Not a field of grain

Spring slides into summer, and a choppy slide it is. A little here, a little there, a back slide for a few days. At the moment Roundtop is in a back slide towards the spring we never quite had. The nights are cool, the days take until noon to warm up. It’s comfortable weather, with long June evenings. I can appreciate the long hours of daylight in weather like this. The skies are not yet fully dark even at 9:30 p.m.


But when the temperature journeys and stays into summer’s heat and haze, the long hours of daylight becomes something simply to endure. Then, I wait for sunset and the relief from the heat that usually brings. But not today. Today, I can enjoy the long evenings

This morning on my walk with Baby Dog, I discovered a patch of carpet moss. From close-up the female moss structures look like a field of ripening grain. When conditions are dry, the moss capsules open and release the spores. The weather has been dry for spring here, but I don’t know if it is dry enough for the capsules to open. Even if it’s dry enough for them to think about releasing the spores, a hard rain is predicted for the tomorrow and the weekend, so the moss might change its plans.

Baby Dog isn’t much interested in moss, especially when she just spied a deer slipping back into the cover of the woods. Moss doesn’t move, deer do. Enough said.

My little patch 3

Regular readers of Roundtop Ruminations (how’s that for alliteration?) may remember that late last fall I chose a piece of ground in my forest to study in some depth. I always feel as though I’m missing important nuances around me. The forest has much more to show me and teach me than what I notice on any given day.  I wanted to start to delve more deeply into that forest knowledge, which is why I came up with the idea of studying a (much) smaller piece of ground.  The entire mountain is far too large an area to study in any detail, so I arbitrarily chose a rather non-descript spot in front of my cabin to look at for some of those small details. The spot has the advantage of being close, so I can look at it every day for as long as I care to or am able to. I wrote about that here and here.

One thing I've discovered since fall is that winter’s short hours of daylight hampered my investigation to some extent. And in a way, snow didn’t help either, as I was looking at snow and not at the patch itself.  Both those issues are solved with the coming of spring, so I am now able to devote the kind of attention to my spot that caused difficulty over the winter. And that’s where today’s photo is from. It’s a small patch of moss on the edge of my patch, which is roughly 5 feet by 4 feet.

So far this spring, the moss isn’t yet very green. In fact, everywhere around me, the mountain isn’t yet very green. The best I can say is that grass and moss is kind of a greenish brown this week, but brown still predominates.

Today, I was looking at the moss and noticing the stemmed capsules that protrude above it. This moss is an acrocarp, and those capsules are the fertile part of the moss, how it spreads and regenerates. What this tells me is that the moss has already noticed that it’s spring and is acting accordingly. So even though when I look across the forest as a whole, it doesn’t look much different than it did in December, but on a smaller and closer level, spring is here. You just have to look at it pretty closely to see it.

See?  Already my little patch is showing me things that aren't immediately apparent.  In a small way, that's what I hoped would happen and will continue to happen throughout this year.

Deer trail in winter

Usually deer trails are not as well-worn or as visible as the one in today’s photo. Frequently the trails peter out within a few feet or disappear into a tangle that deer but not people can navigate. This one is the exception.


With snow gone, at least for the next 24 hours, the path deer take through the woods on their way to an open field stands out. In summer, undergrowth will make this trail as difficult to follow as most of them, and the only reason the path is so visible now is that a day or so of above-freezing temperatures allowed deer hooves to leave a muddy trace of their presence.

The woods are nearly uniformly brown right now. Even the moss on the stones of the old fence has taken on a faded look. Mosses are one of the earliest to brighten up in the spring, though, so when that happens I’ll know spring is truly upon me.

For now, winter’s grip is pretty tight, with snow and freezing rain expected tomorrow and over the weekend. In fact, February is shaping up as colder than normal by a few degrees. That’s the first month that’s been below normal for some time. Still, “normal” is only taken from the average of February temperatures for the past 30 years. When I look at February averages going back to World War II (and some even earlier dates), this year’s February is pretty average and not actually below normal. At least it’s not another month of warmer weather. I suppose I should be glad of that, however small a thing it is.

A moss walk

First off, I can report that Baby Dog has no interest in mosses. So she couldn’t figure out why I kept stopping on “her” walk to look at them. I, however, think mosses are very neat things, even more so in winter when they aren’t competing with equally neat flowers and birds and bugs and such.

