Sunday, December 27, 2020
2020 is almost gone and we typically look back and ahead to what we hope for and aspire to in the coming new year. I have much to say on those in Verbostratis.com but wanted to pull my nature-based thoughts out separately and place them down in my journal and in this blog.
Mr. Lopez wrote extensively and focused on slowing down to notice what is really there. I’ve been doing that with my journaling, but I hope 2021 finds me doing it more consistently and for longer periods of time. Truly seeing. Truly noticing. Truly documenting.
Barry Lopez was intimately aware of both personal and global despair and devastation. Can I demonstrate grace in 2021? Can I not give up? Mr. Lopez spent 30 years on his last book and was inspired by the beaver in his local waterways to keep going back to the tasks at hand. Can I try to help build some things in 2021 that will make others and myself feel safe, loved, and capable as Mr. Lopez hoped to do in his life?
I hope 2021 is a year of light for people. I think it could be a year like an acorn cracking from its shell and sending out that first tiny but vital taproot and leaves to face the elements. Nothing guaranteed. But the potential for some amazing living down the next couple of centuries.
Personally, I hope to savor many sights, smells, sounds, tastes, and textures in wild spaces. I want to spend some time under the stars and in a waterfall. I hope my circle challenges and grows with me. I want to read at least 5 nature-themed books from 5 different authors, including Mr. Lopez.
These are all wishes, not demands. If we can only have one thing, let it be a sense of unity. We can each inspire one another if we understand we’re together. Let’s do this.
Monday, December 14, 2020
In last week’s essay I focused on my questions about who or what is the reason for this world we inhabit. Some claim it’s all been created for humans with us at some apex of existence. I argued that we’re just a single result of a number of key pieces coming together, none of which would be possible without the sun.
Tiny details add up.
Tiny things allow big things to happen.
I touched upon some different species, including trees, birds, and fungi all being connected back to the sun. Then this week, two things popped up for me that reminded me of or taught me anew on the big concepts I’m struggling with here.
The first block of information I received this week was a New York Times magazine piece by Ferris Jabr entitled The Social Life of Forests that a friend shared with me. I had read and enjoyed Peter Wohlleben’s NYT bestseller The Hidden Life of Trees and written about it in my main blog in October of 2019 in a piece called Humility From Trees. Reading that essay again is a shocking reminder of what I’ve been wrestling with for so long and how it’s supported by all these other minds. Back then, I didn’t even know Wohlleben’s work was a product of Dr. Suzanne Simard’s pioneering explorations. My loss.
Scientific exploration has revealed that trees and fungi form partnerships known as mycorrhizas. There is actual communication and positive interactions between multiple species within forests. From the NYT article:
“By analyzing the DNA in root tips and tracing the movement of molecules through underground conduits, Simard has discovered that fungal threads link nearly every tree in a forest — even trees of different species. Carbon, water, nutrients, alarm signals and hormones can pass from tree to tree through these subterranean circuits.”
Further research is showing other species in other habitats are doing these things as well.
Jabr’s article does caution that we can’t call all interactions between species and individuals as perfectly commensal in nature. Dr. Toby Kiers, a professor of evolutionary biology at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, says reality might be closer to “reciprocal exploitation”. A tension is maintained- together- by the collection of lifeforms, described by Jabr well thusly:
“Such reciprocity does not necessitate universal harmony, but it does undermine the dogma of individualism and temper the view of competition as the primary engine of evolution.”
That friction-filled connection between seemingly separate things is further explored in my second block of information from this week, the November 25 On Being Podcast of Augustin Fuentes: This Species Moment. Fuentes brings up the concept of “holobionts”, a term that was coined in the 1990s by Dr. Lynn Margulis, which describes how every one of us is an ecosystem of a number of species that live together for long periods of time and rely on one another to exist. Fuentes repeats the story of how a human body contains so much non-human DNA that if the human portion could be sucked out, there’d still be enough stuff left to see the human shape we know.
Without that “other”, we cannot function as we do. Our bodies are intimately reliant upon other species to survive. For example, we’ve discovered our gut biome either helps or hinders our overall health and some are calling the gut a “second brain”. Fuentes points out another “other” we need: other people. Fuentes brings up this concept of a “social ecosystem”. I love this quote on what we’ve discovered about how important our connections to other people are for us:
“So that means that over evolutionary time, the bodies, the structures of being human have adapted to and integrated themselves into the system where the social is everything. The psychologist Michael Tomasello says this great phrase: “a fish is born expecting water; a human is born expecting culture.””
