Binding

Day 352: Several things got in the way between completing the hand-quilting of the Hexagons and this moment, not the least of which was 3/4 bushel of apples which needed to be processed into winter nibblies. I canned 8 pints of chunks, three pints of spiced sauce, and filled a one-gallon container with dehydrated slices. The kitchen smells wonderful, but enough with the apples already! It's time to bind the quilt!

I have to admit to a certain degree of laziness here. I piece by machine, and I also apply the front side of the binding by machine. Once turned, I will stitch it down by hand on the back. Then all I have to do is attach a "Made with love by Crow 2021" label, and the hexagon quilt will be ready to deliver to my botany partners Joe and Sharon, just in time for those chilly autumn and winter nights. There are wildflower dreams in these fabrics, and paths of friendship wend through the miles of stitches. Mountain and meadow, the memories are here in this cloth.

Down The Hatch!

Day 351: I had only intended to be outside long enough to fill the bird feeders at the insistence of a Chickadee, so I had not bothered to put on a jacket even though a moderate rain was falling. As I lifted the lid on the first feeder and raised my eyes, a flurry of activity in the Mountain-ash drew my attention. A dozen or more soaking-wet birds were flying in and out among the branches, lighting here and there to peck at the clusters of berries. Could it be? Had my Cedar Waxwings finally arrived? The birds seemed too dark and sleek, and some sported speckled breasts. My vision was diminishing rapidly as my glasses collected raindrops, but otherwise, I was oblivious to the rain. By the time I decided to retreat to the house, my shirt was sodden, but I had been rewarded with a glimpse of a black mask. Yes, the Cedar Waxwings were back. The darkness of their plumage, their slender outlines and even the speckling on their breasts was due to being drenched. Indoors, I trained the camera on them through the window glass and stood watching for half an hour as they stripped the native tree of its fruits. A gang of American Robins had come with them, and the two species were working in shifts: Waxwings in this tree, Robins in that, and then a changing of the guard. The Waxwings clearly preferred the native fruit, but when the Robins overwhelmed them, they retreated to the nursery cultivar. The Robins, thinking that the Waxwings had found something better, would then join them there. Once the native tree was empty of Robins, the Waxwings returned to it. By evening, that tree was almost bare of fruit, but the cultivar still held several large clusters of berries. Perhaps they weren't quite ripe enough to suit the birds' palates, but I expect they'll be back today to finish the job they began yesterday afternoon.

Eurasian Collared-Dove, Streptopelia Decaocto

Day 350: A casual glance at the Mourning Doves searching the ground beneath the feeders might not have caught the one onion in the petunia patch. Slightly larger, greyer, a solitary bird relied on its resemblance to its cousins to effectively camouflage a Eurasian Collared-Dove (Streptopelia decaocto), but when it extended its neck in alert, the dark line revealed its true nature. Introduced in the Bahamas in the 1970s, this species' range has extended to most states except in the northeastern part of the US and is working its way into Canada. These birds do not tolerate extreme cold, a fact which some sources believe explains their absence in the NE, however, with global temperatures on the rise, this may change within a fairly short span of time. At this point in their history, they are not considered detrimental to native bird populations, although their large appetites may affect food-source availability in regions where they occur in large numbers. The internet will supply many references stating that "decaocto" refers to a servant in Greek mythology and her transformation into a dove, but these allegations are unsupported and purely apocryphal.

Akebia Abundance

Day 349: I think I let this experiment get away from me just a little bit, although I must say that my skill at hand-pollination is much improved over my early attempts. Here you see 21 Akebia fruits, each four to six inches long, chock-full of seeds and to a significantly lesser extent, a mildly sweet pulp which is very difficult to separate from them. The best procedure I have found is to put a teaspoon-sized mass on your tongue, roll it around until your saliva loosens the pulp, swallow it, being careful not to ingest any of the seeds which can then be spit into an empty rind for disposal. Ten more pods preceded these, and there are at least ten more still ripening on the vine. A slightly sweeter taste can be achieved by refrigerating the pods for a day or two before eating, but do not wait too long. They do not hold well once they have been picked. I probably won't be able to stay ahead of the crop at a consumption rate of 3-4 per day.