The first photo is of cushion moss. It’s growing off the edge of a bank and reminds me of a water fall. My moss identification skills are pretty poor, partly because there are a lot of different mosses that are very similar, but mostly because good moss identification guides are tough to come by. And moss species are quite variable even in small areas, unlike birds where a guide to the eastern U.S. covers everything you will see in that region. For a moss guide to be really accurate, you’d probably have to have several for the average state, either that or a really big book.

 

The next photo is of feather moss, I think. This is one of the identifications I’m not sure of. My photo looks close to that, anyway, so that’s what I’m calling it until someone else tells me something different.

The last photo shows the moss spores. Now here’s where I think the mild winter is showing up in the landscape. Moss spores typically arrive in late March or April. Here we are a few days before the end of February and those spores are out there and ready to go. I think this may be the first actual sign of spring and its early arrival that I’ve found.

Spring arrives in the small things first, though I am usually too busy looking for the big things to notice them. I’m looking for birds and wildflowers, but I guess I should be looking more at moss to tell me when spring is arriving.

Back in business!

 Sunday dawned sunny and calm, a blessed relief after the brutal winds of Saturday. Time for a walk through the forest to see what late non-winter, early spring looks like. Baby Dog was my companion, a guinea pig for the new hands-free leash system I’d just gotten. With Baby Dog tied around my waist, I could carry both my hiking stick and my camera.

The weather was seasonably chilly, especially during the pre-noon hours. I noticed only the sun and its increasing warmth, far warmer than the sun of just a month or so ago. I wanted to see if the warm winter had sparked any signs of new spring growth, even though it is still very early. Baby Dog wanted to sniff her way from one end of the mountain to the other. It was a good mix.

Looking across to Nell’s Hill, the vista looks as wintry as ever, considering there is no snow. The trees are still sleeping, and even the buds aren’t yet enlarged. Grasses are brown and flattened. The landscape is largely silent, at least until three pileated woodpeckers got into a shouting match. I never could decide if they were alarming at me or were fighting among themselves. Three crow-sized black-and-white birds screaming through the forest are ear-splitting.

We hadn’t gone very far before six deer tiptoed and then bounced along in front of us. They all looked brown and healthy. These deer had an easy time of it this winter, though they aren’t fat. I suspect that even during a mild winter a diet of dead, brown grass and the few acorns that fell last fall doesn’t have much nutritional value.

At the bottom of the abandoned ski slope, we turned north and reached a pond, as always unfrozen. Water is pumped out of this pond for snowmaking, so the water never freezes. Even without that, the pond would be late freezing as it is both deep and spring-fed. In summer the edge of the pond is dense with cattails and other moisture-loving plants and is a great spot to watch butterflies that are attracted by thistle and the mud along the water’s edge. I look for skunk cabbage, among the earliest and arguably the largest of the new spring growth. I don’t see any.

After the pond, we walk along an old woods road. I notice that I can see deeper into the forest than I’m used to. The lack of underbrush means I can better see the topography of the land, see rock outcroppings that I normally can’t, see a small draw across a creek that bears investigating on some future day.

The stream that flows through the narrow valley is running and pretty full, if not as full as after spring rains. The ground is soft but not muddy. In April the area is often too wet for walking in hiking boots, and even with Wellies or rubber boots, the ground can be so mushy that I can easily sink 3-4 inches. I usually just avoid the area then, waiting for the drier weather that will come after.

Baby Dog isn’t sure about the new leash. She wants to stop and sniff everything, and I want to keep walking. She’s like a kid in a candy store, and I’m not letting her buy any candy. We move deeper into the forest, her lagging behind as always. I reach an area where mosses are thick and lush, a haven of greenery in the brown. I’ll post photos from that part of our walk tomorrow.

A little greenery

With 60 degree weather in February, I almost expect to see leaves popping out at any second. Apparently, the leaves know better, as I see no evidence of popping. Even the grass is still brown and brittle. So the only green things around are the mosses and lichens, such as this moss-covered tree.

The temperatures are so balmy that I have look up into the night sky, just to make sure the winter constellation Orion the Hunter is still there and not replaced by spring’s Leo the Lion.