This really made me stop to think. We expect culture? We need social interactions? I can grasp the notion because I can quickly list people I depend upon and those I help. Those relationships are extremely important to me and I think of and do things for these people constantly.
|Are we living in a healthy forest...|
I look at where we are today as a country here in the US and see that “social ecosystem” in damaged and fractured forms. From a distance, I can see insulated towers of people, supporting folks they consider “acceptable”, but not an overall healthy network or web that can take hits and weather storms. If we could be a huge, dynamic, and diverse forest ecosystem of 328 million organisms, right now we’re shriveled islands sitting in a horrible desert of distrust.
...or a choking tangle
I am comforted with the knowledge that ecosystems can bounce back when given the opportunity. With purpose and effort, what is still alive can flourish anew. Perhaps even in spectacularly new ways.
So, I’m looking at all this stuff and remembering my now years-long obsession with the phrase “we’re stronger together” and going, “Hmm, isn’t this interesting?” Physical connections. Social connections. Life is clearly not a simple case of “survival of the fittest”.
That belief and operating with that as a guiding principle has caused a lot of pain over the years.
A lot more pain and suffering than believing and living with the idea that there are multitudinous connections and ways we relate to both each other and the entire planet.
That’s why I’ve journaled today on the holobiont and connection.
We really *are* stronger together. Our planet appears to be a working testament to that.
Saturday, December 5, 2020
None of us- none of THIS (waving arms around wildly)- would exist without that fireball star in our sky. Our world revolves around the sun. That’s why I decided to devote a page of my nature journal to it.
I missed another week of journaling last week. In my defense, I did draw and create. I had a great time creating a holiday card for some folks in the one BTS fan group I belong to. The process helped me think about others around the world and how we’re linked. Another great example of that idea I fall back on: we’re stronger together.
I love the reality that in places north and south of the equator, our daylight varies over the year. We get our 4 seasons because this planet not only revolves around the sun, we tilt away and toward it. Those details have allowed for a range of habitats and inhabitants to evolve around the globe.
Tiny details add up.
Tiny things allow big things to happen.
Our walk showed us tiny fungi and insects alive and working. Without insects, we would have few fruits to eat. Insects are great food sources for things like birds and mammals. Without those fungi, trees would never break back down into soil components for new plants and trees to use. And we can’t forget the billions of microscopic lives we can’t see with our eyes. Without them and their operations, who knows what else would perish?
Humans are capable of a broad range of things. We can build and we can destroy. But are we the apex? To me, that would mean we would stand above and alone.
I find myself saying that's just not the case when we look at the facts. I might be wrong and will have some serious explaining and apologizing to do in the afterlife according to some. I prefer to think we’ve evolved just enough to always be learning what’s here, appreciating it, and nurturing it. We’re kids in a classroom filled with potential and wonder to both discover and share with one another and everything else that's here.
|All awaiting spring|
Sunday, November 22, 2020
Last time I focused on how everything changes and used the evolution of a forest to support that idea.
I missed another week of my nature journaling last week. 2020 is really forcing some evolution. Covid19 spread and election results that the current president refuses to acknowledge have been consuming me more than I like to admit. Fun things have been occupying my time, too. BTS released another album and music video for Life Goes On and I’ve been on several hikes that have filled my body, mind, and spirit.
Clinging to something. Letting go of something. A tree branch I found in my yard this week is the inspiration for this week’s nature journaling about those important concepts.
Cottonwoods are extremely messy, fast-growing trees. I was out this week giving my cat some fresh air. As he sat and used his crazy hearing to seek out voles or shrews, I picked up branches. Eventually, I looked at one more closely. It was fascinating so I took some shots. This branch did not break off from the tree randomly. The end was smooth and rounded as if it could be plugged back into where it had been. It reminded me of a giant version of what the end of a leaf looks after it falls from the tree.
Some research today led me to an article about small branch drop in cottonwoods by Mary Small. Sure enough, cottonwoods let go of branches when the tree is stressed- when there’s a summer drought, for example. Although it’s a net loss for the tree, it’s more advantageous for the tree long-term to cut its losses. Before they do so, however, the tree prepares. I am sure the process is similar to what occurs in the annual leaf drop: as many nutrients and water are pulled back into the tree before the branch is jettisoned.
