Untitled Halloween Blog

 I watched the birds at the suet feeder this morning and its seventeen degrees. There are jays, titmice, chickadees, sparrows, a robin, one seemingly misguided finch and several kinds of woodpeckers. It is at times like these that I scold myself for not making the effort to better learn my birds. What I think are three kinds of nuthatches gripping the metal cage, jostling for position and when they leave my shy Red Bellied makes an appearance only to be spooked by a much smaller bird. I know that it is a Red Bellied because I sent a picture to Helen just yesterday to learn it's name.  The first of the season juncos make me smile even though I know they are for me, harbingers of winter. 

The one birdbath that I leave out all winter is frozen solid. The cherry tree out front from which the suet feeder hangs, is sparsely covered with interspersed green and yellow leaves. Maple leaves cover more of the front lawn than yesterday's snow and thankfully the sky is brighter than it has been for some time. It is Halloween. 

I'm thinking about the hunters and trying to remember if it's poor luck to have deer stay down due to cold or good luck to have a trace of snow in which to track them. My brothers are hunters but I never picked up the sport. My first hunting experience was in Grafton when Charlie asked if I would go with him to make sure that he came out of the woods okay. I must have been eighteen and this was in the days before cellphones. I picked out a log and sat by myself reading a book until he returned. Charlie is a much more successful hunter these days and I still like to sit by myself in the woods. 

This year we picked out two large pumpkins that are this morning, sitting uncarved in my dining room. We used to bring in the pumpkins due to "cabbage night" shenanigans; but here in Vernon that tradition seems to have fallen out of favor. Perhaps it is the cold Vermont nights that keep people indoors or maybe it's because our houses are spread so far apart. I asked Wayne to lug our pumpkins inside, (so that they wouldn't become blocks of ice) after he had already settled into his chair. I wasn't going to carve them or decorate this year due to the virus, but I changed my mind last minute. Kayden called from San Diego letting us know that she is camping next week to try and get away from the news cycle. Come to think of it, I haven't seen many campaign signs on front lawns in Vernon this go around.

I usually have envelopes of seeds collected from my annuals sitting above the dryer by now; but I never got around to it this year. The mower deck is still packed with mulched grass and leaves. Snow shovels are hanging above the snow thrower in the back of the shed and my garden hoses are still out. Nine years ago we lost two trees during a Halloween snow storm, so one would think that I knew better to let the season slip by so. I have in my archives, a great photograph of wild California Condors at the Grand Canyon. They let me get right up to them. I had planned to write a blog about Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures as opposed to the Condor; but I never did manage to get a good picture of our birds. This was a missed opportunity for certain, as Halloween is filled with bats, spiders and vultures. - Norma Manning

Autumn Nuts Like Me

 As I wander about in the Autumn, I stuff my pockets with acorns, hazelnuts and whatever seed that catches my attention with the goal of growing a tree. Some particularly magnificent trees, I admire enough to collect a dozen or so seeds in order to cast them onto other sites. I am sure to carefully choose places where other like trees are growing with the thought of preserving and spreading the mother tree's genetics.  I fully understand that the odds are against the seed ever reaching maturity and here's the reason why - squirrels.

Oh sure we are all told as small tots that birds, deer and squirrels are helpers as they disperse seeds near and far. The ugly truth is however, that a squirrel will choose the one nut that you cherish from thousands of others and that will be the one he cracks. I know this to be fact because I have finally learned how to outwit the beast under very controlled conditions. Well to be perfectly honest, I have outwitted them on one occasion and that was more than ten years ago now. You know, that if you really consider a squirrel, you will find that they are in reality little more a furry rat that raids our birdfeeders.

And so it was that I had my eye on a Black Walnut tree growing along 142 behind the school. I thought it would be an easy task to grow one myself and so brought a nut home and popped it in the produce drawer of my fridge. Wayne thought that I had gone nuts every time he wanted an apple from the fridge. When it was time, I brought it out to the garage, potted it and waited for spring. It was thieved right out of my garage. The next Autumn, I potted several nuts right away, sunk them in the ground and covered them with chicken wire. The plastic pots were gnawed through and the nuts pillaged. After a couple more Autumns of trying, I finally managed to sprout one tree by potting it in a clay pot, wrapping the entire pot with chicken wire and completely burying it. Who I ask you, Is the nut now?

