It's the Little Things

Many years ago, when I was a student at Cook College, Rutgers University, I volunteered to take children on tours of the working farm on campus and sometimes Helyar Woods, a forest on the property of the school. For the most part, the kids came from inner-city schools, with little exposure to either farm or forest. I was trained on the farm part of the tour--calling the pigs over to the fence so the children can feel their soft noses or bristley backs, playing the "Guess the weight of the entire class" game and then weighing them on the truck scale, and petting the calves while I explained how cows have multiple stomachs.

I wasn't given much guidance on what to do if the tour groups had chosen to do the hike in the woods, though. My brother suggested I might find some ideas in a book called Sharing Nature with Children by Joseph Cornell. Filled with suggestions on how to get kids interested in and excited about being outside, the book inspired me as well.  There was the Web of Life game, which uses a simple roll of twine to teach the interconnectedness of all living things, and the Know a Tree exercise, where one child in a pair is blindfolded, and learns about a single tree just through touching it--and has to try to find it later once she can see.

More than three decades later, I still find myself using some of the techniques in that book. For example, the other day, I took a micro-hike. Now, the way the book describes it--and the best way to do it with a bunch of unruly children--is to take a hula hoop and put it on the ground and have the kids look really closely at what they could see, just within the confines of the hoop. If you've never taken the time to explore a small section of the earth (and by small I mean one or two square feet), I highly recommend it--particularly in the spring and summer.

I used to do this exercise before we went into Helyar Woods, because it taught the kids to be observant--and to be excited about discovering things, even things that might seem boring. They would notice bugs, and ants, and sticks. They'd realize that all grass doesn't look the same, and there might be clover and dandelions and thistle mixed in. Someone would invariable find bird poop, but it was ever so much more exciting when we talked about what bird it might have been, and how you can tell things about a living creature from examining what it eliminates.

The other day, I was inspired to do a version of the micro hike in the woods behind my house. The hike was along a fallen tree--one that had come down a few years ago. Since I brought my  camera--and a macro lens--you can come with me.

The micro hike takes place here.

At first glance, even from a distance and in the dead of winter, you can see that the trunk is covered with moss of some kind.  It's when you take a few steps closer that you realize there's a lot more than moss growing here.

There's moss and fungus and lichen!

And here's where I wish I had a resident expert to help me a bit. I think most of us can recognize moss.

Moss

And probably we would know what a fungus looks like, particularly when we remember that a mushroom is a fungus.

But lichen?

Lichen! (and moss)

Actually, now that I realize it, what the heck is a lichen exactly? A little bit of research has helped me learn a little about these fascinating organisms.  For one thing they are true symbionts. A lichen is a composite of a fungus and a photosynthetic organism--usually an alga. Fungus get food from the algae's photosynthesis, and the algae get moisture from the fungus.

Lichens live in the most inhospitable environments--on rocks, logs, walls--and in harsh climates. They occupy a niche that other organisms can't survive. Though they also apparently are very sensitive to pollutants, and are indicators of poor air quality; no lichens = possible air pollution. I guess they're the plant versions of the canary in a coal mine.

On most of my other posts I can identify some of the plants and animals and insects in the photographs I feature. But in this case, I can just barely do that with lichens. But here's the thing, they sure are pretty.  And quite fascinating. And make great subjects for a micro hike with a camera.

To sit back, relax, and enjoy the hike. I'll identify where I can.

The bottom of the log, where it meets the ground, shows grass, lichens and moss.

Moss on the top of the log shows tiny stalks that have captured water droplets.

I believe this is called turkey tail lichen.

This is really young turkey tail lichen. Each of these little fruiting bodies are no more than a quarter inch tall,

These turkey tails are a little bigger. You can also see some moss--that's the dark green--and the lighter green is a common greenshield lichen, I think.

Here is a combination of all the mosses and lichens, young and old.

A close up of turkey tail lichen.

Seems like the turkey tail lichen can feature several colors...though I'm not sure.

The naturalist in me always wants to know, to identify, to understand what I'm looking at. In the case of this particular micro hike, I don't know. Instead, since I don't have a lichenologist or a mycologist on staff, I must sit back and enjoy canvas painted by capital N Nature.

