Centennial Watershed State Forest hike

Today is the last of the 40+ degree days for a while. A series of approaching foul weather systems is headed our way to remind us all that it's still February. It seemed a good time to squeeze in a hike on the Aspetuck Valley Trail.

The trail winds through the Centennial Watershed State Forest. The 15,300-acre forest was established in 2002 as a partnership between the Aquarion Water Company, the Connecticut Department of Environmental Protection and The Nature Conservancy to conserve land for water supply protection and open space preservation.

The black arrows on the map above indicate my route. I estimate I hiked about 4.86 miles, which doesn't sound like an incredible distance, but the snow and ice underfoot, combined with the usual tree roots and rocks, slowed me down enough to extend my time on the trail to about 2 3/4 hours.


This was the only bit of open field on the hike, near the trail head parking lot.


This is more typical of how the trail looked for most of the walk. Mountain laurel was most abundant, and I made a mental note to return in May, when the shrub would be in bloom.

The snow made for slow going. It had been warm enough yesterday to continue the daytime melting process, but dropping overnight temperatures put a halt to the melting and turned the trail into a mix of hard snow, ice and, as the morning wore on, a slushy juice.

Still, the snow cover revealed other hikers and their four-legged companions who had passed here before me, and it was their tracks that made it much easier for me to stay on the trail. Sure, the trail was blazed, but from time to time, there were no blazes to be seen. When you're not sure you're on the trail, you start to look around and all you can see is trees and more trees. It begins to sink in that you could really get lost out here. Luckily, that didn't happen, but I did find it necessary to spend more time scanning bare ground in spots, searching for the more downtrodden leaf litter as a clue to where others had gone.

I love the look of lichen-covered boulders. I wish I could transplant one to my living room.

This rotting tree stump covered in club moss also held interest in an otherwise monotone landscape.

Here's an interesting log cabin on an old country road the trail paralleled for a portion of its length.

Here's a closer look at the cabin's sunny back porch. It's quite charming.

Hope you enjoyed the walk.

Late February Snow - A Photo Essay

An area snowstorm has deposited a new layer of white in my yard, turning it into a study of white on gray.

 

I planted this Japanese black pine 15 years ago, when it was just a small sapling. I didn't think it was going to make it after deer browsed the lower branches. It has an interesting growth habit that has the vaguely Asian look that I love.

One of my greatest success stories is shown above. It's a large doublefile viburnum that has grown with enthusiasm and vigor since being planted about 10 years ago. I believe it produces black berries, but I see them so rarely as the birds pick them off as soon as they ripen. Here's what the shrub looks like in bloom, below.

 

This venerable mountain laurel is on the north side of the house. Deer browsing has sculpted all my mountain laurel and rhododendrons, giving them their graceful, bowl-shaped appearance.

These Autumn Joy sedums have donned snowy whitecaps, though I live far from the ocean. Here they are in September, below.

They never fail to deliver spectacular bloom at a time when most other perennials are spent. They're also drought-tolerant and insect- and deer-resistant.

Here's the Stairway to Heaven in summer. Although they lie on the south side of the house, they're heavily shaded by mountain laurel and rhododendrons, making those steps the perfect spot for a pot or two of impatiens.  Here's how they appear in the snow, below.

The back of the house is barely visible from the forest.

Nurture Your Houseplants

The next time you need to water your houseplants, why not practice water conservation, ditch the Miracle Gro and apply your own liquid fertilizer, all at the same time?

Simply save the water you use to cook vegetables to water houseplants, after the water has cooled. (If those vegetables on the stove happened to be ones you grew yourself, organically, so much the better.)

The water in which vegetables have been boiled contains minerals and other nutrients that will help your plants thrive. Cooked vegetables leach some of these nutrients in the water, even when the vegetables are steamed.

Of course, it's not a good idea to water houseplants with salted cooking water. If you're in the habit of doing this, you can still reuse this nutrient brew by freezing it for later use in soups or stews.