Trees and people can both prepare to let some things go.
The results here were quite beautiful in my opinion. Looking closely (a magnifying glass would be helpful here) I could see cellular patterns within the inner and outer bark. The active cambium layer appears as a dark line right in front of the sapwood. The broken circle in the center is the pith. There are so many different parts clearly evident, but all of them end smoothly in an almost perfect semi-circle.
The tree neatly and efficiently let this branch go.
I learned that this process is called “cladoptosis”. What a fun word! I decided to work it into the visuals of this week’s journaling. I enjoyed transcribing info from the article into my book- almost making the words a branch of the tree. I added more facts about cottonwoods after I drew the end of the branch.
My drawing doesn’t express the roundness as well as I’d like. But slowly creating it drew me in. Other thoughts and worries dropped away as I focused on the patterns and colors I started to see. The cracks were angled fissures. I could see why they formed because of the overall structure of both the individual cells and the overall construction of the branch. The cracks were inevitable. I was impressed by how the bark rounded off and back over upon itself a bit, like a turtleneck sweater. The outer bark still clinging loosely to the branch shows just how dried out it became before falling to the grass far below where it originally grew.
If the tree simply lost that branch, the end would be tattered and oozing precious water, sugar, and minerals. That could lead to invasion by fungi or insects. The tree’s chances to go on for years to come may have been improved by dropping the parts I was picking off the ground that day.
I’m looking ahead to another week now. I hope I can act as well as a tree responding to its environment: growing when I can, reaching out when I can, and pulling in only when it’s absolutely necessary.
Everything does more and has more opportunities that way.
Sunday, November 8, 2020
Nothing lasts forever.
Life is change.
The US elections are over and we are all in a state of adjustment to that. I had done this journaling back on Thursday afternoon before any decisions had been made. I went for a walk to vent some energy, enjoy the unseasonably warm weather, and relax. I ended up meandering over to an old downed tree, where I decided to sit for a bit.
Maple seeds & white oak leaves
I became aware of being surrounded by every single life stage of a tree. The grey squirrels were pushing through the fresh layer of leaves on the ground, picking out acorns, maple seeds, and hickory nuts. The trunk I was sitting on was the naked skeleton of an old oak. There were broken limbs from its fall all about me in various stages of decay. Emerging from one gnarl were 2 maple saplings no thicker than a couple of my fingers. Above my head, the healthy crowns of other adult aspen, maple, and oak trees were raised to the blue sky, their branches naked in preparation for the coming difficulties of winter.
Flying insect visitor
My rotting tree seat is returning to the soil, providing food for fungi, mosses, insects, worms and more. A beetle landed on my book as I drew and I occasionally brushed aside other flying visitors who flew close to my face. The logs and downed branches about me also provide habitat for mammals and birds through the seasons.
Another part of the forest
I noticed some living trees were leaning on others. The individuals ARE the forest. There are connections that are so intimate, there’s a blending of one to all. That’s an important concept to grasp. Recent decades of research have allowed us to realize that the forest’s pieces NEED the others. Fungal strands called hyphae actually connect individual trees and carry nutrients and information over distances. We’ve discovered that some trees emit chemicals that allow them to communicate with others downwind. There are many books now about these ideas- one that I read and enjoyed was Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees.
Seed. Sapling. Juvenile adult. Adult. Senior. Death.
Repeating over and over and over.
Life is change, and sometimes the patterns will get completely disrupted. Climate change or fire could catastrophically wipe the forest away, opening the way for other patterns to develop.
Sometimes these truths can be extremely upsetting to us humans. We like control and to know what to expect. However, sitting in that forest calmed me. As I was leaving, I noticed a cicada shell on my tree seat. It had been there the whole time- I just missed it. That insect lived under that tree in the soil for years before emerging during the summer and shedding that shell before flying away as a full adult. Its life changed through metamorphosis. Its reality changed. The world was basically the same, but its relationship to it changed.
Nothing lasts forever.
Change is life.
