Scum of the Earth, Artistically Speaking

 

Naturally occurring scum and foam form on the creek.  This one spot, above a big log jam of flotsam and jetsam, is a particular favorite.  It's constantly changing, sometimes a mat as above, of blobs and accordion folds of brown and white.  Other times like an elaborate tapestry woven of leaves and pine needles pressed between foamy warp and woof.  And then, after heavy rain breaks it apart and clears it out, more like a swirling galaxy as the raft forms again.  

I've been known to stand for extended periods meditating on this eddy of foam.  Observing the way the current moves the creamy froth, rafts crashing into other patches, gathering together like Pangaea, then breaking apart and floating out to form new continents.

The other day I spied this perfect tiny circle.  A pine needle pared the edge as the sphere of foam spun in its miniature universe. The creek is different every day and such a glorious distraction and entertainment.

This week I heard a kingfisher chatter as it flew down the corridor.  A great blue heron lumbered up out of the shallows where it was fishing, so much effort to raise that long-limbed form from a stand still, I felt bad about scaring it off.

No walk today - more crap weather. The dreaded "wintry mix" rain, snow, sleet, ick.  Cold.  It was 78 on Saturday, the plums and cherries are totally confused, beginning to open their flower buds.  Hopefully they won't get nipped.  Tomorrow more of the same.  Enough already.  I want spring!

The power was out for several hours this evening.  When it got dark we bailed and went out to supper, fortunately the juice was flowing again when we got home. We are SO dependent.

Lately

Snippets of spring appear here and there, a primrose, a crocus, the prunus mume in bloom and smelling like cinnamon.  Then it snows, or it sleets, or the temperature plunges back into the teens.  I have faith that spring will eventually arrive in earnest.  And so I get out there and face a scenario like this one:

 

A bit daunting but I got it done.  240 onion plants are now tucked into those long furrows.  It was timely that the plants arrived on the day we pulled the last of the onions out of storage.  They were looking a little worse for wear, the outside layer mushy, the center sprouting a green tip, but still edible and a good addition to that nights supper.

The days have included many walks along the streams and through the woods, taking in the clear skies and sunlight sparkling on babbling waters.   I love winter walking, no sweat, no bugs.  I vowed at the new year that I would attempt to make a daily pilgrimage to what I call the "Church of the Woods".  I've not been entirely successful but I have managed to get out most days, even if just to make the trek to the mailbox and take in the sky and pastures.  

And for you bird watchers out there.  I did make the trip with brother Chris to see the snowy owls at Ocracoke.   And we did, despite high winds, rain, cold and other impediments, finally get to the island.  And yes, we did get a very nice, if fleeting look at a real, live, big white and brown snowy owl.  Before over eager others scared it to flight.  Darn them.  And a second look, before it was scared again.  Oh well. Everyone wanted to see it. For a full trip report hop on over to Slow Birding for Chris's version and a couple of good photos.  This little Casper above is a stone I found in the Current river last summer that spoke "owl" to me, so I carried it home for the collection.

Here's hoping March will get more hospitable soon.

PS- I just searched for onions on the blog to include a link above and realized I am officially an onion geek, there are about 10 or 12 posts related to onions on this blog!  So I'll spare you. Search for yourself if you are an onion geek too.

An afternoon adventure up stream

After a dingy start, a wind blew in around midday, busted up the clouds, the sun came out and the sky went clear blue.  I pulled together my bag of tricks; water, snack, camera and journal and headed out on what I like to call a lark.  For a change of pace I headed up Morgan Creek to see if I could find a place that I had been told had a stone circle.  I walked along the level and slower moving section of the creek, where the bottom is wide and full of pine trees on the north side, steep rocky bluffs to the south with the sinuous grey roots of beech trees spreading out through the brown leaf litter like long fingers gripping the hillside.  Then both sides became steeper, a high bluff on the north side then gave way and I found the circle, set next to one of the biggest beach trees I've ever seen.