Interestingly, the San Francisco Chronicle reports that Southerners at one time used water left over from boiling foods poured over bread or biscuits or simply drunk from a shot glass. Such water was known as "pot liquor," or "potlikker."

American slave cooks started the practice of saving the "broth" from cooking greens like collards, turnips and mustards to feed their families.

Potlikker may have been associated with a life of hardship, but many of those who became accustomed to drinking such vegetable water – it was the precursor, after all, of V8 juice - relished the distinct flavors of waters used to cook specific vegetables.

If you're a Northerner, potlikker may be an acquired taste. And while the water used to cook other foods, such as pasta or hard-boiled eggs, may not generate the same praise from Southern foodies, it can still be used to refresh your houseplants.

February Blahs

View from the front door

My apologies to anyone who's noticed the glaring lack of posts here. I've been feeling particularly  uninspired of late. No doubt, it's a case of the February blahs. I have been spending most of my time huddled indoors and compulsively cooking, then attempting to work it all off at the gym.

I noticed another blogger I read takes a break from writing with her "Wordless Wednesday" posts that feature a photo.  I think I may start up something similar called, "Speechless Sundays."

"It's in the Bag"

The frugal among us "brownbag it" in an effort to be good. For my boy, Luther, brown bagging it means being devilishly bad.

An extra large, brown paper bag is all it took to occupy the energetic, too-mischievous-for-my-own-good but cute-as-a-button, I-can-do-no-wrong Luther with eight weeks (and counting) of 100% unadulterated fun. (It's a good place to snooze, too.)

Behold, the Amazing Bag.

It is not empty.

Note the many pinholes made by sharp little claws.

One day, one of those pinholes became a tear. Soon, the tear became a hole. Oh, the possiblities.

This seat is taken. Scram!

 How about a hot dog and a glass of milk?

 Did anyone see my mouse?

 That took a lot out of me. Snore.....

End Note: The more timid Waldo observed Luther inside, around and on top of the bag for most of the past two months. Finally lured forward by the irresistible sound of crinkling paper, he only recently screwed up the courage to approach the strange brown object. To be continued....

Crazy About Compost

I love the idea of diverting everyday kitchen waste - the endless stream of parings, shavings, peels and pits - that springs forth from my cutting board. And now that I'm home more, there is never a shortage of apple cores, onion skins or the butt ends of carrots, celery or broccoli stalks.

It might seem strange that in my 14 years at Owl Hollow I have never really maintained a proper mulch pile. I inherited one, a simple affair held together by slatted wood, but I never used it much because it was set way back in the overgrown area of the rear yard, prime deer tick habitat.

Two years ago, I took the somewhat daring step of digging a new vegetable plot in my front lawn. (The front lawn, you should know, is quite private and difficult to see from the road unless you're standing at the bottom of the driveway.) I felt it was a smart move since the front yard receives sunshine in abundance, while the backyard is more shaded and enclosed.

So it would seem to make sense to locate a new compost pile in the proximity of the new vegetable garden. It's not going to be anything fancy, and may not be more than a pile of kitchen waste and lawn clippings periodically aerated with a shovel or pitchfork.

(An enclosed bin of some sort would make the whole affair tidier and more manageable when it comes time for aerating. There's a paper company just a few miles down the road from me that last year would regularly put  4 x 4 foot slatted wood pallets out by the road for the taking.  If I could fit three of these in my car trunk, they'd made the perfect sides for the compost pile.)

In addition to reducing my contributions to the local waste stream, starting a compost pile would also enrich my garden soil.  Compost acts as a soil conditioner/fertilizer and will keep my garden growing healthy. Compost adds nutrients to the soil and feeds microorganisms that are needed by growing plants.

For optimum decomposition, the nitrogen-to-carbon ratio needs to be about 25 to 30 parts carbon to 1 part nitrogen. Here's a list of some of the materials I'll most likely be adding to my compost pile and their estimated carbon-to-nitrogen ratios.