Sunday, November 1, 2020
I skipped a week of nature journaling. Yes, I admit it. The alarms went off and I ignored them. That happens. It’s better to admit it and move on. The winds blowing through today are telling that story- relentlessly they push me to change.
I’ve been walking a lot, I just haven’t written. We can get that way: stuck. The winds remind me that there are other times when we must go- when forces outside of us press in with such insistence, they cannot be dismissed.
Weather can be a great focus for nature journaling. It’s not a living thing itself, but it affects everything that is. And in many situations, we give it life-like qualities as we describe it. Weather adds up to climate which develops, maintains, and changes the habitats and ecosystems we see around us. We should be recording the weather as our metadata each time we journal for those very reasons.
Sitting with the weather and journaling about it specifically can lead to all sorts of inquiries and discoveries. Today, I was able to see the snowflakes forecast as they danced about with both dry leaves and the occasional bird. The birds didn’t come into my awareness for a while- I had expected most animal life to be laying low but chickadees and juncos are well adapted to rough conditions and I was able to catch close (but too close to draw) glimpses as they searched for food. In one cottonwood, I saw the drey (nest) of a grey squirrel high above me and wondered if it was tucked inside today.
Squirrel drey in center of the image
My question was: What Does Wind Do?
In the 30 minutes I took, I was able to see, hear, hypothesize, and read about a number of things it does. It builds by spreading seeds. It cleans by shaking out dead branches and eroding. It destroys by feeding fires. It changes daily weather conditions by pushing clouds in and out. It annoys by drying skin (personal opinion add-in).
Still-green willows versus other deciduous species
When trees lose their leaves, they become less affected by high winds. In early November in Wisconsin, that’s demonstrable as different species have different drop dates and the conifers rely on other adaptations to stay green and growing year-round. Those that are still green today are swaying wildly while the skeletal ones are merely quivering and rattling.
This weather is a great reminder that anything alive can adapt to its surroundings in some fashion. Humans, squirrels, juncos, junipers, and maples all have physical characteristics that can respond to conditions. That’s key: every single living thing has adaptations. Moreover, most, if not all, can also decide to do things in response to their surroundings.
What we are and what we do- those are the adaptations that help us survive and possibly prosper.
Tuesday, October 20, 2020
I’m going back directly to the book that started this journal journey. How to Teach Nature Journaling by John Muir Laws and Emilie Lygren is epic in scope and content. Seriously good stuff. Right in the middle is Poetry of Place and Moment. This lesson was perfect for my needs today.
The weekend came and went for me without even attempting a walk and journaling. It’s Tuesday and I still couldn’t get myself prepared for a big thing, but wanted to do something. It’s gray and cold here. The news is awful. But something short, I could do, so when I flipped to this one, I knew I hit the perfect opportunity.
Using the powerful exploration phrases of “I notice”, “I wonder”, and “This reminds me”, I could write something that depicts my Now that's right on my patio. The setting need not be fancy. With luck, I could take the next step and connect how I’m feeling inside with that outside.
I donned my coat and took my journal out. I sat for a while without doing anything. I needed to enter the space and that takes time.
My poem simply lists that process. I didn’t worry about it at all. It could benefit greatly from revisions. I could add, delete, edit, tweak. Pfft. It’s content, errors, and weaknesses fit my mood- my Now.
Last week I spent significant time on my visuals. This week, all I got was a shadow of an American goldfinch. And to me, that’s fitting, too. It’s both physically and mentally dark, obscured, and basic in today’s Now. I didn’t add any details to the goldfinch’s posting except its scientific name. I did take a photo of dried blackeyed Susan seed heads as a reminder that perhaps that will be a food source.
Remember: journaling is never wrong. We are recording our place and moment as best we can.
If done in a class, journalers can share their work in pairs or whole-group but it’s important to give everyone the space they need. Sharing should always be a choice and expectations for audience reactions and feedback must be in place ahead of time.
Poetry is an especially personal journey. It links one's inside with the outside and that exposes the core.
I added a picture of the dry Norway maple leaves and still-green alpine strawberry leaves that were at my feet. The green is a reminder to me that there’s still tenderness and life out there in our Now.
The work is in becoming aware of it and acknowledging it.
Then, we can step forward to a new moment and place.
Sunday, October 11, 2020
How are you doing? I find myself wondering if I’m doing enough or too much. Worrying too much or too little. Supporting myself too much or too little.
