Jack or Jill?

Jack or Jill?

Jack in the Pulpits are intriguing spring woodland herbs that are native to the eastern part of the United States. They can be found along moist and shaded forest seeps, sedges, streams, and floodplains first appearing as a single pale green spike as the plant breaks ground in early spring.

As the plants mature and begin to flower in April or May one or two long stems, each with three green leaves unfurl anywhere from three inches to two feet tall depending upon the Jack’s age and growing conditions.  The root is a corm, it is shaped like a turnip. 

  The Jack is an erect spike covered with tiny green-to-purple flowers that is called a spadix. Then comes the pulpit or spathe. This delicate hood protects the reproductive organs. The single flower is either a pale green stiped with cream or a brighter lime green with purple stripes. Each flower looks like a delicate green vase. During the summer months, if the Jack is a Jill; seeds that are growing stay green like most fruits. When they ripen in August/September, the berries turn a brilliant scarlet. Sending a signal that Jill’s fruits are ready to eat, bears, turkeys, birds and many other animals feast on the berries digesting the soft parts of the fruit and excreting the seed—usually far from the parent plant, often in a new suitable habitat.

Each jack is either male or female. You can tell the sex of the plant by gently pulling the sides of the pulpit apart and looking around the base of the jack. There are either tiny, green seeds (in the female) or cream-colored stamens with pollen (male).

Here’s the intriguing part: If you come back to the same plant the following spring you might discover that Jill has become Jack because individual plants can change their sex from year to year. Jill becomes Jack if growing conditions are poor because the sex of the Jack in the pulpit is determined environmentally, not genetically. If a plant has a good year and stores a significant amount of food in the corm, the following season the jack will bloom as a female. If the plant is not able to store enough energy or has some kind of shock, the next season Jill will bloom as a Jack!

Female Jack in the pulpits are bigger and more robust than males because they have to support the growing and ripening seeds. The males produce the pollen dust, a drastically smaller expenditure of energy.

Once a Jack in the pulpit has become established others will follow, and soon there will be a family of these plants. The young ones are often single three lobed leaves that surround the older Jacks.

Jacks are pollinated by fungus gnats, which find their way under the overlapping pulpit and down the flowers’ large opening to the pollen and ovules at the base. Each flower has a slightly fungal scent that attracts the gnats. These gnats aren’t strong flyers and the task of flying up and out the top of the pulpit is difficult for them, so the male plant assists them by providing them with an escape hatch – a tiny opening.

To find the gnats’ exit, look for a hole less than 1/16th of an inch at the base of the pulpit, where two layers of tissue overlap. If the plant blooms as a male, the gnats escape and carry pollen to the next flower. In female flowers the opening is absent since the plant has no need for the gnat to move on. Insect demise follows.

During the summer when they are maturing, Jill’s seeds stay green like most fruits. When they ripen in August or September, the fruits turn a brilliant scarlet. When Jill’s fruits are ripe they attract birds, bears, turkeys, and many other animals. After an animal eats the fruit, it digests the soft parts and excretes the seed—usually far from the parent plant, often in a new suitable habitat.

Due to habitat loss and over-harvesting, Jack in the pulpits are considered threatened or endangered, so please refrain from picking/ or removing them. If growing conditions are favorable these plants can live for 25 years.

Ever since I moved here 40 years ago, I have had an abundance of Jack in the pulpits down by the brook. Then I began my study of black bears. After a few years I noted that I had less jacks and by then I knew that the corms were an early spring delicacy. By the time my study ended sixteen years later, all my Jack in the pulpits were gone!

Patiently I waited for years for a bird or creature to leave me a seed while combing my forest every spring without success.

 Finally, I couldn’t stand the absence of jacks for one more year, and I wasn’t about to dig a corm in another forest because these plants are becoming scarce in many places. To remedy my loss this April I bought one at Mclaughlin Gardens to begin again. 

As fate would have it, I then found one plant growing in the sedges by the brook that turned out to be a female (I just checked) with smaller jacks breaking ground a couple of weeks later. When I discovered more here and in other forests, I decided the plant goddess/god must have heard my lament! 

Just this morning while taking a break from this writing I trudged through my rain-soaked woods. Imagine my surprise when I came upon another huge clump with the female unveiling her cluster of bright green berries! 

