When the Spring is in the offing, And the early birds are freezing, When one-half the folks are coughing, And the other half are sneezing; When the sun is getting higher, Though the fact’s hard to remember; And you huddle by the fire Twice as cold as in December; Life and all its cares would crush us, Floor us in a brace of shakes, If it weren’t for the luscious Maple syrup on the cakes.
But a fellow keeps postponing Day by day his preparation For the final telephoning For old Charon’s transportation. Though he knows the Spring is lying And his grippe is undiminished, Still he does put off his dying Till that can of syrup’s finished. Then, at last, the north winds waver, And the sleeping Spring awakes; But we know the true lifesaver Was the syrup on the cakes!
~ Walter G. Doty (The Christian Advocate, March 22, 1917)
Tuesday’s visit to the botanical garden was bright and sunny, and we enjoyed seeing the gentle, even light of the approaching equinox illuminating grasses, spring ephemerals, and shrub buds and blooms. Every year before spring arrives there are controlled burns in some of the piedmont and coastal plain gardens, and we happened to catch sight of one that day. We even spotted a squirrel along a path, so busy eating a bundle of plant stocks and leaves that he didn’t notice how close we were to him.
I can scroll and worry indoors, or I can step outside and remember how it feels to be part of something larger, something timeless, a world that reaches beyond me and includes me, too. The spring ephemerals have only the smallest window for blooming, and so they bloom when the sunlight reaches them. Once the forest becomes enveloped in green and the sunlight closes off again, they will wait for the light to come back. ~ Margaret Renkl (The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year)
dimpled trout lily
little sweet Betsy
‘lemon drop’ swamp azalea
‘Georgia blue’ speedwell
Lenten rose
By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted — Which blossom in the dark. ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #37)
weeping forsythia
The native wildflowers and grasses in these gardens beds evolved with periodic wildfires, which keep trees and shrubs from growing in and return nutrients to the soil. In a few weeks, new growth will be emerging from the ashes. ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden (Facebook, March 10, 2025)
a yearly controlled burn in the Coastal Plain Habitat
So many simple ‘chivalries’ exist and noticing even a few of them can bring us great pleasure and help us to ‘remember how it feels to be a part of something larger.’
As we walked along the Streamside Trail, our Merlin Bird ID app indicated that we were hearing a phoebe singing. I was delighted to finally spot the little sweetheart and get a couple of pictures before he flew away to the next tree.
eastern phoebe
first spider web spotted this year
After walking that trail we went through a back gate into the botanical garden to see what signs of spring we could find there.
3.4.25 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden
An American hazelnut shrub (close-up above) was flowering. The dangling yellow catkins are male and the tiny magenta flowers are female, but the shrub does not self-pollinate. We’ll have to come back in the fall to see if there will be any hazelnuts on this one.
‘Arnold Promise’ witch hazel
A walk through the Mountain Habitat provided glimpses of a few spring ephemerals just getting started…
dimpled trout lily
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold — when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. ~ Charles Dickens (Great Expectations)
tufted titmouse
We stopped by the bird blind at the Children’s Wonder Garden but the feeders were empty. However, scratching around on the ground with the squirrels, through a pile of discarded sunflower seed hulls, I spotted a couple of song sparrows!
song sparrow
They weren’t singing and they were hard to catch, but I was happy to capture with the camera my first song sparrow in North Carolina!
“Woodland Stream in a Winter Landscape” by John Henry Twachtman
I cannot tell you how the light comes. What I know is that it is more ancient than imagining. That it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us. That it loves searching out what is hidden what is lost what is forgotten or in peril or in pain. That it has a fondness for the body for finding its way toward flesh for tracing the edges of form for shining forth through the eye, the hand, the heart. I cannot tell you how the light comes, but that it does. That it will. That it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you, though it may seem long ages in coming or arrive in a shape you did not foresee. And so may we this day turn ourselves toward it. May we lift our faces to let it find us. May we bend our bodies to follow the arc it makes. May we open and open more and open still to the blessed light that comes. ~ Jan Richardson (How the Light Comes)
10.21.24 ~ Stone Knoll, Calvander, North Carolina a glimpse of part of it from the road
Located less than three miles from our home in Calvander is a sacred monument nestled beside a large field, created by a housing developer for nearby residents to use for contemplation and connecting to nature. It was built 30 years ago, and even though it is on private property, belonging to a homeowner’s association, respectful visitors are welcome.