What really is life-sized: really there in proper size and scope.
The fall weather was AMAZING this week. Today, it’s overcast and cooler. I’m glad I’m inside with my bathrobe and coffee, reflecting on what I did yesterday.
I got up super early and watched BTS’s Map of the Soul ON:E concert first thing. That was beyond life-sized and so incredibly fun. Huge sets, big numbers, elaborate costuming, and amazing performances left me in awe with cheeks sore from smiling and gaping for 2 1/2 hours. By the time it was over, the sun had risen and the house was stirring with Saturday’s regular living. In the afternoon I set off to Fox River Park for a tree-bathing walk.
I wanted to soak in the forest tub for a while so I picked a fallen leaf off the trail and sat upon a fallen trunk trailside to journal.
|American toad |
|Basswood leaf: topside|
|Basswood leaf: underside|
I became aware of more and more things as I sat: physical sensations of the log and ground beneath my feet, aural input of squirrels and nuthatches, and smells of the woods. People and their pets walked by and I enjoyed short conversations outside my normal circle.
The act of trying to replicate a physical item drew me in. As you can see here, I only used pencil in the sketching, using words to describe what I was seeing. I photographed both the top and bottom of the leaf for additional reference. I felt very content by the time I was done. I had witnessed as best I could. I left the leaf that I spent 20 minutes within the place where I had found it. It will be able to continue its life-size existence.
I added the color this morning. That was another layer of noticing and recording. “Life-sized” should honor everything about the subject: colors, damage, and textures that truly exist. Yes, I must decide how to depict them, but my first responsibility is to bring into myself what REALLY is there.
What really is there. Sometimes we downplay our own influence- we make ourselves out to be less than our life-sized selves. Others do the opposite. Seeing and feeling that life-sized self is important.
I was reminded of that when I looked up information on Seek about my leaf’s origin. It was from a basswood tree. Basswood trees are native to North American forests and play vital roles in a host of species’ survival. The flowers provide nectar as food to insects. The seeds provide food for chipmunks, squirrels, and mice. The leaves are important food sources for caterpillars. By the looks of my leaf, it had fed quite a few organisms. The dark spots were probably a type of mold- another organism relying on it. The tree which formed this leaf has widespread connections and benefits to the forest it both helps create and exists within.
We humans do the same: we can have a big impact. I’m left considering that further.
Sunday, October 4, 2020
What a time we’re living in. I hope everyone has at least something in their lives that is constructively supporting them is some fashion. Constructively, because I know there’s a lot of harmful options out there in use. I’m guilty myself. We all need support- now more than ever.
As I was on the Monches Ice Age Trail segment making my way to my Wisconsin DNR trail camera, the forest reminded me that support is required by all organisms. At every given moment, every living thing is in a dance with the other life forms and elements both near it and farther afield.
The trees, birds, and invertebrates are all noticeably responding to diminishing light and temperatures. The sights, sounds and smells of the forest indicate that. Some greens, like the mosses, are still brilliant whereas the trees are breaking down their chlorophyll and absorbing what they can into their cores, revealing those gorgeous yellows and reds that are hidden the rest of the growing season.
I love the pile of hickory nut shell bits on top of the rock. Red, grey, and fox squirrels abound in this area, as do chipmunks. Someone had a feast.
I sat on the bank of the Oconomowoc River for a while, just resting. All three parts: body, mind, and spirit, are frazzled and damaged. However, I also pictured people who I’ve been able to walk outside with over the last few months. Others whom I’ve chatted with online. Others whom I have listened to as they taught in online presentations and lessons.
Eventually, as I looked down into the water, I realized there was a huge mass of fungi sprouting over the water at the base of the tree that was leaning over the river in front of me. It took some maneuvering to get some shots of it. I decided to sketch the scene at my feet.
I used a normal pencil in the field and added color at home this morning. The photos and notes I took in place helped me recall specific textures and colors later. As I sat, I became aware of birds on the river and the duckweed collecting in eddies in front of me, and behind me several chipmunks irritated at both my sitting and another person’s and his dog’s walking presences. Air, water, sunlight, earth all connecting and supporting us.
Earth. Sitting on a rock reminded me that everything I was experiencing was affected by the glaciers that spread down across this area tens of thousands of years ago and retreated about 15,000 years ago. That repeated grinding of ice and material destroyed what existed before and built the foundations of everything today. Time is part of our support system, too.
