Environment Archives - The Edge of the Wood

The cost of the L.A. fires

*September 2020 smoke from California fires dims the afternoon sun over Middle Street, in Gettysburg, PA* (John Messeder photo)

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The fires in Los Angeles County make excellent television, with plenty of flames and smoke, burned hulls of homes with their former residents telling us through their tears how they’ve “lost everything.” Night after night of rerun videos of fire-fighting aircraft dropping water and chemicals on “hot spots” — a cool word some reporters repeat in reference to burned, burning and soon-to-be-burning homes, businesses and forests.

A HEAP of cold

Plowed snowbanks lead to an aged singlewide mobile home at the edge of a snow-covered field near a river. — AI-generated image by John Messeder

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A young woman of my earlier acquaintance lived with her two boys in a singlewide parked in an abandoned pasture. The field of weeds and young trees sat alongside a state highway where it paralleled a virtually unnoticed river flowing from the upper reaches of the rural county.

Alikeness

We are so much alike, Field mouse and me. Let’s be friends and play. *Photo by John Messeder*

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Among my youthful studies, I remember being admonished to avoid anthropomorphizing critters of the animal world. (Science teachers are paid more to use the long word than are folks who simply say it’s just a dog. Either way, they’re both wrong.

Bowie the dog-person proves the point. His anatomy is similar to a human. He, like me, is equipped with a nose, eyes, lungs, liver and legs. His core internal organs perform the same functions as their counterparts in my body, which is their own cause for wonderment.

Merry Christmas, y’all

Christmas morning, long ago. —John Messeder photo

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Oh! The weather outside is frightening — ly cold! In at least two of the past five years we have not even dragged the snowthrower out from under the pile of gardening equipment stored in the barn. But it’s Christmas Eve and there is a bluebird and a Carolina wren outside my window and Bowie the dog who thinks he’s human lies on the recliner behind me.

Thank you for your service

*So many opportunities and experiences lie just beyond the fences we build for ourselves.*

I wrote most of this a few days after Veterans Day, the Monday in November when we honor those of our citizens who have faced death in battle, many of them who have made “the ultimate sacrifice” to preserve our nation.

The guys who come in big trucks to disappear our household waste came at their usual hour, as they have every Monday in the time before, and likely well after, I’ve lived here.

A common language

*Not nearly as relaxed as he appears, Bowie awaits permission to chase.*

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Bowie, the four-legged dog in our family, would like to visit his friends, instead of looking out the window in their general direction, but most of them are trapped in their owners’ houses. As he is, much to his chagrin.

There are those who say dogs do not need social interaction. They are mistaken.

The way it is

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A yellow hand pump sits atop a concrete well casing surrounded by autumn leaves and pines. — I was 12 the year we built the big house and no longer needed this pump.

I occasionally find myself wondering how it is my younger self did not spend more of his time and brain power wishing for things my older self has found it impossible, or at least uncomfortable, to live without.

That danged leash

I call him Boss because it makes him feel good. John Messeder photo

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This week, Bowie the Dog takes a guest spot. Take it away, young’un. …

First let me say: as Bosses go, he’s not a bad guy. Since I’ve moved in, he and his human partner have allowed me to sleep in the same bed they do, and never outside when it’s raining — which mostly, lately, it hasn’t been.

He keeps my dishes filled with food and water, which is good because I hate to eat and drink on command.

The American Way

Grab a gun, it’s the American Way

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We killed a couple more kids this week, and two of their teachers, in a high school in Georgia.

Someone made him angry, I suppose, so he — and it’s nearly always a white male who does the shooting — grabbed a gun. It’s the American Way.

Leaving our mark

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We humans do love marking our turf. Last week I mentioned that whenever I search online to identify an insect I’ve found, the identification often would be accompanied by commercials for companies offering to eradicate it. In a sort of related vein …

The Washington Post this week reported former President Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, went hiking in coastal Albania and fell in love with the place — so much so that he wants to pave it over and build hotels on it so more of his rich friends can enjoy it.

