Alina's Adventures

Aldridge Gardens Plant Sale on April 27th.

A great resource for gardeners, naturalists, and home educators seeking to engage the native plants with their children and families. We had a great time last year-- and our blueberry bushes are flowering!

Aldrige Gardens also offers a menu of special field trips that can be scheduled in advance. 

Experience Their Outdoor Classroom

Curriculum-based outdoor field trips for elementary school students are offered from mid-September through the end of October, and mid-March through the first week in May. Due to the size of the gardens, we request that no more than two classes (or 50 children) attend on the same date. Please provide one adult chaperone for each 10 students. A fee of $4 per student is requested to cover materials. A picnic area is available for outdoor lunch after your field trip.

Field Trip Objectives

Although all Aldridge Gardens Field Trips can be adapted for a particular grade level, listed below is the grade level(s) each field trip is designed for and correlated with the Alabama State Course of Study:

Meet the Trees (Kindergarten)

-Observe, compare, and describe the properties of trees, and parts of trees.
-Compare changes in parts of trees through the seasons.
-Acquire the vocabulary associated with the properties and structures of trees.
-Use oral language to describe observations.
-Observe animals that depend of trees for food and shelter.

Habitat Hunters (1st through 5th grades)

-Discover ways animals use and depend on plants as well as ways woodland plants depend on animals.
-Observe ways that plants and animals in a forest community are interdependent.

A Worm’s-Eye View of Soil Science (2nd grade)

-Demonstrate an understanding of the concept that plants grow best in good soil and that good soil is made by combining sand, clay and humus.
-Differentiate among the properties of soil (color, texture, water absorption, temperature).
-Identify soil types/components (sand, clay, humus).
-Recognize the role of soil in supporting plant growth.
-Use appropriate tools to gather, analyze, and interpret data.
-Relate structure to function in plants (roots for support in soil).

Worms (Vermiculture) 2nd grade continued

-Demonstrate an understanding of the process of composting.
-Demonstrate the ability to perform safe and appropriate manipulation of living organisms.
-Identify characteristics and behaviors of worms that help them survive.
-Describe how worm offspring are similar to parents (size, shape, color).
-Describe interdependence of plants and worms (recycle plants into nutrient-rich humus, tunnels create spaces in soil for air and water).
-Make compost tea bags.

Plant Propagation: Making More Plants (3rd grade)

-Identify the basic parts of a plant and the function of each part: roots, stems, leaves, flowers.
-Identify the basic parts of a flower and the function of each part: petal, stamen, and pistil.
-Propagate plants using three different methods of propagation: seeds, cuttings, and division, and take their plants back to class.

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Teachers: How to schedule a curriculum-based field trip

Field trips are scheduled weekdays from 9:30 - 11:30 a.m.

Maximum number of students per day = 50

$4 per student. (Free for teachers and parent chaperones.)

Field trips are scheduled from mid-September through mid-November
and mid-March through mid- May.

To schedule a field trip, please email Debbie McDonald, Education Director, Aldridge Gardens at dmcdonald@aldridgegardens.com, or call her at 205-682-8019 Ext. 104.

You will be contacted within one week about your field trip request.

Please include the following information:

-Teacher Name
-Cell or Home Phone
-Preferred Email Address
-Name of School
-School Address
-School Phone
-Name of School System
-Grade Level for Field Trip
-Number of Students for Field Trip
-Month You Would Like to Schedule

Include field trip topic you would like:
-Trees
-Habitat Hunters
-Worms and Soils
-Plant Propagation

Picnic Area is first come, first serve. Please inform Jim if you plan to use the picnic area.

Saturday mornings also offer guided bird walks for Aldrige Garden members. 

At the UA Arboretum with Suebee and Pops.

Suebee flips through The Tuscaloosa News which, of course, is not exactly the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. She and Pops were thrilled to pose for this morning photograph in the front yard. Thrilled, I tell you.

Suebee and Pops came for the weekend last month, their trunk filled with toys and the backseat bearing a surprise visit from cousin Jael. The girls caught up on gab and bikes and pinecone tossings. 

We spent one afternoon traipsing around the Arboretum.

Okay, that's a lie. They traipsed while I hid behind a tree and worked on a fiction collection. When I say worked, I mean a strange combination of scribbling, editing, and trying not blur the ink by crying. 

The King took photos of what I missed. As Suebee started off on the trail, Pops ushered stragglers forward. 

Suebee tells Pat very clearly NOT to take photos of her hiking up the trail from behind. Having viewed the entire roll of film, I know for a fact that he refrained from taking rear pictures.

A beautiful golden flower filled with yellow stars. A face that could launch a thousand stories.

Among the missings was a dance performance at the open-air amphitheater.

Jael bops. Prophet looks cinematic. Gnome explores head-banging.

Clearly, there was booty-shaking which took place.

Let it be noted that there is nothing I appreciate like a good, mid-forest booty shake.

Gnome, Prophet, Sueebee, and Jael pose for a photo along the trails. Poor Prophet refused to apply chapstick around her mouth-- "it doesn't make sense, mom... my chin is not the same as my lips". So I had to formulate a term called chapped upper chin to describe the way the space around the lips gets chapped if you lick it during cold weather.  

They sauntered to the top of the treehouse.

A serious version of something in the treehouse.

My favorite version of anything. Because it happens to include Him.

And then this.

Mark your calendars for the First Annual East Alabama Book Festival.

 

On Sunday, October 18th from 1:00 to 6:00 pm, The Gnu's Room is hosting the First Annual East Alabama Book Festival at Town Creek Park in Auburn, Alabama.

The Festival will feature authors, publishers, local original music, vendors and more! Co-hosts for the event are the Southern Humanities Review and The Republic of East Alabama Artists + Makers. The event is FREE and open to the public.

They are issuing an invitation to authors who wish to have booth space to promote their work and take part in a short reading, as well as to publishers and literary arts related non-profits and others. Booth space is somewhat limited and is first come−first served. Reading slots will be available in a like manner.

The deadline for participation is October 1, 2015. They need your registration form and donation of $20 by that date to hold your spot. Non-profit booth space requires no donation, but they will still need a registration form to save your spot. Bring your own booth- or, as is the case with most of us, bring your own table and chairs.

Town Creek Park is located at 1150 S Gay Street, Auburn, Alabama 36830. Parking and restrooms are available at the Park. A covered pavilion will be utilized for author readings, announcements and musical performances. Bring your own lawn chairs, umbrellas, and blankets. There will be food trucks, local coffee vendors, and various other goodies.

gumdrops

Registration forms and additional info 
More about how The Gnu's Room serves the community
How you can help a nonprofit/bookstore
The Republic of East Alabama (formerly the Revelator)
"It's A Sin to Mock A Mockingbird" by William Cotter
Cole Bryant's graphics 
Auburn Witness Poetry Prize 
Marjorie Rommel, Auburn's Poet Laureate
aaaand...
the superduper philosophy-prof-turned-poet, Kelley Jolley, who marked my papers in bright red ink and thereby earned my eternal favor

The Gnu's Room is located at 108 S 8th St, Opelika. You can speak with a fellow mammal most days at 334-705-048.

Innovation Fair at the Alabama Museum of Natural History.

Last weekend, we motored over to the Alabama Museum of Natural History to sample the sweet conceptual bones of the Innovation Fair. This hovercraft, built by UA students, was among them.

We started at the catapult-making table. The girls were eager to make their own catapults, though Gnome struggled a little to get her launchpad oriented just right.

Prophet crafted a fantastic monster bookmark torn straight from fabulist fiction.

The Eldest and Erin send their rockets for a first flight.

Meanwhile, pet snails Cheddar and Velvet look on from the sidelines. This glass jar is their traveling vehicle. If you have experienced spring rains with homeschooled kids, then you know it is impossible to keep them from collecting snails. In our house, jubilation follows rain- "flowers and snail hunts" the battle cry.

Upstairs, the exhibits included explosions and buzzes and beeps and all sorts of effects but none was quite so intriguing to the kids as the river table.

Gnome and I sat on the stairs and talked about the mososaurus who roamed this land-sea prior to us. What does it say about me if an extinct species is my totem animal?

Small people watch the hovercraft demo rev up its fans and engines outside.

Small people get distracted by presence of an ROTC rope climbing which crazy mom swings upon in her rope-unfriendly skirt and thus inadvertently legitimizes miscreant activity.

Dinosaur teeth are not really primed for popsicles.

Small (brilliant) people suggest that, in fact, ice cream is an innovation on ice crystals and therefore shouldn't we find some to admire with our mouths.

The bioblitz beauty of Turkey Creek Nature Preserve.

We spent Friday afternoon in Pinson, Alabama at the amazing Turkey Creek Nature Preserve. Beautiful flora, beautiful people. The Turkey Creek Nature Preserve Manager Charles Yeager made us feel welcome immediately. From the moment we signed the registration form and the Eldest pilfered a yellow notebook, the learning and exploring began.

The Eldest and Erin perch on a rock to wait for fish.

A little history: Turkey Creek Nature Preserve was established through a partnership between Alabama's Forever Wild Program and the Freshwater Land Trust and is co-managed by the Southern Environmental Center (SEC). In late 2008, an agreement was reached with the SEC to setup an environmental education center at the entrance to the preserve. 

Spotted dusky salamander

We were impressed by the young, homeschooled herpetologists who found secrets in rock shadows and introduced us to novel forms of amphibian life. The spotted dusky salamander changed colors before our eyes. He was fascinating because his tail was still ridged which the young herpetologist said was related to his unfinished metamorphosis. The salamander had not yet become an adult. We also learned that he was a hard catch because his lifestyle was nocturnal.

Red salamander

Red salamanders have to stay wet in order to survive. We refrained from touching their skin because lotion or perfumes or various chemicals are easily absorbed through their wet skin.

James Bond has nothing on the golden eyes of a red salamander.

Richard Louv, godfather of the Children and Nature Network, has pointed out the importance and value of physical interaction with various species. A sight alone does not forge a relationship-- it is the interaction with other forms of life that nourishes reverence and respect.

The green anole has the amazing capacity to drop its tail in self-defense. Prophet had many questions about this capability so it's on my list of things to learn more about.

Fire pink

Along the rock outcroppings, Zac also pointed out various flowers.

We learned to identify the Sweet meadow beauty by its fine pink lines....

and the Blue phlox by the particular shape of petals which do not spiral.

The Eldest jotted down common names for the life forms he encountered. Part of his assignment involved taking notes and creating a species count/list when we arrived back in Tuscaloosa using only his notes as scaffold. By the time I woke up this morning, he had finished the document below and was very excited to share it with me.

The Eldest used Google Docs to create his list. He's a stickler for fonts.

Amy looks over a shoulder at rue leaves.

Zac showed us how to distinguish rue anemone by its leaves. He also described false anemone.

Rue anemone

The rue anemone flower and its glossy, limpid, duck-foot leaves with a small budding poison ivy plant in the front left quadrant. 

This area was protected as a nature preserve. Bioblitzs help identify and educate stewards about the local ecological webs and possible threatened or endangered species.

Fragrant, intoxicating, toxic yellow jessamine blooming in the ecoscape. 

Suebee and Pops drove all the way from Atlanta and agreed to meet us at the Bioblitz. I am grateful for the way in which they were 100% troopers-- not a whimper, not a single complaint. We left feeling encouraged, enlightened, excited and inspired-- the words of the stone statue stuck in head like dream shrapnel.

More resources to explore Turkey Creek and Pinson:

Trail map of Turkey Creek Nature Preserve (Forever Wild)
Turkey Creek Nature Preserve Facebook Page 
2015 Bioblitz Species Count as typed and compiled by The Eldest

Exploring Sanders Ferry Road.

Stopping along a very windy dirt road along Black Warrior Road, the Eldest bundles up. He spotted an American Kestrel a few minutes after I snapped this photo.

A nodding donkey took a nap nearby.

Our field trip to Sanders Ferry Road was inspired by the Alabama Birding Trails website, a terrific resource for birdwatchers and nature lovers in general. The West Alabama trails map included a myriad of local nature study hideaways but the Sanders Ferry Road inspiration came from a post on the Bird Talk blog.

The afternoon light didn't add red shades to the ashy white palette of the field.

