SNOWFLAKES ARE SPECIAL

APPRECIATING THOSE LITTLE THINGS

 

I'm slacking today, writing my blog in the warmth of our cabin.  It's that time of year when you're beginning to settle into winter.  You know you can't deny it any longer, so you might just as well find something warm and wonderful about it.  We really don't have to look too hard to appreciate winter in Wisconsin if we give it a little effort.

A few days ago a dear friend, Dorothy, from Montana, sent me a really neat book, "The Snowflake, Winter's Secret Beauty", by Kenneth Libbrecht.  This book includes many awesome closeups of snowflakes taken by photographer, Patricia Rasmussen, in Wisconsin.  I'll give it 5 stars!  

I learned so much about how snowflakes are created and it's indeed true that no two flakes are alike, kind of like identical twins.  Although you might think they look just the same, if you check them out closely you'll be sure to find slight differences.

As I looked out the window this afternoon I noticed a few light snowflakes drifting to the ground.  This prompted me to head outdoors with my camera and try to capture a few amateur photos of snowflake crystals and/or freeze my fingers, just for fun.  I stood near dark surfaces flakes might land on and waited patiently... yes, I need more practice, but here are my best shots.

I also learned from Libbrecht's book that all snowflakes are hexagonal or six sided.  Rarely, when two flakes share a center, they may have twelve arms, but never four or eight.  Snowflakes are symmetrically perfect because as they grow larger, while passing through the atmosphere, each arm of the flake goes through the exact same conditions.

I am fascinated when I think of how the depth of snow on any surface is made up of millions of tiny snowflakes stacked on top of one another.  It's kind of like a sand dune made possible only by the piling up of billions of tiny grains of sand.

If you get a chance, hold out your mitten during a snowfall and really look hard at those tiny snowflakes as they land on it.  I know you've done this before when you were a kid, but just do it again!  Each snowflake you see will be unique to itself and each one will have six arms... unless it was broken on its amazing trip from the sky... to you! 

Thank you, Dorothy!

THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER

A FAVORITE MAPLE TREE OF MINE

I found a seat in an old maple tree by Tom's Creek late this afternoon where I can sit with my journal and celebrate the first day of winter.  It's 35 degrees, cloudy, foggy, and gray, and there's very little snow on the ground!  There will be no sunset for me to notice since the sun has been hiding under the clouds all day, like for most of December, it seems.

 

I appreciate this maple tree.  It's kind of like a family of five trees joined together at the base with each tree spreading out into the world on its own, except for one that's now broken with it's branches resting on the ground, sprawling toward the creek.

A slight mist fills the air and I can hear an occasional drop of rain hitting the earth beneath me or landing on the hood of my coat.  The creature world is silent.  Not even the sound of a blue jay, crow, or chickadee do I hear.  Perhaps the birds are busy at home getting ready for Christmas.

This maple tree reminds me of a family with one member gone, but the one that is gone lives on in the memory of those still standing tall.  Green lichen grows yet on the bark of the downed tree, chipmunks still scurry across its trunk, and it gives me a place to sit and ponder.  Same with our missing family members... although they are apart from us, we will forever remember, and forever be one.

As I dawdle back through the woods towards home, the daylight is nearly gone.  It's that time of day when every bit of brush turns into a deer, every clump of marsh grass turns into a tail, and oak leaves yet fastened to the treetops turn into birds flitting in the wind.  

When I arrive back at our cabin, my dawdling has paid off.  The light in the kitchen is on and the fish we're having for supper have all been cleaned.  Life is good!  

Merry Christmas to all my nature loving friends, and thanks for following my blog!

DECEMBER RAIN

SITTING ON THE BANK OF LINDSAY CREEK

This afternoon my hubby said rain was on the doorstep, so we both shoveled each other outside to enjoy this mild but foggy 44° December day.  While he went ice fishing, I headed off into our now snowless woods, journal and camera in pocket, looking for a spot along the creek wherever water might be making some of those pleasant babbling, gurgling, sounds. 


After a short jaunt, I find myself sitting with pen in hand, listening to beautiful music where water trickles over a small clump of twigs and leaves as it glides down Lindsay Creek.  Now and then a melting drop of ice kerplunks into the water.  I'm fascinated by a circle of foam in the middle of the creek that keeps swirling around and around in one fixed spot, with seemingly no way to escape.  It hypnotizes me, but only for a moment.

