded over to yield four more ends. The two sets of four are then twisted together and tied. Although I wasn't thinking about how I was going to finish the weaving at the time, I am thankful I had the foresight to purchase a fringe-twister tool before reaching this point in the project. That little gadget is worth its weight in gold. I cannot imagine how long it would take to finger-twist it! I'm almost a quarter of the way done, so there's hope.

Playing Favourites

Day 44: I suppose it depends on which one is in bloom, but I can never quite make up my mind which of my Christmas cacti I like best. Picotee (shown above) and Yellow definitely are in the forerunners, but White is so dainty and elegant, and the reds speak so well to the holidays with their festive flames that I cannot choose. All my plants have been with me for a decade or more. I prune them back radically after each flowering period so that I have space for them all. They spend most of the year in the small south window of my back bedroom, and are brought out to the living room one by one as they come into bud. When the flowers fade, they'll be moved back to their shelf where they can enjoy the cooler nighttime temperatures necessary to produce the best colour.

Thankful It's Off The Loom

Day 43: For this I am thankful: the summer-and-winter throw is off the loom! I still need to seam the center (by hand, of course, to match the half-motifs), and then tie a lavish fringe using my handy-dandy fringe twister. The finished throw will measure roughly 48" x 66" when shrunk and fulled to expand the fibers. As you can see from the small piece (destined to be a coordinating pillow top), the back is not quite a true reverse of the front...but which is "back" and which is "front" is debatable. The appeal of summer-and-winter is that it is reversible. I used an 8/2 cotton throughout. Summer-and-winter is not easy to weave, but it is worth the effort. Happy Thanksgiving!

Perfect Cabbage Pie

Day 42: I have to admit I was very skeptical of this recipe when I first discovered it on line, but it appeared in many different variations, all with similar raves in the comments. Since I had a cabbage in the fridge, I decided to try it. I was so impressed with the results that it has now achieved a status as a go-to savoury dish for my holiday meals. I've made a few small adaptations to the recipe to accommodate my personal tastes, most notably serving it up with a cheesy white sauce poured over the top. The spices can be changed up (dill was suggested for a more traditional Ukrainian flavour). Made according to the recipe below, the taste resembles that of Thanksgiving stuffing, and the texture is similar to a quiche. It is superb reheated and will keep for several days in the refrigerator. A springform pan is not necessary, but I would recommend using one if the best presentation is desired.

Cabbage Pie

12 oz. finely chopped cabbage
1 chopped onion
2 tsp. minced garlic
2-3 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup parsley (or 3 Tbsp. dried parsley flakes)
3 eggs
11 oz. plain yogurt
1 1/2 cups flour (190 gm)
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. thyme
1/2 tsp. dry mustard

Place cabbage in a large mixing bowl. Saute onion in oil for 4-5 minutes until golden. Add 2 tsp. minced garlic and saute for 2 minutes more. Add to cabbage. Finely dice 1/4 cup parsley. Add to cabbage mixture and mix well. In another bowl, combine eggs and yogurt and mix well. Add 1 1/2 cups flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and spices, and mix until well combined. Stir in cabbage mixture. Pour into greased 9" baking pan, smooth down, bake at 350 degrees for 45-50 minutes. Insert a knife in the center to check for doneness. It should emerge cleanly. Allow the pie to cool slightly before removing from pan. Serve warm, and top with a light Bechamel sauce right before serving.

Hypogymnia Imshaugii

Day 41: Henry Imshaug lent his name to one genus and several species of lichen, including some which occur here in the Pacific Northwest.In 1941, Professor Imshaug and several of his colleagues performed mycological surveys in Mount Rainier National Park, noting at least one rare species of fungus which I have also had the privilege of observing. In fact, my botany partners and I were able to locate the site where Imshaug made his discovery and documented the species' current existence in the same location. Is it any wonder that Hypogymnia imshaugii has become one of my favourites because it bears his name? Also known as Forked Tube for its neatly branched lobes, it is relatively easy to identify if one of the puffy tubes is opened. The medullary ceiling (underside of the top layer) is white, distinguishing it from similar H. inactiva.