An unidentified bird with a large wing span dipped through the shrubs. Can you see it hiding? Well-camouflaged, isn't it? 

Prophet beat the Eldest to the deer track identification. We thought it might be a hind foot.

Imagine the bales.

Late winter colors along Black Warrior Road where a man stood in the road and stared us down until we drove away. Nature study can be quite a risky endeavor in a state where property rights trump human rights every single time.

GPS coordinates for Sanders Ferry Road: 33.1645525 -87.6788507

Plug in, pack the binoculars, and tune out the media out. And here's some interesting local history for the Sanders Ferry Road trip:

News article about Old Sanders Ferry Road six miles south of Coker (Tuscaloosa News, 23 July 1989)
Matthew William Clinton explains how Sanders Ferry Road was involved in Tuscaloosa's earliest recorded history (Tuscaloosa Early Days)
Druid City Bicycle Club rides this way

Tiny signs of spring around us.

The daffodils begin to open their faces.

 

The bare bones of nests pop up in trees.

Dandelions beg us to blow seeds into wishes.

Thank goodness for little people and their enchantment- think of all the flowers we owe to their disinhibited wishings.

The confederate jasmine vines grow green around the edges of our bedroom window.

Buds position themselves for every speck of sunlight.

Camellias pucker up.

Your daughter brings a handful of "purple girls" and you remind yourself not to scold her for picking... there are many more to come.

This is just the beginning. Just another beautiful beginning....

A morning in the life of junior waterkeepers.

The Eldest and E. were dressed, fed, and out the backdoor by 8 a.m. this morning in pursuit of a noble cause. Last night, they regaled us with stories of a "disgusting, blood reddish pond" in the woods abutting Cherokee Hills and Woodland Hills. They were determined to investigate further this morning.

By the time I rolled out of bed and doused my face in coffee, the boys had returned- "You've got to see this!"- and convinced me to hop in the spaceship and drive over to Lakewood Circle to photograph the curious pond. I parked on the street and crossed my fingers that no one would report us. 

We entered the woods just past a water drain.

"Watch where you step," warned the Eldest. The kudzu hibernates during the winter but everything we see (and every step we take) is a mass of kudzu come summertime. Not what you'd call firm ground.

The Prophet and Gnome walked down the slippery slope, eyes peeled for holes and loose soil. They wanted to throw sticks into the "bloody water."

The boys were right. It wasn't pretty. And it came straight from the stormwater drain.

You could see the high degree of sedimentation just beneath the orange skein.

After having followed the water upstream and downstream, the boys had their theories. E. mentioned a possible sewer line spilling into the woods. We concluded the storm drain near the street was the probably source point of pollution.

Looking downstream from the pond.

The Eldest pontificates.

"Shouldn't we map out the watershed so we can see where all this is going?", I asked. The photos of watershed landmarks come in handy when map time rolls around.

The boys wanted to follow the water back to Cherokee Hills so I hiked back to the spaceship (which hadn't been towed) and drove back to wait for the budding waterkeepers.

"The water looks super yuck!"

Back at the castle, a hapless queen scoured the web for answers. The coolest geologist in the world (cough, Anne Wynn) gave us a clue- the boys were exploring the Cribb Mill Creek Watershed. And what do you know? A google search gave me the Cribbs Mill Creek Watershed Management Plan. The boys returned anxious to test the water and see the watershed plan. Cowabunga, let the good times roll.

We're off to test the water with our water testing kits. The mischief-maker in me says why not leave a geocache near the nasty pond to encourage others to bear witness but the fine, upstanding mom in me says what if some fool gets hurt. Who knows which side will win?

Rust a relic of Darden Cemetery.

Why not take our sketchbooks to a tiny cemetery and see what falls on the page?

As a prompt, the kids "collected" nouns- everything from oak leaves to infant tombstones. The Eldest settled into leaves and quickly began sketching the peculiar lineaments of lichen on stones.

Prophet copies the letters from gravestones- she feels confident when copying letters because they don't flip around on her as much. What is more difficult about dyslexia- the lagging behind on reading curves or the sense that letters play tricks with you, a fundamental mistrust of the written word?

Gnome abandoned her sketchbook to chase a squirrel. Something about the shadows and the silhouettes of a four-year-old's sketchbook wanted to become a story... but there is not time enough in the universe for all the stories I want to tell.

Upon her return, Gnome attempted various sketches before getting frustrated that her drawings "didn't match." The eraser washed across the paper.

"It doesn't have to match," I said, "just to capture the way you see it." Never let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

The Eldest sauntered through a corridor of graves and paused briefly to remind me how easy it is to get frustrated- and how hard to crawl out of it. There are moments when he takes life in stride (this one) and moments when he stomps hard enough to hurt.

The fence captivated all four of us so that we found ourselves sketch-collecting it together. Four people scrunched down like pinecones catching the fence from different angles.

I wondered who made the small fence- it didn't look like anything I've seen around Tuscaloosa- maybe a small business that passed away. Is there irreverence in attributing death to a business, in saying aloud what we believe at heart- that the life of a business bears more value than the life of children whose mothers raise them alone, scrimping every penny, worrying about whether they can afford the power bill this month?

How will they blend their colored pencils to capture the vagaries of rust?

We collected nouns and marveled over rust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, those with enough mullah may also earn rust.

The old cattle barn in Hurricane Creek Park.

Fred Fisher, the husband of Angelynn Parks Fisher, spent many happy days at Hurricane Creek where his father-in-law, the late Stanley Parks, owned a large chunk of property. Upon the death of the late Stanley Parks, this property was sold to the Trust for Public Land, a land trust, for the purpose of fulfilling Stanley's wish that the public enjoy this land for perpetuity.

This area is known as Hurricane Creek Park, though the Friends of Hurricane Creek (disclaimer: I am on the Board of this organization) would prefer the name be Stanley Parks Nature Preserve. If you walk the trails, you'll discover all kinds of stories. 

The North Loop leads through the area where Mr. Fisher once raised a barn and kept cattle.

You can recognize the premises by the mossy fence and the massive old tree, a survivor of storms and incubator of stories.

The relics of remain to be interpreted. Once upon a time, there was a barn built painstakingly by men to house and nurture cattle. 

A tornado whirled through and demolished the barn and the workshop, the hallowed family places and spaces, pockets of nature that begin to feel like home. What you see is the remains-- what looks like junk from here is the skeleton of a family story.

What was this? What can we read beyond the rust? How do we keep the past from haunting us by its incompleteness?

After roaming through the old stable area, remembering Mr. Fisher mentioned horses- horseback rides through the woods at family events- I think of how much care we put into places that disappear. How much we hope in our hearts that someone will keep these places from disappearing completely. How only stories keep breathing when material expires.

The Eldest looks for tadpoles in the lake created by Mr. Fisher as a watering hole for the cattle. If you're looking for stories written in trees, visit Hurricane Creek Park and wander through the North Loop. Do it for the late Stanley Parks, whose family left this land for you.

Thoughts on a late winter stroll through Hurricane Creek Park.

It's almost that time of the year when everything begins blooming at Hurricane Creek, and each walk brings encounters with new forms of life.

We took Bunica and Gary along the bike paths this weekend... because they'd never hiked the creek before and the weather begged us into the woods.

Paused for a precipitous view near a woodhewn bench. The water was high- perfect for paddling. "May God remind us greener grass is not cleaner grass," I think.

The kids gaze down at the creek, listen to the water churn over the rocks. We can count on the neverending jazz improv of Hurricane Creek's riffles.

"Look mom, it's a shelf fungus!" Our necks crane skywards, climbing the bark of a dead pine.

Drawing closer, the color is soft, the impressions feather. Watercolor or gouache. Pastels. 

How one hefty shelf captures a falling gymnast, a piece of pinestraw performing a perfect split.  

I have to admit that I kept hearing Amy's voice over my shoulder- and missing the time we spent exploring together with the kids. Hurricane Creek is one of our places but it doesn't strike me so poignantly until I'm there without her.

And then it strikes me again when I see something that would make Amy laugh or else just groan.

At which point I realize, again, how little time in the world for all the people I love and value. The people-I-love commune dreams return... how perfect to have everyone near enough that a holler would be all that stood between us.

Unable to hold people near, I wave from faraway, beckon "come here", whisper "look here, see what we found", and hope somehow that the spirit of love and friendship moves from one open palm to another, sustained through the seasons of life.

Roamschooling Greenwood Cemetery in Tuscaloosa.

The historic plaque at Greenwood.

After reading a few poems at the downtown Dunkin' Doughnuts and meeting a man from Gujarat who longed to return to the bright colors and unanxious life of his Indian homeland, we wandered over to the Greenwood Cemetery. According to the Tuscaloosa County Preservation Society:

Greenwood is one of the oldest cemeteries in Tuscaloosa County, having been laid out shortly after the first survey of the city of Tuscaloosa in 1821. In it are the graves of many of early Tuscaloosa’s most prominent citizens. Among those is Dr. John Drish, a famed doctor and landowner, and Solomon Perteat, a prominent free, black craftsman who lived in Tuscaloosa prior to the Civil War.

Only grass covers many of the older plots of African and Native Americans and white settlers. 

Greenwood is the final resting place of five veterans of the American Revolution as well as more than 2,500 other individuals in marked and unmarked graves.

The bitter cold left us prey to a sun with teeth. Prophet, Gnome, and the Eldest wandered through the cemetery looking for their favorite gravestone. It was intriguing to see the difference in their preferences. 

Prophet's favorite.

Prophet liked the "big ones with entire families." She said there was something "kind" about being buried side by side with parents and uncles and aunts. She also got very upset when she found "baby gravestones" tiny as cereal boxes. I read the dates- one of which went back to 1867- and showed her the mother's grave nearby. Both the baby and the mother had been buried on the same day. 

She wanted to know why. I told her about the influenza pandemics and how mothers sometimes died during or after childbirth when midwives were unable to attend their labors. Winter babies were especially vulnerable. The Eldest walked around to check the months on the baby graves

The Eldest said this one was his favorite for the fabric draping.

Gnome was busy pouting and declined to select a favorite. But this one was cool.

Pick a gravestone writing assigment.

The Eldest had a creative writing assignment. He was responsible for selecting a grave, writing down the name and date and significant details, and then creating a story about the person's life based on historic context- historical records of what happened during that time in Alabama history. The historic context would include wars, epidemics, fires, economic development, environmental hazards, legislation, etc.

I can't wait for him to share the imagined history of Permelia S. Weger with us later this afternoon.

Other interesting historical gravestones at Greenwood include:

Solomon Perteet (1789-1863)
George Whitfield Crabb (1804-1846)
 Confederate General Phillip Dale Roddey (1826-1897)
Marmaduke Williams (1774-1850)
John Mason Martin (1837-1898)
The Leland Family 
Sallie Ann Swope
Jack and Jerry Winn
Dr. William Banks (d. 1877)
Richard C. McLester and family
James and Thomas Maxwell 
Captain Benjamin T. Eddins 

The Second Annual Fall Ball.

Late last weekend, we celebrated our Annual Fall Ball, an acknowledgement of the glorious seasonal cycle in wear their most flamboyant dresses for one final dance before dropping them. The origins of the Fall Ball event were inspired by George Cooper's poem, which I modified to suit our circumstances. 

Prophet lingers near a corner of the yard, hunting for "orange leaves". She returns with a golden leaf instead.

The King helped Prophet identify the warm golden leaf she found using our favorite tree ID book- an out-of-print Little Golden Books guide from less sophisticated days.

Gnome participated this year for the first time, adding her own leaf chronicle of colors. She was our most enthusiastic leaf finder.

As you can see, however, the leaf identification was less than thrilling for her. Fortunately, the King relished leaf ID.

The Eldest took his sweet time, wandering through underbrush, considering vines and shrubs as well as trees. I snuck a photo of his work in progress while he dallied near the garden, which still bears green tomatoes, and continues to fruit despite recent freeze.

Sweet Isla on our hike in Tannehill last week.

"And then the party ended, the season's lost and found." 

If you'd like to add your own tradition of a Fall Ball, the printables and description from last year are free. And they exist for you to enjoy.

Conversations with beardtongues.

There are more types of penstemons than there are pages in my nature journal. Penstemon clings to soil without much humus, water or shade. Entire colonies thrive where little else has taken root, often on disturbed soil.

