It’s raining again, which probably means there are more mushrooms in our future. I say our future because I can’t help but share with you all my mycological finds. Cry uncle if it’s too much. In the meantime, recent walks have revealed a frenzy of weaving going on. It’s almost as if the spiders are busy luring as many insects as possible so they can chow down and put on some winter weight. Everybody’s getting ready for the cold. Their magnificent webs, beaded with dew, glitter in the early morning sunlight. Some creations remind me of those delicate Victorian chain-mail purses; others, more dense and cottony, are like hammocks for fairies, strung between two plant stalks. And if you’re lucky enough to find a spider at work, stop and watch. Their skill and dexterity is truly inspiring.

like a hammock for some teensy wood sprite

along with monkeys, spiders are nature’s most talented trapeze artists

a web in progress

seemingly suspended in mid-air

they crochet as well as my grandmother

If Charlotte’s Web didn’t make you fall in love with spiders, please consider that these air-breathing arthropods weave a silk that provides an incomparable combination of lightness, strength and elasticity superior to that of synthetic materials. Scientists are now researching the use of spider venom in medicine and also in non-polluting pesticides. Patient, creative and, yes, perhaps a little cruel, the spider is a mystical creature.

The garden is literally teeming with life. This is the time of year when I must be diligent about going out every few hours to pick the Japanese beetles off the plants. One year they decimated the yellow dogwood in what seemed like one day. Now I watch for them as soon as true summer hits, and I am ruthless in my pursuit of these shiny winged creatures. They’re not the only ones cluttering up our airspace. The bees can’t seem to get enough of the honeysuckle that lines our front path, and they also love the wild raspberry flowers and the bee balm, naturally. So distracted is everyone by the intoxicating pollens and nectars around, that I was able to get close enough to snap a few portraits. (If you’re a subscriber and got a weird “Test Post” email today, my apologies. We’re trying to fix a few glitches on here and it’s a little frustrating. Bear with me!)

butterflies and moths alight on the coneflowers

we have pink and red bee balm and both are very popular with the bees

this green darner dragonfly is named for its resemblance to a needle (huh?)

Japanese beetles are serious pests that can be extremely destructive in the garden. They turn plant leaves into a lacy filigree which sounds pretty but spells ruination. I find many of them in full-on coitus and it’s my pleasure to interruptus.

beetle damage to my spice bush

and to the wild raspberry

This is what revenge looks like…

they meet a watery death

I went back and forth over showing you this photo of the dead beetles, but I want you to know it’s not all hearts and flowers in this piece of paradise. As Werner Herzog so eloquently put it, “Nature here is vile and base…”

It’s been quite a while since I’ve shared anything about the great outdoors. And that’s a shame because so much is going on. The delicate pink tree peonies are in bloom, as are my gorgeous bearded irises worthy of Van Gogh. The hay-scented ferns are up, the butterflies are back and the herb garden is already bursting with thyme and chives. The angelica, now protected behind a fence is big and bushy, sending up tall shoots topped with lovely, frothy blooms. I’m spread so thin, I’ve barely been out other than to take a cursory glance and do some much-needed weeding. Thankfully, G is able to get up on his crutches for long enough to do the daily watering required in this heat, and he goes around on his butt planting new acquisitions. Yesterday, from inside the house he heard a noise or somehow sensed a strange presence in the yard, and hobbled out to find this fellow propped up against the garden fence. An enormous, prehistoric-looking snapping turtle, all fierce and armored.

i love the tiny fleck of purple flower petal stuck on his shell (to the left)

When G tentatively stuck one of his crutches out toward the turtle, it shot him a poisonous look and hissed! When he checked back half an hour later, the turtle was heading back toward the swamp behind our house.

their tails, which you rarely see, are actually quite long

I was in the city, so I missed him, but I did see the tiniest, most adorably freckled baby fawn this morning, scrambling up a slope on its wobbly newborn legs. Truly a sight to behold.

In my quest for wild edibles, I dredged up a distant memory of my friend Julia telling me about a morel she had once found at her weekend place nearby. So I headed over there, still dreaming of a big score. Her house has been closed up all winter long and as I drove up a big, fat groundhog scurried across the lawn. She has a beautiful piece of land that slopes down to a brook, now swollen from all the rains. Plenty of skunk cabbage along the bank, a favorite snack for bears. No sign of morels, sadly, though I did find a nice patch of stinging nettles. They must be picked and handled with care—heavy gloves do the trick—as the stems and undersides of the lovely, heart-shaped leaves are covered with fine spines that release irritating formic acid upon contact (like the sting you get from fire ants and bees). Nettles are surprisingly high in protein and deliver lots of calcium, magnesium, iron and potassium, among other vitamins and minerals. For millennia, they have been prized for their anti-inflammatory properties. Their delightful green color and spinach-y flavor makes a wonderful spring soup.

