Ephemeral Woods

The first wave of ephemeral flowers is waning, including the last of the Bloodroot, above, now replaced by a single, giant leaf for capturing the diminished sunlight of the greening woods.

Now, Wood Anemone, Anemone quinquefolia, can be seen in clusters, although not always in flower.

Here, a pink-hued Wood Anemone flower next to the inflorescence of Pennsylvania Sedge.

 And here, in white.

I am most excited to find large patches of Cutleaf Toothwort, Cardamine concatenata, on the northeast facing slopes, under the dying oaks and growing sugar maples.




I've become critically aware of the value of dying trees and fallen timber to the continuity of all life within the woods.

A tree growing for over a century dies (I've counted rings). The loss of leaves allows sunlight and additional moisture.

Maybe the tree is blown down in a violent summer storm or felled by constant gusts behind a strong winter cold front. As it falls, its massive, dense wood contorts and dismembers younger trees on its way down, creating an even bigger hole in the canopy.

Seeds that have moved via wind, runoff, or even more so by insects and small animals may be well placed, lying in wait for this opportunity to sprout. But you didn't notice because all that concerned you was the giant that came crashing down. A couple of years or more later, the presence of the fallen giant less prominent, there in the clearing is something new.

Findings

I'd like to tell you what kind of Oak this impressive bark belongs to, but in age, among oaks, it is a challenge without leaves. No matter, this old, large oak is anchored near a clearing made by wind of storms and pressure of fungus and disease.

On the bark of a giant that had fallen last summer, I place garlic mustard just pulled. I keep it off the soil so that it properly desiccates, a lesson learned a year ago. Now committed to the project of eradicating the weed, I think of it as gardening, a task with its own time, that I can accomplish while out photographing the woods, searching for mushrooms or ramps, or completing some other woodland project. Away from fallen logs or large stones, I make piles so the mustard remains obvious to me later, as I check on its desiccation or dispose of it. Officially known as Garlic Mustard, Alliaria petiolata, I've pulled enough acreage of it now to refer to it as "skunk mustard," because its garlic-onion odor reminds me more of that mammal's funk. Click here for a concise and useful journal article on all things problematic with garlic mustard in North America.

This upland spot was (still is?) an oak and sedge stronghold for quite some time. Now cleared of its main shade oak, what may grow in these changed conditions? Its slopes are partially covered with Pennsylvania Sedge, Carex pensylvanica, and some Virginia Waterleaf, Hydrophyllum virginianum. I found these native strawberries, Fragaria virginiana growing in patches, too. A straight line trail runs through this location, with plenty of soil disturbance from quadrupedal hooves and nosing through leaves and soil for food. Maybe I could intervene beyond pulling weeds by giving some complementary plant a foothold. We tend to avoid plants consumed by deer and in this way we consume them by exclusion.

While pulling skunk mustard I stumbled upon this snake, a common Eastern Garter, Thamnophis sirtalis. Its reaction to my sudden presence was no reaction at all.

As I continued to hover, pushing my fingers into the dried leaves to pinch-grab below the prostrate brassica stems, concern took over. I let it be, moving on around a tree to grab more mustard.

Then I spotted two more, one with coloration slightly dull compared to the other, sunning themselves near their burrow. My leaf rustling was too much antagonism and the one to the right took off. Minnesota isn't known for its snakes, although I am happy to see them here in our woods. Along with our frogs and salamanders, they are an important indicator of the land's well-being.

It's been very dry so far this spring (and despite constant snow cover, the winter was short on snow). In our new climate reality, we anticipate extended dry periods along with excessive rains from thunderstorms. Because of the lack of runoff from non existant spring rains, I was able to navigate the entire small wetland, plodding across acres of dried, sun-bleached naples yellow grasses. I witnessed the garlic mustard making inroads into the wetland as well as an arm or two of Creeping Charlie, Glechoma hederacea. I also spotted considerable patches of Stinging Nettle, Urtica dioica growing among the garlic mustard, but also several feet farther into the wetland. There is a tree, likely an ash, rooted at the edge of the wetland but fallen into it that has continued to send up branches along its trunk. Under the tree's crown there is a muddy circle where only the plants, above, are growing. At first glance I thought "Marsh Marigold?" Maybe not. Thoughts?

I did make a soggy-footed attempt into the great wetland on the south side. I wanted to see the willows -the first pale greening of spring, up close, but I didn't make it far enough in to be truly rewarded. Underneath those grasses were channels and ponds of water still draining from a much larger supply of slopes than the little wetland to the north. I did see evidence of Swamp Milkweed, Asclepias incarnata, about twenty five feet from the wood's edge. The exploration of the wetlands, our sunny places, compels me to engineer a boardwalk (literally -cut logs, debarked and placed longitudinally, with boards run lengthwise between them). Future projects.