YELLOW PENSTEMON
(Keckiella antirrhinoides)

Native to the western U.S., the penstemon is considered a wildflower. Eastern Colorado boasts ten diverse native penstemons that are found ranging from the plains, foothills and montane areas and bloom from May through August depending on the variety. 

BLUEMIST PENSTEMON
(Penstemon virens)

Red penstemon, which we haven't come across yet, is an intriguing species that exists to be pollinated by one specific creature—the hummingbird. Other pollinators may be driven to frustration; bees, moths and even flies squeeze as best they can into their tubular flowers. But this is the essence of specialty evolution. The bird and blossom fit perfectly. Over time the fit has pollinated the blossom more completely than any other creature and so the reds thrive, the bright color scanned from above by tiny birds with acute eyesight.

All our friendly beardtongues were found on Summit County hikes- and every single one had a distinct bearded face.

Hiking the Lily Pad Lake Trail near Silverthorne, Colorado.

My blogging break began to feel like a traffic congestion with all the unsaid unsayables lining up behind the red light, clogging lanes, leaving me no way to move forward except by blogging through. It's funny how beautiful things keep us moving, and too few remarked wonders strand us between this breath and the next.

Back in Colorado, we came across a marvelous trial, the Lily Pad Lake Trail. The Dillon Forest Ranger first suggested it to us- a stunning trail through aspen and lodgepole pine forests, culminating in a lily pad-laden lake.

Each equipped with a backpack and water bottle, we set parked near the base of a hill and ascended for a half-mile before arriving at the official trailhead- just beyond a mountain-top meadow of wildflowers.

Up a small hill and into a meadow of wildflowers.... 

And into Eagle's Nest Wilderness Area, a mecca for plants, fragrant breezes, and moose scat.

After passing through a meadow that gave us an unbelievable view of Lake Dillon and the entire Blue Valley, we stepped into the forest and crossed our first hand-hewn bridge.

Monkshood (Aconitum columbianum)

We stopped to sip some water and snack on fresh peaches at this boulder field almost halfway.

Gnome noticed the lack of underbrush at this altitude- and how much it easier the hiking without the tangle of southern vines wrapped round our feet.

The last stretch before reaching Lily Pad Lake involves a little incline. Prophet takes a breath, counts a step, blows out the number, and starts again. Everyone finds their own way to get up the hills.

And those who rush through run the risk of overlooking tiny divinities, like the shy mountain hareball.

Or the bewildering beauty of the miniscule death camas, a wildflower overflowing with mystery.

Just when you think your legs can't walk another mile, the air so thin it feels shrill in your nostrils, Lily Pad Lake unfolds before you.

And each yellow water lily peers up from the pond's dark black ink.

A reflection upon a reflection.

Pebbles to skip- never enough time to skip every possible pebble.

The hike down is lighter than the ascent, but we didn't pack ample snacks or fruits or chewables. If I had the hike to do over- and I'd do it over and over- I'd pack more food, leave loose more time, and linger longer at Lily Pad Lake.

Wild roses surround us in Summit County.

Dew-covered wild rose leaves along Elysium trail.

Between blooms and rosehips, the herb-drier in me can't get enough of all the wild roses around. Since we are officially roamschooling our way through the alpine meadows and forests of Colorado, it makes sense to observe the differences between the species.

At first, we thought the only difference was in the color of the petals- but we learned our lesson by observing the tiny prickles on the stem of the prickly roses.

WILD ROSE
(Rosa woodsi)

PRICKLY ROSE
 (Rosa acicularis)

Long, skinny rosehips

Robust, hippy rosehips

Hiking through White River National Forest.

Hiking a favorite trail earlier this week.

White River National Forest is a wandering, SAHF's dream. One of our favorite hikes- the hike that doubles as a snowshoe trail during the winter- is located just past the Ski Tip Lodge on the road towards Montezuma. The Ranger called it the "social area" because backpackers and campers like to stop there.

You can park on the left near the large map, which, alas, does not include a sign or name. We dubbed it "Elysium" for lack of a better descriptor. Certainly, the gurgle and gush of the Snake River running along the trail feels heavenly.

After hiking for a few minutes, Gnome spotted a lounge chair away from the trail. We wandered over to theorize while Bunicu snapped a picture.

Recent rainstorms revealed a plethora of fungi peeking up from the moist soil.

Alpine daisies or tansyasters

Soon, the wildflowers and wild shrubs beguiled us in their honey-tongued language.

FIREWEED patch

FIREWEED up close

Between cool shaded areas filled with brilliant purple fireweed, there were patches of sunlight and red clover carpets.

DWARF GOLDENROD 
(Solidago nana)

And the dwarf goldenrod, so small and delicate compared to the gargantuan Alabama variety, attracted a ceaseless stream of little butterflies. Gnome calls them "flutterbys".

SMALL-LEAF PUSSYTOES
(Antennaria neglecta)

Bunica samples the resin from a pine tree. Our fingers stayed scented for so long afterwards. The Eldest used the resin to seal a papercut on his finger. Just because.

Never underestimate the creativity and skill set of backwoods campers and backpackers.

The smiley face a hiker left behind at the trail's end... I can only imagine the keys had been there for a while- the joints were covered in a light sprinkling of orange rust.

WILD STRAWBERRY SNACK

After hiking Elysium, we wanted to take a longer trail- one that allowed us to bring the kids and get a summit view of Summit County. We dropped by the Ranger's station to learn more about local hikes, and finally settled on the Lily Pad Lake trail (details forthcoming).

In the meantime, here's a collection of family-friendly hikes in White River National Forest:

Lily Pad Lake (Easy, 3 miles RT)
Lower Cataract Lake Loop (Easy, 2.02 miles RT)
Gold Hill (Moderate, 3.02 miles OW)
McCullough Gulch (Moderate, 1.27 miles OW)
Mesa Cortina/South Willow Falls (Easy, 4.71 miles OW to South Willow Falls)
Old Dillon Reservoir (Easy, O.77 miles OW)
Sapphire Point Loop (Easy, 0.67 miles loop)
Tenderfoot (Easy, 1.84 miles OW)

Yarrow, yarrow everywhere.

Being in Dillon, Colorado means the notebooks now double as field guides for various plants and trees we observe. One of the local plants we keep stumbling over is yarrow. 

Also known as Soldier's Woundwort, yarrow grows along hillsides all over North America. This aromatic wild edible herb grows as a single, stout stem that produces tiny ray and disk flowers. A perennial plant, yarrow boasts handsome flower craniums that look like individual bouquets.

The Latin name for Yarrow, Achillia millefolium, is supposedly named after Achilles.

Yarrow has fern-like leaves which are generally 5 to 20 cm long, feathery and grow somewhat evenly in a spiral design along the stem. 

 

Although the leaves are bitter, they can be eaten raw or cooked; young leaves mixed in with a salad are recommended. Yarrow leaves are also used as a hop-substitute for flavouring and as a preservative for beer.

Ryan Drum reports on a sad turn of events in the history of yarrow:

The oldest alleged use of Yarrow is as a funerary herb in a Neanderthal Stone Age burial in Shanidar Cave in Iraq. A swatch of Yarrow lay beside a human skeleton dated to over 100,000 BP. The plant material (including three other herbs) was stored in the Archeaology Museum in Baghdad and apparently destroyed during American bombing during the first Gulf War in early 1991. 

Tiny green spider visiting a plant near Lake Dillon.

Drum describes the historic uses of yarrow during war and battle. In the past, yarrow was used to pack wounds as a functional antiseptic and means of stopping bleeding. It was much preferred to the other materials used to pack deep open wounds resulting from idiotic serious combat, clay, moss (sphagnum moss was still used to make antiseptic dressings for WWI, harvested in large quantities, traincar loads, from the bogs around Southbend, WA), spider webs, and horse manure (a favorite of the Napoleonic wars during winter and in Russia during the Russian evolution).

Yarrow is also an analgesic and antiseptic, so that it stops bleeding, lessens pain, prevents infections, and is often abundant in the open meadows favored particularly by the ancient armies in the Mediterranean wars.

The Eldest reports that yarrow is being used by landscapers these days as a border flower. You can learn how to harvest yarrow or make a yarrow tincture from Ryan Drum's website, which includes an interesting case study of how yarrow has been used to treat influenza virus.

Cadillac Ranch.

Visiting Cadillac Ranch just outside Amarillo, Texas is supposed to be a celebration of the American roadways, highways, drive-all-night ways. But it is also an art installation created by the Ant Farm Collective as a tongue-in-cheek pawn to consumerism and kitsch. And there are other things it can't help having become...

Barbed wire keeps us from arriving in clumps, spilling through the metal gate in torrents.

And fake plastic flowers remind us that wildflowers grow in muted shades here- the cost of brilliance being early death and dessication. It takes a few prickles to survive the Texas winds.

We walk but the kids can't help running towards the Caddies. There is something moving about the ten minute walk up to the installation. Something like standing in line on Sunday, waiting for communion.

The way in which one woman sidled slowly up to the cars, staring at them as if grieving, changed the way I looked at the ranch itself. It is not a landmark or a pit-stop so much as it is a pilgrimage, with all the religious connotations and all the attendant devotions.

The devout bring their own cans of spray paint and paint pens, leaving their mark, knowing better than the hope of being remembered.

The littered cans clench the artistic value for me. Cadillac Ranch would be so much less powerful without the piles of waste and refuse, the leftover costs of religious pilgrimage, the way we subvert the earth in the name of one god or another.

I tell the kids how much I love it. Prophet scowls for a second, then says she doesn't understand how "those cars fell like that on their noses".

I marvel at the way in which the neon aesthetic is simultaneously soothing and jarring.

We are pilgrims of Cadillac Ranch. Unlike other religions, this one leaves us free of shame and brimming with hot pink.

Visiting a local florist to learn about flowers.

After the girls' ballet recital, I promised them something (I secretly hoped) that would be better than a rose bouquet (which I somehow forgot to purchase). Specifically, I promised them a visit to a local flower shop to pick their own favorite flower, and maybe do a little roamschooling on the side. So we took a little trip to Stephanie's Flowers, a local florist that's been around since I was a child. 

The staff was super friendly and eager to show us inside one of the four freezers where flowers were stored.

Little B. wanted to know which flower she can choose.

"Any flower that looks like it grew just for you," I told her.

Inside the fridge at Stephanie's Flowers, and colder than we'd anticipated, the girls settled on two pink blooms (for Prophet and Little B.) and one yellow bloom for the Gnome.

Then the florist let the girls pick ribbons and tissue paper for wrapping their flowers.

As she wrapped their flowers, we talked about what it means to be a florist- how flowers are chosen and combined based on their colors and textures, how a certain taste for artistry and beauty is involved in the creation of every original bouquet.

Gnome skipped with joy once she had her flower in hand.

The Eldest fell in love with a $70 orchid. I told him good love didn't cost so much.

Finally, we toured the huge inventory and the Eldest kept making a point about how it wasn't fair that he had not earned a flower and how he would dance ballet if it scored a flower for him and that what he wanted most was a flower after his next piano recital, preferably an orchid he could plant and so on...

We are always grateful to local businesses that allow us to learn by visiting and talking to others. There's nothing quite like learning by exploring.

A nature walk with Diane Kappel-Smith.

Dutchman's breeches in Dublin, Ohio.

All the recent, rather immediate demands of a growing garden have kept me from reflecting on our trip to Ohio- from mining it for tiny kernels of insight.

But this morning, I found a crack, the kind that swells into a crevice, between the comings and doings.

As the kids worked on their book reviews, I flipped back through the photographs of our nature outings with the writings of Diane Kappel-Smith in the forefront of my mind. In retrospect, posting the photos alongside the text makes me feel as if Diane and I walked the woods together.

It's so much easier to write about the wonder and obvious beauty of nature than it is to acknowledge the extent to which it satisfies and cultivates a craving for fantasy. Surely I am not the only woman to have trudged through muddy trails with Thoreau at my side.

Today, I walk with Wintering in my head. Or, rather, I return and revisit under the electrifying influence of a particular writer who has more to reveal to me in all the things I have seen.

Walk with me. 

"I come back to the papery leaves, the spring beauties, the sun which reaches me here, now, unfiltered. The twigs, leaves, and flowers that are on their way are already formed, were made last summer and packed away in scales and sheaths; all they have to do is expand like balloons, and then their branch tips will begin their hurry to make more."