The life cycle of the Jack-in-the-pulpit is magnificently complex, relying on other species for pollination, seed dissemination and, ultimately, survival. This plant conjures up the trickster with its deceptive scent and Jack and Jill turnabouts!

The next time you see one or a cluster of these gems, marvel at the way nature demonstrates the reality and necessity of developing intimate and multifaceted relationships with other species including a healthy mycelial network to survive and thrive!

Green Frogs

Hunter and his Relatives – Green Frogs

   Hunter at his pond

This morning Hunter leapt under towering marigold umbrellas into tadpoled pond water as I tore up another handful of spinach leaves to feed the wood-frog babies, the last I will be raising; they no longer breed here. Although I have raised little masked bandits for 40 years (2/3rds of the clutch I found never made it to the tadpole stage).

When Hunter moved in on May 11, I initially felt dismay. Green frogs do predate on wood frog tadpoles, so I was not overjoyed to see him. Normally green frogs don’t arrive here until the wood frog tadpoles have undergone their radical transformation in late June or early July. 

Hunter’s pond

Green frogs are always friendly to those that appreciate them, and so despite his predatory character I quickly became attached to this frog who greeted me whenever I approached him (no this was not a warning call). Most mornings, I observed Hunter snapping up unwary insects from one of the circular stones that ring my little pool. Evenings, he hunted from an old log. For a while I kept checking on the tadpoles and if he has ever eaten any I can’t tell. Now (end of June) I have to part the greenery to visit with him. We communicate without words. 

When Celeste arrived almost a month later the two struck up a friendship, each hunting from their favorite spot, or just sunning together from a rock. Some days I can’t see one or the other so both come and go. But apparently this habitat keeps drawing them back in… Meanwhile, in the last three days the wood-frog tadpoles are transforming into froglets and hopping into protective greenery (fernery) one by one. A poignant leave – taking for me. 

In early June this year I found green frog egg clusters in one forested vernal pool that was fed by a seep, so technically this was not a pool but a fen. Next year, I think I’ll try raising these green frog tadpoles like I used to. I have been focusing on raising wood frogs because they are an indicator species, and I’ve known for years that they are disappearing. 

Green Frogs (Lithobates clamitans) are aquatic amphibians who rarely wander far from some water source. Throughout their range, they are commonly found in marshes, creeks, fens, road-side ditches, swamps, brooks, moist woodlands, vernal pools, springs, and on the margins of freshwater ponds and lakes (they prefer shallow waters – bull frogs eat them).

Green frogs are about 2 to 4 inches long with greenish-brown coloration. They have large discs, called tympanums, behind each eye. Prominent ridges extend from these distinctive rounds down the length of their backs. Bullfrogs who also look similar when younger lack dorsolateral ridges, making it easier to distinguish green frogs from bullfrogs. Female green frogs can be or are larger than males (sources vary – my own experience suggests the females around here are larger), but males have larger tympanums and bright yellow throats. As tadpoles, green frogs are olive green with off-white bellies and spotted tails which makes it easy to distinguish them from others.

Green frogs are an ecotone species, meaning they inhabit the transition area between two biomes. Green frogs used to be found across most of the eastern United States, but of course habitat loss, polluted waters, climate change, damming etc. are reducing numbers.

Green frogs can swallow insects, spiders, fish, crayfish, shrimp, freshwater clams, other frogs, tadpoles, small snakes, and snails. I wonder if Hunter’s early appearance this year might be responsible for snail population control. I say that because last year I never had a green frog move in until the middle of August (the latest ever) and I had masses of baby snails. Tadpoles feed on algae, water plants and fresh spinach if provided! One interesting fact is that if these frogs live in larger ponds as eggs and tadpoles, they are toxic and generally unpalatable to fish, a great adaptation.

Green frogs overwinter in silt, under water or underground hibernating (called brumation) until early April. Most years the green frogs that spend the summer here are gone by the end of September.

They breed between June and September. Male green frogs call more frequently during the mating period. This calling becomes even more frequent if they have failed to mate between July and September. When selecting a mate, females take male size and territory into account. Larger males make calls with lower frequencies, which provides an indication of male body condition before females see them. Better quality male territories usually have more dense foliage, and larger males generally inhabit these territories more often than smaller males.