Tranquil Ohop Creek

Day 348: Ohop Creek declines gently through pasture and land conservancy, chuckles at a bed of over-ambitious rocks which seek to impede its flow through a state park, whispers its life-filled song amid native plants and invasives alike, healthier now thanks to the intervention of a handful of humans who care for much of its reach. It remembers its origins, mindful of its history as salmon habitat, is grateful for the return of a few wild fish to its bed. And yet it does not know where it is going, does not know what lies around its next and last bend. There, it will be caught up in the dynamics of the ebullient Nisqually to be swept away and borne out to sea like a press-ganged sailor, thence to mingle with the sea until its freshness is lost and unrecognizable in the greater waters. Its destiny is written and unchangeable, and yet it is oblivious to it and its imminence as here, in this place and moment, it reflects on its past.

Ramalina Sp.

Day 347: I needed to get Out yesterday. September has disappeared all too quickly, and since the weather is slated to turn wet and ugly, it was a "now or never" situation. I chose to walk down to the river through Nisqually-Mashel State Park, hoping to find solitude. In that, I succeeded, although sounds of humanity were audible until the rush of water drowned them out. It seems there is no escape from banging, clanking, rumbling noises these days, at least not for someone who can no longer reach the deep backcountry. Even there, the sound of planes overhead is a reminder of Man's industry. In any event, I managed to avoid any strong evidence of humanity for several hours. During my walk, I noted that the recent wind and heavy rain had hit cottonwoods harder than other tree species in this particular area, and of course that gave me the opportunity to examine downed branches for lichens. I would be going out on a limb (ha-ha) to infer that this is Ramalina farinacea because I did not bring a sample of it home, but that is the Ramalina species I have encountered here previously.

Krokbragd Mats

Day 346: As one friend put it, this was a "doodle," an experiment to see which fibers in my stash were a suitable combination for krokbragd weaving.  I hung 69 ends roughly six feet in length using natural 8/4 carpet warp at 7.5 ends per inch (grudgingly revised after an unsatisfactory false start at 10 epi) and used 8/2 cotton for the weft. I've turned the corners back to show how very different krokbragd appears on the reverse. While the face bears intricate designs, the back of the piece shows long floats which, although still attractive, are unsuitable for the functional surface. Krokbragd is a popular weave for rugs when made with heavier yarns because of its weight and compactness. At this weight, it is ideal for table mats or coasters.

Scrubby

Day 345: The Cedar Waxwings may be missing in action, but another notable absence resolved yesterday when an unfamiliar squawk made me look up from my weaving. Scrubby was back! California Scrub-jays (Aphelocoma californica) are not common in my immediate area, although I've seen them every summer for the last three or four years. This inclines me to think that the boundaries of their range may be expanding from western Washington's lowland prairies to include the Cascade foothills. Those which have appeared at my feeders are somewhat larger than the Steller's Jays, both in length and bulk. "That's a BIG bird!" I said, looking out the window and remembering the dainty weight of a Canada (Grey) Jay on my hand as I listened to this individual pounding the bejaizus out of a sunflower seed it had wedged into a crack in the feeder. It polished off that one, retrieved another from a different tray and returned with it to use the same "clamp." It stood on the seed until it had it in the correct position, and then with a few deft pokes, lodged it securely for the more serious task of opening the hull. As anyone who has ever eaten sunflower seeds in the shell can tell you, you don't gain many calories for the work involved, but Scrubby has it down to a science, and he was still out there banging away when I closed the curtains for the night.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Day 344: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so the big question is: Where are my Cedar Waxwings? I have been asking that since the middle of August when the Mountain-ash berries first turned orange, and I have not seen a single bird. It's uncharacteristic of them to give my yard a miss, especially when the table is laid so lavishly. That said, the Chickadees have returned from summer vacation, although they are as yet hesitant to come to my hand for sunflower seeds. The familiarization process must start again, particularly with young birds who have no memory of the outstretched palm. Likewise, older birds will be cautious until they are certain the human perch means them no harm. Still, their cheerful presence is some consolation for the marked lack of  Waxwings.