I thought "what a perfect place to have a winter solstice gathering, too bad it's on private land."  Just beyond this point the path peters out but there is an old bridge footing with a stone wall along one side, I guess this bridge was replaced by the one that now crosses the creek at Dairyland Road.  Closer to the stone circle I also found these stepping stones across the creek.  

All of this must have been created by John Hartley (who died in the summer of 2011), when he developed Oxbow Crossing back in the late 90's, but I had not seen it before.  It seems impossible, but the few times that I walked that far upstream, I somehow missed this place.  Now the stones are all covered with moss like they've been there for a century.

I rambled on back down to our land, taking in the sounds of the high wind in the trees, coming gusty on and off.  I listened to the sound of the water as it fell down the little shelves and falls, the water level high enough to make a joyful noise, but steady, not rushing, so the eddies were clear. 

 I watched a winter wren duck in and out of this trees roots, just the sort of spot they love to search for bugs and then hop up to a perch, their tiny tails pointed straight up into the air, bobbing and twittering before disappearing back under a root or into a cavity.

It was a grand day to be out after yesterdays gloomy rain and I wandered down to my favorite bluff of rocks.  Always near the winter solstice I make a special point of visiting the places I consider the topography to have the most power and this includes the big rock outcroppings.  I was out and about for nearly 2 hours and then came home to finish up the days chores, do a little stretching and hunker down to a supper of freshly cut broccoli, lentil and collard soup made yesterday and a grilled cheese sandwich, talk about your comfort foods.  I am feeling comfortable about now.

Finally

The thermometer read 24 this morning, a hard freeze at last.  I cut this vase of roses yesterday knowing what was to come, they bring great cheer to chores at the kitchen sink.  I cleaned out my neighbors chicken coop and brought a wheelbarrow brimming with poop down to add to the compost pile. Anticipating the freeze, I pulled out the last of the beans, zinnias, nasturtiums and peppers and layered them all into a big hoop of fence wire about four feet across and three feet high. Along with the garden refuse I layered the chicken poop and freshly raked leaves.  Greens, poop, browns, water.  Greens, poop, browns, water... until I had filled the entire bin. It should get nice and hot and cook up some excellent compost for next summers planting.

Jackson Wonder Lima Beans

We enjoyed a first freeze harvest dinner that included a pot of lima beans and the last of the green beans all simmered up together, roasted long island cheese squash with lots of chopped peppers and a little pork tenderloin cooked up with a mustard cream sauce.  mmmm, mmm. We've now got a bushel of mixed peppers in 4 paper grocery sacks ripening up in the kitchen!

A Favorite Spot

It being the week of Thanksgiving, I gotta say I've got loads to be thankful for, not the least of which is plenty to eat and a roof over my head that's paid for.  I've enjoyed being home the past week, not working at the outside job, just focusing on the home place.  I cleaned the house and did tons of laundry, worked in the yard for many hours, took lots of long walks through the cold sunshiny woods and down along the creek.  It's been a very pleasant week.  Tomorrow- back to the real world, well, as real as my world gets anymore.

Mystery of History

This chimney stands in the middle of the woods completely overgrown now by trees.  The stone monolith stands near one of the oldest roads running across the land that surrounds us.  They say it was an old postal road that ran from the western side of Orange County into Chapel Hill.  I think it likely passed the mill that once stood on Morgan Creek downstream from here.  What I do believe is that many a wagon and cart traveled that road over time, most likely in the 1800's and the wheels and rains wore a rut in the earth 8 feet deep or more in places.  Now it's a green moss and fern lined track. Like the chimney- I don't know when that road went out of use, but most likely it was back in the early 1900's.

I like to visit the chimney now and then during the winter.  I wander around it imagining who might have lived there, how old it is, what happened and how long ago.  Did it burn?  Most likely, there is no sign of any other part of the structure.  Just stones that formed the foundation, all buried under a foot or more of pine needles.  h
Here you can see them piled in the fireplace.

I wonder if the second story was added later, the tiny upstairs fireplace and the top of the chimney made of bricks, did they come later?  It's a massive structure that anchored what was a cabin measuring no more than 16 by 20.  The hilltop all around the site is covered with periwinkle (vinca minor) in its usual invasive fashion it has spread slowly but deliberately out from the house site only being kept in check by the shade and heavy pine needles that cover the ground.