And sometimes, that's enough.

Sandy's Aftermath (Part II)

In my last post, I wrote about Hurricane Sandy, and how the various inhabitants here on the mountaintop weathered the storm.

We had made it through the night as Sandy come through New Jersey. We lost  power at about 7:30 pm, but our generator kicked in and we were able to keep some lights on, and the house stayed warm.

The next morning, the winds were still going, but had settled in to a lighter roar. My neighborhood was truly a mess. Trees were down everywhere, taking power lines and transformers with them, and creating tangled webs of dangerous wires. Some trees landed on houses and some crashed down with their branches just brushing the siding or barely missing cars.

We were very lucky. Our home was barely touched. Here, Jasper and Tucker inspect some of the damage to my potted plants. Did I say we were lucky? Yes, I did.

After the storm. Jasper sits under the relatively safety of the tree. There he's safe from wet grass that might moisten his toes.

I took a walk through the woods behind our home. It was amazing to see the number--and the size--of the trees that had been blown down. I would guess that within a five minute walk diameter of my home, there had to have been at least 50 trees toppled by Mother Nature. And I'm not talking about your 6-inch trunks. Think more like decades-old trees one- to two-feet wide. Dozens of feet tall--the kind that tower over homes in this heavily forested neighborhood.

Sometimes trees were simply broken, like this small one. It's hard to imagine the power that snapped this 8-inch trunk like it was a toothpick.

 

Some trees that were knocked down by the power of the winds were huge, like this one.

The park behind our house had paths with markers on the trees. Here, the blue trail (notice the blue marker on one of the fallen trunks) is blocked by fallen trees.

Looking at the uprooted trees, you could almost hear the groans they must have made as they were falling.

One look and you knew it was going to be a Very Long Time before people had power again.

Neighbors on either side of me had trees down--one blocked a driveway. The neighbor on our right side, Anne, was okay, so together we went and checked on our elderly neighbors across the street. Luck or something must have smiled on them because four huge trees had come down in their yard, just missing their home and their cars.

Our next-door neighbor; a large pine tree fell across their driveway.

As this tree blew over, in another neighbor's yard, it took with it metal stripping that had lined their paved driveway.

Our neighbors across the street were actually lucky. None of trees that came down in their yard hit their house or their cars.

Some pieces from our roof wound up in our yard, as did shingles from my neighbor's roof. Here is one of the pieces wrapped around a tree.

Brian and I offered up our home to anyone who needed a place to stay or to get warm or to power up their electronic devices. We shared stories of what we heard on the radio, since we had no TV, no internet, no landline phones.

If we thought the devastation was real and scary in our little neck of the woods, it was even worse and more horrific elsewhere. Areas of New York were flooded--not just the beachy areas, but Queens, the Rockaways, lower Manhattan. Manhattan under water? This is the stuff of disaster movies, not reality. The Jersey shore of my youth--where I took my kids to play in the sand and stroll the boardwalks and play on the amusement park rides--has been devastated. In some places demolished.

One picture that I saw that stays in my mind shows the roller coaster from the Seaside boardwalk--in the ocean. The pier where the roller coaster was is no more. It's gone.

People lost their homes, their lives. The flooding from the high tide and the driving wind was unprecedented. And even though the forecasters said it was going to be bad, I don't think they could  have predicted the enormity of it.

Fast forward to two weeks later. Though believe me, the time did not go by fast. It took us days before we could travel off the mountain. There was only one road open for most of the first week. Streets were blocked not just by trees, but by downed wires. Two weeks later and some of my friends and family still did not have power.

It's a labor-intensive process to put the power back on; every tree has to be taken apart carefully, with the PSE&G (Public Service Electric & Gas, our power company) supervising and approving to make sure no wires are live. And once the trees are cleaned up, they need to make sure everything is connected before they turn the grid section back on. Assuming the substations haven't been flooded or transformers blown, which was the case in many areas of our town and our state.

The street we live on looked like this every few hundred yards. It took many days before the roads were all cleared in our neighborhood.