Looking more closely at the photos I took let me notice the spider webs clinging to the mushrooms. The gill details on the underside of these fruiting bodies have a regimented beauty in themselves. That fungi might be a honey mushroom, which is a parasite of living trees. It’s connected to that tree and offers a refuge for arachnids. The tree offers shade, oxygen, and food to species like us and may itself need fungi to feed its own roots.
An insect had flown down to my book as I drew. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize it had not left by the time I decided to close my book. Its existence will now be memorialized in a macabre way for as long as this book remains in existence.
That’s a sad fact but it relates to a very important point of this entire practice: doing things and documenting how they feel, what we learned, and what questions we might still have as a kind of testament. What I have in this book happened. I was there. It affected me. This past will help explain the me of today and tomorrow.
Two months into this I am growing in my confidence to draw more detailed scenes. I think I’m seeing more things. I notice that I consider opportunities to journal during my days. For example, I just took my cats out for a bit of sunshine and air on the patio and a rogue pumpkin vine caught my eye. Its huge leaves and spiraling tendrils were gorgeous and I imagined drawing them. There are moments everywhere if we look.
I hope readers remember that it doesn’t matter what your pages look like- you do not have to be anything or anyone but yourself. What really matters is taking the time and doing. As in all things, failure is only guaranteed by not trying and the more we reach outward, the stronger we become.
I wish you strength this week. And moments of seeing your network of connections. We all need them.
Monday, September 28, 2020
The weather is changing pretty dramatically and that can feel both good and bad. That’s why I decided to focus on a Venn diagram for this week’s journal. Sometimes we can like something and dislike it at the same time.
I headed over the Retzer Nature Center again on Sunday afternoon, wanting to get some exercise before the expected rains hit. I knew I needed to journal, but again, I wasn’t planning on it. When I saw the picnic tables at the end of my loop, and knew there was just a bit of time and light left in the day, I had to take the opportunity. (Remember last week’s theme? :-))
A Venn diagram compares two things via slightly overlapped circles. It could be a dog versus a lion, or comparing an apple and orange. The whole point is to define what each thing has by itself and what things might be shared between them.
Saying that fall can make me both really happy and really sad is pretty generic. From my walk, I defined things that I experienced and placed them accordingly. This activity only took me approximately 20 minutes- I think I lingered a bit over finishing the pine cone drawing after my 4:25 note.
I could add more to all three areas. That’s part of the journey, though. We can always add more every time we go out.
Please enjoy this shot of unfettered prairie life:
I really have to give a shout-out to photographers who respect the public parks. Hundreds of photoshoots occur outdoors in this area and many are done so in very sustainable ways.
Here are just a few of the areas along the trails on the Retzer property that have been damaged by photographers and their subjects recently who aren’t so kind to the living things that make our parks their homes.
The sights, smells, and sounds of fall are unique. Here’s the Virginia creeper is turning from green to its rich autumn red and the New England asters are popping in rich purples and bright purple-pinks.
I hope you get out there and enjoy what’s out there when you get the chance, and write some of it down for yourself!
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
My calendar note to do journaling over the weekend came and went. I was outside a lot, but I didn’t sit down with pencil and paper. Moving my body and communicating face-to-face with friends were further up my list of priorities, and if that’s your truth, I think you need to follow that.
As I waited for a friend at Rivers Crossing Park, I found myself watching a large black ant crawling up the trunk of a honey locust tree in the parking lot landscaping. This ant was much larger than the ones I saw last week. The ant crossed over and around the obstacles of the bark with determination, always as directly upward as possible.
I looked more closely at the bark: basically smooth brown, with many lighter horizontal dash marks- the trunk’s “breathing” pores, or lenticels. In addition, there were rougher patches and vertical splits indicating adverse conditions the tree had experienced in the past and was recovering from with some scar tissue. In addition, the entire trunk was covered with splotches of other organisms: lichens.
Lichens are interesting, non-vascular organisms that are found just about anywhere. They are actually “species” formed by the symbiotic relationship of 2 living things: green algae or blue-green cyanobacteria and fungi. Different fungi can support different algae, and sometimes multiple ones can be found within a single framework of fungal cells. I noticed 2 different colors of green on the tree trunk. We usually think of algae as living in bodies of water. With the help of fungi, they can photosynthesize on trees, rocks, on soil, or on the forest floor. Wherever fungi can find a hold, lichens can form.
