Off Season Woods

Summer is the off season in the woods. This is because the field and home require attention while the weather is right, but also because mosquitos own the woods at this time of year. There is, however, one draw and that is mushrooms. 

There had been an explosion of Jelly fungus on cut logs downslope near the north wetland. It has, by now, yellowed with age, but still a fascinating fungal mass. Mosquitos be darned, in the woods with the camera I took a stroll to see what else was going on.

 A mysterious white fungus or mycelium between two logs.

An incredibly striking red slime mold on upright cut log faces. Anything this red within the green understory grabs your attention.

The channel connecting the north wetland to the southern, great wetland runs with rain water. We cleared this area of most garlic mustard two months back and the Jewelweed is beginning to take off. Now, let me get out there and clear those branches.

Recent storms haven't been terribly windy. Still this large limb, about two feet in diameter at the base of the break came down. It's Basswood, Tilia americana, not the strongest of trees, and prone to hollowing of the stem at height. One nearly came down on me as I walked the woods in March. Just pop and drop! Lucky for me I was distracted by the sound of running water which altered my path. A minute later I watched the large, single stem tree break about 12 feet up and fall over onto the path I was about to walk.

In the back woods I find another Basswood down (that's three this year alone). Those that have fallen are the oldest of the Basswood in our woods and two have been large, multi-trunked trees. Basswood can be easily identified by its multi-stem growth habit -its the sure fire way to ID the tree in winter, when young, or with similarly barked trees. We're not big fans of Basswood trees, largely because of their weak wood and propensity to fall without notice (a local woman died under this tree species recently). Incidentally, the tree reminds me of my former position in an architecture lab where basswood was the model building wood of choice. I'll take oaks, ash and maples over bass any day.

The back swale hasn't had time to drain down with all the recent heavy rains. It appears this area will be wet year in and year out and I should rethink my attitude towards it. Several years of heavy rains have kept the soil water logged and the trees standing in water that aren't already dead are only hanging on by a thread. When cold weather comes we may have to tackle some of the larger standing trees, leaving woodpecker stumps that won't fall immediately, but when they do they shouldn't take anyone out.

Open Season Fungus

These morels were brought to us by our hunter. He foraged them from our woods after a couple hours of chainsaw work clearing old timber fall on the trails. We dried them for future cooking.

Now that it is raining, mushroom season opens in earnest. Oysters and jelly fungus are appearing, and soon enough there'll be chickens on oak timbers.

Taking Spring

At the morning table with coffee, I was a bit taken by the sudden appearance of a green tree among the gray. When did this happen? 

A basswood, apparently young, but one never knows as trees will linger under the shadow of larger trees for years.

It looks to be algae growing over lichens only on the north-northeast side of the tree. That it is only this tree is surprising. There are plenty of trees with this exposure, many also slim and lack vigor.

Of course, there are other greens on trees. Like these mosses at the base of a nearby white oak, Quercus alba.

_____________________

Although only forty something, the breezes were a moist balm. Rain was on the way, the first rain of spring, and likely the first since October. I lingered outside wearing only a sweater. Toms pace the slough casting their garbled opinions. A red squirrel spits its rattling chastisement. Trilling robins blaze high limbs. The dimly lit woods is colored by sound. The animals take spring sooner than we do.

Vernal Pond

There's been a lot of rain this spring, creating what may be the deepest vernal pool in the swale. On it, a coating of duckweed.

Blessed, Wondrous Rain

I can deal with the snow, but I tire of walking on slush ice sidewalks like an old man worried about his hip. The cold tenses the muscles, well it does mine, as I make my way here and there. It has also made simple chores which require using the van more work. If I leave my well-groomed spot, it's lost, and then I am stuck with the glaciated mounds left by others. Then, the sound of tires spinning effortlessly on wet trash and frozen water, the chipping of grayed ice with my Spear and Jackson, and the blue smoke, the friction-burned odor of vulcanized rubber.

When I forced my way through the crowd at the cave exit of Columbus Circle, beneath that awful Trump gray atlas earth, I popped out my umbrella in smooth fashion while everyone else huddled, wondering what or how it could be. For each step, up and away from the station's cavernous maw, an umbrella extracted, velcro unstitched, a button pressed, and a graciously-sized tarpaulin extended. Alone, I topped the final step, in praise of this vigorous rain.

Oxide Of Spring

The day after we arrived I hiked quickly through the woods. The mosquitoes are horrendous, because of so much rain, and that same rain has saturated the normally summer-dry depressions. I've seen the ground water flowing from under the tree before, a nearly mythic scene, a tree to the side of the tractor road that traverses the woods and blocks the flow of water. From its roots a spring. 

Now the water runs with a rusty slime and I became curious.