There's something about a little creek in the woods.  Although there are no fish to catch in this one, there are minnows and smaller critters to appreciate now and then.  In summer, wood ducks land here occasionally for a brief refuge.  In winter, fox, otter, and even wolves use the frozen ice atop the creek for their highway.  You just have to look close, and listen, to appreciate the creek's magic.

Extra cold November temperatures froze Lindsay Creek up earlier this season, but today water flows over top what little ice remains.  The clear and sometimes root beer colored water is in a hurry today as it quickly swirls past me, meandering on through the woods toward the East Fork of the Black River. 


Lindsay Creek gets its name from an absentee landowner who owned a huge chunk of property in the late 1800's north of here near the creek's beginning.  His name was Freeman D. Lindsay, a Civil War veteran and lumberman.  Although this creek has no official name, and is too small to show up on most maps, I like to keep up tradition in referring to it with the same name the old timers gave it.  I think of Lindsay Creek as a little creek with a big heart.  Maybe Freeman is looking down on me today while I write in my journal, in December, with no gloves on, and pretty soon he'll knock that swirling circle of foam loose so it can float on down to the Mississippi.

Here comes that December rain.  Lindsay Creek and I don't mind as the pleasant memories of this very mild day will make winter that much shorter!

If you have a little creek nearby, take time to sit on its bank, in any season.  Running water, like a flaming bonfire, can captivate your eyes and mind and give you a sense of peace, no matter what is troubling you.

ON WINTERGREEN HILL

WINTERGREEN BERRIES & WINDFALLS

As I journal today on our back twenty, near wintergreen hill, a cackling squirrel scoots down a nearby oak tree.  He fades into the forest with a mysterious morsel in his mouth.  Temps are in the 30's and there's an extreme stillness in the air.  It's so quiet I can hear my pencil squawk as I write, and that upsets me.  It's not a sound that fits into the moment.

I watched an owl fly overhead on my walk to little wintergreen hill this afternoon.  The majestic owl was being harassed by a couple of crows, the usual ones you know, like people we call bullies.  I know the owl will be alright; we can't change the nature of the bully crows.  It's better to reflect on how beautiful their feathers shine in the bright sunlight then to dwell on their meanness.  

This little bump in the woods that I sit by is covered with wintergreen leaves and their sparse but red, delicious berries.  That's how it got it's name.  My sister calls wintergreen berries nature's breath fresheners.  They have a delightful and mild, minty taste.  Today a couple inches of snow cover up the green leaves of the wintergreen plants... but I know they'll reappear in the springtime as soon as the snow thaws. 
 
How did wintergreen hill come to be?  I'd guess it was created over a hundred years ago by a windfall, a large tree blown over by high winds, leaving it's huge root mass jutting out atop the ground.  Although it may appear to be an insignificant bump in the woodland floor, it's an important landmark to me simply because I can always count on it being there.  If you're a woodland walker, you'll know what I mean.

As the sun sets, a chill comes over me, prompting a walk back to a warmer spot.  I hope the owl has found some peace and quiet by now... I know I have.

HALF OF A MOON

                    Last evening, after the sun had set, I noticed a half moon in the sky. The moon reminded me of a poem that came my way one night when sleep wouldn't.  I kept the poem alive until morning and then jotted it down so I wouldn't forget it. Why, I don't know!  It's a good example of the nonsensical thoughts that run through a person's mind when sleep doesn't come easily, nonsensical thoughts and silly dreams that usually escape you as quickly as they come, thank goodness!  Except for this one...

  MOON THOUGHTS WHEN I CAN'T SLEEP

I cut the moon in half with a butter knife last night,

And since I made that crooked slice

I let you choose which half you wanted.

You took the east side, so I took the west.

I placed my half of the moon up high in the sky

And I let it's light guide me through the trail in the woods,

To the creek, where the water glistened.

I sat for a spell and listened for the wolves, but they weren't howling...

So I let the light from my half of the moon lead me back home.

Then I snatched it and pulled it down from the sky.

I slipped off my boots when inside my cabin door,
And laid my half of the moon on the kitchen table.

With my butter knife I spread cream cheese on a bagel,
And I nestled my half moon on top of it.

Then I climbed into bed and slept peacefully,
Savoring thoughts of a sweet breakfast treat in my dreams.

What did you do with your half of the moon?

 

 

My favorite socks my daughter-in-law knitted for me!