High Carbon Materials ("brown" matter)

Wood ashes, a perfect 25:1 ratio (Too bad I don't have a fireplace.)
Fruit waste, 35:1
Leaves, 60:1
Pine needles, 80:1

High Nitrogen Materials ("green" matter)


Food waste, 20:1
Grass clippings, 20:1
Hay, another perfect 25:1 ratio (Too bad I don't have a horse.)
Vegetable scraps, 25:1 (This I have, in abundance.)

Depending on what you've got, you may need to tinker with your compost pile to reach the ideal balance of 25 to 30:1. If your carbon-to-nitrogen ratio is too high, you can simply add grass clippings; if it's too low, you can add dry leaves or wood chips.

I'll know the compost is "done" when it's a rich, dark color, crumbles easily and I can't distinguish any of the original contributions. Or, as Organic Gardening magazine editors say, "It's ready when it looks and feels like moist chocolate-cake crumbs and smells like fresh-turned earth."

Depending on how good my composting technique is, I could have ready-to-use compost in anywhere from nine months to a year. My success will hinge not only on the carbon-to-nitrogen ratio, but also on ensuring that the pile is kept moist (not wet) and turning it once a week.

Organic Gardening also recommends using straw as your bottom-most layer to keep your pile off the ground and away from weeds and small animals. Straw should also be used to top off your pile to thwart pests and keep odors down. The compost pile should be located in partial shade.

Are you a composter and, if so, what goes into your mix?

Baking for the Birds

By this time of year, my outdoor chores are limited to keeping the driveway cleared of snow, some anticipated winter pruning and keeping the bird feeder filled.

Truth be told, I don't really mind these chores; all of them are a good excuse to bundle up and get outside, even as my Inner Hibernator whispers, "Take a nap."

In addition to a caged, triple-tube seed feeder that's stocked all winter long with black oil sunflower seeds, I also maintain a caged suet feeder using commercially-made suet cakes I buy at rock bottom prices (.50 a cake). But you may enjoy making your  own version of wild bird cakes that invite inspired improvisation, depending on what you've got on hand in the kitchen.  And, if there are children afoot, you can bet they'll be clamoring to help you out, too.

Most recipes are quite simple, relying on either peanut butter or unflavored gelatin as a base; from there, you simply stir in nuts, dried fruit or seeds of your choice,* pour the goopy mixture into an empty plastic suet container) a Lean Cuisine dish also works well) and refrigerate until it sets.

When you're ready to hang your bird cake(s) outside, pop it out of the tray and insert in your suet feeder, if you have one. If you don't have a caged suet feeder (preferably double-caged to deter squirrels), you can put your creations into those green plastic berry baskets, the kind that strawberries are sold in, or even onion bags.

Here are a few of my favorite recipes, adapted from those found in Birds 'n Bloom magazine, which by the way, don't actually require baking.

Gelatin Seed Blocks

2 1/2 ounce envelopes of unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup of water
Assorted bird seed, nuts, raisins, dried fruit

Empty the gelatin envelopes into the water in a saucepan and stir over low heat until the gelatin is completely dissolved. Stir in 1 1/2 cups of any combination of the bird seed, nuts and dried fruits. Mix well. Pack the mixture firmly into a plastic container and chill until set.

Woodpecker Delight

1 cup cornmeal
1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour
1 cup water
1 cup birdseed

In a microwave-safe bowl, combine the first 5 ingredients. Microwave on high for 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in the bird seed and let cool. Press into roughly sandwich-sized plastic containers and refrigerate. These will then fit nicely in your suet feeder.

Chickadee Sandwich

If you're too impatient to dissolve the gelatin, you can simplify things by smearing two slices of bread with peanut butter. Sprinkle birdseed on both slices, press together like a sandwich and insert in a suet feeder.

You can also send the children on a pine cone hunt around the yard and then slather the pine cones with the peanut butter mix you've prepared. Thread a string through the pine cones and hang from trees you can easily view from indoors. Grab the binoculars and watch the action. You can also save your old toilet paper rolls and stuff them with your seed mixture to make Peanut Butter Bird Burritos, minus the hot sauce.