In a normal winter, I would be thinking that snow, even a big snow, is still possible in March. A March snow doesn’t usually last very long here, but this year, I don’t see much potential for a March snow. Even though long-range forecasts are notoriously wrong, the temperature forecasts aren’t even close to being able to produce snow. Winter is done. The only real question is how long will it take for spring to arrive?

Ben with moss garden

Ben the bad cat with moss garden

 Roundtop Mtn. didn’t get any of the snow that fell further south this weekend. In fact, the weather, while not warm, still felt rather balmy as the wind was calm and the sun often appeared.

During the late afternoons, temperatures were in the mid-40’s, and when I was out and about I still saw a lot of people sitting on their porches and enjoying the mild weather. I saw a few in t-shirts, but I think that might have been taking things a bit far. Up on the mountain I ran all my outside chores without a coat, though I don’t think I would have wanted to sit outside without at least a light jacket.

One thing I accomplished this past weekend was to create small moss garden that will sit on my kitchen table. Over the past week or so I started gathering a few things to include in it. And I finally found the small stone with moss on it that I was seeking. The rock is not as thoroughly covered with moss as I would like, but it’s close enough. I found a couple different kinds of moss and a stick with moss on it. I bought the large clump of moss you can see in the far corner, but the other mosses were found on the mountain. The first photo is not the best, but Ben the cat wanted his photo taken with the moss garden, so I was forced to oblige him.

At this point in the so-called winter season, I doubt winter will bother to arrive at all. That said, I haven’t yet found any actual signs of spring in the landscape or in the birds, but that can’t be far away. Cardinals, song sparrows and bluebirds are singing, but those all sing even in a snowy February, so they don’t count.

Nighttime temperatures fall into the mid or upper 20’s, but every day works its way above freezing before noontime. This freeze-thaw pattern, bad enough in a normal winter, is likely going to create some mythic potholes around the area, certainly enough to keep the local road crews busy for much of the spring.

With such a mild winter, I’m wondering and worrying about the upcoming bug season. Fleas, ticks, stink bugs, mosquitos and who knows what else are likely to be in greater numbers as there’s barely been a hard frost and virtually no snow cover or frozen ground. I can’t say I’m looking forward to any of that, though as long as winter isn’t going to bother arriving, I’m starting to wish we might as well get on with spring.

Not quite spring

I’m starting to believe even this non-winter is coming to an end, though other than one fleeing skunk, I’ve yet to see any real or actual signs of spring just yet. Well, other than rain when it should be snowing, but that’s how this whole non-winter has been so that doesn’t count.

What I’m looking for and have yet to find are signs of new spring growth, and that is not yet making an appearance on Roundtop Mtn. This long, long November is still holding on, though who knows for how much longer?

While I’m not seeing obvious signs of spring, it’s starting to feel like spring to me, though I can’t say precisely how or why. Perhaps it’s the longer hours of daylight. Perhaps it’s the soft ground. Grass is still as brown and flat as you could want, and it doesn’t yet smell like spring. And yet there’s something that suggests to me that spring is just about here, perhaps only a mile or so away, or maybe just behind the eastern ridge.

My moss garden is coming along, and I hope to finish it sometime this weekend. I’m still looking for that perfect moss-covered rock as one of its features. I have found some lovely ones that are unfortunately too large for the small arrangement I’m working on. I know where some right-sized mossy rocks are, but I’ve so far avoided going there because I know the area will be a mushy, wet mess. If nothing else turns up, though, I’ll just put on my Wellies and head down there.

S. Grantham Rd., Monaghan Township, York County, Pennsylvania.  Snow and pond with goose

I expect it is more likely that I will run out of snow before I run out of snow photos to post. I’ve taken a lot of photos during the little snows that fell this past week. With warming on the way (after a brutally windy and cold weekend), an inch here and another there won’t last very long. The cold I don’t mind, but regular readers know how I feel about wind.

It’s a rare weekend when I don’t take at least a short hike somewhere around the mountain. This weekend was one of those. Between the ice and the wind, I was content not to venture out very much.

So I spent a lot of time inside the cabin, from where I could easily watch the feeder birds. For once this winter, I had a good turnout at my smorgasbord. No unusual species have partaken, but the two starlings trying to hang onto a tube feeder may be a first. Perhaps they were summer birds, taken aback at this unanticipated turn in the weather.

Deer were well hidden this weekend, likely hunkered down someplace protected from the wind. The only evidence of their presence was a double set of tracks walking down the length of the lane in front of the cabin.