Scenes

We broke onto the field beneath one of the most beautiful examples of evanescence I’d ever seen.

Smells of new rain

An oak branch with green acorns still attached, — Gray squirrels have been cutting acorn branches they could not otherwise reach. Harvest season has begun. (John Messeder Photo)

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Harvest season has begun in the Couple Acre Wood.

We stand still among the trees, the dog and I, and listen to hickory nuts, some whole and some in the pieces remaining from the ongoing repast of Eastern gray squirrels, clattering from the canopy like balls in a wooden pachinko machine.

A bug hunting dog

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One recent morning as we headed out on our morning mission in the Couple Acre Wood, my young dog-buddy became captured by a decomposing hickory log. We had passed it numerous times, but this time it grabbed him by the nose and wouldn’t let go.

Getting out of the car

Common loon trying to hide in a pile of sticks — A Common loon attempts invisibility from its nest atop a beaver hut.

If I fall in the woods while being tugged vigorously by the pup at the at the end of a 26-foot leash, I occasionally get to brag because the aforementioned pup — who likely contributed significantly to my being on my backside on the ground — comes back to sit beside me until I feel like hoisting myself back to my feet, at which point he resumes his tugging, searching for whatever next grabs his attention.

Flight Behavior: a review

Female Monarch butterfly on a Butterfly bush

When I was a kid left alone to pull weeds from the family garden, I could often be found sitting beside the plants, reading a historical novel by the likes of Leon Uris, whose “Trinity,” taught me about “the Troubles” of Northern Ireland and “Exodus,” about the Jews trying to escape Hitler.

Raindrops and waterfalls

hickory leaves with raindrops and dog in background — Raindrops accent a branch of hickory leaves

Standing in the rain in the middle of the forest. Individual rain drops tap the hickory leaves, then slide off onto my hat and face and then to the ground. I try to listen to the drops falling farther from me, but they become millions and blend into a low roar.

Wandering the couple-acre wood

The dogwood outside my window has turned bright pink, speckled with green as the chlorophyll machinery deploys to process the warming sunlight. Nearby, a plethora of ground plants have for weeks decorated the forest floor. Some of them soon will disappear or fade-to-green as the taller hickories and oaks leaf into sun-blocking umbrellas.

Bees have begun to find the blossoms of the ground-hugging Spring Beauties, Dead Nettles (so-named because they do not sting the way real nettles do) and other ephemeral decorations. And the show-offs of the springtime plant world, the daffodils.

Continue reading Wandering the couple-acre wood

A wannabe great mouser

He doesn’t know it, but the canine who accompanies me on our daily wanders through the nearby woods is pretty great at finding Wood mice. He can smell ‘em, and probably hear ‘em. Unfortunately, he so far has not seen ‘em.

Another trip around the sun

A woodpecker beside a hole it has made in a tree. — ***A female Red-bellied woodpecker prepares a kids’ room some 60 feet high in a rotting oak.***

From my keyboard I watch outside my window, as though viewing a performance mounted on stage or screen, a pair of House Sparrows building a nest for a crop of chicks the seeds of which I saw a black-bibbed male plant yesterday.

I saw my first bumblebee the other afternoon. Not a honeybee; honeybees will appear later in the month, if experience holds. Carpenter bees, on the other hand, already are scouting for drill sites.

The last milkman

A white farmhouse and red barn with Drink Milk painted on white milk shed. — **Pennsylvania, like Maine, is, by area, mostly rural farmland as illustrated by the many farms seen alongside the Pennsylvania Turnpike.**

One of my earliest memories was as a kid living in a fifth-floor walkup apartment on the west side of Manhattan, NYC.

My weekly chore from probably about six years old was to place the week’s collection of trash into the big galvanized containers in the basement, where the trashman would come by once a week to collect the contents. Luckily, I did not have to carry the trash down the stairs into the basement. We had a dumbwaiter.