These days my tree is taller than our roof and I spend time each summer digging out or cutting down Black Walnut saplings growing in my rhododendrons, planter boxes, blackberries, up through my deck boards... I am positive that had we not put on a chimney cap, I would have trees growing in there too. Here is some sage advice, never never never cross a squirrel for they and their hoards of relatives will spend the rest of their days exacting revenge! "Oh so you want a Black Walnut do you? Well here are five thousand more nuts buried in your snow blower!"

This year I am attempting to grow Shagbark Hickory (again).

                                                           American  Chestnut (hybrid?)

                                          

                                                               Horse Chestnut

    

                                                                    Shagbark Hickory

    

                                                                      Black Walnut

    

                                                                    Red Oak

                                                                       Black Oak

                        A Common gray squirrel peers down on me planning its revenge!

Sadly, this year I missed finding the Beechnuts and Butternuts before the squirrels, bear, deer and birds got to them. The American Filberts (Hazelnut) that I planted last Autumn are still too young to produce nuts. That leaves the White Oak which I am certain to find on the forest floor before winter snows cover them. For someone who is allergic to tree nuts, I'll admit that it is a strange hobby to be collecting nuts and planting nut trees; but our wildlife depend on Autumn nuts to survive our Vernon Winters. -Norma Manning                                                                   

    

                                                                       

There Are Witches In The Air

There are witches in the air! 

Okay, okay, halt the presses or as we used to say growing up in the 70's, hold the phone. I have known several witches over my years and never have they once mentioned flying on anything but an airplane. I knew a person who used to live right here in Vernon who was at the time exploring Witchery, studied very hard and eventually was accepted into an intensive program to become a Witch. They had nothing in common with the storybook or Halloween characters of our childhood. In reality, the Witches that I have known are attractive, intelligent, and caring individuals. I mean no offense to them with my writings here as I refer to the spooky October, candy seeking, holiday variety and of course trees. 

When I finally (sort of) got on track to study my chosen field in the College of Natural Resources, by attempting to slip in the back door through the College of Agriculture; and right before I found myself in the College of Education, I enrolled in Dendrology which as it turned out was entirely in Latin. It wasn't long before I made the enlightened decision to transfer to a less rigorous tree identification course that paired scientific tree names with English. It was through this process that I discovered that often times in life, there are things that we are told that we must know but soon forget; and there are things that we come into unintentionally but gives us a lifetime of enjoyment. 

Robinia Pseduoacacia, Black Locust, Witch's Tree, two out of the three I didn't have to look up and double (okay triple) check the spelling. To my defense, spell check still thinks that I have it wrong. Let's put this into dog lover's terms. When I was a kid there was a dog breed named Brittany Spaniel. To many a dog lover's dismay, in the 80's Spaniel was dropped from their name because in reality, the Brittany isn't a spaniel at all. Don't even get me started on Fisher Cat versus Fisher! 

The language of science is important because it keeps things straight where common names sometimes have little to do with the actual tree, dog or weasel. I know, I know, Brittany is hardly Latin and a lot of scientific discoveries are named by those that found them or where they are found. It's never as clear cut as we would like; but dang it, Pluto (for my generation) is still a planet! Believe me or not, there are specialists whose job it is to keep track of these things and correct what belongs with what and what they should be called. I don't think that "Witch's Tree" would make the cut. 

There we were, a small group of students in the urban setting of Burlington, notepads and pencils in hand hanging on the words of our professor, "The branches in the crown are bent and twisted like a Witch..." and so it remains still, that Black Locust and Witch's Tree are welded together in my mind. 