From Wikipedia:

"Iron bacteria colonize the transition zone where de-oxygenated water from ananaerobic environment flows into an aerobic environment. Groundwater containing dissolved organic material may be de-oxygenated by microorganisms feeding on that dissolved organic material. Where concentrations of organic material exceed the concentration of dissolved oxygen required for complete oxidation, microbial populations with specialized enzymes can reduce insoluble ferric oxide in aquifer soils to soluble ferrous hydroxide and use the oxygen released by that change to oxidize some of the remaining organic material:^[2]

H₂O + Fe₂O₃ → 2Fe(OH)₂ + O₂

(water) + (Iron[III] oxide) → (Iron[II] hydroxide) + (oxygen)

When the de-oxygenated water reaches a source of oxygen, iron bacteria use that oxygen to convert the soluble ferrous iron back into an insoluble reddish precipitate of ferric iron:^[3]

2Fe(OH)₂ + O₂ → H₂O + Fe₂O₃

(Iron[II] hydroxide) + (oxygen) → (water) + (Iron[III] oxide)"

After The Rains

I could hardly sleep knowing I would be rising at 3:30 in the morning. It didn't help that the upstairs tenants were noisy as always. So, when I awoke at 2:58 am, I got out of bed and readied myself for the drive to the farm. Brooklyn is unsavory at four on a Sunday morning. Still so many people up, yet those who rise early are also about. There is more traffic on the highways than one imagines at that hour. I could relax, however, by the time I made it to Nassau County, and then the road was nearly empty by central Suffolk County, before this part of the Earth rolled into the visible rays of the sun.

Driving through the Hamptons was also a quite hospitable at 5:30 in the morning. Every place I usually turn to for breakfast was still closed on a Sunday morning, but thankfully the chatty, vibrant ladies of Hampton Coffee were open for business before 6 am. And, for those interested, their restroom was spotless.

All was covered in early morning dew.

Hard not to notice the elephant garlic scapes as they rocket to the sky.

The plan is to market these to local florists. Any florists in the house? At what stage are they most appealing -open, closed, half-way?

Generally the field looked better than I imagined given the report from my farming neighbor stating that my field was a pond. The surface water had 24 hours to drain since the last of the rain, and all had from the cultivated rows.

The weeds and the clover cover I planted had grown as expected in the three days since my last visit. Everything, but the garlic, was significantly taller.

At the edge of this year's plot the water still stood.

At the northern extent of my field the water was a few inches deep and the weeds acclimated to the soggy soil made themselves known. I slogged through the mow cut, hardly making it as my boots sunk ankle deep in the mire. I then crossed to the adjacent lower field that had recently been cultivated. A real nightmire.

The field had received nearly 5 inches of rain in 24 hours. That's nearly a month and a half's worth in one-forty-fifth the time. But that doesn't make it any less of a problem for growing a crop that generally accepts dry soil conditions. I can only hope that this soggy condition doesn't exacerbate this spring's growing problems.  I'm also not sure that I can make use of the northern third of my field for garlic. I'll have to work with the Trust to find an equitable solution, possibly drier land.

Checking on flood damage was only one reason to head to the farm. The reason I left so early was to be able to harvest garlic scapes to deliver to my neighboring farm for this week's farmers' market. He needed them by 7 am, and as luck would have it, we both arrived at the gate at exactly the same moment. Unfortunately he had a hard time selling them. Apparently there isn't much taste for the garlic vegetable in the Hamptons. I hope he has better luck at his Thursday market. I also cut 5 pounds (250 scapes) for shipment to the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture kitchen. Scape season will be on for another 3 weeks and I hope I can sell more, lest they become compost.

Scape cutting was finished by 8 am, so the remainder of the day belonged to weeding punctuated by breaks designed to alternate from my weeding posture. I walked to the edge of the field and I spotted a remnant of an old plot. Evidently used for growing herbs, it had chamomile flowers, culinary sage, thyme, bronze fennel, and some purple lettuce.

I also discovered this bed of strawberries.

I bumped into a turtle crossing the road. They are such funny and cute creatures.

And I noticed peas growing in the wheat.

Unfortunately, the East Coast just endured yet another bout of heavy rains, only two days since the passing of the last event. The field in Amagansett received 2 inches of rain on top of the five of Friday. Hudson Clove has been socked with all kinds of difficulties this season, but most can be tackled throughh better soil preparation, including grading and amending to compensate for wet soil. After harvest I will be able to concentrate on the good work of preparing the land for next season. Proper liming, adding gypsum, compost, turning under the summer buckwheat crop, contouring for better drainage. That's about all I can do without moving to another field. With luck I will be able to plant some of my garlic in November, but it's too soon to tell. Although I planned to do this to increase my yields and acclimate the planting stock, I may have to buy a significant portion of my planting stock this season to make up for losses. This practice will greatly add to my costs and at some point becomes a deal breaker. 