You Are What You Eat

Day 343: These are lobsters, Pacific Northwest style. They are quite popular with collectors in the area, but I do not eat them. To be entirely accurate, the redness is due to a parastitic overgrowth of

Hunting Up Dinner

Day 342: It looked pretty grim when first I stepped into the forest. There at my feet was a slice of lobster. No, I don't mean the seafood. I mean the stoplight-red fungus which emerges concurrently with chanterelles and is almost as popular with many collectors. I don't eat them, but that's the subject of tomorrow's post. In any event, I looked down on that neatly cut slice of lobster and said aloud, "Oh, this does not bode well." I had put two small perhaps-bags in my pocket as I went out the door on what I call "a mushroom walk," hoping that I'd find at least enough chanterelles for a lunchtime bowl of soup. I nearly despaired. On a different part of the trail, however, I began finding lobsters untouched, huge lobsters. Then the magic happened: my eye fell on two chanterelles less than a foot off the path. In a few more minutes, I had half a dozen in the bag. Ten minutes later, I encountered another patch, off trail and deeper into the heart of the woods. A wider sweep brought up even more, although they occurred largely in isolation. I took a different route back to the footpath, and in so doing, found the largest group of the day from which I harvested roughly a dozen. Yep, there's enough here for a nice fry-up and a bowl of soup. Chanterelles are on tonight's dinner menu.

Odd And Edible

Day 341: The first of the Akebia pods split yesterday, and I had promised to bring you the details regarding their consumption, so here we go. First of all, let it be known that this is a challenging fruit to eat. Only the viscid, gooey mass in the middle is edible raw, and although purportedly the rind can be sliced and stir-fried, I would not recommended it. I tried it, and found it bitter and rather nasty. As you can see, the core "caterpillar" contains hundreds of large black seeds. They cling tenaciously to the surrounding white bits and cannot be removed without losing much of the volume of the edible part. The solution is to pop a portion of the "slug" into your mouth and roll it around with your tongue until the white part semi-liquifies. Then you can spit out the seeds into the handy disposable rind. The question you are no doubt asking at this point is whether or not it's worth the effort, and I have to reply by saying, "Probably not unless you're into weird foods." It took me several years to acquire a taste for this unusual fruit which, if the truth be told, is almost flavourless but mildly sweet. It might be compared to rice candy, but in a seed-filled and slimy form. That said, my hand-pollinating has yielded up about thirty pods for me to enjoy over then next couple of weeks if the rain hasn't ruined them.

Tiles On A Crooked Path

Day 340: A few days ago, I featured the krokbragd pattern known as "flame point" (not to be confused with the pointed flame stitch of bargello, although it is similar in appearance). As I explained then, krokbragd means "crooked path," and refers to the lay of the threads in a tightly-packed weft-faced cloth. Technically, the weave is a three-point twill, the sheds always repeating in the same order over four passes of the shuttle, the #2 heddles being activated with every alternate throw. What's that? I heard muttering in the back of the room. You asked, "What is she talking about, anyway?" Never mind. You only need to know that you have three ways to raise the threads, and you have to weave four picks. That means that one of the picks has to be a repeat of heddle position, but not necessarily of colour. And that's where the fun comes in. This tessellation is woven on exactly the same threading as the flame point I described earlier. In fact, it's still attached to the loom. I merely advanced the warp, left a space, and started over with a different sequence of colours to obtain the squares. If you find the mechanical part of weaving krokbragd rather monotonous, you have the option to change up your design on a whim.

Filling The Larder

Day 339: A second batch of pears is done and in the pantry cupboard where they will wait to bring a little cheer into the cold, dark months of winter. These next few weeks will be occupied with more canning as I stock the larder with fruit and jam. Asian pears are ripening on the counter, gooseberries and currant juice are thawing in the fridge, and if anyone happens to have a surplus of apples, I'd welcome at least part of them with open arms. Store-bought canned fruit doesn't hold a candle to homemade, and even though canning is a lot of work, I believe it's well worth the effort. These pears are going to taste really good when snow blankets the ground.