The bark is gray to dark brown with deep, irregular and intersecting grooves. Witch's Tree has sharp pointed thorns on it's branches, it's seeds are in a pod and are dark orange to brown in color with an irregular pattern.  With the exception of  its seedpods and flowers, it's entirely poisonous to animals and humans (but not used in potions).  The Black Locust's leaves are  compound, alternate, and have up to twenty oval leaflets. Leaves typically drop by the end of October creating a spooky silhouette against the bright moon for trick-or-treaters. In the landscape, the tree trunk is thick, straight, dark and tall with a crown made up of contorted branches that quickly regenerate if damaged. It can grow even on the poorest sites. It is monoecious / hermaphrodite; but doesn't solely depend on pollination to propagate. Saplings grow up from the roots of other trees resulting in thick groves if left unchecked. Though native to the US it is considered to be invasive in VT. This Locust is typically riddled with conk and  pests that leave them a bit unsightly and weakened, but not dead. It's best to wear (fast?) sturdy shoes in the presence of the Black Locust.

Like in all good children's stories, even the Witch has redeeming qualities and it is no different for the Black Locust. When we lived in the south we were taken with a local tree called Musclewood. Musclewood, not to be confused with Ironwood (Hophornbeam); but is also known as Blue-beech, American Hornbeam or Carpinus Caroliniana was well regarded for it's small size, aesthetic value and dense wood. Everyone seemed to have planted one behind their wrought iron fences and pointed to them with some measure of pride. Though a favored tree, Musclewood has comparatively fewer practical uses than the Black Locust.

Here's the thing, while Musclewood's Janka reading is 1860, Black Locust comes in at a respectable 1700; but unlike Musclewood, it has a thick, tall, straight and rot resistant trunk. This came to be of big importance in colonial times and in the war of 1812. American Colonists were introduced to Black Locust by Indigenous people who used it's wood to make their bows and tools. It is thought that the tree was first introduced outside of its native range by Indigenous people who cultivated the locust for these purposes; but it has since naturalized throughout the US. Colonists built their homes on top of locust posts because they were rot resistant and strong. They also used the tree for fence posts for the same reasons.  Our ships that patrolled Lake Champlain in 1814 had nails and masts made from Black Locust. The Locust nails were not only stronger than the British oak nails, but the locust nails expanded when wet, making our ships watertight. The British ships fell apart when hit with cannon balls while ours withstood the impact. 

Black Locust is used for railroad ties, flooring, furniture and veneer. It is happy on all kinds of sites, it is a nitrogen fixer, grows quickly and prevents soil erosion. But in my estimation, the best thing about this good Witch Tree, is that its blossoms are sweetly fragrant, adored by bees and infinitely more showy than the American Hornbeam's or oak's. 

So as the end of October nears, keep in mind that not all Witches will be knocking at your door in search of tricks or treats. Many Witches will be reaching up all over Vernon into the frosty night air, waiting to be identified by you and me -Norma Manning

Resources:

Yale Nature Walk, Black Locust

Black Locust: The Tree on Which The US Was Built, Live Science

Sacred Tree Profile: Black Locust, The Druid's Garden

Locust Trees, OK Gardening Classics

Black Locust, The Middlebury Landscape

Hike a Right Before Rifle Season

With little more than a month until blaze orange season and not many seventy degree days ahead of us, Wayne and I decided to hit the town trail with the plan to take a right onto a state land trail which is also a VAST trail.  We have taken the gravel road that starts at the town forest trailhead on Basin road many times. This road goes past Haskin's Overlook and continues on as the White Trail Loop. We have continued straight several times where the White Loop bears left. Straight ahead leads to state lands and recent logging activity. It's easy to get lost after the "Trail Ends" sign, so if you choose to go in this way, go in prepared for this eventuality.  

I think that Wayne and I have had enough of getting lost for the season and so we decided that we would take the right just before arriving at the "trail ends" sign and head right into the Sweet Fern and the Goldenrod that has gone to seed. 

I was hoping to find a clue as to whether or not the Roaring Brook Wildlife Refuge continues to the right of the Vernon town forest without cheating and referencing a map. As a matter of fact, yes I do drive Wayne crazy. 

At the spot if we were to go straight through the sign there is posted a vast arrow pointing to the right with a gas symbol below it. Neither Wayne nor I have the faintest clue as to where there is gas available in Vernon. 