Rain Heavy

New Dawn, or any rose I suppose, doesn't like the heavy rains. It droops and sags, petals wither and drop.

 But it bounces back when the sun returns, albeit a little further from the wall than before.

May Rain

You may be wondering about all this rain we've been having. Most of it is the usual stuff, but the last couple of days it has been a tropical, warm rain. This is because this system is partly the remnants of the Atlantic's first tropical storm, Alberto. There's also a high to the northeast pushing and a low to our northwest pulling moisture onshore from the southeast. You've noticed the damp -that's the high dew point. As the moist air has come ashore, it has blossomed into thunderstorms since this morning.

Rain is normally welcome, and I've lettuce to pick, tomatoes just planted, but I've garlic that is near harvest at the beach farm and that requires some days of dry. I see it's getting darker now, another popup storm is nearing.

Downright Tropical Rain

Warm and steady. The kind you just may feel inclined to drop the umbrella for.

There Is A Thin Line...

...between lush, rain fed growth and monstrous, overgrown plant demons. You'll know it when it happens.


Some good ol' New Yorker banter:

Neighbor  "When will the rain be over?"

-Don't know

Neighbor  "Yeah, what are you doing, planting a water garden?"

-Nah

Neighbor  "What? Are you planting rice now?"

Rain Memory

Today the sun shone gloriously, the sky bright blue, and the cool air not joking around -it means it this time. But did we all forget the rains of this week, the two mornings we were woken by the heavy drops blopping on the sill? Well we may have, but the plants remember.

Heavy rains have flattened my perennial sunflowers. Too bad, this year was the first year I pruned them just right, so that they remained mid-height and intermingled with the stiffer-stemmed, blue asters. The heavy rains weigh them down, the cells in each stem responding rapidly to the change -prostrate now, must turn up towards sun! It seems that in less than 24 hours the new form has been solidified. I call this rain memory.

The rains also flattened the weaker varieties of aster with nothing to lean on. It's a bit sad -sort of plant equivalent of a frown.

Aster 'alma potschke' has only begun to flower and is well tangled with other plants.

Speaking of sad, Eupatorium coelestinum looks like it's having the worst of hair days. Ratty.

And what of cosmos and ironweed and bluestem solidago? Maybe the tornado came through here too. The mildew on the zinnia and the not dead-headed enough cosmos conspire to blech.

On the upside, all these rains have pleased Aconitum. Yes, it's the earliest I've seen this specimen bloom, and it doesn't seem to mind the rain one bit. Probably thankful it received some water, lighter rains never making it through the yew tree it lies beneath.

Herbs, one month ago all frizzled and fried, now feeling stronger, enjoying the days of rains.

Cold Comfort

It looks like this weekend, Saturday particularly, is our greatest chance for some rain. It's been over three weeks since my garden has seen any rain and that was maybe a 1/2-inch downpour. That kind of rain is not the best, unless it is particularly long lasting. Short bursts of heavy rain tend to run off my exceptionally dry soil -straight to the sidewalk and street.

This has been an exceptional June, early July -I believe the record heat of the last few days convinced us of that. In exceptional times, I must do exceptional things -like water the part of the garden that does not dwell in pots (these of course, always require it). Given how hot it has been, I feel the garden has done well -only the phlox, sidewalk's edge eupatorium, and late-transplanted cosmos have shown up with wilty leaves. But there are other signs of heat stress -the spider mites, the yellow blotchy leaves of anything aster, or the browning of the hydrangea and hosta leaves. So I water, water, water with my watering can (more of a pitcher than a can). And because these are exceptional circumstances, I still get to say that I hardly ever water my garden not in pots.

The upshot to all this heat and drought, however, is that the Asian Tiger mosquitoes have been very diminished since their first significant appearance in early June. In fact, while watering this evening I should have been swarmed by them, but I was not, at all, I didn't even think about mosquitoes. So it may be hot as hell, but at least the buggers are not buggering.

Seeking Rain

The garden wants it to rain. Its been dry, its been hot, its been breezy -all conspiring to extract moisture from the soil. The plants are hanging on, but not without the occasional spot dousing by my watering can, which I am not wont to do.

So this afternoon and evening's thunderstorm threat, with its 1/2 - 1 inch of rain in short bursts, seems all the more promising. Yet, as I watch the sky, I head out with my watering can in full doubt that we will be doused. So far, I've experienced no more than cloud spit.