Diane Kappel-Smith

"Trees grown in the open are thicker of trunk because the wind has blown them, and they choose to thicken in the parts of themselves most stressed by their own bending. Trees in the dense woods where the wood can't push them are thin as wands".

I would make an exception for the dense, heavy hardwoods growing in the Carpathian mountains of Transylvania. Their trunks are as thick as houses, possibly because their location on the side of high altitude mountains demands heftiness as a form of hardiness for the snow-heavy Transylvanian winters and sharp mountainside winds. 

Of course, if American corporations have their way, these old trees will soon be logged to make fancy dining room tables for the rapacious consumers of Hollywood and Aspen. But I hope against hope that something happens to stop them.

BLOODROOT

The large white petals of the bloodroot plant radiate outward, but often only last for one day. One of the ways to recognize this plant is the leaf often looks like it wants to wrap itself around the flower. If you cut the stem or dig the root, it will bleed a bright red-orange juice.

"In these maples and birch and beech the branches reach out year after year, running skyward like the fingers of rivulets when water is poured on dry ground."

Critical Thinking Exercise on Diana Kappel-Smith review (PDF)
A little something I made for the Eldest and wanted to share.

YELLOW TROUT LILY

Trout Lilies like to keep their feet wet and are common, especially along river floodplains. There are both white and yellow species here. The six petals are usually recurved like this. The mottled leaves is a diagnostic character.

I love the way the leaves resemble purple tie-dyed shirts.

A golden goodbye whose shadow is even lovelier than its hue.

A splittlebug surprise.

Strolling down to test the water at Hurricane Creek Park, we noticed some foamy masses in the branches of a scotch pine tree.

"Spittlebugs," mused Amy. 

Having never seen a spittlebug, I stopped to snap a few blurry photos for later exploration.

Spittlebugs are the nymph form of froghoppers. And froghoppers earned their name because they have an incredible jumping range and their faces resemble those of frogs. In fact, NPR named the spittlebug "highest insect jumper", outstripping even the flea in its leaping skills. The same physics involved in archery enables spittlebugs to "jump like an arrow". 

The froth serves a number of purposes. It hides the nymph from the view of predators and parasites, it insulates against heat and cold, thus providing thermal control and also moisture control. Without the froth the insect would quickly dry up. The nymphs pierce plants and suck sap causing very little damage, much of the filtered fluids go into the production of the froth, which has an acrid taste, deterring predators. 

According to the New International Encyclopedia, the larvae and pupae of "froth-flies" (another neat name for these well-deserving nymphs) are found in a frothy exudation on plants and trees. This froth, often called "frog-spittle", is composed of sap which the insect sucks up through its probiscis. The sap passes through the intestine and is emitted as a clear mass, into which the insect draws bubbles of air by means of its tail claspers, and thus makes foam. Once the bubbles have formed, spittlebugs use their hind legs to cover themselves with the froth. The ‘spittle’ serves multiple purposes.

1. It shields the spittlebugs from predators
2. It insulates them from temperature extremes
3. It prevents the spittlebugs from dehydrating

All this spittlebug exploring created an imperative for lapbooking- which, of course, led me to create a few spittlebug learning materials. Enjoy them because they're fun and as free as any spittlebugs you may find in  a tree!

Spittlebug and froghopper pictures (PDF)
Includes a coloring page of froghopper.

Spittlebug booklet (PDF)
Includes images and questions.

 MORE TO EXPLORE

Spittlebug information sheet (University of Minnesota)
Two-lined spittlebug (Texas A&M Extension)
Pine spittlebug fact sheet (Ohio State University)
Saratoga spittlebug (USDA Forest Service)
Pecan spittlebug fact sheet (LSU Extension)
Black and red froghopper (Tout un monde dans mon jardin)
"Spittlebug named highest insect jumper" (All Things Considered audio stream)
Cuckoo spit and froghoppers (Bug Blog)
Meadow spittlebug color varieties chart (Bug Guide)

Geocaching for Riverboxes at the Dublin Arts Center.

After parking outside the Dublin Arts Council, we took a moment to savor the view. Then we decided to go ahead and hunt for the first geocache, a riverbox with an uncanny name, D'art's No Litter Cat Box, one that deserved further investigation.

For those unfamiliar with riverboxes, the Dublin Arts Center sponsors a series of geocaches called Riverboxes, all of which are created by local artists or artisans. You can download a Riverbox Passport and guide for free online. 

The Eldest survyed the base of a statue on the front lawn of the Dublin Arts Center. He held the printouts which included only descriptive clues (rather than GPS coordinates) to the riverbox.

Once we got within ten feet of the cache, we were alerted to its hiding spot by the simultaneous chirp of three children- "Found it!" The riverbox was filled with swag and goodies. We left our names and logged it in the Coryell Castle Geocaching Logbook.

Upon entering the Dublin Arts Center, we discovered a large, golden tabby cat curled atop a desk near the front door. For a few moments, no one else appeared- it was just us and the cat. Gnome wasted no time in sneaking a pet.

Soon, a friendly lady appeared to introduce us to D'art, the gallery cat, the namesake of the riverbox we had just discovered. The ladies offered supplications and thanks for the swag. Meanwhile, the Eldest had wandered into the art gallery. We followed suit.

In addition to the wood art exhibit, there was a funky-looking piano in the center of the room. First they gawked at it.

Then they rocked it.

Because a funky blue-polka dot piano is only yours for the playing once in life. And who would you be to refuse it?

We set out down the hill behind the Arts Center in search of our second riverbox, Riverbox of the Sun. The littlest ones took the lead.

Bunicu stops to scout out a stump.

Inside the Riverbox of the Sun, we found a collection of painted rocks and pebbles, the sort of swag that hangs heavy in the pocket. Prophet counted the pebbles before announcing that each of us could only take one so that a total of twelve pebbles would remain.

As the Eldest and I did the dull work of logging and noting, other members of the caravan argued the case for running down the rest of the hill to the bank of swollen Scioto River. 

Bunicu apparently spotted a few geese across the way, and the King noted a geocache located on the uninhabitable 10 foot island plumb center of the river. "It would only take a minute to swim across and log it......" observed the King.

Fortunately, everyone got distracted by the presence of an eerie building out back- the kind of building that ached to tell us a good, old-fashioned ghost story. Possibly the dwelling of the Scioto River rambler, a ghost known to travel with a hobo stick and knotted kerchief? If not a ghost, then at least an excellent creative writing prompt for the Eldest and his journal.

A yard covered in wild onions- and what it teaches us.

The Eldest knew immediately from the pungent odor that these lovely flowers were wild onions. Merriwether's informative foraging web page helped us to confirm our suspicions. Also called wild garlic or meadow garlic, wild onion comes from the Allium family. 

Allium was the Latin name for the onion. Some herbalists think the name comes from the Celtic word “all” meaning pungent. “Alla” in Celtic means feiry. Canadense means of Canada, but refers to north North America. Tricoccum means three seeds. Roman’s called garlic the “stinking rose".

Conducting an internet set for "wild onions" leads us to endless pages on how to "rid your yard of onion grass or wild onions". I try to hide my disappointment. Why not forage? I make a vow to keep from disparaging weeds in front of the little people- to honor what we find in abundance without demanding that our lawn "look like all the others".

I want to give my girls something to hold against a culture that tells them they should want to look like every other girl. That a "good lawn" is one that looks perfectly manicured, sterile, similar, immaculate perfection. So I offer our yard as an example of natural beauty- and how much nature has to offer if we honor it as we find it.

Looking at the tiny bulbs ready to burst with the miniscule onions, lifting my fingers to my nose to be sure of the scent, I think of the time Prophet found me in the kitchen, slicing onions for a salad.

"Why are you crying, mommy?" she asked.

"It's the onions," I replied, smiling through blurred eyes, "They make me cry."

"Then I don't like onions- if they make you sad."

I remember how strange it felt to try and explain that I liked cutting onions- that I enjoyed the way they cleared my eyes, savored the way they made me cry.

Rather than allow them to be mowed down by the lawnmower, we decided to harvest the onions. But when are wild onions ideally harvested? The Eldest runs inside to consult his sacred text, the book given to him by our neighbors, the Brooks, a few years ago. 

Wild onion (Allium canadense)

Thus we find ourselves in the thrall of another wild plant- another afternoon devoted to discovering the mystery of the weeds beneath our noses. Another day where the lessons we planned are not quite the lessons we learned. My heart swells with gratitude.

What happened at Toddler Theatre in Dublin.

There they are- the King, Gnome, Prophet, and Eldest, sitting in the pews of the Abbey Theatre of Dublin, Ohio.

The whole thing was my idea, of course. We went to watch a show billed "Toddler Theatre". The name evoked images of costumed creatures singing and dancing, a play especially crafted for toddlers, an introduction to the fascinating world of theatre, a world well-loved by myself and the King. 

But Gnome and Prophet were neither amused nor intrigued by the interactive toddler dancing and music. They watched with all the curiosity of spectators.

"You two look like intellectual snobs," I parrotted in my best Katherine Hepburn voice. 

Performer Marlene Metz played children’s music on her guitar and sang like a happy mermaid.

Marlene was joined onstage by Ladybug Girl, one of Prophet's favorite characters. I thought this might bring the snobs from their seats.

Prophet quickly informed me, however, that "the Ladybug Girl was not a real one", merely a "pretend version" paid to trick gullible toddlers.

Would you believe it if I told you that the ladies didn't budge from their seats for a second? It was the Eldest who saved the day. Because if anyone in that theatre was singing every single song and clapping right along, inserting his own cheers and "hoorays", it was our 10-year-old boy, the same boy who begged to go down and shake hands with Ladybug Girl, the only child above the age of six on the premises. 

If it weren't for the Eldest, our excursion would have been a bust. Instead, it was an excuse for maniacal laughter when we jumped back in the spaceship and started back towards Bunicu's place. At the first stoplight, the Eldest announced, "Boy, that sure was FUN!". Then he added, "We should do that again sometime," as Prophet and Gnome glared ominously in his direction.

Encounters with a turkey oak tree.

Turkey oak tree (Quercus cerris)

The King found a turkey oak tree nut on the sidewalk in Dublin. Ironically, the turkey oak is native to the land of my birth and other parts of southeastern Europe as well as Asia Minor. The genus is characterized by shoot buds surrounded by soft bristles, bristle-tipped leaf lobes, and acorns with hairy cups that usually mature in 18 months.

What's blooming and budding at the UA Arboretum.

The clouds cleared a little towards the end of the day, enabling us to go for a what's-blooming-and-budding hike at the nearby arboretum. Rucksacks strapped to our backs, we set out on the Poplar Trail "to see what we could see", as Prophet explained.

The Eldest tried to sneak his special gift- Euell Gibbons' Stalking the Wild Asparagus- into his rucksack, but I convinced him to leave it behind and just roam the woods without a field or foraging guide, wander with only our senses and nature journals to to record observations.

Well, wouldn't you know, the left-behind book came up almost immediately when the Eldest spotted what he claimed to be none other than Podophyllum peltatum, or May apple. Since this wasn't the first "May apple" sighting of the season, I was skeptical. But the Eldest assured me these plants were "the real thing".

Also called American mandrake, the May apple is the stuff of magic and mystery. The Eldest buzzed with glee- "Look, there's a tiny flower bud!", he shouted, pointing to a small green berry under the umbrella-like leaves. In his best "old man" voice, he cautioned that much of the plant is poisonous, including the roots, the fruit seeds, and the unripe fruit. 

Prophet spotted the first solitary violet.

A division of labor emerged in which the Eldest identified various tall,gangly trees while the Prophet raised a hullabaloo over any flowers along the path. Never one to be left out, Gnome quickly took it upon herself to frighten every slumbering bird in the forest by shouting, "BUD! B-UUU-D! BUUUUUUD!" every time she spotted a leaf or flower bud. The ghost of Thoreau was horrified by the racket.

Unidentified wildflowers and buds.

"That's poisonous," chirped the Eldest before Gnome could pick one.

The beautiful vine and intoxicating scent of yellow jessamine that drives the insects mad come twilight.