OPENING DAY of the WISCONSIN GUN DEER SEASON

SNOW FLEAS ON THE TRAIL TO AN OLD DEER BLIND

It's a balmy opening weekend, with temps in the 30's and 40's.  I'm thrilled with this heat wave after a few weeks of way below average temps.  This warm opening day of the Wisconsin gun deer season gives me a chance to journal out in the woods. 

A few eerie sounding crows have noticed me as I sit in my blaze orange coat leaning up against an oak tree on the back twenty.  I chose this spot to ponder as it is next to an old ground deer blind, a favorite hunting spot for Arnie, a deer hunter and family friend I knew all my life.  He hunted right up until the spring he passed away from pancreatic cancer a couple years ago. 

Arnie was a visiting guest deer hunter with my family for over sixty years.  His zest for hunting, the stories he told, and the kindness he bestowed on all of my siblings won't be forgotten.   Arnie was one of those old fashioned hunters that made sure you were up way before the crack of dawn, not just on opening day, but every day he was there to hunt.  He carried a flashlight, a hunting knife in a sheath, a hatchet, and a plastic bag.  And he knew how to cook. 

I'm missing a few things today besides Arnie...  a good stash of candy bars, a drag rope, a gutting knife, and my 30-30.  I haven't hunted in several years, but I'm thinking next year I just might give it a try again.  My oncologist said at 2 1/2 years I could have my chest port yanked out so I'm holding her to that.  It sits in my upper right chest where the butt of my gun should be. 

I hoped to find snow fleas on my walk to this spot, and BINGO, they're everywhere!  Snow fleas are little black insects with spring-like tails.  They look like pepper sprinkled on old snow, but they leap about everywhere in constant motion.  I love snow fleas because I associate them with mild winter days and little things no one seems to notice.   If you open your eyes you can find them on a warm winter day, hopping atop the snow in a Wisconsin woods.  Often they appear on a trail that someone traveled before you did.

It's foggy this early afternoon.  I don't hear any gunshots, only crows and blue jays calling in the distance, so I'm guessing neither hunters or deer are moving.  Blaze orange hats off today to Arnie, and all the deer hunter guests from seasons past who have come into our lives for a few days every November.  They've not only shared the gun deer season experience with us through the years, but have created a lifetime of memories, traditions, and unfading hopes of shooting that dream buck.  Perhaps I will... next year!

 

CHECKING THE TRAIL CAMERA

WHAT'S THERE WHEN WE'RE NOT...

 

In our neck of the woods we call them trail cameras, and most outdoorsy people own one or two in these parts.  We've owned a few through the years and have one set up out in our woods in most seasons.  Checking the trail camera has become a weekly chore, but a fun chore that always creates a bit of suspense.  It's fun to ponder on what might have been caught... on camera.

Yesterday my hubby and I donned our warmest knee boots and headed across Tom's Creek to retrieve the little postage stamp sized card from our trail camera and replace it with a fresh one.  The snow came about three weeks earlier than normal this fall and the air was very bitter on our short walk, too cold for me to bring along my journal.  As we crossed the creek, tromping through the little trickle of icy cold water, I heard geese flying overhead.  Looking up I saw a huge flock of Canadians heading south in a perfect "V" formation.  I fumbled with my camera but after removing my bulky gloves it was too late to snap a good photo.  So I bid the geese farewell.  

Tom's Creek, named for an early settler and Civil War Captain, Thomas Jefferson LaFlesh

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We didn't have far to walk in our south twenty acres until we came to the tree where the camera was strapped up high and elusive.  My hubby quickly pulled out the card and inserted another.  We continued our walk on a loop trail through the twenty searching for any signs of wildlife.  Very few deer tracks showed themselves in the fresh snow.  The yet unfrozen ground squished softly under our feet.  Cold breezes stung my cheeks as I hadn't yet acclimated myself to the winter-like conditions that had crept upon us so quickly this season.

Upon entering our warm and cozy home after our walk we gathered around the desktop p.c. and inserted the trail camera card in it's tiny little slot.   We learned that two deer had walked through on the trail in the day light, one at a time, single file, both bucks.  The first was a nubbin buck and the second was a unicorn. 

Ah, it was not really a unicorn, of course, but a little buck who lost one of his antlers.  Perhaps he was in a sparring match with a buck of similar size and got the short end of the deal.  But there he was, not a trophy, and at least we caught something! 