Male green frogs are aggressively territorial around mating season (I have never witnessed this behavior). Encounters usually start with intimidation in which a male defending its territory will display its bright yellow throat to deter approaching males. If an intruding male persists despite this warning, the two males grapple with each other for anywhere from a few minutes to almost an hour, until one surrenders and leaves the disputed territory. Other territory defense behaviors include kicking, biting, head-butting, and making aggressive calls that sound like growls! When mating the male uses his front legs to clasp the female’s body, causing her to release the eggs, which are fertilized externally. Breeding males can be recognized from the females by the swollen base of the thumbs and  thick front legs that are used during amplexus. 

Hunter and Celeste never laid eggs here this year, maybe because it’s too already too crowded or they aren’t sexually mature, or they traveled to another seep/marsh to breed on this property? Perhaps this pond simply isn’t big enough or it’s too early for these two. Mysteries, all. Hunter croaks, but only at me.

Females release up to 5,000 eggs in a film-like mass among the surface vegetation in shallow water. The eggs are black and surrounded by two clear, jelly-like envelopes. Under ideal circumstances they can hatch in a week.  Earlier this month I visited one forested seep that had five clusters of green frog eggs floating near the surface. I returned three times in one week to check, and all but one clutch had hatched – the remaining mass didn’t hatch at all, it just disintegrated. Green frog tadpoles are dark green on the dorsal side of their bodies, with tails that are dark green or brown with dark spots. Their throats are white and the ventral side of their bodies white or cream. Some tadpoles hibernate for either one or two winters in silt or dead plant matter before becoming frogs ( the literature is contradictory with regard to this issue ). Sexual maturity occurs one or two years after reaching adulthood. Green frogs have a life span of up to about five years I am told.

 Green frogs perceive colors and have excellent hearing. Their eyes are particularly sensitive to sunlight and moonlight allowing them to travel safely during the night, find prey, and new bodies of water. During rainy periods green frogs travel from their ‘homes’ to forage elsewhere. Around here there is so much wild foliage from my summer flower garden that they don’t have to go far to find a variety of new insects and other tasty morsels. I often meet one or two when I walk down to the brook but after I surprise them, they immediately disappear, making it almost impossible to photograph one. 

Everyone loves to eat frogs. Bears, foxes, mink, weasels, herons, crows, raccoons, coyotes – the list is seemingly endless – and let’s not forget humans who feast upon their close relatives the bullfrogs.Earlier this month I spent part of another gorgeous buggy morning at a beaver dam in the woods. As I sat down to listen to a deafening gray tree frog and peeper symphony (it was hot) within seconds six green frogs popped into view only a foot or so away.

Animals know when we love them.

Turning Towards the Light

I won’t walk in this fog bound soup – the air is so toxic it’s literally not breathable – let’s hope this is not a prelude to the rest of the summer like it was last year.

The solstice marks a turning of the wheel in ancient cultures – a process (more than an event) that is still celebrated by countryfolk and by those who are attached to the land. As we move deeper into the first days of summer many (most) wildflowers are seeding up even as the sun’s heat intensifies around the longest, days of the year…

As I walk through the woods and around my home, I note the first yellowing leaves dropping from fruit trees, others are shriveling, insect ridden. My beans are spiraling skyward … Overall, a vibrant deep green canopy appears to replace luminous lime, and for a moment numinous fireflies light up the night…gardens are overflowing. Tadpoles are birthing back legs, and within the month a radical transformation will have occurred as miniature froglets begin their lives in seeps brooks ponds or greenery… There is a poignancy to this turning for me. The birds are fledging, birdsong is somewhat muted. Summer heat and fierce thunderstorms mark the season ahead…cold clear waters and forests are calling…

If matter is frozen light as physicist David Bohm suggested then perhaps too much of it becomes trapped in my Body-Mind this time of Year. I have trouble sleeping, am often irritable and headaches are often a daily reality.

Light and Dark – too much of either invites imbalance.

