Spring Summer

 

     By early April there is a palpable energy that permeates the once lethargic winter forest. The cold low angled sun has shifted higher in the sky and the trees that have stood naked since November are preparing to dress themselves in a shimmering green cloak of chlorophyll, allowing them to create life giving oxygen from processing sunlight, carbon dioxide, and water. (Photosynthesis)

In May wild flaming azaleas dot the forested hillsides with splashes of deep reds and brilliant oranges. Box turtles and black snakes emerge about this time. Black snakes patrolling the forest canopy while the box turtles plod along the woodland floor. Each new arrival or emergence signals the beginning or end of a new cycle in the year.

When you are intimate with a place, a watch or a calendar aren’t necessary. The land tells you what month you’re in and even what week of the month and time of day. It’s all in what reveals itself. But you have to know where to look.

     Last spring, I was walking through the forest on a north facing slope. It had rained on and off all day but now, the clouds were clearing in the early evening. A carmine sunset left a peculiar soft light flowing through the trees and across the forested slope. It made the greens from leaves and the feathery delicate ferns that carpeted the forest floor look mysterious and vibrant. Blooming flaming azaleas punctuated this emerald swath with a brilliant fire orange, like small individual fires floating effortlessly several yards off the ground. Natures glowing hearth’s pulsating, scattered between trees that moved ever so slightly from an evening breeze.

     I was witness for what nature had sprawled across her mountain canvas. I knew it was meant just for me but I wanted to share it with someone who would feel what I was feeling. By the time we arrived back the light had changed, nature had moved on without us. I should have stayed alone and watched her shifting light, her changing mood. Lesson learned

      One of the ways you become intimate with the land is to learn it’s history. This land has become diminished because of its history with mankind. Logging, mining, poor farming practices, and now residential development. All this over the past one hundred years, yet it keeps coming back, a little more degraded each time, but never giving up.

     I’ve heard it said; “When you befriend a living place, you gain a teacher. A teacher who is millions of years old, with endless relationships.”

      As with our human friends, when we learn of all they’ve been through, what they have survived, and how strong they’ve become because of their trials, we gain respect and admiration and a much deeper love.”

     Less than a mile from our home they’re clear cutting and burning three hundred acres of forest to make pasture for grazing cattle. There was no value placed on the wildlife that called this forest home.

     It’s illegal in Virginia to keep a salamander or box turtle or any native species in captivity. If caught the animal will be confiscated and you, most likely will be fined for your transgression. Ironically, thousands of them are killed with bulldozers and chainsaws and yet there is no penalty, no compensation given. All summer long I watched the trees come down and the smoke rising. Ashes of insects, reptiles, birds and mammals that called the forest home mixed with the ashes of trees now drifting in a cloud of smoke. The ambers of yet another Eden swirling about in the heated air.

     There would have been flaming azaleas blooming in May, followed by mountain laurels and rhododendrons in June. By July Blueberries, raspberry and blackberries would be ripe and all manner of mushrooms and fungi would have dotted the forest floor.

     Summer rains fall hard in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia. One afternoon in June clouds filled a bright blue sky, rolling in over top of one another and within minutes turned dark and angry. A brilliant flash of lighting followed immediately by a vociferous clash of heavenly titans released a deluge so fierce our winding lane became a gushing waterway carving out mini canyons in its haste. From the perceived safety of our front porch, we sat spellbound, enchanted by the power of its release.

     The smell that precedes the rain is caused by a lightning bolts electric charge that splits oxygen and nitrogen molecules, they recombine into nitric oxide which then combines with other chemicals to produce ozone. The smell is similar to chlorine and can be carried over long distances from high altitudes.

     That lovely earthy smell we detect during and after a rain shower is formed when a blend of oils secreted by plants build up in the soil and cracks in the rocks. In moist forested areas like ours, a common substance called geosmin is present. It’s produced by a soil dwelling bacteria known as actinomycetes. The bacteria secrete this compound when producing spores, the force of the rain hitting the ground send these spores into the moist air and find passage to our nostrils. The same bacteria are responsible for the pleasant musky smell we experience when we turn over dirt in our gardens and for the earthy taste in our beets.

     The storm moves on as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind that sweet musky aroma and a quiet calm.

     All is still.

     Shafts of gold find their way past breaking clouds and illuminate a rising mist shrouding the forest like fairy dust.

     A stray breeze rushed past sending billions of droplets collected by the forest canopy in a free fall and for a moment sounded like another brief shower.

     Mosses that cloak rocks and fallen trees are saturated. A closer look reveals what appear as millions of tiny green ferns. Salamanders come out from under the leaves in search of worms. Box turtles, the old guardians of the forest, energized by the storm never stopped methodically patrolling their grounds. Bumble bees and butterflies that can’t fly during a rain and must find shelter are making their way back to the blue fortune hyssop and echinacea that line our walkway. Slightly angled now, bowing from the wind and rain. Ephemeral summer storms like this revitalize both our spirits and the earth, because we are connected, we are restored.

     We can be reminded of Emerson’s words, “The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.