The birds will appreciate these treats during the coolest days of winter, your kids will enjoy some old-fashioned fun and you'll get a kick out of cooking like your eight-year-old.

*Depending on what you've got on hand, you can also incorporate the grease from cooking bacon into your bird cakes, along with stale breakfast cereal, bread or waffles torn into pieces, cat or dog food (dry or canned), cooked rice, oatmeal and apple cores. Aim for a consistency that's not as wet as pancake batter but moist enough to spread like butter.

An Early Morning Visitor in the Garden

It was 7 a.m. and the snow was lightly falling. As I sat watching the morning news and eating toast with strawberry jam for breakfast, Luther gazed outside the kitchen window.

Within  minutes, Luther's demeanor changed from neutral to breathless as he jockeyed for a better viewing position. The look on his face was more excited than his expression when he sees one of my neighbor's cats roaming around.

So I leaned toward the window, just in time to see a beautiful red fox pacing inside the large, overgrown garden enclosed by a waist-high picket fence. It's just six feet from the north side of the house. He must have jumped inside. It was clear he was looking for a way out that wouldn't require jumping  Like so many wild turkeys that refuse to fly when they can walk, I guess the fox didn't want to expend any more energy than was necessary.  Within a few seconds, he found the gate ajar and slipped out.

I watched as he headed back up the slope, into the woods from whence he came. I hurriedly finished my breakfast, opened up a pricey can of cat food the cats turn up their noses at and put it in on a plastic plate. Then I threw on my coat and grabbed my camera.

I left my food offering at the edge of the brushy area that borders the backyard. Perhaps it's unlikely the fox will return and find the food before squirrels or crows do, but I wanted to try, anyway.

Although the snow has already obscured the finer details of the fox tracks in the photo above, I learned two important things about fox tracks: 1. Unlike most other four-legged animals, fox tracks appear in a nearly vertical line, and 2. The tracks themselves are quite round, more like a cat's than a dog's.

After examining these tracks, I realized happily there were more fox tracks elsewhere in the yard. I often see tracks in winter I do not recognize; now, I'll recognize these.

The fox sighting has renewed my interest in baiting the mouse traps in the garage, it's something I can get quite lazy about, especially when, roughly half the time, the mice eat the peanut butter so delicately the trap isn't sprung. But any mice I do catch could be tossed in the same area where I left the cat food. Perhaps the fox, a welcome visitor not seen on my property for at least 10 years, will find them and make Owl Hollow a regular stopover.

Rock On

"There is no pleasing New Englanders, my dear, their soil is all rocks and their hearts are bloodless absolutes." – John Updike

Amid the riot of summer's growth, rocks are often disregarded. Staunch sentries of the forest, they lie impassive and unmoved by the frenzy of chlorophyll-fueled growth around them. By winter, their irregular form and massive heft take on a greater prominence against the bare, leafless landscape, with an intrepid beauty all their own.

"Since childhood she had walked the Devon rivers with her father looking for flowers and the nests of birds, passing some rocks and trees as old friends, seeing a Spirit everywhere, gentle in thought to all her eyes beheld."
- Henry Williamson, 1895-1977


I love looking at unusual boulders along my walks, especially if they have interesting lichens growing on them. Somehow, that bit of tenacious green seems to really stand out on a frigid, cold day.

"Study how water flows in a valley stream, smoothly and freely between the rocks. Also learn from holy books and wise people. Everything, even mountains, rivers, plants and trees, should be your teacher."
- Moriheri Ueshiba, Japanese poet, 1883-1969

These boulders looks like they were frozen in time as they tumbled down a wooded slope. Did they look just this way a thousand years ago? Will they remain for another thousand years?

What is it that we New Englanders love about a stone wall, anyway? The suggestion of order? A rough symmetry of form that marks the hand of man?

Growing Fruits, Nuts & Berries

My favorite nursery catalog arrived today. It's from St. Lawrence Nurseries, a family-run nursery in far northern New York state, about 20 miles from the Canadian border.

The nursery specializes in cold-hardy fruit and nut trees and claims to be one of the few fruit and nut tree nurseries growing their stock in a zone 3 location (-40 to -30 degrees F. average annual minimum temperature).