Yew Berries

Day 40: Old wives, get ye back to hearth and home, and take your false tales with you! Yew knows better than to believe your lies! Although the solitary female shrub in my yew hedge fruits only occasionally, it is currently bearing arils as it did in 2020. Those old wives would have you believe it only fruits every seventh year. In the thirty years I've lived behind this hedge, it has borne "berries" less than half a dozen times. Why this year? I suspect our spell of hot weather in June may be one factor; it has certainly affected the cycles of several other plants whose behaviour has been somewhat unusual this fall. The aril...and note that I am speaking ONLY of the red flesh surrounding the seeds, not the seeds themselves...is the only portion of the plant which is not poisonous. Ingestion of even small amounts of the foliage, bark or seeds can result in death. Toxins in the foliage can be absorbed through the skin, so when working around yew, gloves and long sleeves should be worn. That said, its red-and-green holiday season appeal rivals that of holly. Just don't bring it in the house.

Mad-Eye Towhee

Day 39: I have had a long-term association with birds both tame and wild, and have witnessed various degrees of intelligence in them as it is measured in human terms. Parrots' eyes leave no doubt that something greater than response-to-stimuli is going on in that feathered head, and I have personally witnessed displays of self-awareness in a cockatoo which left no doubt that he recognized both me and himself in a video, and thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Many animals avoid eye contact because it is threatening, but wild birds may allow it if they are comfortable with a particular human, e.g., a chickadee assessing a person holding a handful of seed. The light of intelligent consciousness shines from many birds' eyes, although admittedly some (pigeons, for example) are blank and vapid. That said, the red eyes of a Spotted Towhee make the bird look as if it's gone completely around the bend, mad as a hatter, crazy as a bedbug. How is it, then, that another bird was given the name Nuthatch when Towhees clearly look as if they belong in a lunatic asylum?

Never An Idle Hand

Day 38: My maternal grandmother began teaching me to embroider when I was roughly three and a half years old. Yes, really, and it launched me on a journey into a world of needlearts far beyond even her vast range of skills. Somewhere tucked away, I still have a handkerchief with a few clumsy and inappropriately-placed red stitches to remind me of her patient tutoring. "Four over, two back," she would explain, counting the threads for a perfect stem stitch, and when I failed to produce the desired results, she did not criticize but rather encouraged me to continue with my work. She was also fond of saying that idle hands were the devil's playground, and saw to it that I never lacked for something to keep mine busy. As I recall, I was about five when I completed my first pillowcase, having by then mastered lazy daisies and French knots. Although my mother swore that Gma didn't know how to spin, I remember distinctly sitting at her broken wheel with wool picked out of the carders. She turned the wheel manually as I let the fibers twist between my fingers to form a coarse and lumpy thread. When I first sat down at a wheel as an adult, it was almost as if I could hear her telling me how to control the wool. My mother, looking on, remarked, "You always insisted that Gma taught you to spin. I never believed you until now." But Gma didn't weave, or at least not in the truest sense. We made looper-loom potholders together and played with sprang and finger-weaving, but there was no loom, not even an inkle loom in her possession. Weaving is one of my favourite occupations now, and with several different types of loom to keep me amused, my hands are never idle and complex patterns keep my mind agile and entertained.

Netted Snood

Day 37: This one's for the mediaevalists out there (and you know who you are). I only recently discovered detailed instructional material for making netted lace (something I've wanted to add to my repertoire of needlearts for at least fifty years). I played around with making simple bags for a bit, and then wanted to advance to a level where the end product stops being a net and begins being true lace by virtue of having a more textural design. Although this is generally executed as filet embroidery (adding surface threads to a base net), texture can also be incorporated into the net itself by making increases and decreases in the structure. I opted for simple clusters. These are made by putting two stitches in two adjacent loops in one row to produce four loops, and then joining those four loops in the next row. An increase of one loop at the center of each sequence must be made in the third row if the piece is to maintain a uniform diameter, and then one plain row is worked in order to be in the right position to begin another cluster. Snoods are known from the Bronze Age onward, and were most commonly worn by women during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. They were often made from metallic fibers and frequently incorporated pearls or other gems into the lace.