In the past we've been fortunate enough to capture wolves, bobcats, skunk, fox, crows, fishers, raccoons, blue jays, squirrels, a weasel, black bears...  and someone pushing a wheelbarrow!  Gotta love our trail camera.  How fortunate we are to have a chance to see what's there when we aren't there.  I think our fathers would've loved the concept.

MEMORIES OF SHERWOOD LAKE, CLARK COUNTY, WISC.

REFLECTIONS ON A LAKE I LOVE

DON'T LET IT SLIP AWAY!

Closeup of the point at Sherwood Lake, between the main lake and the old swimming hole this fall.  Sandhill cranes  gathered here for a few days before heading south for the winter and sat amid the overgrown weeds of the dried up lake bed.

My nature journal today is filled with reflections of a special place near my roots called Sherwood Lake, a 117 acre lake in southeastern Clark County, Wisconsin, that now sits empty.  The failure of an auxiliary spillway in February of 2014, and a dam in need of repairs, led to an emptying of the entire lake bed.  Rich sediment on the lake floor, from many years of decomposing vegetation, promoted the quick growth of a sea of weeds where water once sparkled in the sunlight.

Sherwood Lake is owned by Clark County and is adjoined by a beautiful county park and campground.  The entire area around the lake is owned by the public, making it a unique landmark.  It is located on a dead end gravel road, surrounded by remote woods and wildlife.

Clark County Forestry & Parks is working on a plan to make dam repairs but has no funds available for dredging.  A group called Friends of Sherwood Lake, of which I am co-chair, was recently created to help raise funds to improve the fish habitat.  With the lake bed empty now, we have a unique opportunity to improve the lake bed.  In years past, this little lake has been a great fishery, giving young and old chances at landing some nice panfish, northern, and bass, in all seasons.

(The Sherwood Lake I remember.  Photo courtesy of Carin Schalla 2012/13)

These are my memories of Sherwood Lake...  swimming on hot summertime days in the old swimming hole with family and my good friend Linda, riding my 3 speed banana seat bicycle to the lake from home, fishing for bullheads at night with family by a campfire, taking my son out in a canoe for his very first boat ride, family reunions under the shelter house for so many years, attending weddings in the park, ice fishing for the best tasting crappies and bluegills in the whole wide world.

Sometimes when such a treasure is close to where you live you tend to take it for granted.  That might have been me... until now, until it was gone.

Check out the Friends of Sherwood Lake website below if you'd like to help restore this Wisconsin wonder spot.  You can also read more about the history of Sherwood Lake and it's creation back in the 1930's.

https://sites.google.com/site/wedigfriendsofsherwoodlake/

Together we can make a difference...  My father-in-law always said he'd like to leave the world a better place when he was gone.  That should be the way we all think.

I welcome your comments below about your memories of Sherwood Lake or your favorite swimming and fishing spots wherever you may live.

 Near the boat landing at Sherwood Lake this summer, looking east toward the dam.   What was once a lake is now a field of overgrown weeds and stick tights, so sad!

THE BUCK THAT WASN'T COMING

  WHITETAILS IN THE RUT

I find myself journaling today on the oak knoll, one of my favorite woodland spots on our south twenty acres.  Patches of blue sky amid strips of gray clouds wallpaper the sky above me on this mild November day.  We're just a couple weeks away from the whitetail gun deer season here in Wisconsin.

The winds are calm and I can hear a pin drop if one does.  It's a perfect day to sit and look and listen for a whitetail buck that isn't coming.  But there are signs of him.  I walked past a fresh scrape on my way here and there's another scrape just ten feet in front of me where I'm leaning up against an oak tree.  That's part of the reason I chose to sit here today.
 

A fresh whitetail buck scrape spotted on my walk to the knoll

A gray squirrel dashes from an oak tree to the woodland floor and scuffles along through the freshly fallen leaves that blanket the ground all around me.  I love that smell of fall, it brings back nostalgic memories of falls passed.  But today I also smell the slight odor of a skunk that must have waddled through here last night.

I hear a woodpecker high up in the trees pecking for a meal and I search for it with my eyes.  It looks like a female hairy woodpecker.  Between the large oak trees, clusters of spindly young white pine trees are filling the gaps in the woods around me.  They are so thick that I wonder how many will survive, and how it's decided which ones will.   