                

                                                                          Sweet Fern

The road began wide and easy enough to travel on. In spots it drops several feet below the shoulders giving hints of being older and well traveled. Areas can still be seen where it has been wet as the ruts are deep and the trail has been widened by those trying to get around them. Today however there wasn't a drop of water to be found.

The VAST trail blazes are blue heading away from the town forest and green returning to it. We also noted state land markers on the trees. 

The land has been managed and is a mix of impressive old growth and new growth trees. I hoped to see some wildlife attracted to the mixed growth; but a few birds and Coyote scat are all that we noted. 

                    I often fall in love with trees on the trail and this big red oak was no exception!

     I found it odd that these trees fell in all directions. I suppose we can call it a split decision?

                                        

                                            The trail begins to get rocky on the decline

                                                          Take this sign seriously!

A check of Google Maps shows us to be paralleling Huckle Hill road around VT Woods Studio. We decided to go down the steep decline as the map shows a stream near the bottom. 

                                                          Mountains in the distance.

As I age I find myself increasingly admiring people who can go downhill without feeling the need to gauge the effort required to go back up. Wayne has introduced me to a great strategy for return trips however; pick a point up the hill and announce, "We will take a break there." Setting goals and rewards is ever more helpful than waiting until you become blinded by salty sweat before resting. 

Photographing changes or confusing spots in the trail is helpful for the return trip. We came down on the trail to the left. I turned around to take the picture from the return perspective. I also periodically text pictures and comments to my children alerting them to our location. As experienced hikers learn to understand, anyone can get easily confused on even the best marked trails.

An hour since we left the white trail and with no water in the streambed, we decided to backtrack towards home. Wayne and I will definitely take this trail again on a day when we can start earlier. I would be interested in hearing from readers who have traveled this trail in the winter months. I would like to know where it intersects with a Vernon town road. 

This short hike to the right has me questioning where exactly wildlife gets their drinking water during drought conditions. As we drove back down Huckle Hill, we kept an eye out hoping to catch a glimpse of the stream we noted on Google Maps at the bottom of the hill we hiked. We drove past Vermont Woods Studio and down to Pond Rd only seeing dry streambeds. Perhaps in times like these, it would be kind if residents to set water out on their property for wildlife.

-Norma Manning

Paying Attention to The Long Timers

Author's note: I began writing this piece on the drought at Lily Pond prior to hurricane Delta coming ashore in Louisiana just six weeks after hurricane Laura. Also in this time, 60 Minutes aired the cited piece on Climate Science. 

 I love listening carefully to the long timers as they carry with them observations that they have compiled over the decades. On many topics they can be in my estimation, the citizen scientists and historians that fill in the gaps of reports made by impartial  professionals. Important gaps like how people felt, what they as individuals personally experienced within the context of the broader subject. For me, the long timers bring science to the kitchen table. 

What's it like after a major hurricane? It's like the constant smell of pine sap and grilled chicken. It's chainsaws, blue tarps, radio silence and camping indoors for more than a month without water and electric. Most importantly, it's like perfect strangers from all over the country behaving as if they have been your backyard neighbors for twenty years. But also, it's like all the trees are broken matchsticks, the National Guard keeping you from your home while at the same time protecting it. It's friends suddenly without houses and pets roaming with no place to go. It's islands sliced in half by the ocean and shrimp boats stacked up like kids toys in the corner. It's two hours to travel ten minutes through unrecognizable neighborhoods. It's 31 years of panic attacks every time I hear that tone of voice from a mayor, meteorologist or reporter come across the airwaves. 

So it was that my ears perked up when my friend mentioned, "My dad always said that it takes one foot of snow to make up for an inch of rain." Cheryl then followed with, "I think we are ten inches low on rain this year". Translation? We would need ten foot of snow to get back on track and out of this drought. I don't have the need to fact check Cheryl or Cheryl's dad. He knew during his lifetime what he had experienced. For my part, I have seen it rain hard after drought conditions and still not see the stream in my neighborhood start to flow again.  I was around during Irene when southern VT communities were devastated by flooding; while we here in Vernon barely experienced a run of the mill storm. It's hard to make sense of that. Even so, that doesn't mean that the aftermath had no impact on Vernon residents. 

