Snow Covered Branches

All Heaven and Earth

Flowered white obliterate...
Snow...unceasing snow
― Hashin

Taken the morning of 02-20-12 after our 1st Winter Storm of the season.

Bare Trees - Reflections

This is actually the "upside down shot"

Trees reflected in the pond.

Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the labels of things and discovering the remarkable world around you.

~ Freeman Patterson

About the image: Taken 12-03-11 Izaak Walton Park - Christiansburg. Virginia

The Investigation of Nature

The investigation of nature is an infinite pasture-ground where all may graze, and where the more bite, the longer the grass grows, the sweeter is its flavor, and the more it nourishes. ~Aldous Huxley

To see more critters snapped with the camera ~ Visit Camera Critters HERE

Tree Witness

Pinus lambertiana (Sugar Pine)

A guest post from award-winning poet, essayist, and radio presenter, Molly Fisk. Molly gardens in Nevada City, California. Her beguiling radio essays are broadcast on KVMR-FM and collected on two CDs, Using Your Turn Signal Promotes World Peace and Blow-Drying a Chicken.

One of my favorite days of the year is December 26th. It's not that I don't like the 25th - I do. It's just that no matter how hard I try, Christmas will get my number one way or another. It's so loaded with meaning, memory, expectation, and effort. I find myself happily wrapping little presents and singing the third and fourth verses of carols I didn't know I remembered. But after the ribbons and scotch tape, the cooking and socializing, which has been building for weeks, and then the crescendo of the day itself, I'm more than ready for lethargy and solitude.

On the 26th, I stay in my nightgown all morning, browsing through the books people gave me, now and then washing a dish or two. I go for a walk by myself, just to feel my feet on the ground and remember the human animal was designed for walking. I don't get into the car. Lord knows, I don't need groceries, and anything else can wait. My woodstove's flue got stuck last night at the half-way point, so I'll have to pay more attention to stoking the fire than usual. But I won't call for help until tomorrow.

Today the weather is clear and bright and freezing. I live on an acre of mostly open land. When I first arrived, I began planting trees to shade the house and provide more habitat for birds. A decade later, I've started a secret post-Christmas tradition. This is the day I go outside and talk to my trees. I know: it sounds like I've had too much eggnog, but remember, poets are allowed to be a little strange.

I place my hand on each trunk and say hello to the Persimmon, the two Crab apples, the Willow, Maple, Box Elder, and Purple Mountain Ash. I greet the hundred-year-old Apple tree that broke in half last summer under the weight of its own green fruit. I pay my respects to the Almond, which flowers but never sets nuts, to the six Blue Oaks reaching 30 feet into the sky, and the single scrawny Sugar Pine. I walk to the back of my studio and nod to the Little-Leaf Linden I brought in because our town is full of its sisters, flourishing here since the Gold Rush. I stand in the spot where I'd like to plant an Apricot, and wander over to the Juniper to run my hand through its prickly branches.

Some of these trees are going to live longer than I do. I may have planted a few, but I don't own them, I'm just the custodian - glad for their shade and the rustle of wind in their leaves. I go out with my broom on snowy mornings and gently thump the ice from their limbs. I prune the crossed branches and cry if a storm brings them down.

In one of his poems, Robert Frost mentions a Witness Tree - one that marks a common lot line. On the day after Christmas, I have become the reverse: a Tree Witness: slowing my pace so I can meander through the yard and greet these steadfast companions.

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Do my incense-cedars work for Goldman Sachs?

Calocedrus decurrens (California incense-cedar) Photo: Walter Siegmund/Wikimedia

The vigorous determination. The fervent desire to tower over and control all within reach. As far as I know my incense-cedars didn't get any TARP money, but when it comes to the quest for world domination they're in the same league with Goldman Sachs.

Sure, the cedars always drop some tiny cones, but this year they're inundating the garden. The carpet of cones is so thick the ground is invisible. The dog can't step outside without getting cones wedged in her paws.

Rake them up? Tried that. They came back.

Cones cover the area formerly known as The Lawn, as if we went in for xeriscaping with colored rock. That's a look.

To be fair, the cedars are more generous than Goldman Sachs. They didn't muscle ahead of me in line for a Swine Flu shot.

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Summer Sanctuary: Cabin In The Woods

*Last week I enjoyed a three-day-long holiday with my family at the cozy cabin home of my Muffin's family! Both the company and the scenery were the best a girl could ask for. I adore the northern parts of Wisconsin: the landscapes, the wildlife, the flora and the weather. It was a treat to be whisked away from over-stuffed-in boxes and screaming city busses to a place where you can ACTUALLY see stars, the soil is loose and sandy and between loon songs you can hear a pin drop. We spent time with our toes in the lake sipping strong coffee and watching a muggy summer moon-rise. And most importantly--there was space to just Be. Here are a few images from my recharge weekend:

"The Dirt Smells Good Here..."

I can't wait to go back in the fall to watch the leaves change before everything in the woods tucks in for winter. Now dearies tell me; where is your hideaway?

Until Next Time--

Much Joy & Merry Making!~*

Dogwood Daze

Henry Mitchell called the dogwood, "the last tree God made." 

Undeniably lovely in each of the four seasons, dogwoods create a fairyland atmosphere in springtime. Enchanting in our gardens, I hope you can also get into the woods to see Cornus florida, Eastern Dogwood or Cornus nuttallii, Western Dogwood, in their layered branching, wild beauty.

Dramatic Trees for the Winter Garden

Mark Viette for the Virginia Farm Bureau is back, this time showing us trees with distinctive bark that are highlights for the garden in winter. 

I'm loving his "Joe Biden" hand gestures too!