If you've been less than satisfied with the survival rate of your seedlings, it's a pretty safe bet that St. Lawrence stock will be winter-hardy.

St. Lawrence sells 152 apple varieties, from Adanac and Adirondack Crab to Winesaps and Wolf River. They also sell quite a few pear, plum, pie cherry and cherry plum varieties, although because my space is limited, I'm more interested in their fruiting shrubs and ground covers.

Over the years, I've purchased quite a few of their plants:

1. Gooseberries, Pixwell variety (Ribes sp.): A a tough plant that's reliably produced plump, green fruit that turns purple when ripe with very little care and not a great deal of sun. I prefer eating the gooseberries when they're still green and quite tart. They turn sweet as they ripen.
   
   In early spring, the same little green worms that have denuded my serviceberry trees (see below) also go after the gooseberry. According to Lee Reich, author of Uncommon Fruits Worthy of Attention, these are currantworms, which can be controlled by insecticides. (I prefer handpicking, but you've got to catch them early.) Beware of the thorns.
   
   
2. Juneberries, aka Serviceberry or Shadblow: The berry is similar to a blueberry in appearance and, depending on who you talk to, taste. My two tree seedlings had a very slow start and were stunted for years by the one-two punch of early spring attacks by leaf-eating green caterpillars followed by persistent deer browsing all summer long.
   
   Then last summer, one of the two trees really took off and now has a nice canopy of foliage about eight feet high. Oddly, although the trees are spaced just 10 feet apart, the larger tree escaped the usual caterpillar devastation while the smaller one did not. I handpicked as many of the worms as I could, but the damage was largely done. They can defoliate a seedling in no time.
   
   
3. Blueberries: My lowbush blueberry bed needs to be rescued from spreading brambles and other invasives threatening to engulf them.
   
   
4. Nanking dwarf cherry trees: I planted three of these about eight years ago. They put on a lovely show of pinkish white blooms in the very early spring, but the birds get most of the cherries; I discovered they were too small to be pitted using an antique cherry pitter my sister gave me as a gift one year.
   
   
5. Northrop Mulberry: Because mulberries are among the last trees to leaf out in spring, I know when mine starts growing that all danger of frost is passed. Since planting one tree seedling a number of years ago, I've been rewarded with volunteer mulberry trees elsewhere on the property, courtesy of resident birds spreading the wealth. One of the volunteers is now about 20 feet high.
   
   If you've got a mature mulberry tree in your yard and children in the neighborhood, they'll likely compete with the birds to get at the berries. Historically, mulberries were made into wine. Author Reich notes that mulberries were also used to cook murrey, a puree added to spiced meats or used as a pudding in medieval England. Dried mulberries, he notes, were a winter staple for the people of the Himalayas. Black mulberries have been known to produce fruit for 300 years.
   
   
6. Viburnum: This is one of my all-time favorite shrubs, and over the years, I've planted Blackhaw (Viburnum prunifolium), Wayfaring Bush (Viburnum lantana), Nannyberry, aka Wild Raisin (Viburnum lentago) American Highbush Cranberry (Viburnum trilobum) and one of my greatest success stories, the massive doublefile Viburnum. Most of these shrubs don't exceed 15 feet high when fully grown so they'll do well in a confined environment, although they will appreciate well-drained soil and full sun. They are all characterized by attractive foliage, lovely flowers and berries the birds will love.
   
   
7. Corkscrew willow (Salix sp.): I planted two of these in areas of my lawn that tend to stay wet in early spring due to a drainage system that funnels water away from elsewhere on the property, but the area doesn't get enough sunlight and the plants haven't done so well. I meant to move them to another location last fall, but ran out of time. If they're still around in the spring, and the deer haven't nibbled them to death, they will be relocated.
   
   
8. Potentilla (Potentilla fruticosa): This is a small shrub reaching just two or three feet high with small yellow flowers all summer long.
   