Many residents have been keeping an eye on Lily pond. Will Lily pond, which has evaporated to little more than a mud flat this summer, recover in time for whatever next summer brings? The Old Farmers Almanac predicts that, "Snow lovers should be very excited."* I would love to believe that the Almanac is at least as accurate as the wooly bear caterpillar; and here's the thing, I believe in science (I really do); but science is hard to understand. For example, I searched NOAA's online winter forecast** and I couldn't even find mention of Vermont, just a bunch of maps with one showing "E.C' for New England. My take away for my effort is that NOAA believes that temperatures will be higher than normal this winter with New England being in the equal chances zone.  E.C. means that odds of average, above average, or below average precipitation is about the same. I'm sure that all those other maps somehow come into play; but I'll be darned if I know how.  Can we conclude that Lily pond has an equal chance to recover as to not?

The pond has always recovered in the past so why should this time be any different? When do the old timers run out of memories of the year the pond was dryer? What if Lily pond's drying up is the "new normal?" What if something has been changing and our pond is trying to tell us? What if there were something that we could do to tip the scales in the pond's (and the wildlife that depends on it) favor? That's a lot of questions!

My mother in law Janice, always tells us that she was born in the hurricane of 1938. The Great New England Hurricane of 82 years ago has been described as a once in a lifetime storm. This year, the news has been filled with on par extreme regional events. We have become familiar with and better at predicting and dealing with monster events and because of it, countless lives have been spared. The events are piling up however, not only directly impacting the lives in the path of the events; but also the financial stability of our nation. Death Valley experienced the highest recorded temperature on earth. L.A. reached 120 degrees.  Four percent of California has burned (it was so hot that rain dried up before it hit the ground) and the southern US has been hit by twice the number of storms than in a typical season.*** 

Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge (ME), Biologists have noted that with tidal waters rising in salt marshes, Salt Marsh Sparrow's (a species of concern) nests are being flooded further endangering their chances for survival. These birds are indicators as to the health of the marshes. Why is this important? Coastal salt water marshes are defenders against storm events.**** Imagine if a hurricane like the one in 1938 comes ashore again; but this time saltwater marshes, barrier islands, and other natural defenses have been weakened do to rising sea levels and development. 

In 1988 NASA scientists James Hansen's paper on carbon and climate, stated accurately to the year, the fire, drought, heat, and hurricane events of 2020. I remember when there was considerable debate among scientists whether or not Global Warming / Climate Change was happening and if  human activities were causing it. In 2020 scientists have reached a consensus on Climate Change, it's real, it's getting late and there is still time to reverse it. Geophysicist Michael Mann in a 60 Minutes interview  was asked if this is the new normal, he replied, "New normal is the best case scenario..."*** He also explained that the planet naturally should have cooled over the last half century; but has instead increased a little less than two degrees Fahrenheit. This interview is a must watch as it explains to regular people like you and me, the science in easy to understand language. 

Michael Mann confirms that "Warming can be stopped. Oceans and forests would begin to absorb excess carbon in a matter of years...It becomes too late if you get to the point that you cannot stop the ice sheet disintegration" ***

I believe in paying close attention to scientists and to the long timers, one tells us what is happening and the other puts it in a context of human experience.-Norma Manning

Resources:

* The Old Farmer's Almanac, Winter of 2021

** NOAA'S 2020-2021 Winter Forecast 

*** The Climate Science Behind This Year's Wildfires and Powerful Storms, 60 Minutes

**** Live From the Marsh With Salt Marsh Sparrow, Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge

                                                         A barefoot print in Lily Pond 

          

                 Taken about 3 feet in from the Oct. water level looking towards the canoe launch

                                                    Looking south near the low water mark

                                                               Overview looking south

                                    Near the north end of the pond looking along the west bank

Indian Woman Tribe Unknown

 "Home is where your story begins" is one of two signs we have hanging in our house. The other sign claims it to be, "Just Another Day In Paradise." I've always struggled with the idea of home and so I often read the first as more of a philosophy than an affirmation. (The second sign I hung for Wayne)  I  continually ask myself when encountering new to me places, "Why are people here? What is it that brought them to this place?"  This may sound odd to most until you learn that I grew up in the military. My home growing up was where my family was and with those familiar items that we were able to lug around the country with us. Other than that, home was VT because that is where we returned each summer to visit gravestones and relatives.