My Mystery Plant

Day 36: You've undoubtedly heard some variant of the phrase, "The cobbler's children have no shoes," which suggests that although a person is in a particular trade, neither they nor those closest to them benefit from it. Perhaps that explains why it has taken me thirty years to identify a plant growing at the edge of my yard, up against the brushy section which forms a boundary with the adjacent undeveloped property. Said shrubby growth regularly gets grazed by the lawnmower, but never fails to produce small leathery foliage which turns a lovely shade of red in the fall, as well as a modest display of round red berries. If I had given it more than a moment's thought, I would have realized it was a Cotoneaster (horizontalis, I believe) without having to search the internet. Here rises to the surface another of the Scottish/British pronunciations instilled in me in childhood. This is not a "cotton Easter" (presumed kin of the Velveteen Rabbit); it is a "cut-OH-nee-as-ter" (although certainly not related to any member of the Compositaceae). Appropriately, there are lichens nearby (a word which I insist rhymes with "kitchen," not the action implied by a thumbs-up symbol).

Zygorhipschlumberdopsis

Day 35: Don't get me started on the taxonomy of everyone's favourite holiday bloomers. It changes more often than you'd change your socks on a backpacking trip. I'm just going to call it "Zygorhipschlumberdopsis" and let it go at that. Nor is the common name particularly stable, or at least not if you listen to its many owners who report that their "Christmas" cactus is blooming at Thanksgiving and then again in time for an early Easter. Suffice to say that my white and yellow ones (shown together in the image above) are putting on a spectacular show this year, better than any in the last decade. Why? I suspect that our hot spell in June is in some part responsible, as is the fact that I haven't turned on the heat in the loom room yet this winter, and we've had some chilly nights. Ol' Zygorhipschlumberdopsis demands heat and drier soil in the summer months, and cooler temps when daylight hours shorten in order to be at its/their best. These two have migrated temporarily onto the fireplace mantle where I can enjoy them, and they'll be switched out with other colours as those come into bloom.

Just Flocking Around

Day 34: Baa! Back in the days when I had my flock, I was primarily raising them for wool with mutton and lamb-burger as an annual bonus. For the most part, my sheep were "black," which is to say that their wool ranged in colour from dark charcoal through greys and brownish-greys to a soft silver. The natural colours were what I liked best for spinning, and I usually sold my white fleeces to Pendleton rather than keeping them for my own use. It seemed appropriate, therefore, that after finishing an inkle band of white sheep, a herd of brown woollies should follow. Truth is, this krokbragd design is fun to weave on the inkle loom. The catch is that the nature of krokbragd limits the way the warp threads can be brought to the surface to only three options. As I'm weaving, I repeat to myself, "background, leg, body, leg; background, leg, body, leg" as the sheep take form with each throw.

Post-op

Day 33: He's not exactly the happiest camper, but Tippy is home again, minus one incongruously-named "canine" tooth. It's been troubling him for some time, and I thought it was only due to plaque build-up, but when I took him in for his annual exam yesterday, his doctor noticed that the tooth was actually loose. She wanted to remove it immediately before it became infected. There was one particular concern: Tip has a pronounced heart murmur. The cardiologist who examined him at six months old had told me that it would be dangerous to put him under anaesthetic. The vet was aware of this and convinced me to go ahead with the procedure on the grounds that an infected tooth would be equally dangerous (or even moreso), but despite her assurances that she would take every possible precaution with my Boy, I came home last night worried and fearful. A few hours later, I called and was told that the extraction was done and that there were no issues, but that Tippy was still sleeping off the anaesthetic. Another call right before closing time let me know that he was awake but groggy, and that I could pick him up this morning. It will take a few days before he's feeling like himself again, I'm sure. Quiet time is what's needed now, and a lot of love.

We're Back

Day 32: In the Park, the return of the seasonals in the spring is marked by training sessions in each Division. Here at my house, the winter seasonals have arrived, and yes, training has begun. The returnees aren't quite settled and are still sorting out the procedures in case something has changed since last year, and the newbies are hesitant and reserved, worried about making a mistake. It's up to me, their supervisor, to assure that they have housing if needed and that they are outfitted with their essentials and, as their instructor, to put them at their ease in their new surroundings. At this point, we're laying the groundwork for what promises to be a happy relationship for the next several months.