Sometimes they have to turn power off for one area in order to restore power to others. Our electricity has gone down four times since the storm. (Admittedly, that includes power lost due to the snowy nor'easter named Athena that hit our area a little over a week after Sandy. But that's a story for another post.)

At one point, we lost power again, and our generator didn't kick in like it was supposed to. When Brian got it to function, it started making weird noises. Afraid that something would explode, we shut it off for the night until we could find out if it was safe. By morning, I was wearing a hat and coat and scarf and blanket--and was very happy that Tucker and Jasper wanted to snuggle with me.

The whole situation is more than one state can handle. 2.8 million customers lost power in this storm. I've heard it reported that trucks from 36 states across the U.S. have been driven or flown to New Jersey.

The church parking lot about a mile from us became a staging area for out-of-state utility workers. These folks were from Missouri.

A common sight. Notice the transformers on the ground. Thousands of transformers were lost from Sandy.

I grew up in a Philadelphia suburb where Asplundh was a familiar tree service company. Their distinctive orange trucks were easily identifiable. It was a little weird seeing them here in New Jersey.

JCP&L (the other power company in the state) reported several days ago that they had removed 45,000 trees just to get to power lines. Now, I'm no statistician, but JCP&L served about 2/3 of the customers that were affected. If that many trees had to be cut up and removed by just them--and they weren't even halfway through the fix-up--and at most maybe 1 in 10 trees knocked down took out wires, I think I could safely say that NJ lost a million trees in the storm. At least. Ouch.

Repeat this scene over and over again and you can begin to have a picture of what it was like across New Jersey.

With power gone, and thousands of people using gas generators, and gas stations with no electricity and the entire gas supply chain knocked out in myriad ways--from shipping to refineries to distribution and beyond--the next issue was getting gas. Within days, there were mile-long lines at gas stations, as people tried to power their generators and go places where they can plug in and be warm. Police were stationed in any open gas station to prevent altercations; it wasn't long before our governor began a gas rationing system. Even with that, it was several days before the supply loosened up and we didn't have to make decisions on whether to "spend" our precious gas to get anywhere--to work, to the store (if it was even open), to a diner to eat a warm meal.

Long lines at the gas stations--lines for cars trying to fill up, and lines for people with their ubiquitous red gas cans trying to get fuel for their generators.

Since we had power, and our office didn't, I was able to work from home. A co-worker joined me, and the dogs and cats made sure we focused--on working and giving them snuggles and pets. In this picture, if you look carefully, you can see Elsa on a chair in the rear, Calvin on a chair in the front, and Jasper hanging out under the table.

This whole experience of being part of a major disaster--and being one of the extremely lucky ones who didn't get hurt or lose a home to falling trees, fires or flood (thank you generator)--has made me realize that I didn't have a clue about other disasters. I think about Katrina. Haiti. The tsunami that hit Japan. The media cover those events for a while and then other news took over. And maybe you hear or read a story one month or one year later. For the people in those areas, recovery isn't measured in weeks, but in years.

And, as they say, the devil is in the details, and there are so many things you don't think about.

The people in lower Manhattan who live in buildings where the basements have flooded, and therefore there is no power. No power means no elevators. This is a problem if you live on the 27th floor. And maybe you're told your building won't be livable for the next 3 weeks or 3 months. Because they can't get the contractors or the parts to fix the problem--because there are 34 other buildings in the same situation. Where do you go? Where do you stay? You can break your lease, but then you can't move your furniture down 27 floors without an elevator. And then, how do you go to work?

Which is another story, because so much of New York's transportation system shut down. Subway tunnels were flooded. Some of the main car and truck tunnels into the city were also flooded.  The same is true in New Jersey. Two weeks after the storm, and New Jersey Transit still has limited service in many areas. You simply can't get places you used to be able to. Hour-long commutes become two or three hours--each way.

And then there are folks like my neighbors who don't have city water; well water requires a pump, and without electricity, they don't have water. We helped them out by giving them buckets and jugs of water--and leaving our water hose hooked up to the front of the house so they could get water any time they needed it.

