Carry Me Back

 To olde Virginny...

I grew up in Virginia, roaming her woods and horse pastures when there were still woods and horse pastures (and bluebirds and brown thrashers and wood thrushes and red-shouldered hawks) sprinkled throughout the Greater Richmond area. I had a ten-speed and man I wish I'd had an odometer on that thing, for as far as I'd ride. 20 miles was nothing for a Saturday. I loved to explore. I had no GPS, nothing but the baked-in memory of all the turns I'd taken, and how I'd need to flip that mental map backward to get myself home. It was a grand and wonderful way to grow up. Independent, free as a bird, strong and healthy. Lucky. I worried the blue-eyed crap out of my poor Mom and Daddy, and more than once I'd hear a car pull up slowly behind me and find it was them, out on a Sunday afternoon, looking for their wild, far- flying bird.

 Of course I never understood why they couldn't grasp the fact that I was invulnerable. Until I had my own kids...it's the oldest story ever told. But mine never took off alone all day down country roads, probably because we have such horrendous hills all around here in Appalachian Ohio. The Piedmont was pretty flat, and man, could I ride. I'm sorry Mom. I'm sorry, DOD. I know now how utterly crazy I drove you. Thank you for letting me go. Truly. Thank you. As if you could ever have hoped to contain me.

This is the house I grew up in, how it looks right now. It looks pretty good, if you don't mind the fact that a hurricane took down the enormous sweet gums and oaks behind it--there was a wall of forest back there, that nurtured me just as sure as my mom's pot roasts and potatoes did. And if you don't mind the fact that a couple of owners back, they decided to run a paved driveway all the way around the house. They paved our sideyards. They paved the back yard, cut down all the trees. They smothered that rich red frustrating Virginia clay where my dad and I grew tomatoes, zinnias, snap beans and marigolds, even soybeans and once, popcorn! We grew four o'clocks and geraniums and petunias and cockscomb. Portulaca and a southern magnolia and even a couple of spindly pecan trees, much to the delight of the zillion squirrels. I grew Mediterranean birches, too--I was mad for birches. I haven't been back since they paved all that. A peek on Zillow is all I need to know that going back would kill a part of me. Look at those stupid just-bought shrubs, just trying to give it a little more curb appeal. We had boxwoods! These probably still have the tags on them.

You see that little blue slate sidewalk to the right of the front door? My dad laid that. He poured the cement driveway, too. And that's all that remains that I remember, other than the gross structure. I used to press my nose against those little windows on either side of the front door. The window slightly off center over the door was my bedroom, and in the summer flickers would drum on the metal gutter. What a way to wake up. I feel certain nobody in that house has heard a flicker drum for many, many years. Flickers need forest as much as I do.

  They completely remodeled the basement, since they're saying it's a five bedroom house. They'd have had to. It was my dad's workshop, and it was indescribably dirty down there. But oh, things happened down there. Things got made and fixed and created, and I loved that. There were wood and metal lathes, old gas engines, small two stroke engines, vises and hammers and chests of screws and nails. I can still smell the grease and exhaust and wood shavings and my dad's sweat. I'm glad I was raised in a house with an immaculate upstairs (thanks, Ida!) and a dirty basement (thanks DOD!) An immaculate Mom and a greasy Dad. It was a good way to grow up.

I wasn't expecting to write about all this, but what comes out is what comes out, and that's why I enjoy blogging, and writing in general. I needed to tell you this. I'm thinking about Richmond because I was just in Virginia again, to give a new talk to the Virginia Bluebird Society, in Woodbridge, about 90 miles north of my hometown. For all the reasons above, I was not tempted to go back "home." I dearly and desperately want to see my English and World Lit teacher from high school. so consider that a warning, Edith. I got to get to you somehow.

Omg this group of women--we laughed SO hard and we were SO bad at dinner, and we barely knew each other. It was just love at first sight! Vickie Fuquay, who is cut in half here, helped me so much at my booth. I was so distracted and having so much fun. She kept me grounded and signing books. I can't wait to see some of these folks at the North Carolina Bluebird Society meeting in April near Burlington! Already looking forward to it.

I had SUCH a marvelous time at the VBS meeting. Met people who will be my friends for good. Gave  new talk called "Have You Ever Wondered...Things I've Learned in 40 Years of Bluebirding."

 It's a collection of truly arcane, bizarre and fascinating things I've learned about bluebirds (and chickadees, wrens, swallows, nuthatches) while tending their nest boxes. I pitched it at people who do this, too, and it struck a chord that resonated and made music. I work on these talks for weeks, sometimes months, and it's always, always worth whatever time I put into it. 

After a couple days of socializing, though, my inner introvert was ready for the woods. I packed up an hour early on Saturday and was out by 1:30 pm. I pulled up Google Earth and looked for the nearest large forest tract. I'd been indoors too long. Mason's Neck State Park looked perfect! I'd never been, but I headed there like a migrating goose.  The minute I got out of the strip malls and housing developments and turned down the peninsula, I could smell the forest. I couldn't believe it. The smell came right through the car windows. It was so delicious. I felt like a dog, hanging its head out, taking big gulps of sweet air, smelling everything that lived and walked and grew in that woods.