What do the fungi get out of the relationship? They can absorb some of the food the algae build with the sun’s energy. The algae get that physical protection of the fungal cells surrounding them and can absorb some of the minerals and water the fungi have picked up from the substrates they live upon. Both absorb water from rain and mist.
These species find opportunities in living together. I found an opportunity to study and draw as I observed them. The ant might gain something from them, I don’t know. The tree could benefit from the lichen’s presence: lichens can fix nitrogen from the air and rain can leech some of that down into the soil for the tree to use.
No living thing is really alone. Each of us is dancing intimately with a host of other organisms and the elements. I was reminded of that during this journaling. And that is yet another opportunity for me as I move forward. How can I cultivate helpful relationships? What can I do to be better prepared for changing conditions? What can I offer in exchange with someone or something else?
Sunday, September 13, 2020
This week’s journaling is all about random. I didn’t even know I was going to journal today- it just happened. I left the house to do one thing and that fell apart, so I decided to walk instead. I didn’t know where to go, so I just went.
Every person has “outside” somewhere nearby. It may not be grand. It may be downright bleak. But there’s life out there. There’s something. It just takes some effort by us to let it enter our consciousness.
I think that’s a valuable lesson. Humans can think we’re the apex- we matter and everything else is less. That way of thinking is not only wrong, it’s dangerously so. We need other living things and the inanimate natural world as well for our very survival. And the relationship is not a one-way street. Humans don’t have to just rely on everything else to reduce our suffering. We can also make everything else suffer less. That’s a powerful concept for another time.
Back to my randomness.
As you’ll see by the pages I ended up with, I began by noting the metadata in the upper corner: date, time, weather. I then began listing some species I saw: a monarch on some white flowers. Blue jays squawking. Flickers calling and flying by, white rumps flashing and goldfinches chittering about. I couldn’t get close to these creatures to dive deeper. I walked on.
Eventually, I stopped at a pile of nut husks in the middle of the trail. I noticed there were ants on one of the husks and sat down on the wet grass to draw what I saw. Drawing what is seen and not what is expected is hard- it takes stepping out of oneself. And my notes on the page are rough- coming back to it while at a desk lets me read up on different hickory species (this was Carya ovata- shagbark hickory) and learn that the “hulls” are better known as “husks”. It was probably a squirrel who plucked the nut from this hickory tree and dug the sweet and nutritious nut out.
|Terminal bud of shagbark hickory- next year's leaves!|
|Small honey ants on shagbark hickory husk|
The ants interested me as I haven’t focused on a living species yet in my journal. Moving animals are harder to draw, so taking pictures and observing under a hand lens for at least a few minutes can be used together for greater understanding. I was able to note behaviors and question what the ants were doing. Using the phone app Seek on a photo, I was able to define an actual species: Prenolepis imparis, the small honey ant.
I made tons of mistakes.
Drawing in a journal with a pen is unforgiving. That can be hard for some people to accept, but I’m in a mood of not caring and just embracing the errors. Perhaps it’s my fluctuating blood sugar today, but I’m forgiving myself for repeatedly writing “black walnut” instead of “hickory” as I sat there. I admit I had to stop 5 minutes later to correct it when I realized what I had done- I *knew* better. Why did I write that? I have no idea. Meh. It is what it is. My scale was wrong a couple of times. No biggy. I drew over it. I wanted to add more adjectives once or twice- I squeezed them in where I could.
|New England Aster|
|Jewelweed still blooming|
Life’s not about perfection. It’s doing. Today, I just did.
I think that’s the point of my writing and drawing today. Anyone can find *something* to journal about outside. How we respond to that event will be different for each person. Documenting it all may not end up being a masterpiece, but it’s a valuable experience that should be noted. Today, I was able to just do something and accept what came to me, and that feels pretty satisfying. I got some fresh air and quiet, met a couple of people on the trail, and have a journal entry to remind me of the day.
I hope you can get outside. Whether it’s an ant on a sidewalk, or a mushroom on a log, the moment can be fleeting or long and profound. But it requires us to stop long enough to let what will be, be.