   
9. Dogwoods: I've planted gray (siky) dogwood and red osier dogwood (Cornus sericea). Both do well in damp areas and tend to spread by sending up suckers.
   

I'd love to have a few nut trees on the property but have been reluctant to commit to a tree that takes so long to produce nuts. However, if you're interested, St. Lawrence offers Hazelbert, Bur Oak, Red Oak, Korean Nut Pine, Black Walnut, Butternut, Shadbark Hickory and American Chestnut.

'Ol Man Winter Arrives Ahead of Schedule

I went to bed last night with reports from the weatherman of "8 to 14 inches possible" lingering in my mind. By 10:30 pm, the wind was picking up and packing a punch with strong gusts that startled the boys, but there was not yet any precipitation. Several times during the night I heard the snowplows rumble by, so I knew that snow was indeed falling.

I awoke this morning to a moderate amount of the white stuff coating the landscape, but certainly not as much as other areas in my region got.

We got about six inches. Much ado about nothing.

After fortifying myself with a leisurely breakfast of steel-cut oatmeal with maple syrup, milk, raisins and walnuts, I brought out my handy-dandy snow blower for its inaugural 2009-2010 season run. The little Toro 1800 breezed through its paces. This is my third season with the snow blower (aka snow "thrower") and I must say that was some of the best $280 I've ever spent. It's got to be one of the smallest snow blowers around and with its plastic body, it's lightweight and easy to pick up.

Still, its 18-inch-wide blades make short work of my 110-foot-long driveway. It's an electric model, so I don't have to mess with gasoline or oil, which I don't like to store in the garage, anyway. I use a 100-foot-long cord with it, which is not quite long enough to get me to the bottom of the driveway, down by the road, so I usually end up shoveling the last few feet. Of course, that's also where the plows really pack in the snow, so shoveling those last few feet is unavoidable. It took me 35 minutes to clear the driveway, and that included heart-pounding shoveling down by the road.

I took a walk at the Orchard Hill Nature Center the other day. The trails take you from woodlands through the fields and, my favorite part, along the woolly and wild Pootatuck River. (There's also a shaded boardwalk trail where a variety of ferns, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, red Trillium and Solomon's Seal can be found in the spring.)

The site's history extends back to the 1700s, when it was a farm site. The river provided power for the house and farm as well as a variety of mills on the property. Stone wall remnants of the mill remain. The place, long ago reclaimed by nature, was once home to a lumber sawmill, a grist mill for grinding flour and a cider mill for processing juice from apples. There was also a wool-carding mill for yarn-making.

Later, the land was purchased by a water company for its watershed. It became a nature sanctuary in 1976.

I've got a lamb stew cooking in the oven, and the aroma emanating from the kitchen is intoxicating. Snowy winter days like this are ideal for two things, in my opinion: eating good food and curling up with a good book.

Enjoy yours.

Creeping Through Winter

Now that the thermometer has dipped a few degrees into the realm of real wintertime temperatures, my thoughts have turned to the warmer days ahead. I’m waiting impatiently for my seed catalogs to arrive and wondering how I’ll make it until spring.

I recently wrapped up my holiday gift shopping with the purchase of some lovely heirloom vegetable seed packets from the Hudson Valley Seed Llibrary.

Even if you’re done with your holiday shopping, this site’s still well worth a visit, if only to admire the 16 different “art packs” of vegetable, herb and flower seeds. You can buy them singly ($3.50 each) or as part of a gift basket. The cover of each envelope was designed by a different artist. I must say, they’d make great stocking stuffers.

Some winter pruning assignments I’ve given myself demand attention. The first is a roughly 30-foot long stand of well-established forsythia (variety unknown) which has bloomed quite sparsely for each of the past 14 years. While pruning back the older canes should do the trick, I actually want to cut the whole entanglement back to about three feet high. From what I’ve read, it can take it, and while I’ll sacrifice whatever blooms I’d otherwise get this spring, my preference is to prune in winter rather than immediately after the spring bloom to minimize further encounters with deer ticks.

