Category Archives: Environment

All mushrooms are edible, some only once.

By Posted in Beautiful, Environment, Natural beauty, Seasons Tagged , , 7 Comments

Conditions have been just right this autumn for mushrooms to…mushroom. Southwest Virginia has been sauna hot, steam bath humid and deeply rainy.

As far as I know, only one type of the mushrooms pictured below is edible— the Chanterelles, shown at the very bottom. Photogenic as they all are, I wouldn’t touch any of the rest of them with a fork.

What’ll they be when they grow up?

I’m not a mycological expert by any means, but I do trust myself to identify a Morel, wash it, dust it with flour and fry it in butter. Yu-um!  However, Morels are springtime ‘shrooms and I haven’t seen one in the wild for years. A lifetime ago my dad took me along when he searched for them. He told me I should look under May apples’ leaves. I don’t remember if I found any there or if that was a ruse to keep me out of his way.

A few weekends ago Chanterelles were the centerpiece of an evening meal at one of my very favorite places, above a river, in the mountains. We had fresh local tomatoes, local corn, and pie made from local apples. Really, a meal doesn’t get any better. (I must confess I’ve made better crust, but the apples were good.)

The National Audubon Society Field Guide to Mushrooms says, “Mushrooms are among the most mysterious life forms. Ancient Greeks believed they came from Zeus’s lightning because they appeared after rains and reproduced and grew inexplicably.” The Guide goes on, “Though mysterious, mushrooms often appear suddenly and often in places where they’ve never been seen before. They have been out of sight, growing underground or beneath bark.” And they disappear quickly too. Yesterday there were a gang of little ‘uns huddled together under my downspout. They’re gone today.

Indeed, these fantastical-looking life forms are nothing if not bewitching. And their names add to their allure—Big Laughing Gym, White Dunce Cap, Lawn Mower’s Mush, Fading Scarlet Waxy Cap, Sweating Mushroom, Emetic Russula (emetic?!), Pinecone Tooth, Old Man of the Woods, Jack o’Lantern, Hen of the Wood, Saltshaker Earthstar.  If any of these are shown below, I don’t know it. I’m a mushroom admirer, not a mushroom professional.  For the real low down on mushrooms read Gloria’s posts. She writes “Virginia Wildflowers,” a beautiful, informative blog. Mushrooms are included.

She had a part in ‘Fantasia.’
Budding romance, perchance?
Still life with ginger and hickory nut.
Leaf gobbles mushrooms.
This is a neighbor who lives in a tree.
Eeny, meeny miney, moe and moe. Look closely.
Fairy’s table and chair.
Piece of jewelry? Design for fabric?
Mushtroom trail leads to my door.
Safety in numbers.
Jiffy popped.
Evil lurks darkly.
Embarrassed, she hides amidst pine needles.
Eewww, if this is edible, I’druther eat my hat.
Menacing sulker.
Infantile chanterelles?
Chenterelles, a lovely dinner make.

Click on photos to enlarge them.

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Home away from home is far enough.

By Posted in Environment, Natural beauty, Travels Tagged , , , 3 Comments

Fittingly, dogwood trees were at their peak Easter weekend.

Tucked away in the hazy folds of the Blue Ridge Mountains is my peaceful place. Daughter Leslie and husband Martin’s weekend getaway spot is scenic, comfortable, perfect.

We were there Easter weekend, and for almost the first time in our three year’s worth of every-now-and-then visits, Peter seemed to feel comfortable. “Comfortable” isn’t easy for him these days, with dementia exerting more and more force, but at last the mountain gentleness had an effect. The river was low, so the water’s rippling was distinct, yet nap-inducing. We remarked on it when we sat down on the porch for our afternoon cuppa .

While there, we seldom do anything more energetic than walk down the hill to the river, play cards or dominos, maybe watch a movie. Sometimes there are chores to be done, but while the same work at home would cause grumbling, it’s fun there.

I love to swing on the front porch, or nestled in the cushiony chair swings on the screened porch, or on my new rope swing that appeared since our previous visit, thanks to Martin.

And, thanks to the coloring phenomenon that has swept ’round the world, I feel vindicated sitting for hours with pencils, markers, crayons and books. Such a soothing, idle pastime. At home I fret that I should be doing something else.

Being there, just 50 miles from home, is enough, just enough.

Fleabane
Yellow star grass
Dwarf bearded iris
Gram loves her new swing. Nobby wants a go, but Peter is a no-go.
Dwarf bearded iris, so dainty.
Fire pink
Leslie on her island.
When I asked Mart what was for dinner, he said, ‘Asparagus.’
Peter wanders.
Nobby likes the peacefulness too.
Ajuga
Wood sorrel…I think.
Wood anemone
Fiddleheads, so good to eat.

Woodland sampler.

After the turkey is soup.

By Posted in Beautiful, Environment, Natural beauty, Nostalgia, Seasons Tagged , , , 3 Comments

As always, for me, Thanksgiving was too soon over, the excellent meal a memory, with leftovers the stuff of Friday’s dreams. I’m not one to rush to Christmas before the November holiday, nor even after the turkey is soup, but this year, the little tree beside the door of Leslie and Martin’s woodsy retreat changed my mind.

Trekking to the river was a bit of a last minute rush. We’d made plans that, in the end, we couldn’t work out and alternate plans changed almost hourly as November 24 approached. I was in a muddle, but not Leslie. The previous weekend she’d planned ahead and, just for fun, added a touch of Christmas beside the front door, in case we ended up there for Thanksgiving.