Around me manic ‘celebratory’ human behavior seems normalized – explosions – gunning – fireworks, motorcycles, speedboats – endless mowing and machine noise drowns out the songs of the birds, rushing waters, trees, leaves and roots deep in conversation…

I have developed strategies for dealing with this time of year just as I have for endless nights but at either apex I am wary.

Heyokas if approached with care guide us through reversals, and eventually restore balance.

Deep forests and clear river waters bring peace.

I reflect upon what it might mean to have too much light trapped in my body. What I experience is a sense of being stuck as this energy that feels like fire circles round and round.

Maybe this is one reason ancient cultures celebrate the summer solstice turning with bonfires. It’s an interesting thought. Burning, a form of letting go…

I long for the golden light to return as the sun star once again sinks a little lower on the horizon.

What I ask for at this turning is to begin flowing like the river’s waters, even as I give thanks to the Earth Goddess who is Nature for her/his abundance, Ancient Mother/Father of All.

Who are Heyokas?

 ***Heyokas are Indigenous Holy People who have been struck by lightning or thunder who then embody the Winged Powers of Nature as Air. Their gift (curse?) is one of prophecy. As receivers these holy people behave in contrary and often humorous ways but can also be dangerous. These people/ Forces of Nature take on both light and dark aspects of the community returning extremes to Nature – eventually restoring balance… In this context I would call them mediators but they also embody reversals…(According to the  Pueblo they live in the mountains most of the time) This kind of power protects and destroys, so these holy people must be treated with the greatest respect.

Nature’s Memory is sharp and clear

Gift From The Beyond

Gift From the Beyond 

Lily B

The words came unbidden “go outdoors”. It was dark but I felt my way to the door. I always listen when Nature calls. 

I had just re -membered that Davey’s birthday was the next day. ‘Happy birthday Beloved’. My little brother would have been 75. I calculated the years with difficulty imagining what it would have been like if he had lived…

Dead at 21 from a self – inflicted gunshot wound, part of me died with my Gemini Twin. I failed him at the end, turning into a parent who was incapable of being emotionally present to listen to a young boy on the verge of adulthood at a time of desperate need. Instead, I parroted my parents’ script, not having developed one of my own…

”You have everything to live for,” I screamed when Davey tried to tell me that he was tired of living. 

I no longer blame myself for my inadequacy, but regrets linger on just the same.

It would be eleven years before I was able to begin grieving. Catapulted out of my body at the time of my brother’s death I felt nothing for years as I self- medicated with alcohol and a dreary round of boyfriends while being unable to be emotionally present for my own young children. To feel one must inhabit a body but mine was overflowing with anguish and abandonment. Too dangerous to go there. Isolated and alone, I huddled in my house in silent torment, an absentee mother following the parental script with children of my own.

 Davey wasn’t just my little brother he was the love of my life living inside me as part of myself, or that’s how I experienced our lives together. I believe that on some level we might have shared the same soul – is that even possible? I have no way of knowing. In retrospect it is understandable that after his death I could no longer go on living in an abandoned shell.

 When Davey was born, I climbed into his crib to sleep next to him whenever I could. I cared for him like a mother feeding him his bottle when I was three. They named me the ‘little mother’. Later we became the closest companions haunting the wild places where we grew up, catching frogs and fireflies, butterflies and bees, climbing trees; the forest was our home. I think we were both born naturalists.

 During adolescence when my brother became a runner breaking world records as a fourteen – year – old, I rarely went to meets because I couldn’t stand watching my brother’s face when he came in first. His expression was full of pain. When I married at nineteen, Davey having become famous during the intervening years was still coming to visit me on a regular basis as our relationship matured. By that time, he was Harvard’s star athlete. Fifty-two colleges wanted him, Harvard won. With all this outer stuff happening we never lost the powerful ties that bound us as One. He remained my confidante, my closest friend.  Much more so than my husband, which should have given me a clue. Neither of my children remember him, though that last Christmas we spent one night sitting around a camp – fire in the Navajo Hogan Davey had skillfully crafted from bent saplings and deerskins that he sewed together himself…Three weeks later he was dead. The night before he killed himself, he called me, and we spent about a half an hour discussing the merits of a wild skunk that had befriended him. When the phone rang the following evening, I didn’t believe my beloved brother could be dead… I wore red to the service, stared at an empty pine coffin covered with evergreens, numb. 