 With a few alterations, my mother hung the same curtains in her kitchen at each house that we lived in. Later when we were helping mom to downsize I came across a pair of curtains and mentioned how I remembered them. It was then that she confided to me that story and how it was her way of creating a feeling of familiarity in new places. I did the same with paint colors and flooring when we jumped the river to live in Vernon. It was only recently that I changed the wall color from pink to an updated Sherwin Williams palette to many comments of "what took you so long?" Apparently home is not a paint color. But for me, neither is it where I was born and our adult children no longer live here. Maybe it could be said that for me,  home is where my current dogs sleep and where the best dog ever is buried. 

We are fast approaching Indigenous Peoples Day and with it the colors are making Vernon more inviting than ever. We were on our way to Market 32 in hopes of scoring apple pie fixings when I asked Wayne to pull into Indian Point. I walked back and forth the length of the land trying to understand the meaning of it. The Vernon Historians as of late have been documenting parcels of historical significance in town and I suppose that was playing a role in my questionings. When wandering about up top didn't satisfy my curiosity, I managed to descend the steep bank without tumbling (making a scene). My journey abruptly ended as the river is separated from the point by railroad tracks.

Meanwhile, Wayne who remained up top, had noticed two markers and as I was ready to hop back in the car with a few pictures of foliage to show for our visit, he pointed them out. 

I often need to take breaks while writing as I become bogged down with emotionally attached details. As we walked towards the rec discussing my writing, Wayne reminded me of the story about when Indian remains were discovered in Bellows Falls. We have heard from more than a few people that a burial place had been disturbed during the days of their paper mill industry. Bellows Falls actually does have many artifacts from Indigenous Peoples including petroglyphs so the story seemed plausible. Folklore would have it, that those discovered bones were placed in storefront windows in town as some sort of novelty. 

The marker at Indian Point in Vernon is in memoriam of "Indian Woman Tribe Unknown CA. 1650. Reinterred Nov. 5, 1994." What is she doing here? What brought her to this place? Who are her people? Was this land her home or was she hear for some other purpose? I was having trouble connecting the importance of this narrow strip to her people. 

A day later while reflecting on my pictures, it dawned on me that the woman didn't live here. She instead lived in a time when the river flowed freely and didn't cover the land as it does now. There wasn't a state road between her and the hills on the other side, nor was there a railroad track in her path to the river. Her home didn't have a stone foundation anchoring it into Vernon dirt. She wasn't on her way to Market 32 because she gathered from the land what she needed. Present day geo political borders and survey stakes had no meaning for her. While I strained to see over a fence and between saplings to take photographs of NH across from the point, she would have been traveling through old growth forest. Our modern constructs and our barriers to the water and land would make this place unrecognizable to her. Would her descendants, if they were to live in Vernon, be able to find the places their dead are resting? Where are the rest of her people's historical markers? Maybe they are the Black Gum Trees in the town forest or the cold brooks that flow into the mighty Connecticut, or the hawks that look down on the earth  from the heavens. But maybe, just maybe they are the hills of the Green Mountains that so many Vermonters now call home.

"Their (Abenaki) connection to the land as indigenous people is an integral and foundational aspect of this place..."*  I've always struggled with "home." Perhaps my younger brother Charles isn't too far off when he says, "The woods are my church." And when my mother tells me that two things are important, "Family and God." she too has found her home. For Wayne and I, perhaps home is our family, in our connection to each other, and the time we spend discovering all that life has to offer here in Vernon.  -Norma Manning

*Native American Past in Brattleboro, Brattleboro Historical Society; reprinted by The Brattleboro Reformer.