Faerie Garden

Day 31: Scientist that I am, I am also a photographer. Sometimes you just have to push the analytical aside and simply admire the beauty. I'd come up for air after being intent on a particular white crust fungus for ten minutes when this scene caught my eye. I immediately thought of a village set high in a mountainous region, Tibet or the Andes perhaps, where grey rock towers above rough-hewn shelters and vegetation clings close to the ground in the desperate and only manner which will allow it to withstand harsh winds and biting-cold temperatures. People do live in such places, you know, without the benefits of electricity and running water and the other amenities we Westerners take for granted, and they have done so for thousands of years. On this day, however, the faeries or sprites who call this community home were either indoors or away at their business of hunting and gathering, following the course of their lives untouched by the artificial constructs of modern civilization. Time means nothing in such a timeless place as this: only now, only this moment.

Xylaria Hypoxylon

Day 30: It's not hard to imagine how the common name "Carbon-antlers" became attached to Xylaria hypoxylon. This dainty fungus grows on rotting wood and can often be found sticking up through the layer of moss which quickly engulfs logs and limbs here in the damp Pacific Northwest. It is also reported to be very mildly bioluminescent (a fact I only recently learned and have yet to observe) due to its ability to collect phosphorus in its tissues. This characteristic gives rise to another common name, "Candlesnuff fungus." It has been hypothesized that the species' bioluminescence may be a product of lignin degradation, and by extension that the degree of "glow" may depend on the substrate species...and here we go again: oh, if only I had more years left to me! There are so many things within my tiny realm about which we know very little. It is my greatest hope that my writings, photos and body of work (small though it may be) will inspire some young scientist to look deeper into the mysteries of the natural world.

Let's Have Some Fun, Gus!

Day 29: Any time I'm out, I'm watching for the unusual. It's not a conscious process, but rather a subconscious one: registering the out-of-place against a backdrop of the commonplace, finding the needle in the haystack not by hunting for the needle but by giving hay second billing. This talent (and I admit it is a talent, although not one I worked to learn) has served me well over the years, allowing me to find new species for the Park, for my immediate area, for the county. When something catches my eye, it's nearly always accompanied by verbalization: "That's weird!" or "What the hell is that?" Such was the case while I was walking through the deciduous litter of my favourite Cowlitz Wildlife Area. A white crust fungus stopped me in my tracks. Closer investigation showed that it was growing from inside drill holes in a decaying alder. I don't know if they were made by a bird or insects, but I rather suspect the former. A cleft in the trunk also showed a substantial deposit of the growth. I photographed it, fully expecting to be able to at least place it in the proper genus when I got home. When that failed to produce the desired result, I sent the image off to David at the Burke Herbarium with the heading "Mystery Fungus." David knows me well enough to understand that means I've found something notable. In turn, he referred the image out to two mycologists, and sent me their replies with the addition that if indeed it was what they suggested, it would be the first record of it in the state. State! David wanted to know if I could get a specimen. I returned an apology: "I'm down flat with a reaction from my COVID booster," I said, "and we've got nasty weather coming in tomorrow." I'm sure my readers know what's coming next. Scientist that I am, with the possibility of adding a new species to the state list under my name, I lasted all of an hour before heading out the door. These two specimens are currently in my food dehydrator in preparation for submitting them to David. He will then refer them to a tame mycologist for microscopic analysis and chemical testing to determine if the species is indeed what we believe it to be. That was fun, Gus!

Reclamation

Day 28: Not much has changed in the 25-plus years since I first found this old guy. The leaf litter has gotten a bit deeper and the moss is having its way with the wooden wheel spokes, but for as damp as the forest is here, I would have expected his bones to have rusted away at least to a point that I could discern some level of decline. He was built to last, but at some point, I imagine his inner workings failed, and if the farmer serviced him and got him back on the job for a while, his demise was inevitable. Left where he took his last gasp, Mother Nature is doing her best to gather him to her bosom even though his spirit lingers.