The familiar three leaves of the trillium poked out from beneath autumn's dusky, decomposing blanket.

We marvelled over how the trillium unfurled its tie-dyed leaves, opening its arms wide to reveal a deep purple flower brushed with golden flecks. Should we stop to sketch it? 

The corky growths on a winged elm tree.

"Let's stop by the big magnolia tree," said I-can't-remember-which small folk. Somehow, we agreed to continue hiking, mystified for a moment by the strange (possibly fungal) growth Prophet discovered lining the branches of a small tree. Budmaster Gnome observed that the growth wasn't keeping the tree from budding at the tips of the branches. Carol suggested it might be a winged elm, Ulmus alata, for whom such corky growths are normal. 

We stopped and took out our nature journals- everyone except Pinka started sketching. Fortunately, Gnome brought along a charming little wildflower mystery for us to model. 

Prophet's middle name, "Magnolia", makes sense.

Saucer magnolia

On our way back to the space ship, we lingered over a few lovely varities of magnolia trees, including the Saucer magnolia (or what I called the "saucer cup magnolia") and the sticky-sweet Star magnolia.

Star magnolia

One of my favorite things about nature study is the anticipation of going home with our observations and then trying to identify what we saw. The temptation to plug into the iPhone or reference in the field is tremendous- but much good comes from waiting. It serves as a reminder that the details we capture in our journals are the only evidence that remains for the identification. So we must take thorough descriptive notes and do our best to capture the species in our illustrations.

Observing the white oak taking root.

One of the best parts of last Friday's nature hike was the spine-tingling sight of a white oak acorn rooting itself in the soil, aiming to become a tree. It happened by accident, of course. The little folks lingered to fill their pockets with fallen acorns. But something about these acorns made them very, very difficult to pick up.

On closer observation, the acorns had tapped into the soil, their plantly umbilical cords too firmly rooted to budge. We sat still and admired their way of growing and the connection a seed forms with the ground. (Later, as we re-capped the hike, the Eldest said the acorns added a "whole new meaning to the name Mother Earth for him.)

Amy showed us the inside of the acorn caps and explained how we could distinguish white oak seeds from other kinds of oak by the smoothness of the undercap. It made sense to note the GPS coordinates so we might return to admire the most successful saplings later on in the year.

Honestly, I never thought I'd feel such a wash of emotions over an acorn- but it was beautiful in that unspeakable, sublime sort of way, the way reserved for poetry and music, a way that transcends this world while being nurtured by it.

An early spring hike through Hurricane Creek Park.

We set out for a visit to Hurricane Creek Park, just off the Highway 216 bridge between Cottondale and Peterson. Rather than taking the awesome new PARA trails, we strolled along the stream using the old Eagle Scout trail. What we found was the commencement address of spring, sparing none of our senses.

A few years ago, a little bird named Hayes told us of the clay we could find along the banks of Hurricane Creek- a white-gray beautiful clay. Sure enough, the clay seeped from the dirt in the banks. I only wish I'd brought a bucket to collect it....

Our kids ranged in ages from 3 to 10- the youngest ones wore their own backpacks for the occasion. The unplanned presence of Pinka provided us with a four-legged mammal's perspective on the journey.

"If a rainstorm overtook you, which rocks would you use for shelter?", I asked at one point, remembering the old legends about Native Americans once find sacred spaces along the creek.

We hiked along, observing ferns, tiny buds, lichen, and any flowerings in the making.

The little ones stopped to dam and ford a slim tributary- if a slender sliver of water flowing down the side of a hill can even be called a tributary. They could have lingered for hours, pressing sticks into the miniature waterfalls and watching leaves make their way over the "rapids".

 Prophet watches her friends clamber over creekside rocks.

Creekside portraits abound.

The Eldest mistook the canebrake (or "hair cane") for bamboo. Fortunately, Amy quickly corrected him.

Resting along a bench donated by the Friends of Hurricane Creek.

Amy and I both paused to press our cheeks against the cold, mossy rocks, reminiscing about times in our pasts when only the cold, hard feel of a stone relieved the unbearable Alabama summer heat.

Gnome explains why she wants to eat something soon- and why eating acorns is something to which squirrels and Gnomes are inclined.

E. filled the sample jar with creek water.

Before we knew it, the grumble in our bellies meant water-testing time had officially arrived. Alas, we started testing without reading the instructions prior to our field tests. This means we learned much more about the importance of sampling methods than the actual water quality of the creek.

For instance, Amy found the oxygenation results rather hard to believe. When we sat down in the grass to review the how-to guide, we quickly understood that we had made the mistake of valuing the field sample itself over the rules of collection. "Isn't it better that we learn this the hard way so we can use our mistakes to better teach others?" Amy asked. It seemed to me just the right way to look at things.

A moment and its music: Resurrection ferns.

A little bird along the banks of Hurricane Creek told me this was resurrection fern.

The lyrics to "Resurrection Fern", a song by Iron and Wine that came to mind.

In our days we will live 
Like our ghosts will live...
Pitching glass at the cornfield crows 
And folding clothes 

Like stubborn boys across the road 
We'll keep everything...
Grandma's gun and the black bear claw 
That took her dog 

When sister Laurie says, "Amen" 
We won't hear anything...
The ten-car trains will take that word 
That fledgling bird 

And the fallen house across the way 
It'll keep everything...
The baby's breath
Our bravery wasted and our shame

And we'll undress beside the ashes of the fire 
Both our tender bellies wound in baling wire 
All the more a pair of underwater pearls 
Than the oak tree and its resurrection fern

In our days we will say 
What our ghosts will say...
We gave the world what it saw fit 
And what'd we get?

Like stubborn boys with big green eyes 
We'll see everything...
In the tender shade of the autumn leaves 
And the buzzard's wing 

And we'll undress beside the ashes of the fire 
Our tender bellies are wound around in baling wire 
All the more a pair of underwater pearls 
Than the oak tree and its resurrection fern

"The Peace of Wild Things", a beloved poem by Wendell Berry.

Today was the perfect day for a hike in Hurricane Creek Park.

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Roamschooling the Garden of the Gods.

roamchooling: the how and why

As you may know, we are big fans of roamschooling. Since people have asked me about how roamschooling works, I thought I'd give an example of the way it plays out for us "in the field", so to speak. Every roamschool is different in that generates a variety of learning opportunities rooted in the curiosities of a particular time, place, and ecosystem. This post is a good example of how "roamschooling" works out in day-to-day life.

1. finding a roamschool "site"

On the drive back from Colorado to Alabama, we headed through Colorado Springs en route to Texas. The time had come for a little family plant-watering, so we looked for signs indicating a wilderness area or park. I saw a sign for a park named "Garden of the Gods". It was amusing enough to warrant further investigation. After following the signs through town, we noticed a strange sight- some large, pointed red rocks rising from the ground in the hills ahead. 

"I've never seen anything like it....." exclaimed the Eldest.

We decided to make a picnic of it. 

The Prophet pretends to read the trail signs.

2. nature study observations

 "So.... why aren't there any tall trees in the Garden of the Gods?"

"Obviously, Mom," began the Eldest,"this wind is would blow them over.... Which might be why I see scrub oaks over there...."

"Scrub oaks? How can you tell?"

"Because they're short and scrubby- and they grow all curvy."

"Wow, Eldest, I think you're right! Check out the mini oak leaves!"

At this point, we make a note to update our nature journals about seeing the possible scrub oak. The Eldest reminds me to take a few photos for species identification at a later time- when we have access to a field guide. Since roamschooling almost always presents unexpected learning topics (in this case, the scrub oak), taking photos reminds us of what we can explore in depth once we leave the field. Believe me, the sense of wonder and curiosity resulting from such discoveries leads the young folks to demand a follow-up.

3. sense-based impressions and keepsakes

The amazing, powerful wind swept us along.

The Prophet enjoys a rock, while the Gnome (in the background) touches the dry, arid orange dirt. We can't help commenting on the tactile surprises- how different the Garden of the Gods engages our senses.

Everyone collects a rock, a piece of a plant, some keepsake to evoke the particular sensual impressions made by our surroundings. In the car, we'll take out our keepsakes and play with them- discussing how they are particular or special to our roamschooling location, possibly sketching them or weaving stories around them.

Though it takes us a while to find a picnic location in which our food does not blow away, we finally settle near a grove of shrub oaks.

4. investigating local information resources

Exploring the displays at the Garden of the Gods park center.

Rather than beginning with the nature center or park center or flier, our roamschools begin with the wandering and the exploration of the site. This keeps us open to new impressions and allows to absorb what stands out rather than to look for what is considered to be "officially" interesting. But the official stories are fascinating as well. 

So we end our on-site roamschools by seeking more information about the site, usually by visiting a visitor's center, talking to park rangers or people who seem eager to answer our questions, and looking for fliers or brochures to prompt further learning. The kids tend to ask questions which they formulated "in the field"- questions that prove much more interesting than those they would ask had they entered the field with a prior assumption of what to ponder or wonder.

The King offers a Tex-Mex snack. So generous for a faux artistocrat.

 5. follow-up

Follow-up is all the ways in which we discuss and explore what we learned- or what we want to learn- after the roamschool has concluded. There is always a nature journal component as well as a storytelling component (in which we tell stories about things we have seen and explore the actual history of the place). Some parts of follow-up take place in the car; other parts require us to wait until we return to home base (nature identification, historical investigations, etc.).

I'll share our home base nature study of scrub oaks soon, but I did make a worksheet exploring the geology and elevation of the Garden of the God. All four kids enjoyed visualizing and coloring it.

THE GARDEN OF THE GODS COLORING EXERCISE (PDF)

 6. keep on chooglin'

The questions and interests revealed by one roamschool often sets the scene for the next. For example, an interest in scrub oaks might lead us to a visit an nearby arborist or a Japanese botanical garden. The fun of roamschooling is not static- it unfurls into further adventures and ideas. It also prepares young folks for the fine art of loving the life they lead by encouraging observation and appreciation of differences between one place and another. As the Eldest says when inspired by Credence Clearwater Revival, "Keep on chooglin'..."

Road-tripping across gray Oklahoma.

Somewhere along the way in Oklahoma....

Oklahoma's endless horizons of gray fields and dull colors left me hungry for Alabama green. It seemed as if the vastness sucked the color from everything. 

Stopping for a restroom break near local reservations.

We talked about tornado shelters and sod houses- how many sod houses were built into hillsides and banks, improvised pioneer tornado shelters.

In Aline, OK, the Sod House Museum stands as a tribute to the sod houses built by early Western pioneers. I doodled a worksheet/handout on sod houses for the little people to use as a reference. Having ink pens and paper is always handy on long road trips.

Building a little house on the prairie (Missouri Botanical Gardens)
Houses made of dirt and mud (Gregory LeFever)
Homesteaders (National Parks Service)

Without any trees or valleys to shield us from the wind, we learned to hold tight to papers and bags as we walked around the way stations of Oklahoma. Honestly, we tend to be limited in our thinking about resources. For instance, playing a few rounds of Settlers of Cataan would not have provided us with any insight into living in a state like Oklahoma.

Fortunately, our imaginations stepped in where the books and games left off. Without trees or timber as a natural resource, the wind itself was harnessed and put to use. The landscape was dotted with wind farms. Micah and Milla shrieked to see such large pieces of metal barely moving in the prairie winds. The King and I turned up the music and sang along. Oklahoma burned on forever- the surprising dry, warm air sustained small drifts of what may once have been called "snow". 

We talked about the difference between "snow" and "slush". Then we talked about desolation- and what makes a place feel like home to us. We talked- and we didn't talk. Sometimes the little ones simply sang. Mostly, we waited for the long stretch of land known as "Oklahoma" to end. It seems I couldn't even muster a poem without invoking the word "empty".

How we used houses to understand American geography.

As we traveled the United States, we discovered that local conditions determined the nuances in the lifestyles of early pioneers. For example, the settlers on the Great Plains often built sod houses or dugouts, while the settlers of the Rocky Mountains used prodigious local lumber to build log cabins.

So our study of states turned into a study of local resources and pioneer housing, a favorite topic since the Eldest recently finished Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter. Given the emergent and spontaneous nature of learning while roamschooling, I've found that the best preparation is a pen and paper combined with the audacity to overlook one's own lack of drawing skills just enough to draft a visual model. In the process, we discover what it is we can learn.