And, in the end, we did.

It was a lovely holiday, even though we missed family who’d been there the two previous Thanksgivings — Carolynn and Bill, Jayne and Marc.

Wednesday was cold. Would it snow? No-o! Thanksgiving day dawned cool, but bright, and heated up along with the oven. The chef, Leslie, can’t stand the heat but she didn’t have the luxury of getting out of the kitchen. Once again, she engineered a turkey feast masterpiece. For the second time this year I failed pie-making. The from-scratch pumpkin was very good, the mixture of three kinds of apples, yummy, but the crusts could have been Play-Doh and were just as inedible.

Friday was warmer still. Samantha and Martin dug up potential Christmas trees, one for Sam to take home, one for me, and another for Leslie. I didn’t fuss about Christmas-rushing as I usually do, because it just seemed right. Sam left early to visit a friend in town. She drove her dad’s convertible, top down, with the tree riding shotgun. Wish I’d thought to take a picture.

Sam and Martin dig.
A welcoming pine.
Ready for turkey and the trimmings.
Huckleberry, belly deep in leaves
Grandparents photo-bomb Miah unwittingly.
Les pots a tree.
Martin, Sam, Leslie and Miah

bombeck-writers-workshop

 

Dark shadows brilliant weekend.

By Posted in Environment, Fun, Natural beauty Tagged , , 1 Comment

Gorgeous day. Bluest sky framed by towering trees. Piercing shafts of sunshine spotlight the mountain road. Inky shadows, breeze-tossed.

We swooped down the kinky hairpin curves. One black shadow moved from left to right. I goosed the gas, just enough I hoped, to get out of the way, yet not lose control. That big black bear surely would have sent us tailpipe over steering wheel. There are no guard rails there.

Heart attack-making few seconds, survived! The shadow bear swift-stepped behind our car, and dodged another.

Whose heart thumped loudest?

Otherwise the weekend was lovely. Autumn hinted at as leaves drifted onto the river like paint dripped from a brush. A lazy few days floating and swimming in water barely warm enough.

Five adults and four dogs spelled m-a-y-h-e-m at times. Our Nobby, usually a kindly soul, yaps incessantly in the river.  We think he doesn’t want anyone to get too far away, though goodness knows, he can’t, won’t, swim to the rescue.

A flotilla of inner tubed children giggled past, captained by two dads. “Is this the parking lot?” the oldest asked. “Another mile or so,” we say. Do we look like a parking lot, we think.

Then kayaks and canoe, young boys, a dad, and three unwilling dog-passengers paddled by. Tillie, the oldest of our canines, defended her right to that patch of river and followed them, yipping. She splashed through rocky shallows, swam where she could, and at last turned back, her job done.

A stunning butterfly shimmered and flitted around us. It landed on bare belly and arm, dog’s back and chair — Blue Morpho Menelaus. Its final fling at summer’s end?

In this getaway place I sleep deeper, longer, better. I sit and read and, in renewal of a favorite childhood pastime, color.

Our granddaughter blended her culinary skills with her mother’s and they produced a meal that mingled tastes perfect for a new September. And me? Gram’s heralded pie-making skill hit bottom. The. Worst. Pie. Ever. Gray puffs of smoke curled from the oven before we realized that, instead of turning the oven down to 350 degrees, I’d turned it up to 530 degrees! Apple pie, its sugary milk glaze burned, was unrecognizable. We ate it anyway.

There are no photos of the bear.

Blue Morpho shimmers
Leslie’s fabulous Sunday breakfast also included fried eggs, bacon, toast and grits!
Martin uses flour sifter to strain cork out of his coffee and brandy.
Leslie and Martin greeted at riverside by Nobby and Tillie.
Huckleberry.
Sam defuzzes Huck.
Screen porch, wildflowers, breeze, excellent book by Sara Baume.
Sam reads Hemingway.
Nobby guards the bank.
Yellow wildflowers brightens the river’s bank.
Typical Englishman on a picnic.
Trespasser’s fishing stools.
Peter puzzles.
Really, it’s an apple pie.
Huck, Tillie, Nobby, Goose front to back.
Gooseberry.
Blue’s sitting on my chair.
Refrigerator art.

 

 

P-o-z-y-n-y-i spells Xmas.

By Posted in Beautiful, Environment, Natural beauty, Nostalgia, Seasons, Snow Tagged , 9 Comments

As the years go by I get more and more Scrooged-up about the holidays. This season my mood has been especially glum. The weather is just too darned warm for December. If I wanted warm I’d head to Florida.

But I’m not a warm lover. I need snow and cold and fireplace aglow. If I were to light my fire now, I’d have to sit outside and enjoy it through the window.

IMG_1892 (1)

S-n-o-w spells happy on our tree, ’cause when mama’s happy, everybody’s happy.

Yesterday though, the tiniest scintilla of spirit crept in when I tackled the traditional Hungarian pastry I learned to make when I was pregnant with my youngest, Leslie. Fifty-two years — with three lapses — I’ve been doing this.

As I shoveled the four cups of flour onto my big board, I thought how much it looked like snow, softly drifting. And as I proofed the yeast that had passed its sell-by date seven years ago, I marveled at the miracle that it was still active. In fact, that dough didn’t double in size, it tripled.

The smell of the yeast, the whiff of vanilla, the mysterious face that loomed out of my yet-to-be-mixed raisin filling, evoked the scent of happy holidays remembered…happily.