Primal Forests - Ancient Trees
The Exploration, Preservation, Spirit, and Aesthetics of Nature
Winter Unwired
Well the last few days have been spent in the aftermath of an ice storm: beautiful, glowing exquisite crystalline scenes rarely offered. I should probably describe the days more completely as beautiful, dark, brilliant, cold and quiet: the power went off for several days. And though my spirit was more than up for it, my body quickly because ill, fighting something, as I dealt with adjusting to limited warmth and then sudden extreme cold outside. I was happy to change my bedding and clothes, to scheme for heating and cooking with fire and fuel, and to settle into silence of no music and no movies, only light from windows and headlamp to fill the pages of books I dived into. Enjoying the fact that there really was nothing to do but read, especially as I do most of my writing on a computer. I love books, reading; yet it gets lost in my lit up, wired world.
The other hidden opportunity here was also a chance to absorb myself in my constant and inspiring companion--the one that seems to be sustaining me in this somewhat vacant winter: nature, in a thousand forms. I traveled to nearby hills to photograph ice laden forests, and the amazing view of the hills, icy trees, dramatic sun cracked clouds and the river, all in a simultaneous vision. I tried to photograph it but my small camera didn't capture the scene, really (photos here). Yet I was thrilled to stand for quite a spell observing this.
The other thing I drew sustanance from was the microcosm out my back window. This spot is a marvel now, that centers around a single yew. This yew is one of those planted long ago to frame my 19th century house, and was spared the constant pruning, so grew up into a small cedar-like tree, its bushy self developing miniature trunks and a creating a bonsai scene from the window. This fall, it developed, to my surprise, a perfect crop of fat, translucent red berries in perfect arrangements on its outer twigs- I hadn't seen this in younger yews. These berries set the stage for my yew and this corner of the house as a stop for many groups of birds. Yew berries were hot, much more so than nearby viburnums and hollies. I ramped up the appeal of this spot with the addition of a bird feeder and liberal strewing of sunflower seeds and kitchen scraps.
So I am now, even with not a bit of power, entertained constantly by varied flows of bird life. There have been several frequent sessions lately with a flock of cedar waxwings. I love cedar waxwings! They are brownish and dull, yet flashy with there yellow and reds on outer feathers. And little bandit faces. They hit the yew like hummingbirds, hovering in or landing and stabbing at berry prizes, then retreating en masse to the ice coverd apple tree. Here they also do something interesting: hovering stabs at the bottoms of frost bit apples... what are they getting? I'd go out to listen to their little buzzes and hums but would doubtless scare them off as my creaky door is very close to all this. Every day the feeder and the yew seem to sport more birds, of more species. So far, it has seen frequent gaggles of blue jays, chickcadees, juncos, titmice, cardinals, house finches, and I think white throated sparrows- and of course waxwings. The yew occasionally sports a hairy woodpecker. Not the junk crowd I'm used to getting in midwestern cities, all house sparrows and starlings! The species count expands all the time, so I imagine I might get some prized visitors such as grosbeaks or ... who knows?
So again nature saves me from emptiness. My gratitude is boundless, and I hope to dig into some reverent service to her this spring.
The other hidden opportunity here was also a chance to absorb myself in my constant and inspiring companion--the one that seems to be sustaining me in this somewhat vacant winter: nature, in a thousand forms. I traveled to nearby hills to photograph ice laden forests, and the amazing view of the hills, icy trees, dramatic sun cracked clouds and the river, all in a simultaneous vision. I tried to photograph it but my small camera didn't capture the scene, really (photos here). Yet I was thrilled to stand for quite a spell observing this.
The other thing I drew sustanance from was the microcosm out my back window. This spot is a marvel now, that centers around a single yew. This yew is one of those planted long ago to frame my 19th century house, and was spared the constant pruning, so grew up into a small cedar-like tree, its bushy self developing miniature trunks and a creating a bonsai scene from the window. This fall, it developed, to my surprise, a perfect crop of fat, translucent red berries in perfect arrangements on its outer twigs- I hadn't seen this in younger yews. These berries set the stage for my yew and this corner of the house as a stop for many groups of birds. Yew berries were hot, much more so than nearby viburnums and hollies. I ramped up the appeal of this spot with the addition of a bird feeder and liberal strewing of sunflower seeds and kitchen scraps.
So I am now, even with not a bit of power, entertained constantly by varied flows of bird life. There have been several frequent sessions lately with a flock of cedar waxwings. I love cedar waxwings! They are brownish and dull, yet flashy with there yellow and reds on outer feathers. And little bandit faces. They hit the yew like hummingbirds, hovering in or landing and stabbing at berry prizes, then retreating en masse to the ice coverd apple tree. Here they also do something interesting: hovering stabs at the bottoms of frost bit apples... what are they getting? I'd go out to listen to their little buzzes and hums but would doubtless scare them off as my creaky door is very close to all this. Every day the feeder and the yew seem to sport more birds, of more species. So far, it has seen frequent gaggles of blue jays, chickcadees, juncos, titmice, cardinals, house finches, and I think white throated sparrows- and of course waxwings. The yew occasionally sports a hairy woodpecker. Not the junk crowd I'm used to getting in midwestern cities, all house sparrows and starlings! The species count expands all the time, so I imagine I might get some prized visitors such as grosbeaks or ... who knows?
So again nature saves me from emptiness. My gratitude is boundless, and I hope to dig into some reverent service to her this spring.
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