What I can do — I will —
Though it be little as a Daffodil —
That I cannot — must be
Unknown to possibility —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #641)
jonquilles
a very muddy walk
We got a lot of much needed rain on Thursday and Friday so Saturday’s walk in the woods was very muddy. It was nice to see the creek filled with lots of water for a change.
It’s been said that one never steps onto the same path twice and I had that feeling when I spotted a huge boulder on the other side of the creek. It stood out like a sore thumb and I wondered how I had never noticed it before. It can’t be a glacial erratic because “there are no known, scientifically verified glacial erratics in the Piedmont of North Carolina.” I will have to ask my geologist sister about it.
It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen a new life bird so I was pleasantly surprised when Sally, looking through her binoculars, identified the bird we saw flying around the tree canopy with a flock of tufted titmice and other smaller birds. My camera’s zoom lens struggled to get these cropped shots of a yellow-bellied sapsucker!
On a walk through the forest you might spot rows of shallow holes in tree bark. In the East, this is the work of the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, an enterprising woodpecker that laps up the leaking sap and any trapped insects with its specialized, brush-tipped tongue. Attired sharply in barred black-and-white, with a red cap and (in males) throat, they sit still on tree trunks for long intervals while feeding. To find one, listen for their loud mewing calls or stuttered drumming.
~ All About Birds website
On our way out of the woods we found a patch of Lenten roses (aka Christmas roses, hellebores, winter roses) enjoying a little patch of late-winter sunshine. They’re not native and are not actual roses, but belong to the buttercup family. They are very popular in gardens here, probably because they are highly deer-resistant. Spring is around the corner!
weeds, benches, catkins
Jim’s Community Bench
The bench features red poppies, which were [Jim] Huegerich’s favorite flowers. The flowers, bench, and tubing have a “whisper” function: people sitting on the bench can whisper into one flower and listen on the other as the piping carries the sound. The bench was created by nationally known sculptor Jim Gallucci, based on input from the Huegerich family.
~ Triangle Blog Blog
Although I have been diligent about walking on my treadmill, due to weather and plans cancelled by winter illnesses, I had not walked outside in over a month! It rained Saturday morning and things didn’t look too hopeful for a weekend walk. But, the weather app promised a dry time slot at 2 pm and my friend Susan was willing to take advantage of it with me. The sun even came out!
I suggested Bolin Creek Trail, a paved greenway, so we didn’t have to get our shoes muddy. Paved trails might be a good idea in the summer, too, as a strategy for avoiding seed ticks. Maybe. We found lots of pretty little weeds along the way, passed by lots of other people enjoying the day, and saw lots of art work painted on concrete pipes and bridge underpasses.
by Mike Waller & Leah Foushee Waller
(bronze, concrete, aluminum)
In spite of the gentle, dreary rains we’ve been getting lately after the snow and ice storms, we are still in a severe draught. The weeds seem to be all right, though, but Bolin Creek isn’t very full.
(these shrubs like to grow along creek banks)
Alder Catkins
Male Catkins: Long, slender, and dangling (pendulous), these are initially reddish but turn yellow as they mature, reaching 2–10 cm in length. They produce large amounts of pollen, which is wind-dispersed.
Female Catkins: Smaller and initially reddish-purple, these are located on the same twigs as the male catkins. After pollination, they mature into woody, dark brown or black, cone-like structures that persist on the tree through the winter.
~ AI
There remains a hole in my world, a hole that my being futilely tries to fill in with memory flashes and pangs of heartache. Tim & I started to follow this trail the first year we moved down here, but we didn’t get as far along it as Susan and I did this day. Walking on the smooth pavement was too painful for him and thereafter we focused on trails with uneven terrain. It felt a little strange going past the point where Tim & I had turned around. At the time I was disappointed that we couldn’t continue down the path. Now I could. Part of me didn’t want to go on without him. Maybe all of me. Nevertheless, I did enjoy myself, even without him. It’s weird how both things can be true.
freedom within
They shut me up in Prose —
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet —
Because they liked me “still” —
Still! Could themself have peeped —
And seen my Brain — go round —
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason — in the Pound —
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Look down opon Captivity —
And laugh — No more have I —
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #445)
what bird did you see
My dear sister-in-law, Fran, and I attended a Dar Williams concert on Tuesday, February 10, at the A. J. Fletcher Opera Theater, in Raleigh, with Seth Glier opening. We had such a great time listening to her wonderful story-telling melodies. The little anecdotes she shared between songs were very amusing and heartwarming.