And the skull pictured above? Stay tuned for an episode of CSI: Sullivan County.

a strip of deer pelt

The first clue was that skull, clearly that of a small deer. Notice the large, flat teeth for gnashing grass. As I scanned the big open meadow, I saw several spots of white. They turned out to be tufts of hair and bits of deer hide scattered about. The piece above was the biggest one.

assorted vertebrae and other bones

I followed the tufts of deer hide into the woods at the edge of the meadow and discovered this pile of bones, including assorted vertebrae. The deer may well have died of natural causes, but the trail of evidence suggested that the carcass had been dragged.

scat! (note the tooth)

This coyote scat brought everything into focus. Picking it apart with a stick, I saw that it contained lots of hair (quite common in coyote scat) as well as a couple of deer teeth. The small bones indicate a young deer so I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that it had fallen prey to one or a pack of coyotes. Unless you have another theory, Watson.

stinging nettles look quite a bit like shiso

After all that excitement (yes, I find forensics thrilling), I returned to the nettle patch. Remember to wear heavy gloves when handling this feisty plant. It makes a delicious, healthy and detoxifying soup. If you’re not in the mood for that, perhaps you’d like to try this recipe for nettle pesto.

STINGING NETTLE SOUP

from Martha Stewart

serves 4

1 pound russet potatoes, peeled

coarse sea salt

4 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 1/2 medium red onions, finely chopped

4 cups packed nettle leaves (you can substitute spinach or Swiss chard)

4 cups homemade chicken stock

Heavy cream or whisked crème fraîche, for drizzling

Freshly ground pepper

Place potatoes in a medium pot, and cover with cold water by about 2 inches; add 1/2 tablespoon salt. Bring to a boil, and cook until potatoes are just tender, about 25 minutes. Drain; let cool completely. Cut into 1/4-inch dice; set aside.

Melt butter with the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onions and nettle leaves; cook, stirring often, until onions are softened but not browned, about 5 minutes. Add stock, 1/2 cup water, and 1/2 tablespoon salt; stir to combine. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until nettle leaves have softened, about 30 minutes. Let cool slightly.

Using an immersion blender or a food processor, puree soup until smooth. Reheat soup over low heat. Divide among serving bowls. Garnish with the potatoes, and drizzle with cream. Season with pepper, and serve.

The marshy area in the woods behind our house is bursting with the sounds (and occasional sights) of new life. The rains and melting snow have united in large vernal pools that are the breeding ground for frogs and salamanders. You can hear their trilling and chuckling, great crowds of them creating a cacophany that we once took for an enormous flock of geese. When you draw near, they all go silent of course, so a stealthy approach is essential. We did scare a couple of ducks who took off, leaving behind a lavish breakfast buffet of bugs and water creatures. Here’s a quick visual tour of some of the natural wonders we came across yesterday morning.

a wasps’ nest

This type of wasps’ nest is generally seen hanging way up high in a tree, so it was unusual to come across one like this, woven into the branches of a small bush. The tenants are long gone, but it was a bit too soggy and ragged after a long winter to add to our cabinet of curios.

see the cloud-like deposits of eggs on the upper right of the mossy area?

Frogs and salamanders both lay their eggs in very similar jelly-like masses and I’ve yet to determine the difference, so these might be either. We definitely heard frogs, but when I poked the waters’ edge with the toe of my welly, I saw some spotted salamanders moving around.

the wet brings out the fungi and lichen, and the slugs who feast on rotting vegetation

2 years ago we found the remains of a turtle in the marsh; bits of him still turn up

the moss is showing brilliant green and soon ferns will line all these waterways

this gorgeous toad was peeking out from the bramble in our own garden

I awoke to this the view from my window today. I have traveled to Sandpoint, Idaho, this week and am staying in the northern Idaho Panhandle at The Lodge on Lake Pend Oreille. A French-Canadian fur trader allegedly gave the lake its name, which is French for an ear-hanging or pendant, the likes of which were characteristic of the local Kalispell Indian tribe. When viewed from above, the lake is also shaped much like a human ear. If I weren’t here for work, I would be trekking into the breathtaking wilderness, hoping to catch a glimpse of the abundant wildlife: whitetail deer, elk, moose, grey wolves, black and grizzly bears, bobcats, bald eagles, osprey and lots of other beautiful birds. Still a big logging area, local trees include ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, poplar, quaking aspen, birch and Western larch. And, yes, Idaho has the good potatoes. I had the best hash browns ever for breakfast!