My second pruning project involves a similar severe cutback of a large burning bush tree with a canopy that's about 15 feet high and 25 feet wide.

Invasive seedlings of the burning bush found elsewhere on the property are usually dug up, but this massive specimen is allowed to stay, given its attractive mounded growth habit and its vivid scarlet fall colors. That being said, my wish is to cut back these branches a good three or four feet, all the way around, so that I can better admire the three sun-choked evergreens behind it.

I was ready to tackle these pruning projects weeks ago, but my online sources tell me I’m better off waiting until late winter to do the job to reduce desiccation of the cut branches. I’m fortunate in that I’ll have a helpmate in this project, a friend and neighbor who dug up trays of pachysandra and a few sedums from my property, with my blessings, last summer. I am not a fan of pachysandra, having seen how well established beds of it continuously creep into my lawn and perennial beds. It’s a constant battle to keep them out of where they don’t belong.

Other than their greedy behavior, pachysandra does offer a few benefits, including nearly maintenance-free growth that grows so thickly that weeds can’t gain a roothold, and an attractive evergreen appearance all year long.

So my work’s cut out for me in late February, but I still have 10 weeks to luxuriate in the winter respite from outdoor chores. Where are my seed catalogs??

Four Things My Cats Taught Me About Life

1. Embrace your inner predator.
When Waldo stalks The String, I have to admire the intensity of his concentration. In that moment when his eyes lock on their target, the outside world ceases to exist. There are no distractions. All energy is focused on his quarry. Every movement, every twitch of The String is processed and adjusted for as the animal prepares to pounce at exactly the right time. In a house cat, such single-minded attention comes from instinct and genes, but cultivated by a person, these qualities could enhance one's accomplishments where patience, commitment and clarity of mind are required.



2. Life is best savored from a lounging position.
Like good old boys who never tire of telling the same story over and over again, the Fur Boys repeatedly urge the following wisdom:

"When you lie down, the pace of life slows down."

"Take time to smell the food bowl."

"You only go through life nine times."

"Stretch, roll, yawn and repeat."

"Indulging in a little catnip now and then is good for the heart."

"Decisions come easier following thoughtful meditation, preferably in morning sunlight."



3. Always make time for play.
Waldo has the long legs and lean body of a ballet dancer. He'll readily go airborne to pursue a flung mouse. His twists, turns and pirouettes would earn him points from a television dance contest judge.

Luther has the body of a weight-lifter, strong, stocky and stout. He's not much of a jumper and is more inclined to look for a seat as soon as he enters a room. At play, he prefers to have The String dangled inches above him as he lies on his back, four paws to the wind. At all times, he maintains a perpetual state of innocent, wide-eyed adorableness, a fiction he frequently plays up to get himself out of trouble.



4. Lick your loved ones.

The expression of love can take several forms, Luther told me one day, feeling philosophical. Licking, for instance. Waldo's gentle snoring, Luther confided, awakens in him a fierce desire to show his love, and he does so by firmly placing his paws around his best bud's neck and vigorously bathing Waldo's head in a no-nonsense kind of way. Should Waldo have the temerity to protest or the poor judgment to move, the licks are replaced by jaws locked on the throat and a tussle ensues.

Leisurely sipping a glass of Zinfandel in the afternoon sun, Luther was feeling expansive and eager to articulate his feelings. To prove his love to me, his Keeper, he explained, he only needed to beam and squint in beatific joy and gratitude.

When feeling particularly demonstrative, Luther expresses his love by gently gnawing on delightfully odoriferous human toes, starting with the littlest and saving the biggest (and best) for last. He'll begin by artfully gaining the victim's trust with gentle, tender nipping that lulls one into complacency. Then, without warning, the delicate sampling of the 5 Little Piggies degenerates as the victim's toes are noshed on while Luther clamps down hard with a devilish grin on his face.

Turning Off the Furnace Attracts Media Attention

Setting personal challenges has always been something I've enjoyed doing. I'm not sure why. Often physical in nature, these challenges have been a way to stretch myself, test my endurance or simply make routine tasks more interesting. It's also been a way to make seemingly impossible goals more manageable when broken down into smaller components.

