The Frost Hunt

tiny buds 
await spring

A recent string of cold nights with clear skies and calm winds made for some delightfully frosty mornings, bringing the landscape into a characteristic state of being right on cue for the first days of December. These frosty mornings occurred, of course, during weekdays, when there was no time for stopping and capturing photos that could be savored later. I eagerly watched the weather forecast for the weekend, and was happy to see that conditions would be ripe for a good frost on Saturday morning. Excellent! Finally, I could go on a Frost Hunt! The title alone conjured crisp images in my mind, and helped me to get myself out of bed early on a morning when I might otherwise prefer to sleep in.

It wasn't until I got outside and really started looking at how the frost clung to leaves and flowers that I realized that it had been far too long since my last truly connected encounter with the land. It ended up being one of those multi-sensory experiences that I truly cherish.

Bee Balm seed head, covered in frost

In addition to each flower or blade of grass that I stopped to admire, there was the singing and calling of the birds. There's that mischievous Blue Jay that wants everyone to believe he's a Red-shouldered Hawk just from the sound of his voice, but I know his true identity. A Pileated Woodpecker sounded off amid the treeline along the ridge top, with a slightly erratic flight that took it out of sight. Song Sparrows gave their raspy call note, and then one daring male took me by surprise with a short song, repeated several times - something I did not expect to hear in early December. His song, combined with the smell of ever-present ground ivy, momentarily tricked my brain into thinking it was spring, but the frost crystals jolted me back to the reality that winter is just around the corner.

My "hunt" took place just across the road from my house, in an area with which I have become very familiar over the years. Photographing the flora had me feeling like I was among old friends, and they welcomed me happily, not caring that I had been away for a while. Each plant has its own "personality," both in the growing season and in the quieter times of fall and winter. Sometimes I think it is easier to appreciate the lines and curves of the plants in the dormant season, because most of the color is drained and withered away, leaving only the bare essentials to draw your attention.


Even so, some color remains to enliven the landscape!

Mysterious features become more prominent with frost glistening on them. I found many of these galls on the stalks of goldenrod plants, most of which had a perfect hole drilled right in the center on one side. Downy Woodpeckers and Carolina Chickadees are known to excavate these galls in order to get to the goldenrod gall fly larvae that is contained within. This is a phenomenon I have yet to observe myself, but one I very much hope to see in the future.

Virgin's Bower is one of my absolute favorite flowers to observe in fall and winter. The feathery fronds, to which the plant's seeds are attached, catch the light of sunrise and sunset with perfection, and frost adds yet another dimension of beauty to them.

Teasel is another flower that presents strong architectural interest in fall and winter. Interestingly, the frost made the seed head look much softer than usual, tuning what normally looks like something akin to a porcupine into an object resembling a soft brush. The bracts at the base of the seed head, however, retained their harsh curls, reminding me of Medusa's head of snake hair.

Next, the sun comes out...

The whisper of autumn

Crows - caw, caw, cawing... a melancholy song
Squirrels scamper amidst a carpet of crunching leaves
Crisp breezes slowly denude the trees and
Nuts randomly pelt the ground
Crickets chirp at midday -
Fields of corn and soy, brown and spent,
prepare to give of their fruit for the harvest -
Asters and pumpkins, cider and bonfires
Brilliant leaves offset by brooding skies -
Daylight fades sooner
Dawn shimmers with dew
Coolness set in
yet butterflies and dragonflies
still fill the fields
holding on as long as they can.
I, too, am holding on, clinging to summer -
The siren song of autumn is drawing me in,
enticing me.
It is my only choice -
to embrace and rejoice.

Thoughts on the season

I never know where a walk is going to take me. Oh sure, I know physically where I am going - there's always a destination in mind. What I'm referring to is where I go in my head, and in my heart, on some walks. Often I set out on a photo walk only to absorb much more than what I went out to photograph.


Tall Ironweed
I experienced just such a walk this evening, and found myself contemplating the season. It's bloody hot, for one thing. By 7pm there was still not much respite from the heat and humidity, and the air was heavy. It wasn't just the humidity, though. There was a subtle hum on our country road, barely audible, but heard easily enough upon standing still: bees. Way up in the trees, and down at the flowers. I didn't see many of them, but their buzzing hung like a blanket in the air indicating a massive presence. The occasional horse fly also hummed by here and there. Within a few hours, once it is dark out, the cicadas and crickets will start singing their melodies. All of them sounds of industry in the insect world - sounds associated with getting food - or getting busy.


Common Milkweed
Even though the temperatures soar each day, it is not lost on me that the days grow shorter now, and that I must race out after dinner if I want to photograph in certain areas before the hills occlude the golden light of the setting sun. There seems to be a certain sense of busyness permeating the landscape, an urgency. Although it is not yet August, some birds are already working on putting on the body fat that they will need to sustain them through fall migration. It makes sense to me now why all these big juicy bugs and ripe fruits and nuts come out in abundance at this time of year - because they are needed, because they will prepare bodies for long travels or hibernation or for a time when the proverbial table is almost bare.


Spotted Knapweed
I took a good listen to the birds on tonight's walk, and was surprised to still hear so many birds singing despite the fact that breeding season is over for most of them. Scarlet and Summer Tanagers, Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Eastern Towhee, Blue-grey Gnatcatcher, White-eyed Vireo - all easily discernible from their perches in and at the edges of the woods. I watched a family of Gnatcatchers gleaning insects from tree leaves, wishing I had my binoculars with me to see the young ones better. Out in the mowed field I could just barely make out an Eastern Bluebird singing, soft yet bubbly. Their burst of blue coloring will be a welcome sight when I come across them in winter - nothing like a bluebird contrasted against a field of snow to cheer you up.


Tall Ironweed catches the evening sun
When I set out on my walk, I walked briskly and with purpose to a few spots where I had spied certain flowers of interest from the car during my daily commute. The return walk was much more leisurely and casual, which allowed my mind to wander. I contemplated how our meteorological seasons seem to be much more attuned to the true "feel" of the seasons than do the solstices and equinoxes dictated by the astrological seasons. I thought about how even though there is a sense of urgency in the air, there is also a feeling of tiredness - as if the flowers, for example, are straining to give everything they've got to put out fruit before the it's too late and the strain is just wearing them out. I'm sure, however, that's just me forcing my own perceptions of tiredness of these hot days onto the landscape.

As I made my way up the driveway and started thinking about various projects that I need to get done, it dawned on me that my walk had taken my mind off the stuff of the every day. While I was sweaty as I approached the house, and my camera wasn't full of as many photos as I would have liked, I had been transported to a calmer place for a while, and there was certainly no more that I needed than that.


Monarch caterpillar on milkweed