When I first came to these mountains, my little brother came too. Together we inhabited ‘elf house’, chased fireflies, raised tadpoles, caught frogs, picked wildflowers, fell in love with trees especially the cedars that towered over the little camp that was situated just a few feet above a roaring mountain brook. It didn’t matter that Davey was invisible, we were together again, reliving our childhood, adolescent friendship and the first taste of an adult relationship even as I began to inhabit my body with a new awareness.

 

Dawning.

For three years we raised tadpoles caught frogs and scattered forget me nots… chased a field full of fireflies at night. We rose with the sun and fell asleep at dusk…this brief interim constituted the happiest years of my life.

After I moved here permanently my life changed dramatically. Divorced, I returned to school accruing degrees, eventually becoming a teacher, counselor, and writer. Oh, my brother was still with me but there was separation too. I was starting to live a self – directed life.

I became accustomed to periodic distance, but these times were always punctuated by moments when we both once again inhabited the same skin.***

Thirty-two years after Davey’s death I was finally able to bury his ashes down below the log cabin I built above the camp at Trillium rock, ending forever the nightmares I had been having each January. In these dreams my tortured brother was wandering around alone looking for a place to rest. 

It turned out that my parents lied to me about what they had done with his ashes. No wonder I wasn’t included. Instead of burying or scattering, his ashes were left in a box in the attic. I still shudder at the thought of all those years… abandoned by his own parents even in death.

 After my little burial ceremony, a grieving sister finally found peace.

For a week afterward there were so many red -tailed hawks around Trillium Rock that all my birds left home. Need I add that redtails were my brother’s favorite birds?

Last fall when I broke my hip, I needed to do exercises to help me recover, and I did them at a bureau next to the only picture of my brother that I have. “Help me” I said. And he did. He and Gary both. 

My friend Lise sent me some words on the eve of Davey’s birthday (unbeknown to me until the 6^th) that reminded me of how often I spoke to him during those months.

“The reason I pray to the dead is I trust their timing. They have all the time in the world, after all, and they also see the big picture and the long story. I pray to the dead because, I admit, how little I know, how little I can understand, and how vast the mystery is of the soul.

Let me circle myself with the living who can hold both, with the dead who can hold it all. We are entangled souls…. We are all praying together, with the flowers, the trees, with all that is.” (I substitute talk for pray because that is what I do)

And these words bring me around to the beginning of this story.

 After receiving the nudge and feeling my way out the door, I am held by the darkness as I stand under my still fragrant flowering crabapple. A thousand tree frogs are singing to a chorus of peepers. I look up and a firefly is descending from the mother pine. Blinking furiously this ‘lightening bug’ is slowly coming towards me… a few others glorious golden lights join in circling round..

.

Then it happens. I am breathing deeply; the air is so sweet. I am totally rooted to the ground and simultaneously transported. Davey is with me, just as he has always been. and I hear the words ‘Life and Death are One’… we will always be part of the same story”.

I have no idea how long I stood there but when I came in, I threw open all the windows (it had been very humid) so I could fall asleep to tree frogs and watch the lightening bugs’ cool lights. Not a sound. Not one light. I stared out the window waiting for those magical fireflies who never came. Finally, I fell asleep.

The following day during our morning conversation I told Gary the tale and he replied, ‘the hair rose up on my arms as you were telling me this story’.

 Davey and Gary both.

Some people know….

*3 Footnotes

 I had hairy and downy woodpeckers chirping persistently as they flew to the feeder for hours while I was writing. Papa was teaching his young how to navigate the spring loading device to keep it from shutting down (very clever birds). Too many woodpeckers I thought before the teaching began. Birds act as messengers and woodpeckers always alert me to an experience of holes being punctured in my body. This writing brought me back to the agony of loss.

_____________________________

Halfway through this writing I received a message from someone who has been trying to find me. Needing a break from myself I answered immediately. John came to my house during the years that Davey was at Harvard and was one of his roommates for three years. All were runners – cross country etc..

