Forward, Into The Past
Sure, we should all eat dessert first, for life is short and uncertain. Even in our time as humans, we get many chances to delay some gratification for later enjoyment. It’s called discipline, or maybe virtue. It’s not universal, but I can think of two life forms that make us look like lifelong party animals. Meet the mayapples and cicadas.
Nature is wonderful stuff. I delight in watching the shifting strength of various woodland plants as they compete through the summer. I got to studying the mayapples of late spring, when the forest floor is covered with them. Each plant labors to create a single drooping fruit. Roots, shoots, fruits and all are mostly gone by July.
There isn’t much that first blossoms around here in September, but two exceptions are the goldenrod and white snakeroot. Both of these have the run of the place right into October, lining the edge of woods and walking paths. Their tiny flowers serve the vital function of providing late season nourishment to bees, butterflies and moths. The only other reason to deliberately plant it might be that its bitter taste deters deer and rabbits.
Continue reading “1840: A Case of Milk Sickness”My dog and I walked a trail through the woods in Kirkwood Park last week. Approaching a bridge over the creek, I noted a couple of lizards turn tail and disappear below the decking. On our way back, I snuck up and got some photos of the little fellas. I knew they were skinks, but had no real idea what that means, so had to crack the internet for detail.
Wild Violets
Sometimes scary tales involve something one wouldn’t associate with a threat. Something pleasant to the eye, that wouldn’t hurt a fly. Little wild violets, for example.
We once had a home with a large yard in South County. Pat came in beaming one spring morning, delighted by the little blue flowers that had appeared in our lawn.
Continue reading “2013: Vile Wild Violets”Walking the alleys of Lafayette Square, I came upon this old coal chute door in the side of a building.
Closer inspection yielded some specifics on its origin.
Continue reading “1939: A Local History of Coal”
The Missouri Audubon Society lists 434 distinct species of birds in the state. Did you know that one had a range limited to Lafayette Park in 1870, and has migrated no farther than 150 miles in the 150 years since?
Once, there were an estimated 4 billion American chestnut trees in the eastern US. They were the redwoods of the East Coast, and many uses were developed for the ftrees. The trees grew quickly to massive dimensions, and were long the primary source for construction timber. They also provided a sweet nut (up to 6000 per tree!) for roasting and generated wistful references in various American songs and prose. Chestnut Mares and chestnut hair, and Under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands, and chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Growing up in western Montana, the only exposure a kid gets to fireflies is anecdotal, like the bug in Sam And The Firefly from the Dr Seuss series of books; a tiny comic superhero. Moving to Missouri and camping on the Huzzah River, watching the early evening light display of real-life fireflies was memorable.
Here’s a good word for the day: “anthropomorphize”. It means attribute human characteristics to an animal or object. If you’ve ever carried on a conversation with your dog, that’s really what you’re up to. It’s not a bad thing… and in its highest form, gives us cartoon characters. I want to discuss squirrels today, and yet I can’t Rocket J. Squirrel out of my head.
Continue reading “2020: Making A Case For Squirrels”