All of a sudden I hear leaves rustling directly behind the tree I'm sitting up against.  I turn around and grab my camera, shocked to see a spike buck sneaking up on me.  His neck is puffed up, his eyes are glaring at me, and I think he's as shocked as I am.  I fiddle with my camera and attempt to snap a shot but he quickly darts back into the trees where he came from.  All that I capture is his tail.

Dang it, there he was for a split second, the buck that wasn't coming, right there behind me, and I forgot all the rules about having patience and moving slowly that I learned from deer hunting years ago.  I know now that the rut is in full force and I'm just tickled that I've had the chance to see a buck up close and personal...  Life is great today!

My favorite leather hiking boots, they don't owe me a thing.

TALL WHITE PINE

WISCONSIN INDIAN SUMMER - 

LOOKING FOR A TREE

I'm delighted to say I fulfilled an important goal on my bucket list this past October weekend...  I have never watched the movie that made this phrase so popular but I've heard enough about it to know what a bucket list is.   

Almost a year ago I was taking a walk down a dead end road near my home when I spotted a huge white pine tree through the fog, across a huge marsh.  Of course it was there long before me, but I hadn't bothered to notice it before.  Since my cancer dx, I notice so much more in nature and I hope I can help you open up your eyes too.  Please try not to take little things for granted.  I didn't forget that pine tree and I yearned to get up close to it.  It’s beauty and awe inspired me to write this poem.

TALL WHITE PINE 

Through the misty fog I see,

A towering, ancient, white pine tree.

Across the marsh it juts out high,

Above the tree line in the sky.

When I see an old pine tree

I feel just like its calling me,

To come and sit and meditate

And rest beneath, appreciate.

Once these trees were everywhere.

Now they’re only here and there.

Beneath this tree I yearn to sit.

I’ll find a way to get to it.  

Just a couple days ago my husband agreed to help me find that white pine tree and the bonus was we were having a good old Wisconsin late October Indian summer.  We drove part way, parked the car, and walked north on a trail through our neighbor's woods.  When nearing the end of the trail, a mowed field revealed a fresh leg bone from a deer, left behind by a pack of wolves not long ago.  

We trudged along on a back eighty acre clearing through deep and wide puddles filled with plenty of recent rain water.  A bald eagle chattered nearby as he quickly rose into the sky and several crows cawed all around us.  That made us wonder if perhaps a fresh wolf-killed deer carcass might be lying in the thick woods north of the trail.  I stood behind while Tom ventured off through thick tag alders looking for something dead.  I waited, and waited, and waited.  Finally he reappeared just down the trail from me with no stories to tell.

We continued on our jaunt towards the area of woods that we knew the giant pine tree must be hiding in.  As large as the tree looked from the road, the dense woods concealed it very well.  When our water hole trail ended, we spotted one white pine tree just northeast of us, but it didn't look majestic enough to be the tree I was seeking. 

Again my husband ventured off toward the east through the thick marshy brush to look for another white pine, a larger tree that might be lurking just a little further on.  Once again I stayed behind, resting, and waiting, and waiting.  I leaned against a couple of oak trees as the ground was too wet to sit down.  After several minutes I became anxious, worried that my hubby might be lost.  He carried the cell phone and I had nothing, no water, no snacks, no watch, and no gun.  What would I do if a timber wolf appeared?  We had heard wolves howling in this very direction just a few nights before from our home.  

Finally Tom reappeared in the distance and told me, with utmost confidence, that the white pine we had spotted just north of us was thee one...  I gave him a high-five and after a short jaunt we were there at the base of this majestic tree.  It was a double leader as two branches rose to the top, not just one.  We noticed an old deer stand in the tree, a rope hanging down from it, and several rusty spikes jutting out of it.  Good thing for the deer hunters, as the metal in the tree may have saved it from recent logging nearby. 

So here I was… standing at the base of it, giving it a huge hug.  We joined hands together, Tom and I, and completely encompassed the tree.  I pulled from my pocket the cloth measuring tape I had snatched from my sewing box and measured the circumference about three feet up from the base.  It measured exactly 9', not a record breaker, but a dandy!

The walk out was exhausting for me, but I was elated to have met this great white pine tree (a double leader and a double hugger) up close and personal.  I’m so thankful I had the chance to fulfill the wish I made in my poem almost a year ago.  It doesn't take a lot to make me happy!  

Could never have made it without my knee boots!