Listening to John I relived my brother’s life at Harvard, especially with regard to his years as an internationally record – breaking athlete still from a distance. I knew Davey was famous, but the two of us had the kind of bond that excluded his immense accomplishments… they were always an adjunct for me. Perhaps this is why when my brother told me he had stopped running I didn’t care. All that fame meant nothing to me – he was my beloved. After pulling out of the track team he confided in me that he was tired of people not seeing him as a person but only as an athlete. Certainly, my family did. My parents had an entire room full of his gold medals.

 In retrospect of course I understand how crippling Davey’s invisibility was to such a brilliant and sensitive young man who had no intuitive/compassionate adult male model to help ground him in a life beyond world fame.

 All he had in the end was me.

Sadly, I wasn’t enough.

_________________________________

Last night I was exhausted from writing and conversation – very depressed. I got into bed with my little girls, turning out the lights – and suddenly one emerald firefly started blinking at the window. I wept. Davey loved the golden insects the most, but the greens were my favorite…

The powers of the mysterious mycelial network beneath my feet make certain that underground interconnection is the reality that binds us all on land as One.

Exclusion: The Dark Side of the Moon

Exclusion – The Dark Side of the Moon

What does it mean to be excluded? I think exclusion is a powerful form of discrimination practiced by folks who dislike a person for who s/he is and will not admit it. These people are incapable of truth telling and hide behind ambiguities and double talk. Talk without Action.

Mirror imaging…

I have recently had an experience with a group that demonstrates this behavior. It is not necessary to go into details here. Suffice it to say that I bought into lies, believing talk of support, while simultaneously being told that to give a volunteer educational program I had to be vetted by the powers that be who would shadow me in the field to determine if I was competent. A pretend walk was always positioned at some vague point in the future…

Last January after receiving an arrogant/ inflammatory response to my proposal (actually, I made a few) my closest friend kindly suggested that it was time to put some distance between this group and myself because “these people do not have your best interests at heart.” 

Although I listened, I decided that because I am so bound to nature as a naturalist with a PhD in ethology (the study of wild animal behavior in the field) and so enthusiastic about my research believing that a hands on approach which would involve talking and a walk through the woods to demonstrate what was normally invisible would help others understand the complexity and critical importance of mycelial networks to all because these intricate threads support all life on land.  

I was wrong.

Eventually the organization’s double – talk won out and I withdrew after letting the ‘supporting’ individuals know that I had finally gotten it.

I wasn’t wanted. Period. Not part of their ‘club’.

At that point my friend stepped in and the next thing I knew I was giving talks to other conservation groups who were delighted to have me! No vetting, no doubletalk just presentations followed by walks in the woods. My audiences helped me by highlighting the areas I needed to focus on with their enthusiasm and questions.

Just this morning I received yet another invitation for a walk:

“Could we set the date for the program in late August so we can finish our program calendar?  And then we can find a time to walk whenever it is convenient for you. The best time for the program would be sometime between August 18th and 29th.  Please let me know if there’s a date that would work for you.”

What I have discovered is that genuine conservationists are fascinated by what I have had to offer and are spreading the word. 

As a former college instructor who hasn’t taught for ten years, I am excited. I have forgotten how much I love to teach and learn from others, and I am passionate about what is happening under my feet!

Although the discrimination by individuals in one group was painful to experience it also set me free to explore other options, and who knows where this might go.

Best of all as an Earth Advocate who lives her life in the big picture, I am presently advocating for nature in very practical ways that are fun!

 Our planet is suffering from a blind refusal to see that all nature is sentient, and the study of mycelial networks helps to attach people to non-human intelligence on a level that simply cannot be ignored.

For me aligning myself with ‘all there is’ and educating others is who I am and what I do.

I had a difficult experience with the dark side of the moon, but s/he also emanates a luminous glow… Once a month her cyclic presence lights up even the darkest of nights.

I had no sooner posted this essay when I received yet another invitation to give a talk!

This is our Collective Future

Cymidei Cymeinfoll by Diane Finkle Perazzo

A Little Forest Walk

A Little Forest Walk

  Above the craggy mountain that I live against is a small community forest composed of 600 plus acres with some astonishing views and excellent birding as I discovered this morning. To my great delight I heard the first Indigo bunting of the year and many warblers dear to my heart.