The words to one tune in particular, from her new Hummingbird Highway album, resonated with me deeply, especially at this time in my life:
In the parking lot the dark becomes two panes of light
There’s a charcoal slash of ocean and a smoky plank of sky
Now they’re changing colors
Laurel green with alabaster,
Agate blue with snowy aster.
And as the blues are brightening and the cars are coming in,
You see a seagull weave a path upon the wind,
Like a thread that can begin and then begin
While the world just goes about its day
As the ground beneath you falls away
In this time when there’s no time, there is no place to be,
What bird did you see?
You think a goldfinch is enchanting and you know you told her,
Now a goldfinch lands above you like it’s on your shoulder,
Yesterday you saw a red-tailed hawk
Around a corner proud and still
Out of place, a sentinel.
And at the window when sparrows flew away,
A single cardinal seemed to know he had to stay,
He had to be the bright vermillion in the gray,
While the world just goes about its day
As the ground beneath you falls away
In the presence of this absence, was there one bright flash, a simple song, a revery
What bird did you see?
And You will feel the summer sun and autumn rays,
You will return to busy friends and busy days but now,
In this time between the here and the hereafter there’s a feather at your door,
Love will find its way,
In the very life you have today,
You’ll go back to what you understand,
Maybe unbelieve
But tell me now, what bird did you see?
It’s okay to know it’s me.
~ Dar Williams
♫ (What Bird Did You See) ♫
violete
Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered thro’ the village —
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected Violets
Within the meadows go —
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago!
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #69)
at the suet feeder, after the snowstorm
2.1.26 ~ Arcadia
On the last day of January a snowstorm arrived in North Carolina, covering every one of its 100 counties with snow. We got about four inches and I had evacuated my place to get snowed in with my daughter and her family. The next day I put on my boots for the first time down south here, and walked across the yard to Sally’s for a brief visit. We had a lovely time there birdwatching outside her windows. We saw a couple of kinds of birds I hadn’t seen in quite a while, along with the regular backyard birds.
A female Purple Finch with a yellow throat is an uncommon, atypical color variation of the species, often described as having a pale, yellow-tinged patch on the throat, breast, or rump instead of the usual white and brown, likely due to plumage, diet, or developmental factors. These sightings are rare compared to the common white-eyebrowed, heavily streaked brown plumage of typical females.
~ AI
Following the ice storm of the previous weekend, this is the first snowfall, since I moved down here, that has been more than a dusting or a coating of ice. When Larisa drove me home two days later the roads were passable but still dicey in spots. It’s been so cold, with many nights dipping into the teens. It feels like New England and I can’t say I’m happy about that. If I have to live down south I want it to go back to its normally mild winter temperatures!
within the grip of winter
Within the grip of winter, it is almost impossible to imagine the spring. The gray perished landscape is shorn of color. Only bleakness meets the eye; everything seems severe and edged. Winter is the oldest season; it has some quality of the absolute. Yet beneath the surface of winter, the miracle of spring is already in preparation; the cold is relenting; seeds are wakening up. Colors are beginning to imagine how they will return. Then, imperceptibly, somewhere one bud opens and the symphony of renewal is no longer reversible. From the black heart of winter a miraculous, breathing plenitude of color emerges.
~ John O’Donohue
(To Bless the Space Between Us)
Groundhog Day was one of our favorite holidays. We had a tradition of taking our groundhog stuffy outside to see (or to not see) his shadow. We named him Basil (Wasyl) after my grandfather, who was born in Ukraine on February 2, 1882. By 2014 Basil had a companion, who was at first named Basil, Jr. At some point Tim, with his endless sense of humor, started calling the little one Oregano, and it stuck.
I cannot bear to continue this tradition without my beloved. So I decided to dig up some of the pictures I took of it over the years, in memory of Tim. I am definitely within the grip of winter, the one outside and a winter of grief. I still can’t imagine how a future without him will ever feel like spring.
this turned out to be our last Groundhog Day together
(2023, Essex Ed Groundhog Day Parade)
(2014, Essex Ed Groundhog Day Parade)
Basil, Oregano and I will stay inside and light a candle this year.
apricity
What fire could ever equal the sunshine of a winter’s day, when the meadow mice come out by the wall-sides, and the chickadee lisps in the defiles of the wood? The warmth comes directly from the sun, and is not radiated from the earth, as in summer; and when we feel his beams on our backs as we are treading some snowy dell, we are grateful as for a special kindness, and bless the sun which has followed us into that by-place.
~ Henry David Thoreau
(A Winter Walk)