Radar indicates a southwest to northeast flow, often the pattern for harsh summer storms -but also the pattern for random locales getting completely missed by the restorative rains. This may be the case for some gardens and their last chance for awhile to get some rains. Northern Manhattan shall get some. The Bronx for sure, but Staten Island, Brooklyn and Queens, we'll need to keep our fingers crossed.

Much Needed Rain Today

But on the day I chose to move my art from storage. Drats!


I actually had to water the Eupatorium yesterday. I do not believe I have ever watered this plant -that's how dry it's been. We've been missing all our chances at late spring (ok, really summer) thundershowers -passing to the north, the south of NYC. So the water is welcome, very welcome.

My studio was here for three years.

And now is here for...

Art really belongs in proper storage -not the place you stow your plastic lawn furniture and unused snow tires. All my paintings will be moved into the new studio, placed on a proper rack that I have yet to build. These are June projects. It took me a full year to find a permanent studio, and I am happy to say it's a better one (it has a window) and in the right location for me.

April Heat

This is tulip Angelique. It's been droughty and over warm and it shows. Other years, Angelique came up in late April, this year, the first week of April. This is also the time I do some transplanting. Cool days and nights and generous rains make for good survival rates with little to think about. But this year, not so much. I transplanted quite a few things over to the side yard. The heat-induced super growth has led them to transpire much quicker.

The squirrels, of course, are digging around these new transplants, and I've already lost a few phlox to this. If it were cool or rainy, the uprooted phlox would hang on until I noticed it; just replant and protect. Instead, fallen over, they wilt in the hot sun. Much harder to revive after that day in the sun. Same goes for the St. John's Wort shrub -although not because of squirrels, but my own transplanting. It's made it, but lost most of its new leaves, and looks terrible -like a sick person at a party.

I should be watering, I suppose. But I'm not that kind of gardener in this place. Don't get me wrong, I've spent countless hours watering, usually in the evening (tisk tisk) with a hose. It's meditative, or something. But I have not chosen that path in this garden. I have a watering can and 100 foot march to and fro the spigot on the other side of the building. I've chosen not to walk that walk, simply depending on rains and some coolness in early spring. I'm no zealot however, I will water again, in another garden, or in a prolonged summer drought right here.

No Rain, No Gain

I don't know why I was surprised to wake up this morning to more foggy, rainy weather. Its looking like the rest of my stay at Weir Farm will be similar. Period of unstable weather, jet stream shooting over head, keeps the systems coming. So, I guess we're all wet.

The air smells good here in the hills, I cannot say the same for NYC. At home, all that rain has been wreaking its heavy havoc on the New Dawn rose; here its been the peonies, and all else delicate and thin-limbed. The heavy rain the other day left puddles of peony petals on the stone wall underneath.

Speaking of peonies, I gave my talk last night at the Wilton Library. About 20-25 people came which I am told is a really high amount for this event. It went really well and the reason is that the audience was interested. I know, I know, is that too much to ask, but sometimes you can just hear the yawns. They asked questions before, during and after. I did run a little long, but we go started late. I showed all my work, including the sculpture and some bits of photos and the stop motion stuff I've been doing here along with my prior paintings. It was a lot to take in, and I'm sure I was a bit wordy.  Making art, thinking about it, so much of this takes place in my head. So its good to test it out on a willing audience. 

Oh, so why was this paragraph about peonies? Someone at the talk wants to buy a print of a peony photograph I showed -so thats cool. I have to look up services that print dig photos, high quality, this lady's top notch.  

Pitter Patter

I woke up this morning to tomato seedlings battered by pelting rains and window sill drip. It was pouring last night as I left the station, rain angling from the south. I like to push it, so I left the tomatoes and cukes out. This morning the soil was washed from the tomato pots, roots exposed. Two cukes had been snapped in two by the torrent. Oh, it was a horrible sight.

I disposed of the cukes, unfurled their TP containers and used the soil to straighten out the tomato pots. Then I took the remaining cukes and stood their TP pots in the broccoli planter, wedging each in a square of the squirrel netting. The tomatoes that were out of the drip line were fine, so I moved to put all together. Whew! Another plant disaster averted.

Rain

A band of rain is on its way. I love the rain scented air on a mild day. I went outside and the drizzle had already begun. This is good, because it really has been dry. This month we've had about 3/4 inch of rain and normally we'd be near 2 1/2 inches. Let's hope this is not a sign of the season to come.

Image Courtesy of Wunderground.com

Finally, Rain

I don't much care for a dry spring. The plants look healthy at first glance, but they are overgrown, shot up too fast from so much sun and warmth. All my bulbs are spent, the iris are ready to bloom. Plants look as if it should be late May. It stresses the divisions and transplants. Flowers come and go much faster, and then the heavy rain bends their stems that are weak from lack of moisture. So thank you for the good dose of rain.