Ochlodes Sylvanoides, Woodland Skipper

Day 338: The Woodland Skipper (Ochlodes sylvanoides) was one of the first butterflies I learned to identify. At the ripe old age of 6 or 7, I had not yet discovered the joys of Latin and knew it only as a Skipper, and was intrigued by the fact that although it looked rather like a moth, it was in fact a butterfly. The position in which they hold their wings sets them apart from other Lepidoptera with the forewings held upright and the hind wings often displayed almost horizontally when at rest. I know now that this peculiar arrangement allows them to fly faster than other butterflies, a detail which goes a long way to explain why I had so much trouble catching them as a child. I also know now that they nectar on flowers not commonly used by other butterflies such as aster and goldenrod, and that their larvae feed on various grasses. This last tidbit of knowledge comes with an addendum: they are particularly drawn to the invasive Reed Canarygrass (Phalaris arundinacea), a preference which pulls them away from the native species with which they would have interacted otherwise. Although at first glance, it might seem like a good thing to have larvae consuming an invasive, feeding on the plant may not fulfill the butterflies' nutritional requirements, resulting in a weakening of the species over time. My personal observations suggest that the number of Woodland Skippers has declined since the days of my youth, at least here in the Pacific Northwest.

The Perfect Scotch Pie

Day 337: The recipe is not mine, but it is so delicious that I will give a shout out to John Kirkwood, "a retired cook from the northeast of England in the UK," as he says in the introduction to his YouTube videos, and if you like Scotch Pies, his method couldn't be simpler. I tend to avoid cooking if it involves more than one pan and five minutes of prep time, and I can assure you that weighing the ingredients takes longer than making them. Admittedly, rolling out the crusts and assembling the four pies (three shown here) requires about fifteen minutes, but both the filling and the hot-water pastry can be made a day ahead. The traditional filling is lamb and onion and is what I used for mine, but that could easily be changed up to suit American tastes by using burger or even chicken chunks and mixed veg. Top off your Scotch pie with a bit of simple cornstarch gravy made from stock, and this one is a hands-down win!

Krokbragd

Day 336: Lest anyone think that I don't take fiber arts seriously, I currently have four looms in operation, each with a different style of weaving in progress. I'm getting close to completion of the summer-and-winter weave lap throw on the floor loom, spacing out the remainder until another large project takes form in my mind. I worked so many hours at inkle weaving that I threw myself into back spasms and had to take a break for a few days, but while I was leaned up against a heating pad, I kept thinking about krokbragd. The word means "crooked path," and refers to the lay of threads in this weft-faced three-point twill. It is rather fiddly and confusing to weave, but the patterns which can be created solely by changing up the sequence of colours are quite attractive. However, one must first find the proper balance between the weights of warp and weft for any particular number of ends per inch. I have not been entirely happy with my prior krokbragd endeavours, so while I was recovering from "inkle injuries," I warped my smaller rigid-heddle loom with 8/4 carpet warp and did practice throws with various weights of thread. Although I achieved a satisfactory look at 10 epi (ends per inch) using 8/2 cotton weft, I felt that a wider sett would pack more tightly as my vision of "perfect krokbragd" dictated. After weaving several inches, I took the giant leap. I cut the piece off the loom and re-hung it at 7.5 epi, no easy task when you consider that I had to keep the warp threads in their original order while restringing each one through two heddles! When the process was done, I crossed my fingers and wove the first sequence, hoping I hadn't made any mistakes. The weaving is now progressing nicely and has a much nicer hand-feel than that woven on the closer sett. This wasn't a project as such; it was an experiment. Even so, when it's finished, it will make a nice place mat.