Schools were closed here for over a week. Some schools still haven't opened, and in some cases, classes have begun, but in different buildings. One school system has middle school students sharing the high school in shifts: middle school in the mornings, high school in the afternoons until 6:00.

The whole disaster has shown how important a reverse 911 or text messaging system is so critical to communication. How do you tell people what is going on and where they need to go for help if they don't have power. No power means no TV, radio or internet--unless you have a smart phone, until it runs out its battery. And with the gas shortage, where can people go?

Last Tuesday, when everyone went to the polls to vote for President (and others), here in New Jersey, we had to figure out where to go. Our voting location changed because it had no power. And the one we finally wound up at turned out to be powered by generators. I guess it's no wonder that this year's voter turnout in New Jersey may have been the lowest on record.

Lighting by generator outside the polling place on election day. My son Aaron (in the picture) voted for the first time in this election; it will be quite memorable for many, many reasons.

Last week, several New Jersey and New York musicians including Bruce Springsteen, Jon Bon Jovi and Billy Joel held a telethon to benefit the victims. I texted REDCROSS to 90999 to support the cause. But I can tell you, it was the weirdest thing to see a telethon to benefit my state, my neighbors, my city and the Jersey shore of my memories.

Elsa Clair encourages everyone to donate to the Red Cross. We've seen them around town and heard wonderful things about how much they're helping.

In all of this, I was able to get to know my neighbors better, as we all pulled together to help each other, offering whatever we could to those who needed anything. We all watched out for each other. And that was a very good thing.

We'll recover.  Things won't ever be the same, but we'll recover. And we'll have made new friends and strengthened bonds along the way.

A Walk on the Wild Side

One of the benefits of having woods as part of my property, and being located next to a few hundred acres of forested county park--is the diversity of wildlife I am privileged to meet or simply observe.

I have more than a dozen birdfeeders in my back yard, but not all birds like to feast at feeders. Many prefer the seclusion of the forest, or prefer the menu available there. 

In addition, a few small streams flow through the woods, providing water not just for drinking, but as an environment for amphibious creatures.

In recent walks through the woods, I've met some of my forest neighbors. I'll introduce you...

At first, you might not actually see the residents of the forest, but they leave signs that let you know they were there.

A deer print in the mud.

A trail shows where the deer tend to walk.

Usually they see you before you see them.

Three deer peer at me from afar. The color of their coats blends in with grey and tan of the trees.

I'm in their neighborhood. I'm the intruder.

Sometimes you hear them before you see them. Birdsong fills the forest; you need a sharp eye to catch a glimpse of some of the more shy species.

When I think of robins, I think of wide green lawns. But their calls (which remind me of a high-pitched laugh) seem to come from everywhere in the woods.

A tufted titmouse takes a break on a low branch.

I'm pretty sure this was the work of a particular bird: the very large Pileated Woodpecker.

And sure enough, she makes an appearance. I can tell this is a female Pileated because a male would have a red stripe on his face--above his "mustache."

Sometimes the creatures are there, right in front of you, but easy to overlook.

An ant drags a prize along a fallen tree trunk. I think it is a bird dropping; not much is wasted in the finely balanced ecosystem of the forest.

I was staring at this frog for several minutes before I saw him, blending in among the aquatic plants and rocks in the stream.

Once you see one frog, others seem to appear out of nowhere.

And, as always, there is some representative of the greeting committee to welcome me back to the yard.

Tucker sticks his nose through the fence.

Every time I walk in the forest, I find something new. The light changes, new plants bloom. Nests and dens are built, and babies born. This is why I live near the woods.

Finding Flowers in the Forest

When I was growing up, I lived across the street from a small patch of woods that was part of a local park. The park itself was, at most, a five-minute walk from my home. It was my favorite place.

Very few people walked the paths in the part of the forest where I wandered. I knew kids would go there; beer bottles and some trash appeared now and again; it was somewhat obvious that there were areas that served as teen hangouts. But I never actually encountered any of these folks, and  the place nearly always was empty of humans. It felt as my own.

As others before me have said way better than I ever could, I went to the woods to seek solace.