The reason people compare Stone Knoll to Stonehenge is because the spacious outdoor monument — like the one in England — is composed of giant boulders and stone slabs that spark curiosity about how they got there and what their significance is. At Stone Knoll, the stones are arranged in a spiraling pattern that is, by design, soothingly mesmerizing. Large, monolithic slabs mark the four compass points — north, south, east, and west — each adorned with animal footprints and thought-provoking poems by the likes of Maya Angelou and Carl Sandburg. ~ Jimmy Tomlin (Our State: Celebrating North Carolina, November 2024, “Sacred Respite”)
South ~ Coyote ~ Noontime
the waning gibbous moon was not to be overlooked
East ~ Eagle ~ Sunrise
the center of the spiral
The stones closer to the center of the spiral were progressively smaller and more closely spaced than the stones father out from the center. I climbed up the step seen on the center rock (above) in order to get the picture of the flat plaque in the picture below.
the words were difficult to make out
North ~ White Buffalo ~ Old Age
the adjacent field was full of these grasses, making for a purple haze effect
pretty grasses and orbs
West ~ Bear ~ Sunset
this was my favorite poem
a peaceful setting
We had the place to ourselves and appreciated very much the quiet moments spent there.
10.18.24 ~ Pritchard Park Chapel Hill, North Carolina
There’s hardly a spot of color on the hardwood trees in our yard, but the light is glorious, as it always is in October, and the signs of fall are unmistakable. ….. Always, when nature works as nature must, there are joys for every grief, a recompense for every sorrow. ….. Night falls earlier with each passing day now, but the recompense of shorter days is the glorious light of October. I wish you could see what happens to the magnificent colors of berry and bird and flower in the slanting light of October. ~ Margaret Renkl (The New York Times, October 14, 2024, “Growing Darkness, October Light: A Backyard Census”)
These pictures were taken on Friday morning, the day we stood in line at the Chapel Hill Public Library to vote. Afterwards we took a walk on the trails in the woods surrounding the library. North Carolina has early voting, something new to us. Before we left Connecticut we had voted in favor of bringing early voting to our old state. I wonder if it passed. Our habit was to get up early on election day and get to the polling place before it opened. We were always near first in line.
Something new for the citizens of NC is having to show a photo ID when they check in to vote. We always had to do that back in CT. It’s so interesting getting to know the different ways the governments of different states run things, something I never thought about before, having lived in only one state my whole life.
As I stood in line I reflected on how encouraging it was to learn that our 39th President, Jimmy Carter, made the effort to vote while in hospice care at the age of 100. He was the first president I ever voted for. My thoughts also returned to the sacrifice so many of our ancestors made for us in the Revolutionary War, so that we could have the right to vote today. As the granddaughter of Ukrainian immigrants on one side and the descendant of several Mayflower passengers on the other, my complex place in American history has always fascinated me. While appreciating the myriads of reasons Europeans have crossed the Atlantic over the centuries to make better lives for themselves here, I also feel deep regret for the harm they have caused to the original people who lived, and still live here.
When we moved down here I started looking for southern nature writers who might help me get acquainted with my new environment. I’ve become a big fan of Margaret Renkl, who lives in Tennessee at the same southern latitude as we do. Her lyrical writings resonate with the seasonal observations I’m experiencing here. I’ve read three of her books, checked out from the same beautiful library where we voted, and enjoy her occasional editorials in the New York Times.
I tried to capture some of the slanting light of October to match Renkl’s words. This is our second autumn down south and the way it is unfolding feels much more familiar now, it’s starting to feel more like home.
sculpure at Chapel Hill Public Library parking lot
October Skies Aster 10.8.24 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden 36th Annual Sculpture in the Garden
For this year’s Walktober post I decided to walk through the outdoor sculpture exhibit at the botanical garden. I’ve been wary about returning to my favorite garden after enduring three episodes of seed tick bites after walks there this summer, but this time I sprayed permethrin on my shoes and pants, crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best.
part of “Elegant Dance” by Holly Felice
part of “Elegant Dance” by Holly Felice
There were 86 sculptures by 66 local artists to see and we found all of them. My favorites are included in this post. Enjoy!