Fiber Adventures

Day 335: A friend recently remarked that she enjoys following my "fiber adventures," and the term "adventure" seemed particulary apt, given that I love to experiment with new techniques and colour treatments. Currently, I'm on a "shaded" binge which began with wanting to use up a small ball of space-dyed 8/2 cotton. The result was the lovely purple and blue scarf I featured here on September 6. A survey of my stash didn't yield any more variegated thread, so I grabbed three closely allied colours of #3 perle cotton and used them to make an inkle-woven band. By arranging the warp with the two medium-hued shades on either side of the darker colour, the finished band had the shimmery appearance of having been made with a variegated thread. I used the same principle to warp the "autumn" band shown in the lower image. The background is brown, and the floats are made with yellow, orange and rust. I must confess that this was not the pattern I originally intended to weave. I inadvertently wound on two extra warps, leaving 13 threads for the floats instead of 11. It would have been difficult to remove them, so I changed the pattern instead. The piece in the upper photo utilizes a fortuitous find for the stripes. Although I had no more space-dyed thread in my stash, as I walked out of the loom room, my eye fell on the bin where I keep my shuttles. One of them contained approximately 100 yards of perle cotton in a colourway called "Mexicali" which I had once used in a tablecloth. I've been trying to figure out how best to use it, and decided to align the colour changes as I'd done with the shaded scarf. However, the Mexicali was a hand-painted thread, so the transitions are more irregular, with the occasional fleck of odd colour appearing out of sequence. Even though the towels are a simple tabby weave, the excitement of "adventure" is held in those space-dyed threads.

Horticulture At Work

Day 334: Readers may recall a post or two from last spring when I was hand-pollinating my Akebia vine. I got a little carried away with the endeavour, easy to do when one has had prior success, and easy to forget that these unusual fruits demand that you acquire a taste for them (something of a long process!) and are rather difficult to eat. The pods change from green to yellowish (right), and then take on a pale lavender tinge, opening along the lengthwise "seam." In a few days when they split to expose their seedy pulp (the signal that they are fully ripe), I will publish another photo and details regarding their consumption. There are 30-40 fruits on the vine, more than I can reasonably consume. This is what you get for taking horticulture to the next level.

Viable Or Not?

Day 333: Almost every year, I save seeds from my black Hollyhocks, intending to plant them in the spring. The few times I have actually remembered to do so, I have had no luck in getting them to sprout. Theoretically, they should self-sow, but the area is masked by other vegetation (very little of it desirable), and I suspect the birds and mice get the seeds before they can reach the ground. That said, over the last few year, the number of stately plants seems to have increased somewhat, and certainly not through any intervention on my part. Not only that, but they seem to be sturdier, taller, and bloom over a longer season (there are still a few flowers on these). Perhaps some day, my vision of massed black Hollyhocks as a backdrop for the Barren Wasteland will come true. It's only been thirty years since I started the project.

Second Billing

Day 332: Doogie here (Douglas Squirrel, Tamiasciurus douglasii) only gets second billing. The real star of my hike in Nisqually-Mashel State Park yesterday was a Pileated Woodpecker who shared the trail with me for a scant seven or eight seconds, long enough that there was no room for doubt regarding the identification, but not long enough for me to get the camera off my shoulder. That is one big bird! My sightings of Pileated have been few and far between, and I am always thrilled when I can add another location to my tally. The bird was a male, full red crest with no darker feathers on the forehead. I'm sure it must reside somewhere near where I sighted it because after shearing off into the forest, it circled around and came to rest near where it had been perched when I surprised it. As for Doogie, the co-star of this epic, he showed some reluctance to abandon his log until I was within twenty feet of his position. I suspect he might have been guarding his winter stash.

Cipangopaludina Chinensis, Chinese Mysterysnail

Day 331: Mystery does indeed surround the Chinese Mysterysnail, not only with regard to its ecological impact, but in both its scientific and common names. It may be listed as Cipangopaludina or Bellamya, or more rarely as Viviparus; subspecies may or may not exist. It may be called Mysterysnail or Mystery Snail, or Apple Snail, or Japanese Mystery Snail, or Trapdoor Snail or...well, you see the problem, don't you? The fact is that scientists are undecided on whether there are multiple genera or only one, and until that is determined conclusively, species and subspecies are dangerous waters indeed. I've opted for the scientific name adopted by USGS, since that's where I filed my report. Report? Well, there's another mystery. Currently, this snail is only listed as invasive in Minnesota despite its abundance in the waters of at least 37 states. USGS is tracking the species in an attempt to determine its possible impacts. How did it establish? It may have been imported as a foodstuff (escargot, anyone?), or it may have been released from home aquariums. It is believed to have gained its first foothold in the Niagara River some time in the 1930s. It can host a number of different parasites which affect other aquatic life, and at least one which affects humans. The latter has not been detected in the US. As you can see, these snails are quite large. The shell can be as much as 2.5 inches tall. I found at least two dozen of them while paddling around Swofford Pond. This one was by no means the largest.