Scenic View

Day 27: The last ten days or so have been rainy and blowy, so when the Weather Gods cut us a break yesterday, I decided it was time for an autumn hike through an area managed by Cowlitz Wildlife and Tacoma Power near Mossyrock Dam. The trees here are largely deciduous: alders, big-leaf maple, cottonwood, the occasional cascara and an abundance of smaller, shrubbier species. The hardwoods often provide me with excitement in the form of fungi and lichens I don't find elsewhere, and indeed I found a few gems during my walk. At some point in its history, this was agricultural land. A barn stood on this hill, as can be discerned from a base of concrete which was never removed. The pastureland below was previously obscured by mounds of blackberries, but was mowed this last summer in an attempt at weed control. Now it affords a beautiful view of the area, and one which took me entirely by surprise as I looped my way back to my car. It wasn't a long hike...a mere four mile circuit...nor one with any substantial elevation gain, but after weeks of sitting, it was just the perfect length for a few rather breezy hours outdoors.

Make No Assumptions

Day 26: There were so many other ways they could have phrased this cautionary sign, although I doubt a professional "No berry-picking allowed" wouldn't have deterred many people from taking what they wanted. That said, "Do not assume that the berries are organic" made me laugh out loud. I suppose this means that you have the liberty to make herbicide-laden jams and jellies if you so desire (and I will refrain from drawing the obvious parallel to masks and vaccinations). The phrasing allows you the latitude to choose for yourself, and was certainly worded to avoid any suggestion of a mandate, regulation or restriction. This photo will go in my collection of funny signs, but it will be a long time before anyone tops the sign on a sign which read, "Do not post signs on this sign."

Cat Hat

Day 25: I didn't really need another winter hat, but I wanted to do some nalbinding with handspun, specifically some bulky yarn I'd made from my ram's wool years ago. The solitary skein held 355 yards; the hat  took 301, and I briefly considered putting tassels on the points to use up the rest but decided instead to use a nalbinding needle to hold a turned-back edge in place. The needle will need to be secured with a bit of the remaining yarn so that it can't be lost. The design is a traditional Scandinavian style, sometimes referred to as a "cat hat" (not to be confused with a "pussy hat") because of the "ears," and in my interation, fits the head snugly. With snow level dropping to 2300 feet this week, I'm all set for chilly weather!

Little Brown Jobs

Day 24: In the parlance of birding, you may hear the terms "LBJ" and "LGB" which respectively represent those hard-to-distinguish  "Little Brown Jobs" and "Little Grey Birds." While not exactly little, Steller's Jays are nonetheless "brown jobs" whose intricate feather structure refracts and reflects light in a manner humans perceive as blue. Blue pigmentation does not exist in birds. Bluebirds, peacocks, lazuli buntings...all LBJs. That said, one might wonder how a "blue" bird is seen by other birds which, as I'm sure you are aware, see a wider spectrum than our own eyes. Does a Steller's Jay appear to its companions as brown, blue, or perhaps shimmering with iridescence? We don't know. We humans have a saying about walking a mile in the other person's shoes in order to gain their perspective, yet in many cases, that is a goal as unattainable as being able to see the world through a bird's eyes, literally or figuratively. Nor can we think like a bird, or a dog or a cat or an elephant for that matter, because we are constricted in our concept of thought being verbal. That is not to say that non-verbal thought is any less rich than one which depends on words, and in fact may be richer by virtue of being formed of experiences and sensations. In other words, humans are not so far up the evolutionary ladder as they like to imagine themselves to be. Although I know empirically that a Steller's Jay is brown, I cannot convince my eyes that it is anything but blue. For me at least, that's a humbling thought.