 Wandering off by myself I heard the hermit thrush’s poignant musical trill, a song that sometimes wakens me at dawn. I was pleased to note that since the last time I was here that some lush greenery including burnished young oaks seemed to be thriving. Discovering a hidden cluster of about 30 lady slippers enchanted me. The forest is in recovery …

The last time I visited these ledges the brutality of recent logging had left such ugly scars that I wept. I had no desire to go back, although I continued to visit the area off season using a private trail from my side of the mountain making sure that I never ventured beyond the first view.

When I first learned that a community forest was being created in 2022, I felt acute dismay. I am that rare animal, a true ‘conservationist’ who puts nature first not people, and I groaned when I heard that a snowmobile trail was going to be included in this undertaking. Not more machines for human ‘re- creation’ I thought. Already disgusted with unnecessary air and water pollution from screaming motorcycles, mountain bikes, and the snowmobiles’ high-pitched whines on what was supposed to be protected land, I wanted no part of this undertaking, or so I thought. 

When I decided to attend this bird walk because James, the leader is my friend and the person that taught me how to listen to birds (I had learned as a toddler to identify birds by sight), I was ambivalent – wary – hoping that new greenery would disguise recent tree slaughter. It did. What I didn’t expect was to see so much beauty. Of course, the Greening of the Earth steals my heart every single year. It actually makes it impossible for me to leave my blooming fruit tress and carpeted wildflowers home for the last two weeks in May. Instead I disappear into the transforming – Earth Consciousness Becomes All There Is.

  I had just given a second talk on the importance of underground mycelial networks to another like -minded conservation group three nights before, and here I was witnessing what these 400 plus million year old informational highways could do in a brief moment in time if only the forest is left alone.* 

Practically, leaving a wooded area alone ( like the picture above taken in my woody yard – I walk my talk) allows nature to begin her healing process. For humans this translates into light foot traffic and the banning of machines. We know little about the source of all plant life on land beyond that this fungal network just below our feet stretches across all biomes on any dry ground that remains unbroken. This extraordinary informational highway has survived five extinctions. Now it too is under threat, although an international organization (SPUN) has been established to begin to map the hotspots of world-wide plant diversity. 

After listening and identifying birds and peering into woody niches, admiring stone outcroppings and of course soaking in the stunning views I experienced a sense of renewed hope for the survival of life on our beloved planet, my home. 

When I walked over the gravelly granite road and learned how soon a trail will be created that will allow physically challenged folks to reach mountain ledges for a view, I decided I could live with the one snowmobile trail that bisected the property. At least during the winter (if the snow remains firm) no plants will be crushed or damaged. 

I believe that the ever – worsening problem of air/water pollution due to the massive use of lawnmowers and recreational machines is an issue that needs urgent attention by conservation groups/land trusts everywhere because these ‘protected’ places are behavioral models for the general public. How can we promote an earth consciousness/ awareness if we stay stuck in our individual/ or particular group wants? Developing an earth consciousness would allow us to perceive that we are one of many intelligent species, not the only one. This inability/unwillingness to absorb oneself into the greater whole is an issue that remains under the Giant Shadow of our destructive economy, the indifference of willful people intent on having their toys no matter what the cost, and those whose toxic optimism blinds them to what is. The Community Forest at Buck’s Ledge sets a concrete example of responsible stewardship as well as the importance of a light touch to a forest in recovery by creating narrow winding woodland paths that allow folks to pay attention to their surroundings as well as demonstrating the critical importance of a light human footprint. It also allows those who cannot otherwise approach a mountain summit to appreciate the views a chance to do so. This both and approach impresses me deeply.

I have digressed a bit to discuss mycelial networks and escalating air/water pollution because ultimately, they are our long term hope for any future. 

The Earth Advocate in me never sleeps.

 I want to close by saying that I will soon be going back to climb Moody mountain to make friends with whoever I might meet in this little protected forest. And lastly, I want to offer my gratitude to those that have worked so hard to make a woodland sanctuary out of a mountain that suffered rape in my own backyard.

My heartfelt thanks…

Re: mycelial networks

Recently researchers have found that land plants had evolved on Earth by about 700 million years ago and land fungi by about 1,300 million years ago — much earlier than previous estimates of around 480 million years ago. (The original figure was based on fossil records).