an early photo of Kalispell Indians on Lake Pend Oreille

It’s day 7 of my juice fast. The simple act of taking food out of the equation can be hugely transformative. Our relationship to eating tends to be very complex, because it provides not only nourishment but comfort, sensual pleasure and perhaps a buffer to shield us from some of our deepest feelings. One thing I grapple with is the herpes virus that I have carried in my body since 1985. During that time it has been more and less active, but seems to have migrated now to reside in my sacrum, a very vulnerable spot indeed. Os sacrum is Latin for “the seat of the soul.” This area seems to have become very congested for me, and I sense that lower back pain, writing blocks and deep fears are all lodged here. On day 3 of my fast, after a couple of dull headaches, including one that woke me in the night, and a surge of the virus in my system, I began to feel like all my defenses and resources were falling away. I slipped back into a pattern of self-doubt and recrimination, where I relive the life-long pain of feeling like a disappointment to my parents. I also felt very isolated and out of my element. This was probably exacerbated by the fact that our week-long bathroom renovation is now in its frustrating and enraging fourth week, and we are still availing ourselves of the incredible hospitality of our dear friend who has lent us his house at Beaver Dam.

brook no nonsense

The house is beautiful, as are the surroundings, but between finishing pages that were due to my writing group and the incessant rain for two days, I had not been outside since Thursday. But somewhere between a wonderful talk I had with my extraordinarily wise and loving husband, and a long snowshoe I took yesterday through the wet woods, along a roaring brook recently sprung to life, a shimmering clarity came over me. I saw that in frequently being too hard on myself (something everyone always tells me I am and which never fails to bewilder me), I am keeping alive the voice of my parents—but the wrong voice. I expect a lot from myself, too much perhaps, but I am going to try now to be more gentle and to strive to do more often what truly makes me happy. All this from juice? you ask.

the promise of spring

I can’t really underestimate the effect of a fast. The body is purging itself of toxins, and perhaps negative emotions are attached to some of these. Even if fasting does not always bring about heightened awareness, it is surely cleansing. My skin is clearer, my eyes brighter, my joints less achy, my vital energy enhanced. I think the effects of water fasting would be much more profound, and I would like to graduate to that at some point. For those of you who are horrified at the idea of going without food for even a day, perhaps you need to learn a little bit more about what it can do for you. After all, fasting has been considered therapeutic for thousands of years. Here are a few good resources to check out, even if you just read about them online:

Fasting Can Save Your Life by Herbert Shelton, an early proponent of fasting

The Miracle of Fasting by Patricia and Paul Bragg, creators of Bragg’s Enzymes etc

Prescription for Nutritional Healing by Phyllis A. Balch – I love this book

this is what I thaw

Such gorgeous weather this weekend, perfect for a walk in the woods. The wild turkey and deer abound; half a dozen turtles are sunning themselves on an old log in the lake; and the musical cackle of migrating geese fills the air. Even if you don’t live in the country, I hope these photos inspire you to drive to a nearby forest or visit your local park to take in a few of the sights and sounds of this glorious season.

a snake basks in the late afternoon sun

wasps were crawling in and around this bit of nest

nearby was this mud dauber nest resembling a pipe organ

mud daubers like to feast on orb weavers like the one below

this one is slightly different from the one we saw on our house last fall

witch hazel’s spindly yellow blossoms are often the last spot of color visible in the woods

this puffball is one of many mushrooms that pop up after the rain

i need to get better at identifying these fungi

this is a milkweed pod on its way to drying out

when they burst open, the seeds fly away on a mass of incredibly silky floss

breaking open a cattail reveals another kind of soft fluff

it instantly expands into a mass of ethereal flyaway seeds

so much beauty, such intense and fleeting colors

illustrations by janice richter

It’s here again: fall, the season of transition. It bridges the vast chasm between sultry summer and winter’s austerity. Nature’s gorgeous swan song, fall reaches a grand crescendo before its blazing colors are finally extinguished. The leaves have begun to turn, with bursts of ochre and russet punctuating the drive from country to city. I have always found this time of year especially poignant, for we are witnessing the demise of all that we saw come to life these past months. It is the natural order of things, and it is bittersweet. My dear friend, the talented illustrator and creative director Jan Richter, captures the intensity of fall’s colors in these gorgeous illustrations of the season’s glories.