LOG CABIN HANDOUT (PDF)

Honing our map skills on the road: Making a map of gnome-land.

 

Making our own maps begins with envisioning the terrain of a land we know very, very well- a land that does not limit us with its physical characteristics but, rather, allows us to freely imagine its topography and markings. Or, at least, so went my thinking when I made the Gnomeland Map activity for the kids.

I found they did a better job of designing their own worlds using other maps and travel brochures as a reference (rather than looking to mine as a model). We talked about the role of a key in providing a meaning for the symbols- and we learned to narrow down the materials we included based on their frequency. For example, if Gnomeland has one swimming pool, that might not warrant adding a swimming pool symbol to the key. 

The ladies enjoyed coloring my Gnomeland and then creating their own versions, for which I wrote in the words on the key. Micah's land included swarms of fairies and their fairy paraphenalia, while Milla's offered a "workshop" for Handy Manny. Go figure.

Or, do something better and go make your own version of Gnomeland. Alternately, you can print a few copies and pack it with colored pencils for your next road trip.

MAKE A MAP OF GNOMELAND (PDF)
Includes two sheets, my version of Gnomeland and a blank template.

Max's somewhat blurry version of Gnomeland.

Road-tripping across Arkansas.

On the drive to Colorado, we crossed Arkansas and stuck to I-40 all the way. First came the spectacular border crossing of the Mississippi River in West Memphis. Then came Forrest City and Little Rock, followed by Conway (where we stopped to spend the night), Russellville, Clarksville, Ozark, and Fort Smith. The little people colored their maps as I chanted out local wildlife to keep on their radar. 

GEOGRAPHY: Using maps as guides for questions

Using highway map to answer questions about Arkansas (PDF)
Key to highway map and lesson plan (PDF)
Make mystery picture postcards lesson plan (PDF)
Rivers and water resources lesson plan (PDF)
Rivers and counties map activity (PDF)
River boundaries key (PDF)

NATURE STUDY: The ivory-billed woodpecker

As we drove through Arkansas, I remembered having read about a Arkansas scientist's controversial ivory-billed woodpecker sighting back in 2005. A documentary film about "the God bird" sighting offered us a chance to hone our critical thinking skills- not to mention learning a little more about the fabulous ivory-billed and its close cousin, the pileated woodpecker, who lives in the woods near our Alabama yard.

Max colored the pileated woodpecker as I recapped the controversy over the sighting. Critical thinking skills were duly exercised. We explored the woodpecker's natural habitat, and debated whether climate change or human development had more to do with the woodpecker's demise. The never-fail Cornell ornithology hub offered a map listing possible encounters with ivory-billed woodpeckers since the 1940's and NOVA boasted a focused and thoughtful video on the sighting controversy. 

The sad part of our ivory-billed woodpecker exploration came later- a few days later as we sat by the fireplace, watching the embers, burning scissor-scraps of remaining vacation brochures. Laying on his stomach, pencil working its way through the college-ruled lines of his journal, Max turned to me and said, "Mom, all the stuff about the woodpecker makes me sad."

"Why?" I wondered.

"Because I don't know if I want to be a scientist anymore."

Not seeing the connection, I asked him to explain.

"Well," Max began, hesitating for just a second, "That one scientist in the video could not believe in the ivory-billed sighting- and he said it was because he was a scientist. And I felt sorry for him when he said that..."

"Hmmm.... but we can't always believe things just because we prefer to believe them, Max."

"Yeah, but if being a scientist means you can't believe in fantastic things anymore, I don't want to be a scientist. I want to believe in things that make me happy- things that might even be impossible." His voice trailed off as he leaned over his paper to write again. 

I tried to tell him that many scientists believe in fantastic, impossible things- that science is the poetry of the universe and life at the cellular level, that beauty need not be sacrificed to the dull standards of evidence-gathering. But I knew he wasn't really listening- his pencil never paused long enough on the page. And I knew, somehow, that his concern deserved more than a standard reply.

In retrospect, maybe I should have told him that the tension between hopeful imagination and rationalistic materialism exists in every field and career path- that this tension is a facet of every modern life more than a fact of the scientist's life. And that it is only while teaching my children that I find myself free from it....

Road-tripping through the great state of Texas.

 

TEXAS TRAVEL COLORING AND HANDOUTS (PDF)

A few printables brought along to enhance our long drive through Texas.

Max kept up with the towns and parks on his highway map.

I did my best to co-navigate with the King.

Stopping along the road to stretch and poke ourselves with tumbleweed.

“I have said that Texas is a state of mind, but I think it is more than that. It is a mystique closely approximating a religion. And this is true to the extent that people either passionately love Texas or passionately hate it and, as in other religions, few people dare to inspect it for fear of losing their bearings in mystery or paradox. But I think there will be little quarrel with my feeling that Texas is one thing. For all its enormous range of space, climate, and physical appearance, and for all the internal squabbles, contentions, and strivings, Texas has a tight cohesiveness perhaps stronger than any other section of America. Rich, poor, Panhandle, Gulf, city, country, Texas is the obsession, the proper study, and the passionate possession of all Texans.”

John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley

The kids chased tumbleweed across the hard, dry dirt of Texas.

The sunsets turned the arid landscape into a rum butter pie.

I imagined the sharp sting of scrub-brush scratching summer-bared legs.

The lonesome echo of acoustic guitars left us shivering in the palpable sunset.

New Year's road-trip: Going through ten different states in ten days.

En route to our mountain vacation, we drove through a total of 10 states. Courtesy of the tourism bureaus in each state, the little folks and I walked away with bags of information about American history, geography, geology, economic development, and culture. 

OUR TEN STATES

Missississippi
Tennessee
Arkansas
Oklahoma
Kansas
Colorado
New Mexico
Texas
Louisiana
Alabama

On the way, the King and I learned a few lessons about long road trips, teachable moments, and the importance of multiple good playlists. The take-homes:

Pee outdoors when possible.
Stopping at established restrooms involves walking through gas stations full of candy and glitter intended to seduce your kids (and you) into forking over a small chunk of change in return for some junk. Also, imagine all the germs and viruses you can avoid by just peeing in the woods with the song of a sparrow to lighten your load. So pack that toilet tissue and vow to find nature-made restrooms on your road trip. By the way, snow isn't a problem. In case you haven't noticed, kids will pee anywhere. It's their adult companions that crave the water wasted by those porcelain thrones we call toilets.

Nature journals.
Whenever we stopped at a rest area or even along a scenic piece of road, Max wandered around with his nature journal and made notes. The King provided the latitude and longitude as Max canvassed a brief area for local birds, trees, plants, grasses, and insects. Then, when we got back into the car, he flipped through his field guides and tried to identify each living thing while journaling them into a context (i.e. climate, geography, etc.).

Geocache kits.
Simple as having an iphone, a compass, and a geocaching log. If you have a signature stamp, bring it along as well. There are geocaches aplenty all over these fine United States. It makes a great excuse to pee in the woods for the more inhibited family members.

Printed maps and colored pencils.
Oh the things you can do with just a few maps and pencils. Encourage the writers to list all the towns they pass through on the map and then turn them into a narrative poem. Show little ones how to draw a blue circle to indicate a lake (and then mark them as you pass) or a red square to indicate a barn or a black dot to indicate a cow. Then let them make their own map adding what they observe along the way.

Read-aloud chapter books.
Long car trips are a great time to read that awesome book to a captive audience. Who needs illustrations when the scenery keeps catching your eye? I shared A Finder's Magic by Phillipa Pearce with the crew, while Max read chapters from the original Winne the Pooh by A. A. Milne aloud to the girls.

Water bottles.
Skip the juice boxes and other sugar-laden laxatives- water is the best possible drink for the road. It saves big folks the frustration of spills, sticky luggage, and endless restroom stops. Kids tend to drink water when they are thirsty, while they will often drink juices to satisfy hunger or a craving for sugar. Keep it simple. Milk at night and water during the day.

Apples and clementines.
Bring along washed apples and seedless clementines. The little folks like to peel their own in our family. As for the apples, what could make a better all-around snack?

Scissors, glue sticks, and white drawing paper.
Using all those fantastic resources procured at each stateside rest area or travel office, cut out pictures of landmarks or places in each state and pass them (along with glue stick and paper) to the little people to make their own state-based collages. Alternately, let them tell stories by cutting their own pictures and pasting them to white paper (reimaged as a blank storyboard). Then, when you make your next stop, tell everyone that he or she has to pick up all the paper scraps around their chair and put them in the trash bag if they wish to "get off the bus", so to speak. Consider cleaning up as a ticket (a get-out-of-van-free-card). 

White cardstock and stamps.
Make your own postcards using glue sticks and travel brochure cut-outs. Let the kids write a message on their creations and then use your iphone to look up addresses. Put on a stamp and drop them off at the next post office box you see. 

Good music and playlists.
There are so many ways to tie the music to the state you are visiting. For example, some cities are mentioned in songs. Travel brochures will mention which musicians hail from their state, so add a few locals to your playlists. Use the songs as segues for discussions about history and culture. Or just find a few favorite sing-alongs. We use Spotify rather than mp3s or ITunes because we can find any song in world and enjoy it without having to "own" it. You can also find lots of stories and songs for kids. 

Poems and inspirations.
Find beautiful words to add to the mix when whimsy is conspicuously lacking. The little people may or may not show interest, but it will probably stir your soul just right. Keep your own journal of impressions and observations. Everything you see becomes part of the story you discover together. 

In awe of the quaking aspen.

A beautiful aspen stand down the street from us in Keystone.

It's hard not to fall in love with an aspen. A man working at the thrift store in Frisco told me that aspens are the only deciduous trees that grow at the high elevations in much of Summit County, Colorado.

Quaking aspens, also called trembling aspens, are named for their leaves. Flat, heart-shaped leaves attach to branches with lengthy stalks called petioles, which quake or tremble in light breezes. Quaking aspens regularly grow in dense, pure stands, creating a stunning golden vista when their leaves change color in the fall. 

 

 

A face smiles back at me and Max from the bark.

 

Aspen are often identified by their silvery, white bark. But this bark is spectacular on many levels- it carries out photosynthesis, a task usually reserved for tree leaves. In winter, when other deciduous trees are mostly dormant, quaking aspens are able to keep producing sugar for energy.

Thanks to the way in which organic leaf matter becomes richer soil, some of the most beautiful wildflowers can be found underneath the aspen trees in the spring and summer. Deer, moose, and elk seek shade from aspen groves in summer. These same animals consume bark, leaves, buds, and twigs of quaking aspen throughout the year. Ruffed grouse is especially dependent on quaking aspen for food and nesting habitat. 

People use quaking aspen for fuel and to make paper, particle board, furniture, and hamster bedding.

A few leaves left frozen like candies on a aspen sapling.

The stunning aspen is not in any danger these days- not unless you count the likes of the pocket gopher, which feed on roots and seem to be one of the few creatures able to curtail the growth of aspen groves. The other major inhibitor of aspen growth is fire suppression. Quaking aspens require intense sunlight to grow, but when other trees spring up in the forest, aspen stems are shaded out. Fire reduces canopy cover and allows for the continued growth of quaking aspens. While the root system will survive with little care, proper management of the stems aboveground is important, since both people and wildlife make use of the trees.

Quaking Aspen Notebook Page (PDF)

More to chase:

Quaking aspen plant guide (USDA)
Quaking aspen handbook page (NDSU Agriculture)
Quaking aspen forests of the Colorado Plateau (Land Use History of North America)

Stunning sunburst lichen.

Going for a morning walk in the snow the other day, we came across the coolest lichen on a rock near an aspen grove. So orange it burned my eyes- and yet, I could not look away. Off went the gloves so I could reach down and touch it; nothing crumbled away. Out came the camera to snap a quick photo to help me identify this beauty later in the week.

Now, I am trying to identify my rust-hued lichen friend, and the process (as anyone who has befriended a lichen can acknowledge) is anything but easy. I figured this lichen friend must be fairly popular in alpine zones, since other hikers also discovered it in late July on their descent from South Arapaho Peak. A similar orange lichen also exists in the mountains of Yellowstone, the Austrian Alps, and throughout the Rocky Mountains, including Moraine Park. What does this lichen need to grow? Is is the altitude?