Brasenia Schreberi, A Navigation Hazard

Day 330: Brasenia schreberi is a native species. I thought it was best to settle that point right at the top of this discussion. The common name "Watershield" is more than justified by its ability to cover the water so completely in ponds and slow-moving streams. I was out on an invasive plant patrol on Swofford Pond yesterday, dismayed by having found a large patch of Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) even before I had the 'yak off the car. I shouldn't have been surprised. The plant had established beside the boat ramp, undoubtedly transported there by someone who failed to wash down their water-craft before launching in another lake. That's how many aquatic/riparian invasives are spread: careless hygiene and the "doesn't-mean-me" attitude so prevalent in these pandemic days. I was hoping the invasive might be confined to that one area, but my hopes were dashed when I found it on the little island straight out from the ramp, and then again at a shoreline location. I struggled to pilot the 'yak through the Brasenia so that I could waypoint it with my GPS, often gaining no more than an inch with a paddle stroke. After several such forays, my shoulders objected and I decided instead to make a note in my report that "Jewelweed occurs at multiple locations along the shoreline." Sometimes you just can't get there from here.

But No Luck

Day 329: It has been many, many years since I did any fly-fishing. When my fishing buddy's health began to decline and it was no longer possible for him to hike into the alpine lakes or navigate streambanks while I waded among the slippery rocks, we shifted gears without really noticing, either sitting in a public area or dropping our lines from a locally popular bridge. My fly rods gravitated to the back of the closet and my vest collected spiders in its folds even though we still fished together once a week year-'round. Eventually, even that became too much for him and our piscatorial times together dwindled. I'm sure the fish were glad for the reprieve. And then after he passed away, it didn't feel right for me to fish alone despite that having been my preference before I met him. In fact, he'd been gone at least five years before I ever dropped a line in the water, and even then, it had a lure attached to it rather than a fly. I discovered I could troll from the kayak quite successfully, the time between my paddle strokes allowing a lure to drop and raise with a natural action. However, I prefer to catch and release. I'm not a big fan of fish, especially those which taste like they've been raised in a hatchery, so fishing was never really the sole purpose of a kayaking trip. Nor was it today, but something inspired me to put my good rod in the 'yak. I didn't catch any fish, but I was glad to see that my technique hasn't gotten too rusty, although it could use a lavish dose of polish.

Shaded Scarf

Day 328: The double experiment has reached a successful conclusion. Not only did the deliberate alignment of space-dyed warp work out the way I'd planned it, giving a "painted" appearance at the transitions, the sectional reed allowed me to combine different weights of thread for a textured feel. The drape of this soft cotton piece is lovely, but the best part is that the warp was made entirely with "leftovers," tag ends from previous projects. It took some careful planning to reach maximum efficiency, but I am quite pleased with the result. The finished scarf measures 63" x 8" and its destiny has already been determined (nope, I'm not telling!). That said, as much as I would like to repeat the process,commercial space-dyed threads have gone out of vogue and are rather difficult to find these days. This shade is no longer available.

Bee-have Yourself, Please!

 

Day 327: These days, I give the raspberry patch a wide berth, and with good reason. The honeybees are hard at work, and I am deathly allergic to their stings. My reaction to the stings of wasps is not life-threatening, but nevertheless rather dramatic. I carried an epi-pen for many years and never had occasion to use it because I assiduously avoided confrontations, and in any case, the testing my doctor insisted on performing every few years was so agonizing that if he had told me my only other alternative was to stay indoors, I probably would have complied. Did I mention that wasp stings cause me to swell up like a balloon, and that two weeks later, the six-inch diameter patch of skin surrounding the sting turns black and peels off in thick chunks, leaving burn-like, painful red areas behind?

The raspberries are currently the big draw in the yard, and while I am happy to see honeybees (even introduced species like Apis mellifera here), I cannot feel entirely welcoming. However, once the raspberries begin to ripen, they'll move on, having done their job and leaving me to enjoy the fruits of their labours.