I got to the gate and paid my ten rocks to get in, and asked the young attendant which trail would get me down by the water and would be best for bird photography. "That would be the Bay View Trail." Sign me up! I was not disappointed. 

One of the first plants I saw was new to me, outside of a pot or a greenhouse. I'd never seen harts tongue fern in the wild! WOOW!! Omg huge Science Chimp fail—turns out to be swamp dock. Total plant Buck Fever. And what happens when you let an app tell you what you’re looking at. Thank goodness someone swooped in to correct this. “Seen nearby,” iNaturalist?? I think not!

It was pretty common throughout the first swamp I encountered.

Gorgeous swamp forest--beaver swamp! Oh it's so good to see beavers allowed to do their magic! Why can't humans realize they are the best habitat engineers on earth? Why do people trap them out and kill them wherever they try to do their beautiful work? Look what they do, spreading a welcome mat for ducks and shorebirds, fish and frog and salamander alike. Do click on these photos to appreciate it all.

Do you see what I see? Asleep in the hollow of a beaver-drowned tree?

They look like angels when they're sleeping...

The first bird I heard and saw was a winter wren! To my surprise, winter wrens outnumbered Carolinas three to one here. I decided that winter wrens must come here to spend the offseason, as they are boreal nesters. What a beautiful little bird to find anywhere, especially here.

I was keeping an eBird list, and I counted nine winter wrens. The local reviewer questioned that, so I sent him these two photos, and he validated my report. Heh. I talked to a couple of birders I ran into, but they weren't even aware they were swimming in winter wrens. Oh well. Now they are. Gotta learn those calls, folks. You miss so much if you don't learn the calls.

American holly is very scarce here in southeast Ohio. I know where to find some, but it's rare.

 It isn't rare in Virginia! What a treat for me and the robins migrating through! and what a cheery presage of Christmas!

All the great beautiful beeches near the trail had been defaced. Humans. I even found my initials on this one. I assure you I would never harm a tree to make such a dopey cruel mark.

If you do this to a tree, you are a blithering idiot, and you need to stop immediately and forever. I'm preaching to the converted here on this blog, but be it known: If you're carving a beech, you'd better hope I'm not coming down the trail. Carve a beech, and you're gonna get my full Mad Mom voice, which is like being judy chopped. You're gonna get Zicked good.

The ignorant are also lazy. I didn't have to go more than 100' off the trail and into the woods to find pristine beeches, never defaced.

Look how this one is burying its big old toes in the duff. It's like someone sticking their toes in the sand at the beach. Ahhh.

Even here in coastal Virginia, the leaves were almost all on the ground. Only the beeches and oaks were still hanging onto them. The duff was a foot or more deep. I remember that from my childhood, barely being able to walk in the woods for the depth of the fallen leaves. I remember my dad saying, "Virginia sure can grow big trees." Spoken like an Iowan.

Deep in the woods, a spider had hung a wreath on this pristine beech. The leaves its web caught moved in the breeze, making the most beautiful decoration--the only decoration it needed. 

Believe it or not, this is a tulip tree's feet. I suspect this anomalous root growth is a response to periodic inundation in this swamp forest, with the tree trying to get a bit more oxygen. It may also reflect shallow soils. I don't think of tulip trees as being a bottomland species, but I think they can be. 

Here's the top of the same tree. It went up forever!

UPDATE: I heard from Almuth Tschunko of Marietta College, who told me what is more likely going on with the tulip tree "legs":

Almuth: "I think the seed from which this tree grew, most likely germinated on top of a big "nurse" log or stump. Over the years it grew several roots out and down along the nurse log/stump and into the soil. These arched roots grew woody and stout enough to support the tree by the time the nurse log/stump had decomposed. (A Google search for "nurse logs" brings up a lot of nice images.  Enjoy!) "

Love it when my sharp friends come in for a correction!

The forest smelt of incense. Curing oak and sweetgum (sweetest of them all)--a smell right out of my 8508 Academy Road backyard memory book--we had four beautiful sweetgums that would turn yellow, red, purple, maroon and orange all at once!! Oh how we loved to see those trees turn in October! And the scent of their fallen leaves!! And the little spaceballs they dropped! My dad used them as briquettes in an antique blacksmith's forge he used as a grill. They would glow orange when he pumped the handle to send more air through his fire. And oh, the taste they laquered onto our bacon-wrapped hamburgers. I'm drooling just thinking of it. I wonder if his beautiful blue slate patio is still back there...no, no. Don't go back. Just remember.

I was drunk on the sweet smell of this forest. There was just the slightest hint of fug beneath it, from the methane in the marsh mud--but it served to set off the high, sweet notes perfectly, like a black backdrop sets off a rose. I reeled down the trail like a possum, wondering if anyone else thought it smelled like Paradise here. It was the last warm day of November, too, in the mid-70's with a nice soft breeze.

Maybe the locals are all used to it. I could never take that scent for granted.

If you're anywhere near Mason's Neck State Park, near Occoquan, Virginia, treat yourself.

It was just the most sublime four hours I could have spent. And I didn't even know the best was yet to come.