I could sit in the quarry--a rocky area within the forest that was never actually quarried, I'm sure--for hours. I saw may apples and skunk cabbage, and watched insects. I remember being thrilled when a ground hog came ambling through. I let birdsong enter my consciousness.

Many years later, when I was able to purchase my first house, one of the most important aspects of the location was that it be in walking distance to at least a patch of woods, if not an entire parkful or forest. And when we moved into our current home, I felt like I had my own little bit of heaven, since about 1 1/2 acres of our property is woods that are almost contiguous with several hundred acres of wooded county parkland.

I still am in love with my forest; I walk it whenever I can, nearly always with camera in hand. And perhaps because of my early love affair with the woods, I see many things in our small area as I traverse the barely distinguishable path that we've gently crafted.

Sometimes I take the dogs when I walk in the woods, but not if I plan to take pictures or look for wildlife. The pups love it when I take them, of course--so many interesting smells and sounds.

Come walk with me and I'll show you some of what I see. In today's post, I feature just some of the amazing diversity of plants and flowers. I don't know the names of all of them, but that doesn't impinge on my appreciation.  All of the pictures below were taken over the course of just a few days this month. The forest never stands still; there is always something new to discover.

To get to the wooded part of our property, you need to go through a gate. The deer fencing we've put up ensures that the plentiful deer get to stay in their neighborhood, and I get to have a perennial garden. A wildflower of some sort (surely others would call it a "weed" greets you at the edge of the gate.

Just outside the gate, more of the same flowers grow. Several types of wildflowers grow here; on the edge of the woods, these plants receive a little more sunlight than those deeper within.

Many wild violets grow in the forest. These wind up in my perennial garden as well, and I let them stay, as their purple blooms offer early color.

Probably another "weed," this yellow flower seems elegant and simple. I have yet to identify everything in the woods; sometimes I think it's better that way; I get to enjoy something just because it exists, not because I know it's name.

I'm pretty sure this is wild honeysuckle, a New Jersey native. This also appears in my perennial garden, where I transplant is along my fence to create a living border.

Sometimes things are interesting simply because of where they are. Here, seedlings of some sort found a lovely natural planter in fallen log.

When woody vines fall die back or fall, they leave curvy patterns for the eye to discover.

Shelf lichen adorns a tree. Sometimes you'll encounter a whole trunkful.

And other times, just one nearly encircling a sapling.

Sometimes you discover that what you thought were different plants were really the same species at different life stages. I thought this little seedling was adorable; the colors unusual and quite decorative.

Here's another version--maybe a year or two older. I've always thought it fascinating that early spring is a preview of fall; young leaves sprout in the same autumnal colors before they turn green.

Same plant, a few years older. Gorgeous little yellow flowers--and lots of pointy thorns. Pretty now, but you can't walk through a bunch of these bushes without a long-sleeved jacket and pants for protection against scratches.

It's not all about color either. These are Jack in the Pulpits. Another New Jersey native, these don't bloom until they are several years old.

I am such a fan of ferns. I love how they unfurl in the spring. Along with the Jack in the Pulpits, I have transplanted several ferns to my front yard, in an attempt to include native plants in my landscape beds. It looks like they're coming up this year, which makes me quite happy.

Flowering trees also make an appearance in the woods. Here a native sweet crabapple blooms. I like seeing these in the woods and knowing they provide an early source of pollen for bees and fruit for birds and squirrels later in the season.

I think my favorite wildflowers are spring beauties. Each year, more grow in our woods, adding lovely pink accents throughout the forest flower. I've tried to transplant these to our front yard beds as well, with limited success.

A closer view of spring beauties. They seem to have a color range, with some featuring a showier, more vibrant pink.

Since the dogs aren't with me when I take my photo tours of the woods, there is always some kind of welcoming committee waiting for me at the gate when I come back.  And usually, hoping that they get to come with me next time.

At the gate: Lilah, Jasper and Tucker waiting for my return from the woods.

In my next post, I'll feature some of the wildlife I encounter on walks in the forest. While there are plenty of nocturnal creatures that I'm not expert enough to capture in a photograph (opossums, raccoons, flying squirrels, skunks and owls to name a few) and other animals who are a little shy (such as foxes), there are still plenty to see.