Tuesday, 9 June 2026
We’re still in a drought for the year, but June’s totals are approaching the month’s modern average. [You see the raindrops, eh?]
I was totally surprised to discover, sheltered as I am in horticultural matters, that this is in the milkweed family; I knew it as butterfly weed. The pods look like spiky cylindrical okras.
Monday, 8 June 2026
From what I’ve read, the dominant deciduous canopy tree in southern North America several hundred years ago was the American chestnut (mixed with oaks). Now, it’s just the many species of oaks. Looking up, oaks, shown here, do not look like the maples I grew up with. I do not know what a group of mature American chestnuts look like; I guess very few do, as the chestnut blight fungi have nearly extirpated the (eastern) populations.
Sunday, 7 June 2026
Early-ish, I braved the dew-wet grass to capture an image of the sentinels; however, the shadow makes them less interesting.
Here’s another group, far better lit.
I thought I was seeing tiny dew drops when I took this, but maybe it was just lupine hairs, now that I examine them enlarged.
Ordinarily, I would post an image of The Bridge on this travel day, but I’m mixing it up and posting one of the view south from what my family called The North Country Hill. It’s just north of Clare, and I assume it’s glacial, perhaps a moraine. Without the contrast of passing through the rolling hills to the north, it doesn’t look like much. Bridge photo next time?
Saturday, 6 June 2026
Overnight rain produces morning fog. That elm survives on the north fenceline. I think twenty years ago there were a trio. Such is the power of Dutch elm disease.
I neglected to look up what this is, and just named the photo beaut.
I discovered there are TWO flower stalks on the rhubarb. This is the same one as in yesterday’s shot.
Two pink lupines, contrasting with their purple-blue brethren.
Here’s this year’s “garden.” There are four basils under the squirrel cage. It kept squirrels away in ATL, until there was too much shade for veggies. Then, I brought it up here, where it keeps the deer from dancing on the soft soil. I noticed a goldfinch under it this afternoon, but by the time I got out to free it, it was gone. [I’ve covered the flanks of the mound with grass and rhubarb leaves to reduce evapotranspiration.]
Friday, 5 June 2026
The sentinels this afternoon…the color is marching up the flower spikes.
I do believe the too-high lake level is slightly receeding. Only a tad.
You can’t see that the wind is blowing the pussytoes around, this way and that.
I have now seen a flower stalk on Dad’s red rhubarb, I believe for the first time (although it’s possible that I have a poor memory, and that’s all). I have read that the stalks (and thus the sauce made from them) will become bitter, not just sour.
Thursday, 4 June 2026
Lupine sentinels, same group as the two previous days.
Lupine leaves lacking sentinels, festooned by apple petals.
Lilac.
Heirloom daffodils.
Sunday, 31 May 2026
Morning sun with apple leaves.
Black hole of fern.
Apple blossom cluster (in late-day sun).
Work, interrupted.
Friday, 29 May 2026
Sipping my coffee and looking out the window, I saw the low-angle morning sun gloriously illuminating the birchbark, aka birch bark.
Thursday, 28 May 2026
The earliest of the apple trees opened today. Most of the trees in the orchard are still in bud. The Siberian apple is one of the ones that are abloom, and I’m wondering if the pollinator trees are opening first. Certainly, I’m glad it’s warm enough that the pollinator insects can be active.
Wednesday, 27 May 2026
This morning, I walked through the woods to the other side of the point. There’s no beach, so no beach strolling, just picking my way through the woods avoiding trilliums (most not blooming), ramps, sticks, muddy spots, and the like. The lake looks swollen to me, even without the beach-less margin. In fact, “high water” does not even come close to the present condition.
The ferns continue to unfurl, as you’d expect.
In the field, I found the first lupine bud, a bit ahead of the masses.