Maybe not. Other nature lovers have stumbled across this lichen in various parts of Antarctica, including Cormorant Island and Cape Royds. So altitude or zone alone will not answer my questions. 

Leave it to Jeff Mitton to come up with the interesting stuff. It seems my lichen friend is an elegant sunburst lichen, or Xanthoria elegans. The key to the sunburst lichen seems to be nitrogen.

Jeff explains that X. elegans is "highly tolerant of water-soluble forms of nitrogen, and this tolerance influences its distribution and abundance". He then goes on to explain why this matters and why it is stupendously cool:

Mammal urine contains urea, a molecule containing two atoms of nitrogen, and their feces also contain nitrogen. Birds release uric acid, a molecule containing four atoms of nitrogen, in a thick white paste that reveals nest sites on rocky cliffs.

The elegant sunburst lichen thrives at the burrow entrances of small mammals and conspicuously illuminates sentry posts where they sit vigilantly watching their territory. Orange lichens also identify hunting perches of birds and grow in profusion in seabird colony nesting sites.

The elegant sunburst lichen alerts naturalists to long-term haunts of small mammals. At the Notch, the highest point of Trail Ridge Road, extensive scree slopes drape from the road down into Forest Canyon. Pika alarm calls can be heard, but pikas are devilishly difficult to spot. However, bright orange lichens mark entrances to burrows and sites where pikas have surveyed their world for centuries and perhaps even millennia.

Sit quietly, a respectable distance away from the telltale lichen and you will exhaust the pika’s timidity and patience. Pikas will soon resume haying, or gathering leaves and stems to accumulate a hay pile, the larder that will get them through the coming winter.

Elegant sunburst lichens also reveal places where yellow-bellied marmots linger and do what comes naturally. With binoculars, I have watched marmots sitting on cliffs high above Forest Canyon, enjoying a majestic vista from a sentry post marked by brilliant lichens.

The elegant sunburst lichen has an extraordinary range. It grows from wave-splashed marine shores to the peaks of high mountains and from the Arctic to the Antarctic. It grows on all continents except Australia.

Xanthoria elegansis currently recognized as a single species, but it varies markedly from place to place. In the Canadian Arctic its colors and the form and abundance of its reproductive structures vary regularly among habitats, suggesting that what we call the elegant sunburst lichen will eventually be recognized as several species.

Its extensive geographic range and its conspicuous color attracted the attention of lichenologists, archeologists and historians who use lichens to estimate the ages of rock surfaces. Lichens grow slowly, at relatively regular rates, so a lichen’s size can be used to estimate its age and to make inferences about the duration that its foundation has been exposed. An elegant sunburst lichen takes one to two decades to become established and after that its radius increases by about 0.5 millimeters per year, or an inch in 50 years.

Who was the remorseless culprit who fertilized the rock in Moraine Park, encouraging brilliant lichens to grow? The likely suspects include least chipmunks, golden-mantled ground squirrels and Wyoming ground squirrels.

 I can't wait to share this with the kids and return to our elegant sunburst lichen friend in the hopes of ferreting out what mammal lives nearby.

Discovering Christmas decorating ideas along the Tuscaloosa Tinsel Trail.

Earlier this week, after discovering we were too early for ice skating, the kids, Angie, and I took a stroll down the fantastic Tinsel Trail along the Tuscaloosa Riverwalk. Each tree was sponsored and then decorated by different community businesses, nonprofits, or individuals.

Max found a sign that had fallen over. He quickly picked it up and staked it back in the ground. Because, in his words, "Duh, that's what boys DO, mom." I bit my lip and kept the "ideally" from coming out. One should appreciate the ideal rather than demand it. Or so I've read...

So many trees to see.... There were large, bombastic trees smothered in bows....

Angie strolled along, looking relieved that the ice-skating rink would not give her a chance to skate.

And there were many discoveries and inspirations for our own crafting plans...

1. CD ornaments painted with reindeer scenes.

  

2. Little yarn Dr. Seuss-ish ornaments....

  3. Lovely little critters cut from pinecones and brush....

4. A gauze-wrapped snowman tree.

5. Stockings cut from burlap and decorated with paint and glitter.

6. Candycanes also cut from burlap and painted.

7. Recycled aluminum can ornaments.

8. Aluminum soda can tree people.

9. Classic glitter-dipped pinecones hung with rope.

10. Instruments and horns adding glitter to the tree.

11. Laminated sunshine photos of children at the R.I.S.E. tree.

12. A rope garland lined with bells and pieces of bandana fabric.

13. Hand-painted glass globes with black and red backgrounds.

14. A collection of colorful handprints with glitter decorations.

15. A glue-covered and glitter-dipped CD.

16. A tree covered with toys- this was B.'s "favorite".

17. An Eric Carle inspired butterfly tree-topper.

18. Monopoly money and game pieces as upcycled tree decorations.

Our vote for the wackiest, "cutest" tree- the big mouthed Bama Fan?

As we neared the end of the Trail, Milla found a fellow she deemed intriguing. B. stopped to scope him out. Before I understood what was going down, Micah joined them..

The luckiest faux gingerbread man on the block earned a kiss from three little ladies far sweeter than himself.

We headed back to the spaceship with the words from one advice-giving tree still in our minds- "Peace on earth begins at home". 

Shrooming with the kids in Alabama: Identifying sample #1.

We divide our field survey of shrooms into "samples" for the purpose of identifying them once we got home and we able to to consult a few online resources. Unfortunately, we currently lack a field guide to the world of the fungi. But we make do.

Sample #1: "The Pretty-In-Pinks"

Cap was red on top and slightly upturned. The stem was white with no ring.The cap was a light red wash- almost pink- with a soft, velvety texture. We agreed the shape of the cap was umbilicate- the edge was flat and recessed in the center, almost like a bathing pool for fairies. 

This pretty-in-pink sample boasted a obvious striate margin (another way of saying it had a lined edge). 

As I used a twig to flip over the cap, we agreed the stalk was centrally positioned. Unfortunately, our flipping method did not allow us to get a sense of the shape of the stalk's base. We could only speculate that it might have been equal.

But the underside of the cap revealed a large number of crowded cream-colored gills.

The attachment of the gills to the stalk was "free" (or not attached). Max claimed the white ring in the center made this "obvious". We concluded that it would be accurate to say them stem was white with no ring.

According to David Fischer, gilled mushrooms, or agarics, have evolved at least four or five times according to DNA study results.

This particular manifestation of the phenomenon of convergent evolution has repeated itself because each spore has an exceedingly slim chance of germinating at the right time in the right place—and two sexually compatible spores have to germinate in proximity to one another in order for mating to occur. In order to be successful, each species has to successfully compete against numerous other species for habitat. 

Fischer says the gills keep evolving because they "provide the highest surface-area-to-mass ratio for the external production of spores". 

When we broke open the middle, we discovered whitish cream spores. 

Identification 

The white gills and red/white color combination suggests a mushroom in the Russula genus. But which one?

Option 1: Russula rosea

Also known as the Rosy brittlegill, Russula rosea fruits in late October and early November, depending on the temperature of the location. The cap is red or pink, often cream towards the centre; sometimes entirely cream; dry, either shiny or matt, sometimes slightly powdered. 5 to 12cm diameter, convex, later flattening or developng a slight central depression. 

The gills are a pale cream color, almost freely attached; forked; very brittle. It maintains a mycorrhizal association with deciduous broadleaf trees, particularly Beech, but occasionally also found under conifers.

Option 2: Russula emetica

This option came up only because I read a possible ID of a mushroom almost identical to our Pretty-in-Pinks that called it a Russila emetica. First described in 1774, the "sickener" has a wide distribution in North America, where it thrives in damp woodlands in a mycorrhizal association with conifers, especially pine trees. Alas, this species is poisonous and likely to cause stomach distress. 

Option 3: Russula betularum

Russula betularum is a small, very pale member of the Russula (brittlegills) genus of mushrooms. It is usually white to very pale pink, inedible, and grows with birch trees. It is commonly known as the birch brittlegill.

Russula (Wikipedia)
List of Russula species (Wikipedia)
 Russula rosea (First Nature)
Russula emetica, the sickener (First Nature)
Russula nobilis, the beechwood sickener (First Nature)

A rock maze in autumn.

Milla decided to rearrange the rock maze... Something about the rich blanket of fall leaves made it difficult for the kids to find their way through the rocks. So Milla set about "fixing" things. She's a fixer. 

Meanwhile, nearby, we were simply a-mazed to discover how some plants ensure proper seed distribution. Fortunately, I did not have any plastic bags to bring home this sample for future learning opportunities. Max did put one of the seeds in his pocket so we could determine what plant was being "poop-planted".

Unfortunately, by the time we returned home, Max had "lost" the seed, which happens to resemble a number of the seeds we are snacking on these days.

Stones, seeds, leaves, life- all the swirling, all the color, never ceases. I've vowed to let my jaw drop more often in sheer amazement at the beauty and wackiness of life. I think this is a better choice than my usual holiday frenzy of lists and must-do's and plans....

Shrooming with the kids in Alabama: Identifying sample #4.

Sample #4: "The Frilly Funnel"

This sample was a beige, waxish color with darkened edges. The stalk was in an off-center, or eccentric, position relative to the cap. We determined it's cap had a funnel shape and I forgot to catch another photo as Milla ventured too close to shroom-resembling dog poop.

Max determined that the gills were decurrent "because it looks like they might be running down the stalk".

Identification

Max felt strongy that our little specimen was a chanterelle- but the specimen is so young that we found it hard to tell how it might look in a few days. We tossed around the possibility of trumpet mushrooms without coming to any conclusions. 

Ultimately, our identification was challenged by the growth of the "Frilly Funnel" on a grassy lawn (rather than along a dead stump or in moist forest soil). Our frilly friend will have to live with a pen name until we manage to get out again and see how she has developed.

More to explore

How to find and identify chantarelle mushrooms (Sunny from Alabama)
Alabama chantarelles (Beer, Banjos, Boats and Biology)
Chanterelle (Wild About Mushrooms)
Of trumpets, hedgehogs, and yellowfeet (Honest Food)
How to tell real from fake chanterelle (The Sunday Roaster)

54 ways to learn through exploring the autumn outside.

 “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
Albert Camus

1. Find symmetry in nature.
(Buggy and Buddy)

2. Use pinecones to forecast the weather.
(Sorting Sprinkles)

3. Write a poem about about how it's not just a stick.
(Child's Play Music)

4. Collect and sort different parts of trees.
(Inspiration Laboratories)

5. Make a neighborhood tree guide.
(Kid World Citizen)

6. Use trigonometry to find out the height of your favorite trees.
(Science Sparks)

7. Create mini-nature weaving looms to preserve your treasures.
(Housing A Forest)

8. Observe and journal about a stump ecoystem.

9. Find a large log and make painted coasters.
(bread and buttons)

10. Observe a day in the life of a backyard birdbath.
(The Locust-Fork News Journal)

11. Make a A-frame winter shelter in your backyard.
(Mother Earth News)

12. Go shrooming.

13. Whittle together.
(Acorn Pies)

14. Sing the autumn fairy song.
(Let's Play Kids Music)

15. Try some leaf sewing on your nature walk.
(How We Learn)

16. Celebrate your local "Fall Ball".

17. Paint on seed pods.
(Danya Banya)

18. Make colorful homemade stick wind chimes.
(Happy Hooligans)

19. Find a sacred stump and tell its story.

20. Play and craft with helicopter seeds.
(Lalymom)

21. Make a twig bow and arrow.
(Acorn Pies)

22. Make rock dominoes.
(Childcareland Blog)

23. Rake some pinestraw and donate it to your school garden.

24. Build an insect hotel.
(Babble Dabble Do)

25. Blaze your own woodland trail.
(My Nearest and Dearest)

26. Whip up some fancy dinner place cards from fall leaves.
(Cool Progeny)

27. Craft a thankful mobile- try using found natural objects.
(Made By Joel)

28. Find triangles and circles in nature on a nature walk.

29. Make fern prints.
(My Nearest and Dearest)

30. Fall madly in love with a longleaf pine tree.

31. Try leaf sorting- all you need is chalk and the great outdoors.
(How Wee Learn)

32. Create a stick family- and a story to boot.
(Craftulate)

33. Watercolor leaf prints.

34. Get acquainted with all the action around another tree stump.

35. Now consider building a little loom on it.
(Babble Dabble Do)

36. Join the Knowing Nature Challenge.

37. Play with sticks.
(Picklebums)

38. Delve into some acorn math.
(Living Montessori Now)

39. Go on a sound walk.
(Mother Goose Programs)

40. Plan an extended soundwalk through a local park. 
(Hildergard Westerkemp)

41. Make a home for hedgehogs.
(Breathing Places)

42. Play with leaves and markers.
(House Wren Studios)

43. Hone the fine art of fox walking.
(Hedgehog Leatherworks)

44. Make the easiest leaf wreath ever.
(willowday)

45. Pen an Ode to Autumn.

46. Practice your Tree Poses together in the grass.

47. Make a mobile of acorn people.
(Shared Threads)

48. Use the season as a reason for extra hugs and softened voices.

49. Create autumn nature prints in sculpey or clay.
(The Artful Parent)

50. Concoct delightful, open-ended autumn trees.
(Full Circle)

51. Fashion simple autumn leaf crowns from your special tree.
(Twig and Toadstool)

52. Start an Apple Day tradition.
(Storybook Woods)

53. Play the 5 trees outdoor game.
(5 Orange Potatoes)

54. Just sit in a sunny spot and sketch what you see- the world that surrounds you.

And if the weather is too wet for outdoor explorations, consider making a cardboard tree play house with instructions and templates from Spoonful. Because we can't control the weather outside- we can only vow to honor the weather within.