I would love to do an excavation around the cabin site to see what I might unearth, if anything.  What must it have been like to live there, 4 or 5 miles from town, in that tiny cabin, possibly no neighbors for several miles and scratch out an existence off the land? I can only imagine.  Whoever built that chimney certainly built it to last and it has stood now for 10 or 15 decades or more.  I've pondered researching the history of that parcel of land back in time, but its tricky to figure out how I might actually do that successfully.  Any suggestions?

First Frost and Flowers Still in Bloom

Peppers wrapped up in their blanket for the night

We had our first frost last night with a temp of 33 this morning at dawn.  It's supposed to be 29 tonight so we broke out the remay again and tucked in the pepper plants to keep them snug as they are still laden with fruit.  With chilly nights the leaves are hitting their peak; hickories golden, dogwoods and sourwoods deep red and maple leaves, that look like licking red and yellow flames, litter the ground.  The fig tree will now drop its leaves and give off a scent of coconut as you pass by.  The ginko will start its slow transformation from green, to lime, to pale yellow, to gold.

There are still a few flowers in bloom, the asters and mums will fade soon now, they've been putting on a show for several weeks.  The Nelly Moser Clematis above has cheered me with a nice set of late flowers.  And a new plant that David brought home, already spectacular with its purple flowers, has leaves that have now started turning from a velvety greenish-gray to crimson.  I don't know its name but it promises to be a highlight in the garden, a tender perennial that supposedly dies back in the winter and regrows to 2-3 feet in the spring.

We had a swell brunch with our good friends John and Michele; prosecco mimosas, whole grain pancakes, maple syrup, soysage and an apple-walnut salad.  Afterwards we took a long walk around the land and up the mountain, marveling at the turning leaves like stained glass against the blue sky.  I relish the change in the season, the coming long nights, fires in the stove, making the house feel toasty, safe and secure.

It's good to be alive.

Winter Finally

It’s great for it to be cold at last. The folks up north might not agree but around here, nights in the teens and days in the thirties are about the coldest cold we see. And the snow was a really welcome sight. Not the covering white blanket I had hoped for but still it was lovely to wake up the other morning and look out into the woods lit white and gray by snow covered branches, hear the sound of dripping water coming down. The tops of the big pines with globby white hats sitting on top of their bows, catching the first rays of morning sunlight, the green and bright white against the clear blue sky, just stunning.

I love the cold because it forces me inside most of the day to concentrate and work on indoor pleasures, reading, writing, and cooking. But I also relish walking outside when the air is so crisp and clear, everything is sharp against that bluest of blue skies, the winter air invigorates me, 360 from the thick hazy air of summer, when the heat and humidity make me want to die.

Down at the creek the other day I could hear the sound of chain saws and chickens clucking, dogs barking and distant traffic. They just logged 100 acres or more between the creek and Calvander so it is only a matter of time before they fill that space with houses just like every other space around Chapel Hill and Carrboro and not long after that more and more people will begin to appear along the creek paths, desperately eager for a taste of nature- a moment in the wild. I hope the creek keeps flowing for all our sakes. And that the traffic of people and dogs and kids won’t get so heavy that it begins to take a toll on the creek banks and woods.

Another day last week I sat for a long time staring out at the pond, watching the light and patterns change on the surface of the water from the wind, clouds floating by, the sun getting low, the clouds in the west were starting to pinken, then go peachy, blue sky between them reflecting in the rippling water.

I thought wow- just to stop, just stop, stop moving, stop thinking, just meditate on that water and sky, you don’t need anything else. Why can’t I just take this time to be? 8 months of freedom and I still can’t let a pretty day go by and not get out in it, just like I still sleep late sometimes 9 or 10 hours in bed, because I can, because I spent so many years inside when I wanted to be outside, sleep deprived and hungry for the rest.

Kahlil Gibran said “Forget not that the earth likes to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair” Forget not indeed.