Closer to the house, on the dry slopes bloom Bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis. Maybe these can be planted in the clearing among the wild strawberries?

There have been many sightings of hawks, vultures, eagles, sandhill cranes, turkeys of course, and others to make seeing the more common birds seem, well, common. Yet the first robin of spring was worth pausing for, as well as bluejays and cardinals hanging together.

And while squirrels aren't on anyone's favorites list, they have yet to cause us any trouble, likely because their habitat is still largely intact. They do not come toward the house and didn't mess with last year's garden. This bounding fellow has a red head, feet, and tail. I wonder if it this one, from last fall, or a relative.

Felling and Bucking

This, nine months ago, seemed a good spot for my garlic patch. It's gently sloping, south facing, and clean. Trees would need to come down. The garlic has been shipped, a bit late I think, no doubt due to the raging fires surrounding the garlic growing regions of Washington. One of my favorite suppliers had nothing to offer this season thanks to drought and fire.

What made this spot the obvious choice for my growing also made it the obvious choice for an outbuilding. At the Minnesota State Fair we spoke with a manufacturer of these buildings and they came out to the site. Last Friday, we signed. This January they start building.

My job is to make sure the site is cleared and excavated, plans and permits submitted, and the extra components -gravel, concrete, electrical and heating all get done in a coordinated fashion.

Whether it be garlic or a structure, felling trees is necessary. It's is not something we take lightly. Betsy's dad never cut a live tree, but he never had too. His old property was sculpted long ago and this new one is a work in progress.

A chainsaw wielding neighbor has done all the trees larger than four inches. Together we chip the branches and pitch the bucked logs into his truck. Dragging sixteen foot long leafy branches to the chipper, tangled as they are with other branches, over ankle twisting logs and stumps is rugged work and physically draining. Most I can do is three hours at a time.

Nothing shall be wasted. The black cherry and hickory limbs have been chipped for smoking meats. The firewood logs are partial payment to the chainsawing neighbor. We've saved several eight to twelve foot logs for lumber: hickory, black cherry, sugar maple, red oak, ironwood, and basswood. The Minneapolis College of Art and Design has a furniture program with a saw mill that goes relatively unused. We are affiliated with the school now and may take advantage of this idle tool. 

Basswood, Tilia americana, are weak-wooded trees that can grow to great heights. In other words, fairly dangerous for buildings and even people. I had one come down right in front of me last March, on a perfectly still day. I lucked out -the sound of trickling water distracted me from my path. Then, snap, and a sixty foot tree leaped from its trunk, landing just were I would have been had I not been the type to be distracted by burbling freshets. This one was, and two others will be, cut to prevent any interaction with our new building. With hesitation we are sparing a very tall cluster between the back yard and the new building because it provides some shade and screening between the house and the outbuilding. Are we sparing the monster?

The Vermeer. It eats wood for lunch.

I did all that I could to figure a way to spare this sexy red oak, Quercus rubra. These trees have strong wood, and stand for years after they have died. And they are dying, thanks to the oak wilt fungus, Ceratocystis fagacearum. Our woods is a chaos of wind fallen trees and branches, woodpeckers and other bark boring birds and insects. This damages the oaks (and other trees) and makes them susceptible to the insects that carry the fungus. The trees, once infected, die rapidly -usually a month or two, and it's dead by July. Felling trees must happen in the cool season or winter, branches chipped or burned. The logs need to be bucked and split for firewood. Drying them apparently puts an end to the fungus. Yet, we're not fooling ourselves -the red oaks are dying and we won't be able to stop it.

I didn't know there were small patches of hickory in our woods, but since identifying this one, I've found two clusters of more substantial trees. I haven't yet discerned whether these youngish trees are shagbark or bitternut, but I will let you know. The branches of this hickory have been chipped for smoking, a log saved for milling, and the rest went to firewood.

Sling the rope over the top.

And pull in the direction you hope it will fall.

Finally, there is limb work outsourced to an arborist with a cherry-picker. 

He will also tackle a couple of wilt-dead oaks from a few years back and this dangerous limb hanging from a very old sugar maple.

Later, maybe, we'll get to the several large oaks and basswood that have fallen throughout the woods in 2015. It appears to me that all the older trees are dying; a changing of the guard. What will these sunny clearing produce? Multitudinous sugar maples from the north, invasive buckthorn from the south, and whatever it is we have to say about it.

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.