I’ve been so focused on reading the land at a larger level of scale lately – taking on whole stands of trees, whole hills and valleys in the woods – that I’ve really kind of neglected a lot of old friends: individual trees and perennials that live along the dirt road on the way to the mailbox. “There’s not much to see this time of year” would be the typical excuse, but we both know, that’s a lie. There is always something to see.
Like this milkweed pod’s husk. I remember when this pod was no larger than the tip of my pinky finger.
Beech buds are getting bigger every day.
Out by the road, the alders are up to their ankles in water, due to…
..The activities of the residents of not one, but two beaver lodges. This is the original lodge.
And this is the second one, maybe 60 feet away from the first. It’s the upgraded model.
Here’s the feral bathtub. It lives on the edge of the meadow, where That Bitch Irene dumped it after snatching it away from the burn pile last August. Irene broke its heart – you can tell it’s still recovering.
Exploding cattails are so appealing. “Lose your mind,” they say. “It will all work out.”
I could swear that while I was goofing off photographing ice in the brook, someone or something made a racket in the willow/alder thicket. I didn’t catch what, though: I backed off, thinking I might have disturbed the beavers.
Soon, Canadian Geese (as I like to call them) will be hanging out here (I know. I’m wrong. That’s not what they’re called.)
But not yet.
Where stream meets meadow.
Full moon on Thursday, folks. Are you ready for it?