Before the snow, I gathered some moss with a plan of making an indoor moss garden to brighten the winter browns. I’m not sure it will work taken this time of year. Normally, late fall, before the weather turns really nasty is a good time for that. The “garden,” is still a work in progress. More progress won’t result until the snow melts and the temperature warms at least a bit. Later this week should be fine. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Frosted moss

After several mornings with a heavy frost, today the forest at Roundtop is somewhat warmer ahead of a showery afternoon. As is to be expected on such a day, the sky is grey and heavy with clouds. Though warmer, the day is still not so very warm. With a bit of a breeze and the dampness in the air, the day is verging on raw.

Even though the sun is now well above the horizon, I wouldn’t want to bet I could get a decent photo in this light. So today I am posting a photo from yesterday, a lovely moss, dusted with frost. I must confess that although I love mosses, I am virtually incompetent at identifying them. Partly the fault is in the available guides, partly it’s the mosses themselves, which often require a microscope or at least an excellent hand lens to be reasonably sure of them. I look at the super close-up moss photos and find I don’t have a glass that lets me see them in that fine a detail. Photos in field guides taken from further away all look the same to me. A good moss class is probably what I need, but there’s not much hope of finding one of those that’s free, within a reasonable driving distance and at a time that’s convenient for me to attend. So I remain incompetent at identifying them. Instead I will have to be content merely to admire their delicate beauty.

November foray

Now that the leaves have dropped, the brown shades of winter dominate the forest, even if the temperatures of winter have yet to arrive. This time of year can be challenging to photograph because the landscape is something of a monochrome. October brings such a riot of color that the sudden change to brown can be something of a shock.

This weekend the quiet that has pervaded November 2010 continued, so I was eager to get outside. Temperatures this November are about typical, but unlike many Novembers that produce a variety of precipitation, this one hasn’t done much of that so far. In other words, this has been an excellent November to be out and about and not huddled around a fire.

The sameness of the color of my local landscape drives me to look for things that are not brown, and that search usually finds me looking at fungus and moss. This weekend I found lichen and fungus and moss in abundance, so for the moment I happily have something to photograph.

The moss I found looked like a tiny little field of ferns, nature’s own miniature landscape.

The fungus covered the west side of this tree with ribbons of tiny, white polka dots of fungus.

Lichen is a favorite of mine. It is sensitive to air pollution of nearly any kind, so when I see a nice healthy patch of it on a rock or a tree trunk, I know I’m in a healthy forest.

So the leaves have fallen, the forest has turned brown, and the deer are taking on their duller winter coats. Can snow be far behind? Probably not.

Woodsy fantasies

My Sunday ramble produced so many photos that you may expect to see them throughout this week. When I reported yesterday that I stopped nearly every 3-4 feet to take a photo, I really wasn’t exaggerating very much.

Sunday was the kind of fall day that makes fall a season that’s really, really tough to beat. The day began with a nip in the crystal clear air and then warmed up through the day so that I ended my fall walk with my sweater pulled off and my sleeves rolled up above my elbows.

I would willingly have walked all day, but considering how often I stopped to take a photo, I doubt I would have covered more than 5 miles. As it was, a 2-mile walk took over an hour, and if I hadn’t been keeping half an eye on the sun as it started to dip behind the mountain, my walk likely would have taken longer.

Today, my moss photos will be featured. Green and soft, for me heaven might well be a bed that feels the way moss looks and smells, with that gentle “give” that’s never too harsh or too floppy. The idea of a moss bed is better than the reality. Moss is both damp and lumpy, though it’s hard to rid myself of the fantasy of a warm bed of moss on a nice, flat surface.

The fall colors right now are highly variable. Some trees are nicely yellowed; others are still green, and some are even bare of leaves. The variability is extending the time that I am seeing some color, but it is also diluting the overall effect. I must say, though, I’m enjoying the idea that the color change isn’t over in three days time, even if this isn’t turning out to be a brilliant year for fall color. For the last few years, the peak of the color change has been when I’m at work during the day and couldn’t enjoy it very much. This year it’s not as exciting, but at least I’m getting to see it. Some year, I’d like to have it both ways, but that’s even less likely than the fantasy of lying on a warm bed of moss on a nice, flat surface.