Traditions

Well friends, hi! It's that time of year again where I write and I can hardly believe it...it's a strange life we live if you think about it too much, isn't it? 

That's when I find joy in showing up on a wildlife cam like this. United with another human. Sharing love. Sharing time outdoors.

In the same spot, but at a different time, this buck found the staghorn sumac and made his presence known with significant scent marks.

Others came to read the message.

We smelled them too, but we don't communicate the same way and cannot understand what he said. We know part of it is to mark territory or alert others of his presence, but might their be more?

Before the land became covered in white we savored a mild end of fall. Frogs found our lamp lit windows and dined on moths attracted to the brightness.

We explored with friends and found incredible caterpillars. 

Checkered-fringe Prominent:

Spiny Oak Slug:

Oval-leaved Ladies' Tresses made herself known at Persimmon South: 

Our traditions are minimal or so I believed until I thought through our days, our weeks, our months. Some folks could definitely pass off our activities as habits, but given that we are repeating human patterns, we will call them traditions.

Musclewood seeds (good cardinal food we learned this year):

As I thought through this year, not in a nostalgic way, but in a practical, logging type of way, I realized our traditions are mostly defined by plants and by sunlight and all who depend on them. Shortening daylight correlates with seed gathering and dormant planting so that is what we did.

Persimmon Pilgrimaging is a bonafide annual tradition and the 2025 late fall exploration took us on the road headed southwest from Ohio towards Missouri for multiple quests.

Hunting swamp chestnut oaks for a friend was first on the agenda. Little bits of information and plant discovery (or not) is exciting! The thrill of the chase is real!

Though we didn't find the trees where he wanted us to look, we did find a monster at Big Oak Tree State Park in Missouri.

As we look for plants we don't know as well, we learn to look for certain clues. Like the way Quercus michauxii has distinctive flared scales on the acorn cap. 

Our second quest was the FOREST grown, not open grown, state champion American persimmon tree in MO. The height was draw dropping and the fruit SO VERY delicious. This tree is in decline, but there are sprouts coming up everywhere around the mama that are getting mowed; we think it's time to let them grow.

Magnificent!

We also found many wild grown American persimmon trees in Tennessee and Missouri and as wild trees do, they exhibited so much interesting variability. 

The bark is always a give away. Chunky, dark, blocks. This boy scrounged around the ground like a mad man after gold. Definitely a man after my heart!

With the abundance of acorns and American persimmons, we decided to try a new tradition I read about long ago: persimmon ash cakes. How to do it, I couldn't remember fully, but I remembered enough so we gave it ago. We mashed persimmons and chopped white oak acorns as best we could with a tiny knife:

formed patties and put them in the ashes first:

then moved them to the coals and let them roast. Our first attempt ended up burnt, but you can bet we will try again next year with a little more knowledge than this year. 

We are grateful for the traditions in our lives, for noticing what happens daily in the nonhuman world, for always witnessing this is a shared planet, not just with other Homo sapiens, but with the estimated 8.7 million other species on Earth. The very end of November brought us into contact with:

Jumping Bush Cricket (male) on our porch:

Orange-banded Checkered Beetle on the Kamelands Trail in the Highlands Nature Sanctuary:

Red Flat Bark Beetle on the Jungle Brook Trail at Malabar State Park: 

Wheel Bug on the north side of our garage: 

Wheel Bug laid to rest in the leaves...

The last of the big migratory flocks of turkey vultures:

And before the wild December snows of Morrow County, Ohio...into the presence of beautiful autumnal forest.

As the snow fell and blanketed the Earth, we said so long to our insect friends and to easy tread on trail and embraced the next season of 2025. What else can we do, but be here now?

Alvin said ok:

Luke said no way:

Minnie Pearl said I don't care:

Happy (almost) Winter Solstice! What a joy to say! I do believe this is our most favorite day of the year - we made it to the darkest day and we are only brighter from here. Bring back the light! Take care friends. Please let us know your traditions.  

Soundtracks:

Samantha Crain - When We Remain

Alabama Shakes - This Feeling

Ketch Secor: Catch Me If You Can

Rabbitology - The Bog Bodies

Van Morrison - Stretching Out

Austin and The Syd Experience - Mass Destruction

Molly Tuttle - Everything Burns

A Summer of Wonder

The summer felt long, winding and delicious. We feel sated, like we captured it all. Last night when I couldn't sleep, I looked north and then to earth and saw a glow, then another, then another. I rubbed my eyes as clear as I could and realized we live communally with a constellation of glowing Photuris firefly larvae. What a shimmery cap to summer, to the onset of rain, to the end of drought, to stories of lives other than our own. 

We find those stories everywhere: 

in the beauty of a garter snake shed,

in the grape leaves patterned by a leaf miner unknown to us (but surely known by this guy), 

in a pileated woodpecker feather,

in a wing of a polyphemus moth.

When fall migration began in late summer, that became one of our top priorities. "Don't be too busy or summer will go too fast," my very wise sister-in-law said. We never forgot those wise words and we live by the truth of that statement. Don't be too busy. Life will go too fast. 