“Guardian Frog” by Sue Estelle-Freeman
“Baba Yaga” by Jenny Marsh
“Ellie in the Flower Garden” by Helen Seebold
“Athena” by Tinka Jordy
“American Bullfrog” by Mac McCusker
“Emergence” by Sam Spiczka
“Lonesome George” by TJ Christiansen
“Tranquil Ocean” by Greg Goodall
“Urban Forager” by Anna Schroeder
“Kasike” by Nana Abreu
“Emerging Star-Nosed Mole” by Courtney Cappa
“Enchanted White Barn Owl” by Amy Jo Gelber
“Gift from the Ground” by Laura Harris For millennia, humankind has dug clay from the earth and used it to produce both functional and decorative ceramic pieces. This totem represents all aspects of that ageless process. The clay used was dug in North Carolina and fired in a raging ‘pit fire’ bonfire in Chatham County, NC. The colors are representative of the colors of North Carolina soil and the totem is a tribute to the ceramic heritage of our state. ~ Laura Harris
Black-eyed Susan
I voted for Urban Forager to win the People’s Choice Award. The winner will be announced after November 21. Something playful and endearing about a raccoon enjoying a fish sandwich!
Living in a heavily wooded neighborhood I only get a peek through the trees to catch a sunrise. It happened at 6:00 am on the summer solstice here. Hours later, for solar noon I took my flower fairy out to the moss garden for a little photo shoot. There was a small patch of sunlight available to highlight the very short shadow she was casting.
1:17 pm, solar noon shortest shadow of the year!
As I was photographing the fairy, mama deer brought her fawn by to check out the scene. It was so hot outside!
mama deer and her fawn
In the evening, for some reason, the dew point dropped and even though it was still hot, it became much less humid. Midsummer magic? We packed up the grandchildren and headed to the Piedmont Wildlife Center. None of us had been there before and they were having a summer solstice celebration. What a great time we had! We got a closer look at some of the birds and turtles in rehab.
Piedmont Wildlife Center barred owl
red-shouldered or red-tailed (?) hawk
Katherine showed a lot of interest in the raptors and Finn was enchanted with the turtles.
box turtle
another box turtle
We were all delighted with Pumpkin, a sweet little opossum. She’s full grown but only about a third of the size of an average adult. She had a rough start in life. The kids asked all kinds of questions, like, does she eat ants? The answer was not usually, unless they happened to be on something else she was eating, kind of like pepper or another seasoning. And opossums only eat the ticks that are in their fur when they’re grooming themselves.
Pumpkin on her running wheel
We had a little walk through the woods and saw a few more birds and animals tucked inside their enclosures. Eventually we got to the solstice campfire where the kids could make their own s’mores. A man playing his guitar gently on the side added to the peaceful mood.
Finn roasted a marshmallow for me, too
Katherine displaying one of her perfectly roasted marshmallows
After a while we were invited to participate in a little solstice ritual: writing on a piece of paper what we wished to let go of from the old year and what we wanted to welcome into the next year. Then we burned our papers in the campfire. It was a meaningful way to pause and take stock of our intentions. I noticed Katherine took it very seriously while Finn, being four years younger, was naturally interested in other things.
a small painted rock along our path
The plan was to go to Maple View Farm next, for ice cream and to view the sunset. But, we finished our ice cream (sorbet for me) an hour before the sun was due to set, so we called it a day and headed home. It was wonderful celebrating the summer solstice for the first time with our grandchildren.
Counting one’s blessings has a particular poignancy at this festival because, as we mark the longest day, we are reminded that from this point the year will begin to wane and the days will gradually shorten. Transience is a reality for all of us and so we learn that our capacity for joy and happiness — like an inner sun — must radiate from within. It’s worth taking a moment to ponder the mystery that at the height of summer winter plants its own seed. ~ Maria Ede-Weaving (The Essential Book of Druidry: Connect with the Spirit of Nature)