roger tory peterson and a young osprey    photo by alfred eisenstaedt

I had my first guest-post on a kindred spirit’s blog this week. The visionary Peter Buchanan-Smith honored me with a feature on his fascinating blog, Best Made Projects. We share an interest in the natural world, so when he asked me to review a field guide, I chose one by the naturalist and early environmentalist Roger Tory Peterson (seen above holding a movie camera mounted on a gun stock). Peter has kindly allowed me to re-post my review in its entirety here.

FIELDING QUESTIONS: A Review of Roger Tory Peterson Field Guides – Eastern Forests

Returning home to Sullivan County from the stinky summer streets of New York City brings a surge of relief and gratitude: the cool night air filled with the rustle of leaves and the throbbing drone of cicadas is a tonic. The woods I now call home are not the same as those I grew up with in the Santa Cruz mountains of California. Fog-shrouded sequoias and wild surf are here replaced with blazing summers and snowy winters among the hawthorn, hickory, maple and pine. The Steller’s jay of my youth is now the equally brazen blue jay of my mid-life. The fence around our small property does little to keep out all the critters that also live here, and long rambles on our kind neighbor’s thousand acres have led to countless discoveries, animal, mineral and botanical.

How then to begin to understand all these natural wonders? Each season brings uniquely intriguing sights and sounds, its own miraculous unfoldings. Where to turn to identify this orange amphibian, that proliferating fern, the eerie sound of that night creature?

There is no more reliable and exhaustive source than Roger Tory Peterson (1908–1996). An American naturalist, ornithologist, artist and educator, he was one of the founding inspirations for the 20^th-century environmental movement. No one of the past century has done more to promote an interest in living creatures. In 1934, he published the first modern field guide, his seminal Guide to the Birds. It sold out its first printing of 2‚000 copies in one week, and went through 5 subsequent editions. His detailed paintings and simplified method of identifying birds helped the layman become familiar with species through their easily observed “field marks,” rather than by the old “bird in the hand” method, thus replacing the shotgun with binoculars as the birder’s instrument of choice. Soon, his techniques were applied to all manner of flora and fauna.

My green leather-bound, gilt-edged Roger Tory Peterson Field Guides Eastern Forests – North America (written by John C. Kricher, illustrated by Gordon Morrison and edited by the master himself) is a boon companion through all seasons. As the winter snows melted this year, I opened my book to “Patterns of Spring,” and headed into the forest to the vernal pools where spotted salamanders lay their jelly-like egg masses. I discovered that the small red efts crawling on the woodland floor on early summer mornings were in their interim terrestrial stage—an adaptation that helps them disperse—and would have an unpleasant “peppery” taste designed to repel predators. I returned to the book to positively identify what turned out to be yellow-bellied sapsuckers drilling away at our old lichen-covered maple, and to learn more about the wily woodchuck that has attacked our vegetable garden two years running.

The first chapter acknowledges that “everyone begins to use a field guide by thumbing through the pages and looking at the plates of illustrations,” and, indeed, this 1988 edition has beautiful visuals that do justice to their subjects. But what’s genius about this particular field guide is that it places emphasis on the way plants and animals interact together, so you really gain an understanding of what a habitat entails. You learn the differences between a Boreal Bog (a wet, mossy place) and a Northern Hardwood Forest (full of Sugar Maple, White Pine and Eastern Hemlock) in terms of who lives there and what they eat.

Why is this good? Why do male juncos winter farther north than females? Why do some spider webs have thick zigzag strands? Why don’t herbivores eat all the leaves? Why ask why? For the answers to these and other pressing questions on the natural world, I refer you directly to Roger Tory Peterson Field Guides Eastern Forests – North America, which is laden with “Observations and Explanations,” and from whence came this illuminating statement:

“Why-type questions are ultimate-type questions. They identify the most  interesting aspects of natural history, those of adaptation and survival. The answers to ultimate-type questions reveal the actual fabric that holds nature together. Being able to ask and answer ultimate questions about natural history adds a new and powerful dimension to your understanding of nature.”