A Landmark Weed

Day 326: They say that desperate times call for desperate measures, and so it was that I pulled Hitchcock off the shelf after an hour of browsing through pretty pictures of plants in the hope of getting lucky. I had a problem. The cause of my consternation was a weed, and therefore unlikely to appear in any field guide with "wildflower" in the title. Nor could I find it in any of my customary sources for descriptions of invasives; therefore it was probably a "weed of no concern" despite its abundance on an island in the middle of the Tilton River. As such, it had issued a challenge in the character of its three-fingered glove, and the geas was upon me to name it. There was no other option but Hitchcock in such a desperate time.

Now you might be wondering at my hesitance to dive into a dichotomous key. I am ashamed to admit that my past experience with keying out species runs rather backwards to the recommended procedure, working in reverse from a point where I can say, "Well, it can't be that." In this case, I had no such point of reference. The only thing I could say for certain about the mystery weed was that it belonged to the Fabaceae, the family of peas. That signature was in the morphology of its flower and in its distinctive leaf arrangement. I opened Hitchcock to "Fabaceae" and settled in for the siege. Fortunately, my photos had captured all the necessary details, and within a substantially shorter time than I'd expected, I had identified Melilotus albus, aka "white sweet-clover." I was so proud of myself that I immediately shot an email off to Arnie to let him know that Hitchcock and I had finally made friends with each other. Arnie's congratulation came with a qualifier of which I am equally proud: "Now you're a real botanist." Inspired by a weed! Whodathunkit?

Common Merganser, Mergus Merganser

Day 325: One of the many things I enjoy about kayaking is that it gives me the opportunity to observe waterfowl and shore bird species. At this same location several years ago, I saw a Spotted Sandpiper and was hoping that another one might be patrolling the shingle, but what I found instead was a group of five or six young Common Mergansers diving among the weeds in the shallows. They were quite active, and as soon as one made a dip, the others would follow, with the whole group often disappearing beneath the surface of the water and then popping back up en masse amid much splashing. I could not tell what they were eating, but young mergansers are only modestly discriminating. They will consume weed, invertebrates or tadpoles, although as they mature, they graduate to a diet of fish. Fry were plentiful in a nearby part of the river, but the aquatic weeds were too thick here for me to see what had attracted the birds. I watched them for fifteen minutes or so, entertained by their synchronous display of diving skills which, if not quite perfect, should have earned them a prize in their class.

Tilton Paddle

 

Day 324: Although this trip has been in the planning for the last couple of weeks, I had not realized that four years had passed since the last time I paddled the Tilton Canyon. Accessed via Ike Kinswa State Park, the route begins where the Tilton empties into Mayfield Lake. Progressing roughly eastward for half a mile, the waterway restricts abruptly into a steep-walled, narrow canyon for a quarter mile, then to open out onto this scene where the river splits into two channels. In previous years, I've turned left here, and so I did yesterday, only to find myself blocked from further passage by a log jam another half mile up. Coming back, I rounded the point of the gravel-bar "island" and continued on my journey. A small riffle posed a challenge. I nearly succeeded in paddling through it, but the current in the last three feet was such that I could only hold my ground, despite paddling as furiously as I could. I let the flow take me back downstream fifty yards, got out on the shingle and dragged the kayak in shallower water until I was beyond the riffle. Even so, I only reached my usual turn-around point, and I ran aground where the channel was again blocked by logs. There, the island was too weedy for me to portage, and in any event, I'd only have gained a few hundred feet before another riffle would have presented a new and possibly insurmountable obstacle. I ate lunch on the island, documented invasives, and then "shot the rapids" down the little riffle to return to this basin. Then it was back to the canyon, around another small island, and home, feeling that September Morn had indeed been well-spent.

September Morn

Day 323: Although current circumstances leave a lot to be desired, I would like to wish my readers a glad, good September Morn with hopes for brighter days ahead. Already the leaves are beginning to take on their autumn colours as Mother Nature dresses for bed. It's time for her to rest, to gather her resources and replenish her strength, so speak softly in her company. She has spent the summer at her hardest labours: producing, providing, nurturing, and she has more than earned her moment of quiet repose. In the deep of winter, recollect her kindnesses in the forms of beauty and the harvest, and keep her house tidy for when she awakens in the spring.