April 29, 2019
I have an Aunt I was out of touch with until recently. Through my teens to early adulthood we were strangers to one another, but sheer happenstance has brought us back into each other’s lives. To be honest with you, we clicked immediately, as if no time had ever passed. I suppose it could be biological instinct, as she is my mother’s twin- but I’m more inclined to believe it’s because we share a love for nature. That sort of relationship requires a wild spirit and patient eye. I have very few close friends- all of which are true nature women-and I’d count her among them because we are kindred in that sense. Family or no family, she’s someone I’d visit to pass the time with. And that is exactly what we do.
Turns out we live less than an hour apart, so several times now I’ve made the trip out to her land. She has many acres of healthy deciduous forest with a well-stocked understory and steady flowing creek running through it. The kind of creek with numerous swimming holes, perfect for those hot summer days. At this rate I’ve visited her each season, to walk the trails, talk about life, and scout for nifty rocks and micro-life only seen by crouching low. Each time I bring pup along, a chance for him to be off-leash for hours. If a dog could smile and joyously laugh, I think that’s exactly what he’d be doing. His happiness is evident as he frolics, pounces, climbs, and swims to the beat of his own little drum. He’s a wild child- and seeing him in this element brings me great pleasure.
Today marked one of my first spring visits this year. It was warmer than expected- in fact I ended up removing my long-sleeve shirt and just donning my vest. Fortunately, I had that option, otherwise it would have made for an unpleasantly hot afternoon. Walking the trail, I pointed out many of the plants we passed- familiarizing my aunt with the leafy-friends living on her land. Foamflower, fringecup, bleeding heart, red elderberry, pacific waterleaf, large-leafed avens, snowberry, bracken and sword fern, cleaver, salmonberry, stinging nettle, and trailing blackberry to name a few. We also found some western meadowrue, which I had to later identify as it was my first time finding this plant. It was really a beauty, with such delicate and unique flowers! They were like tiny red clusters of string dangling in a makeshift tassel. The leaves were adorable- and prior to unfurling they come packaged in a fancy miniscule cluster, reminiscent of a lace doily. I’ve included a photo below; in case you too are unfamiliar with the species. Most impressive was the dried morel mushroom we found- I plan to return next year to help harvest as many as possible! What a tasty treat to look forward to!
We took the time to notice all the changes the land had undergone from winter to spring. How the turbulent waters had grabbed fallen trees, carried them downstream and deposited them haphazardly in new places. These spots now new habitat for those in need. Other trees were beginning to lean towards the water as their root systems underwent yet another season of erosion- exposing them and forming an overhanging cliff of tangled wood. And other giants fallen in what seemed their prime, enveloped in thick masses of moss with licorice fern sprouting out. The natural processes all around us were a treat to explore, knowing they were all a result of weather and the power of water. My aunt wondered aloud what her land would look like in the years to come; saddened by the loss of some trees- but understanding their importance for continued succession and nutrient renewal. Many places we had explored before or even walked upon-no longer existed. Such is the natural order of things.
Everything was green, and leaves adorned all the trees- many still in their infancy, reaching for rays of sun to jumpstart their growth. Continuing through the arching tunnels of vegetation we made it to the river- where we sat to enjoy our picnic. Pup busied himself wading through the water and sniffing bubbles, nibbling on the grass growing in patches against the stream, and chewing the bark off of sticks. He also made a game of chasing the little blue butterflies, jumping up high and lazily snapping at them. They were all failed attempts, though I think this was purposeful on his part; he was just curiously exploring the world around him. We were too for that matter.
I squatted alongside the water, examining the hundreds of caddisfly larvae-each within their own unique makeshift armor. Some had used all pebbles, while others had collected an assortment of twigs, grass, sticks, and leaf debris- assembling them into a small tube to function as a temporary home. This incredible creature has been a favorite of mine since childhood. As a kid I always referred to them as “periwinkles”, though I’m not entirely sure where the name came from. I’m sure someone told me that’s what they were called, and I believed them. (Isn’t that how life generally works?) The word loosely translates to “snail shell”, so perhaps there was an association to the shell-like quality of the structure. Regardless, they are each an itty-bitty masterpiece, intricately created by a different artist. And that artist in turn, eventually gets a break- transforming into a flying creature. Emerging from its underwater life to join the bumblebees and butterflies up in the sky. The little aquatic-bound freshwater snails leisurely twiddled alongside the caddisfly. Sliming their way across the slick rocks, bumping into one another along their journey to find food. A tiny fish even swam by, cruising past the slow-moving critters, letting the current guide it’s way. If you sit long enough, there is much to see!
As we ventured back towards the house, pup climbed up a fallen maple tree. He daintily walked along the trunk- sniffing intensely back and forth. This is a part of the forest he never has a chance to reach. I joined him, clambering up the side and scooting across the bole on a level above him. And there we sat, two monkeys in a tree dangling above the water.
Love it