So I was quite excited when a recent challenge I set for myself and fellow bloggers drew the attention of the media. In my personal finance blog, Wild Blue Yonder, I invited others to join me in the 2nd annual No Heat Challenge. Simply put, the contest was to see how long each of us could go into the fall without turning on the heat. (Using the fireplace, stove or a space heater would be cheating, and each of us was on the honor system to report the date we charged up the furnace.)

Of course, those with young children or elderly family members living in the home would not want to participate in this particular challenge, but we did have about 20 enthusiastic participants from California to Georgia and everywhere in between.

I soon learned that my No Heat Challenge was by no means unique. There was, in fact, an entire town in New Jersey that was enduring the same kind of masochistic game. And so I was "discovered" by an intrepid reporter intent on ferreting out other examples of a rather punishing trend. I was interviewed first by a reporter with the (Newark, NJ) Star Ledger, and then, a few weeks after that story was published, a writer with USA Today also called me.

It was quite flattering to be considered an "expert" on energy efficiency topics and, gently prodded by the reporters, I did my best to shift from my simple contest to comment from a larger perspective on different ways to save on energy costs and why this is important.

I managed to squeeze in a fond reference to my Kill-o-Watt meter and touch on CFLs, as well as my personal obsession with tracking gallons of heating oil used each season and price per gallon paid.

The No Heat Challenge continues today. At least, I think it does. Sometimes, people forget to report in that they turned the heat on. I myself flipped the switch in mid-October, but I'm already thinking about what other sorts of energy-efficiency personal challenges could come next.

Will you join me?

As Good As Leftovers in the Fridge...

Can you spot all the little apples still clinging to the tree? They're clustered near the top of the branches (top right of photo), on the side that faces south.

If you're a hungry deer, they're as good as leftovers stored safely in the fridge.

Most are about the size of a kiwi, but round, of course. They've long been a coveted food source for my local deer population, whose presence I'm reminded of daily when I step on the poop that is scattered nightly around my property.

Here's a better view of the apples looking straight up.

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With relatively mild temperature in the low 60s, it was a great day to squeeze in some late fall yardwork, and in fact, I've been getting a lot of things done now that I normally don't get to until spring.

Cutting back dead foliage on the peonies, for example, and raking yet more leaves out from under my vast pachysandra beds and from under the rhododendrons, on the north side of the house. I was also able to transfer four wheelbarrow loads of mulch across the yard and deposit it all under the apple tree pictured here. Nothing much grows under the tree, and so the exposed soil tends to wash away during a heavy rain. To prevent further erosion, I spread the mulch around the trunk, though I still need to spread more.

Dance of the Falling Leaves

They danced to the
wind's loud song.

They whirled, and they floated,

and scampered.

They circled and flew along.

The moon saw
the little leaves dancing.

Each looked like
a small brown bird.

The man in the moon
smiled and listened,

And this is the song he heard.

The North Wind is calling, is calling,

And we must whirl round and round,

And then, when our dancing is ended,

We'll make a warm quilt for the ground.

- Author Unknown

Red Maple, an Autumn Show-Off

Red maple (Acer rubrum Linnaeus) is exceptionally beautiful this time of year.

Also known as swamp maple, this magnificent tree really ups the ante of fall color with its vivid scarlet show.

According to Cornell University, the tree is commonly found in swamps but also does well on dry slopes, which is where my red maple grows.

I must admit to mostly forgetting about this tree for the better part of the year due to its less-than-prominent location on the edge of the property, on a slope I seldom explore except when picking the Japanese wineberries that grow in abundance there during summer's peak.

But one of the treats of autumn is to pause in my yardwork and look up from the raking or other outdoor chores, and this is the tree that captures the eye. (Those are the wineberries in the foreground.) There's still quite a bit of color in the New England woods, although the brilliant reds of sugar maples, burning bush and Japanese maples are sharing more of the spotlight with creamy orangey yellows, darker shades of burgundy and rust and everything in between.