So, we lay on the ground; we lay in our chairs. We sky watch and we witness. Monarchs, darners, saddlebags, turkey vultures, black vultures, chimney swifts, bald eagles, accipiters. They all fly above us, living their nomadic existence. We aren't too busy to see it. 

For weeks now we watch certain trees, mostly black walnuts, honey locusts, river birches and maples surrounded by shrubs and wildflowers that catch the sun first or last and we get daily migratory bird lists like this: 

What is happening here is happening everywhere if there is habitat and you know where to look. 

One of the challenges of our cherished and necessary long hikes is moving too fast to really look, but that fact has trained us to listen. We've learned many bird calls and songs because while hiking our eyes don't scan well at 2.5-3.0 mph, but our ears hear it all. Ceruleans, black-throated greens, blackburnians, hooded, Canada warblers, wood peewees, acadian flycatchers, rose-breasted grosbeaks, Louisiana waterthrushes...we know them all. We continue to untangle American redstart, magnolia, worm eating, dry chipping sparrow. 

Even speed, though, can't blind us to the presence of black cohosh...

or the clymene haploa moth...

or the pandorus sphinx caterpillar crossing the road in front of our moving car, certain to be squashed by the car on our tail if we don't flip on the flashers, stop and move them to safety. 

Hiking one mile and not twelve miles let's us take the time to look closely, 

slowly, slurping up the beauty of all the autonomous beings around us. 

Angelica: 

Bottlebrush buckeye:

Giant eucosma moth on their host plant - cup plant:

Harvestman,

and a passel of young IO moth caterpillars on willow. 

The penitent caterpillar on our extension cord:

One of the grass vaneer moths on our downspout:

We've not turned our air conditioning on once this summer and I know for many, that is bonkers, but for us, hearing the songs of the insects and the birds is a can't miss moment. It's wondrous and rich and loud and giggly funny sometimes. It's the languages of other species, ones we don't speak, but which we appreciate and cannot live without. 

Two-spotted tree cricket singing:

Steve's keen eyes spotted promethea moth caterpillars on a tulip tree we planted here a while back now. This rewilding work, well, it never fails to bring us into wonder. The interworkings of this planet are here for us to see, if we make the time. Slow down. Don't be too busy. Don't make it go too fast. 

Dark-spotted palthis moth:

Pole borer beetle:

Carrion beetle:

Black walnut caterpillars had a great year around here and their business of piling on one another to molt and then head back up into the tree to feed is pretty neat to witness. A great predator diversion tactic for sure, but we can't help but wonder about the ones on the bottom? Are they the safest or the most annoyed at everyone climbing on them while they shed their skin?

Steve's keen eyes again noticed a caterpillar fall out of a tree, no doubt ready for a place to pupate, and I got to move them somewhere safe. A great picture I did not get, but a video...heck yeh. Lappet moth. WOW.

We savored this summer with each other and with family. 

We spotted cool plants...

and spring peepers on cup plant...

and American toads in the garage...

and cicadas in the shrubs...

and one of the grays on the pit toilet shelter where we frequently hike...

We wandered tallgrass prairies and got swallowed up whole by plants.

We wandered short grass prairie, too, and found ourselves taller than most, but not cooler than most:

Cloudless sulphur caterpillar...

Spotted apatelodes caterpillar...

False aloe seed pod...

Skiff moth caterpillars weathered the rain and slugged along...

Abundance grew on American plums at our place in Morrow County, Ohio and in neighboring gardens so we ate well and gratefully.

Love came in from everywhere...

Virgin tiger moth caterpillar, black swallowtail, IO. What's a person to do other than smile? Feel hope? Feel power? Feel resolute in forward motion? Participate? Act? THIS is the world we live in!

So, stand strong, head up. Smile. Don't be too busy. Don't let life go too fast.

We listened to this message. Over and over again this summer. Live music awakened a dormant part of our spirits. Gathering with humans, outdoors, amidst human song is a good reminder of who we are and the beauty we can make.

To top off the summer of riches, Bibs and all 3 of her kittens talked about in our Summer Solstice blog post were adopted by 4 different households all connected by one open-hearted, generous woman. Her kindness touched us more than I can write or say or cry. The beginning of our summer was ruled by this gorgeous, Bibs, and she and her kittens taught us a lesson in acceptance and resiliency, which evolved into so many laughs and so much love. 

Does this sound like a lot? It does as I write it and I know this is not even the half of it. This summer was full to the brim and so we end it with seed collecting and stowing them and sowing them for the future, knowing then is now.

What we plant matters. What we tend matters. How we love matters. 

Thank you for caring for one another and for our dear, precious Earth. We love you!!

MUST WATCH video that will fill you with awe, wonder and astonishment. TRULY. 

Teshekpuk Wetlands

Soundtracks from Ohio and North Carolina musicians:

the Baker's Basement - Wild Wild Sheep

Ray Flanagan & Anthony Papaleao - I Know It's Hard

Sparrow Smith and The Resonant Rogues - Jewel of the Blue Ridge