Shrooming with the kids in Alabama: The impetus and prepping.

Last night, the winds rattled fall leaves from reluctant trees. We woke to a clear, sunny day laden with leftover rain and the scent of wet decaying leaves enriching the air with what Micah called "that life smell".

The bright orange blurs of an Alabama autumn morning.

It didn't take long for us to discover the burgeoning mushrrom harvest covering the wet ground, nestled between the fallen leaves. Backgrounder before setting out into the field for observations and investigations. Thanks to The Alabamycologist, we found a ready resource for local fungal action.

Nature at Close Range, one of my favorite nature study blogs, discovered the stunning Indigo milk mushroom as well as the American Caesar's mushroom growing in her Alabama yard. Of course, her kids deserve credit for at least one of these discoveries, an acknowledgement that so many amazing things are found by the eyes of little people. A few more butterflies we chased while nibbling cherry tomatoes and Amish cheese...

Brian Folt forages for wild shrooms in Lee County (Farm Forests Foods)
A Mushroom Reader well worth the read (Strataspore)
"Puffballs: Overlooked Medicinals?" by Will Blackwell (Mushroom The Journal)
Renewable Resources Extension Act applications at Alabama universities

Then, with nature journals and colored pencils tucked in a bag, we set off down the street to find a few shrooms of our own.

Mushroom Cap Comparison Grid (Handbook of Nature Study)

 

We lacked a good fungus guide for identification purposes, so we settled for an online mushroom identifier.  And off we went....

A fall learning activity: Celebrate the "fall ball".

Studying sparrows at the library this morning.

The weather was so perfect earlier this week that we decided to go out and chronicle the annual event known to a handful of persons as the "Fall Ball". If you've never heard of the Fall Ball, you've probably still enjoyed it. That's the name we minted to describe the different colors worn by each tree species. Today, with the onset of the November rains, marked the end of this year's Fall Ball.

But our chronicling of this gala has just begun... Here's the free activity sheet for download followed by the poem we used to frame our exploration.

THE ANNUAL FALL BALL ACTIVITY (PDF)

A few of the stunning trees attending the Fall Ball this year....

The brittle maroon dress of the flowering dogwood trees....

The frilly yellow tunic of the maple....

And the spectacular golden variety of the sugar maple's heavy gown...

Sometimes we can't find the tree to place the leaf.

A tiny frill of purplish crimson lining the edge of a sleeve...

Milla compares a few fallen dress tatters.

Of course, I wouldn't leave you with a cheat-sheet (though I hope you won't use it). Just know that the cheat sheet is there for emergency use.... Tree ID is much more enriching and fun without taking easy shortcuts.

Strange fruit in Montgomery, Alabama.

Strange fruit we found in the city of Montgomery....

Max said "breadfruit"- we haven't checked up on it yet.

Here's a close-up of the leaves....

And a close-up of the fruit.... as well as a little ladybug friend perched on top.

Nature journaling and fall leaf loafing: Experiments in learning.

Much of last week was devoted to learning about botany, ecology, and biology. Autumn makes it difficult to ignore the fantastic show of leaves and the cycle of life. So we found ourselves at the University of Alabama Arboretum for two afternoons, identifying trees and nature journaling about gourds and various interesting finding.

If you wonder how I manage to balance the age difference between the little folks, the truth is that I bring along crayons, colored pencils, paper, and, yes, a tricycle. It works most days.

This print of various leaf forms served us well on Thursday- the girls colored the leaves using Max's tree guide. We did our best to color the "fall colors" of each leaf, which ranged from orange to bright red to yellow and back to green.

Milla told me this leaf was actually "a fairy hand".

Max pontificated about chlorophyll and how leaf color is determined in the fall. Then we switched gears and wandered around for a bit. Finally, the ladies found their coloring twitch needed easing, so they colored a printout of the booklet below, which shows the life cycle of a pumpkin. 

Life Cycle of a Pumpkin Mini Booklet (PDF)

Botany Tree Identification Nature Journal Page (PDF)

While writing in his nature journal, seeking the sounds of the season, Max observed that no songbirds were chirping- the only noise was that of the wind rustling through the dying tree leaves. "All the birds have migrated, Mom!" he exclaimed. Micah tried to see the good side of our birdless environment, asserting that "all the birds are at the beach and they are eating and playing". Milla assented with a nod.

Poetry in slow motion: acorns, leaves, "pinestraw pasta", and Milla's shoe.

For at least an hour, everyone was busy observing, chatting, giggling, learning, and admiring the changing world around us. As they studied, I jotted down notes for a poem, the little bones of what looks like a skeleton, and promised myself that I would steal time to finish it... later. Always later. 

OUR KOINONIA EXPERIENCE: The first day at the farm.

Milla chases a kitty towards the herb and vegetable gardens at Koinonia.

Having been raised in a home where the basement often served as temporary residence for an Eastern Orthodox monks, nuns, and artists, my heart holds a special fondness for monastic communities and their devoted denizens. As an intentional community, the days at Koinonia follow a deliberate pattern which soon feels like a flow- a rhythm subject to changes in volume and tone yet unfluctuating.  

There is a daily discipline. For the residents and interns, communal life begins at 7:45 a.m. with silent meditation and prayer at the chapel, followed by morning devotions at 8:15. On weekdays, after chapel, everyone stands in a circle on the dew-covered grass and discusses daily work assignments and service. 

“Faith is not belief in spite of evidence but a life in scorn of the consequences.” 
                Clarence Jordan, The Substance of Faith: And Other Cotton Patch Sermons

We woke up the first morning to a room bathed in light and the unmistakable sound of roosters crowing nearby. Still tired from the drive, I lingered in bed with the kids, listening to the roosters and trying to decide if we could get dressed quickly enough to make it to chapel.

My long-haired Max, still flirting with sleep, observed, "Hey, maybe the roosters are like church bells here..." Clearly, we were being called to chapel by the combination of ethereal morning sunlight and rooster bells. Groggy and hungry, I followed the kids out the door just a few minutes too late. Before the guilt set in, the little people started gallivanting through the bright green grass, sniffing flowers (and weeds), exclaiming over spectacular "fire ant castles", and befriending a couple of very friendly kittens.

Clearly, we were being called... to life.  So we set out to explore the farm. The seasonal interns that shared suites and rooms with us in the Jubilee House were returning from chapel. Clad in rubber books and carrying coffee cups, they stopped to greet us warmly before setting off on their assigments for the day. Lacking an assignment, we set off down a path following the kittens.

Max keeps an eye on the ladies who lay the eggs.

Lo and behold, the henhouse awaited us. Max tried to classify the feathered friends while the girls avoided a rather startled turkey that lumbered around the corner of an old wooden shed. 

And then we discovered "three little piggies", to borrow Milla's phrasing.

Soon all three kids found themselves enamored of pigs.

Milla carried our cardboard butterfly book from path to path.

The Koinonia bell rings three times a day for a moment of silent meditation and prayer. Whereever you may be working or studying, whether in the fields or in the bakery, the bell rings at 10:30 am, 3:30 pm, and 8:30 pm. As the days slipped past, I found myself listening for the sound of the bell to divide the morning and afternoon, to make me aware, again, of the rhythm behind everyone's actions and intentions.

At the 10:30 ringing, folks congregate in the coffee house to brew a couple of pots and share their thoughts with one another. Coffee creamer waits in the pitcher of fresh milk coaxed from resident cows at the first crack of dawn by Brendan; something about the coffee (probably the creamer) tasted sublime. We introduced ourselves to a couple of Koninians, though names and faces still tended to run together at this point.

A charming intern named Susie shared her own experiences as a home-schooled child. As we chatted, I found myself thinking (probably contrary to her own impressions) that her independent spirit and openness were exactly the sorts of qualities I treasure in Max, Micah, and Milla- the qualities I hope to honor and cultivate, the qualities that may one day lead them to choose the sort of journey that brings them back, as interns, to Koinonia. 

My restless desire to help somehow rubbed against the three little people who needed my guidance and care. In my imaginary world, of course, I could volunteer while somehow juggling the needs of three kids (one still potty training). But reality intervened to put a kink in my plans. Trying to avoid the sense of annoyance- "I came here to help and then but for the small folks"- I reminded myself that I was here to serve and to learn; and that the two did not have to take the form I imagined.

I closed my eyes, counted to ten backwards, and vowed to stay open to what the surroundings, and the spirit that filled them, wanted me to learn. Even if it was something as unexciting as the realization that my own impatience and eagerness often stands in the way of my humility towards the daily tasks and demands of life. 

Milla stares down a goose outside the dining hall.

We camped out at Jubilee House sharing Clarence Jordan stories and writing (or coloring) poems and hymns until the lunch bell rang. Then we wandered over to the dining hall for what would be our first communal meal- an experience that truly merits a post of its own, one which I look forward to sharing later this week. The short version is that the shared meal time transformed my understanding of communion and fellowship. The meal took two rituals which had managed to stay separate and brought them together with all the force and power of an intergalactic collision. 

I think we ate a few of these delicious flowers at lunch in the salad.

Our explorations took us to the town of Americus and then back to the farm, where we read, wandered, chatted, and played before meeting everyone again at dinner. I kept finding funny stories- tales of Clarence- in books and magazines, stories I read to the little people over laughs and giggles. Stories like this one.  

Once when he was being given a tour of a new church building, the pastor pointed to the cross on the steeple. The pastor said something like, "That cross alone cost $10,000."

Clarence said, "You got cheated. Times were when Christians could get them for free."

"Clarence was a funny farmer," Micah declared. 

The sun set without a sound. As Micah and Milla changed into their pajamas ande debated whether or not to brush their teeth, I read the free copy of Koinonia Farm Chronicle laying on the table in our room. Just reading it made the world feel like a better place- the kind of place in which it made sense that I never once locked a car door or a room door during our stay. Once everyone finished their pre-bed preparations, we changed our minds about the bed and set out on one of our "starlight walk", a tradition quickly started under the vast, starlit Koinonia skies. 

"Mom, we're really just tiny things," said Max, staring upwards from the center of the meadow where we settled and snuggled in the tall grass. 

"No Max!", replied Micah, huffy as always. "Milla is tiny but I am big- my feet are big too!"

The lull left a space for me to speak, maybe to soothe the misunderstanding by reasserting the hierarchies of big, small, and in-between. Older, younger, wise- all the known quantities- felt too heavy to handle in that open field. Something about the beautiful night skies always steals the words from my lips.

Making sense of language pales next to the mysteries of existence- the wonder of all that remains ineffable. So we talked about the word "ineffable" instead. And then we sat together, all four on the verge of a shiver, and paid a silent tribute to the ongoing ineffability of things.

Previously, I blogged a little bit about the history of Koinonia. Stay tuned for the next post about our Koinonia experience...