Easter Eggs In November

Day 23: When it's raining buckets, when it's pouring down a real gully-washer and the skies are so dark it looks like midnight at noon, the folks at Davis Instruments have come up with a cure for SAD: easter eggs in their weather displays. This isn't the first time I have seen "Its raining cats n dogs." After all, I do live in the Pacific Northwest, but apparently that particular phrase is reserved for times when the rainfall exceeds a certain rate per minute, as it was yesterday when we were having a right frog-strangler, and it always makes me laugh. I suspect there are other little gems which I haven't encountered, e.g., those which might appear in tornado country or a hurricane-prone region, but thank you, I'll leave those for someone else to discover. However, it was only a day or two ago that I spotted the announcement of a meteor shower (a rather unhelpful mention given the circumstances of a surfeit of precipitation), and was rather surprised that I hadn't noticed this type of information for any previous astronomical event. What else have you built in, Davis? If it goes below zero, are you going to tell me it's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey? I need to pay closer attention to this instrument.

Sparkly Bits

Day 22: No camera can capture sparkle, but I hope this gives my readers an idea of the shimmer in my latest handspun project. I am using a vintage product called Nomis Together as a third ply. It is a blending filament made from nylon, polyester and mylar (or its precursor), and is no longer marketed. In fact, the manufacturer is no longer in operation and I have been unable to find anything equivalent in a spool larger than 55 yards (which, of course, is entirely unreasonable when you're talking about spinning several hundred yards of wool). When finished, these two skeins of yarn will be truly unique, and that is one of the joys of hand-spinning. That said, I have two more unopened 450-yard spools of Nomis, one in a light orchid shade and the other in red. Choosing a dyed wool to carry them will be exciting!

Entanglements

Day 21: First of all, let me say that I am here only because I hit the right moment. Our internet service was partially knocked out by the power outages a few days ago, and service has been intermittent when it was working at all. It is supposed to be fully restored by 8 PM tomorrow, but that's the second time the estimated repair has been pushed out to the following day. In any event, I took advantage of the lull and a few breaks in the weather to meander around the yard checking on lichens. The ancient cedar post at the end of the raspberry patch was particularly lush with Cladonias, so entwined and entangled that I can't tell where one species leaves off and another begins. Perhaps some lichens colonize others? Many contain the same algae, so perhaps their societies compete or cooperate? Suffice to say that this particular cedar post provides suitable habitat and supports a population as dense as that in the busiest human cities.

Green Grow The Lichens

Day 20: Some years ago, a pussywillow twig I had cut to bring indoors sprouted roots in the vase. I planted it at the corner of my garage where it became a tree within a relatively few years. However, it was not particularly happy. The soil there is fill, and poor fill at that, rife with bits of broken glass, fragments of rusty cans and, I suspect, chemicals I'd rather not think about, courtesy of the previous owners. The pussywillow tried its hardest, but to add insult to injury, it was then attacked by insects which in turn were harvested by a determined Sapsucker who drilled and shredded the bark until the main trunk died. That said, the weakened wood was primed for lichen colonization, first by Parmelias and Usneas, and now by these young Lobarias. People think lichens damage trees. In fact, they have the process backwards. Lichens take advantage of the softer, more porous wood and bark of sick and failing trees, and do not contribute substantially to the trees' eventual demise. Is my pussywillow doomed? I don't think so. Willows are remarkably resilient, and as long as the root is undamaged, new shoots will no doubt spring up. And if not, a twig from this tree also sprouted roots, and I planted it in the front yard where it's doing just fine.

In The Dark Again

Day 19: By some great stroke of luck, I had finished my morning ablutions, eaten breakfast and, most importantly, had a cup of coffee, and had settled in to await the dawn while doing some needlework. I had put three stitches on the tatting needle when the lights flickered once, twice, stayed on for a whole five seconds and then went out entirely. "Well," I said aloud, "I'm in the pitch-bloomin'-bloody-black-dark again." Fortunately, our service area is small and our utilities crews are prompt. A little over two and a half hours later, power was restored. However, it is at times like these that I wonder how those mediaeval women ever did their meticulous, intricate work by rushlight, or how pioneer women were able to manufacture garments and embroideries by candle or lantern light with such skill that it meets or surpasses that of most needleworkers today. Admittedly, my vision is impaired, and specifically in low-light situations, but crafting a neat join by flashlight was almost beyond me. I got that far, and laid my work aside to prevent the possibility of a misplaced stitch being made. Power outages drive me to knitting. I can do that with my eyes closed.