Fairy Skirts for Christmas!

 I've been going back and forth about the identity of the mint that's making those beautiful frost flowers in my gasline cut. First I thought it was American pennyroyal (Hedeoma puleginoides). Nope. Then I thought it might be Wild Marjoram from Europe (Origanum vulgare). Nope. All this attests to the difficulty of identifying a dry, apparently dead plant in December, and my peculiar mental block about it all.

Now, with the help of my Internet pals, I know it's Dittany (Cunila origanoides), and it's native to Ohio. 

Whoopee! I love a native plant, especially one that does what this one does in the dead of winter!

An early illustration of Dittany by none other than the famous early botanist William Bartram hisself! (Borrowed from https://www.sovereigntyherbs.com/blog/american-dittany

And guess what its other common names are? 

Frost Mint.

And FAIRY SKIRTS!!

I'm shouting in all caps because this frost flower production is a THING and people, mostly old-timers like I am now NOTICED IT and KNEW ABOUT IT and I had to just stumble on it myself, wonder what these white things in the leaves might be, and go re-inventing the wheel, bumbling through trying to identify its shriveled stems, when all along there was this native plant with the common name of Frost Mint, which means that it is, after all, a known thing.

I love the feeling of others having walked on what I fancy are my private little paths of discovery. To wit:

For a lengthy, breathless and beautifully written treatise on Dittany, please see Ericka Galentin's gorgeous blog called Sovreignty Herbs at this link https://www.sovereigntyherbs.com/blog/american-dittany 

There's a lot of stuff about faeries at the beginning, with some boffo drawings, and then scrolling down a bit further, she gets down to brass tacks about this fascinating and beautiful plant. I have a freakin' Dittany ranch on my back 40, and am so pleased to know it! 

And Ms. Galentin is from Athens, Ohio! Squeeee!! There's magick (and moss, and fair folk) in these here hills. Who knows. I might even run into her, or a faerie, down in Orchid Holler.

On December 23, I woke up and saw a sunrise for the first time in a couple of weeks. It had been MOV gray here, with a beautiful snow and then rain and lead-gray skies for a week. And finally, here was the sun. Oh, I will take it. And the ice. Everything. 

The old bonsai, protected from bucks by a bit of Bill's grave fencing. He doesn't mind. It goes back to protecting the coneflower and liatris when the bucks finally drop their weapons in February. 

After walking the meadow, we headed straight to the gas line cut where the Dittany thrives and makes its magic. I had a feeling that the 5" of snow we'd had wouldn't have brought things to a halt, and I was right! 

December 23 and we still have activity!

And crazy shapes--long flower-fins stretching out!

Backlit by rare morning sun--mo betta--especially when the temperature stays low. You can see the stratae.

Notice how the dittany stem has broken off--the snow did that to most of them. Then the question becomes--will the stem still draw water as well if it's busted off? Looks like it. 

It's only going to make a frost flower below the break. 

As I photograph these things, there are a few things I particularly like. One is coils, and the other is when they come up out of mossy patches. This is a twofer.

I also like the ones that send out multiple fins--usually four. This may be because, as a mint, dittany has a square stem, so the fins are being extruded from each of the corners on the stem. 

I really like this one, but I have to keep telling myself it doesn't look like a tampon. Ha ha! And honestly, that's kind of what they look like when you first stumble on them. I always think it's trash, maybe Kleenex that dribbled out of my pocket, that I'm going to have to pick up, and then I look closer and start crowing in delight, before you know it I've been hobbling around in a semi-squat for an hour or more, making portraits of frost flowers. 

If you click on this photo, you'll see how many I have to play with in this one view. What a treasure trove!

A mature dittany plant has many stems (they're perennials, and the plants get bigger each year) and may make five or more fairy skirts. This one is an overachiever!

I like this one's style. 

This one reminded me of a ballet dancer on point. A Sugar Plum Fairy for Christmas. 

Continuing the Christmas theme is a festive black raspberry plant.

And now for my favorites--the fairy circles and hearts!

I love fairy skirts and frost flowers. 

This one has a bow!

More on moss...

The sun was beginning to melt them; the day's high was to be in the upper 50's, so I indulged myself and crunched a few down. It's a meager breakfast. I prefer persimmons, Concord grapes, apple and pear falls, but I'll take what I can get.

This is a swiftly melting fairy skirt. It has pulled away from the motherstem, and it's going translucent. 

It doesn't take much sun to melt away a frostflower! 

Oh no, please don't go! Phoebe had an early appointment in town and I was frantically texting her to hurry home and meet me in the gasline cut. I so wanted her to see this latest bloom before the show was over.

Liam has made the pilgrimage with me several times this winter, and he was still in Dreamland. You have to get out early to find frost flowers!

Curtis and I turned for home, to meet her. 

When she arrived, they were still blooming, though the ones in the sun were worse for wear.

Thank you for indulging me with all these repetitive photos of frost flowers, fairy skirts, elf tubes, and assorted ephemera. As a thank you, I give you Curtis Loew trying his first frost flower. Suspect it won't be his last. Hope you had a wonderful Christmas and are looking forward to the New Year as much as we are!

                 

OX, JZ

The Sun Came Out

The pines and birches, bent almost double here by the weight of ice, are standing straight and unscathed as I write this. Nature springs back.


Chet, on his way out the oil road to check our well.

Waiting, waiting for the sun to come out, knowing that it was going to be spectacular. I hung up on someone who had kindly called to see how we were faring once when the sun peeked through and the weeping willow, caked in ice, burst into diamond flame. I hope she understood. I had to go see that.

There was no power as yet, but the gas well was sending us some love, about 23 psi of love. You want to see upwards of 40 psi at the wellhead, but we'll take it. Hey, nice hat.


The orchard was just ridiculous with the sun coming through the ice and snow in the afternoon.


I made about a yard of progress every five minutes, with the sun and the snow and the intricate beauty hollering and whooping all around me.

Bill skiied cross country while I tried to save the snow and ice, lock it up in electrons and digital folders before it melted.


A twin arch for rabbits to pass beneath.


Multiflora rose, its hips locked up where even the birds couldn't get them. It was a beautiful but hungry sight.


Liriodendron flowers, each a goblet of snow.


In concert, they were a ballet corps, little hands offering divinity. Here, here, here, take this.

Driveway Mandala

Some ice patterns in the driveway caught my breath. It was as if Peter Max and an ancient Aztec sculptor stopped by on their way to Eternity, and left me a message.
Yes, Peter, I see it, and it's beautiful, but what does it say?
Maybe it doesn't have to say anything. But my poor pop-art addled brain kept seeing a Blue Meanie.
These babies were big, and I had brought only my long telephoto lens (duh), so I had to shoot them at a distance and at an angle. But I'm glad I had a camera with me, because they'll never be repeated in just this way on any other day. I'm still getting a Peter Max feeling from these, a yellow submarine chugging along, puffing out white smoke.

While the first three defied description, this one grabbed me by the arm. You could see it carved on a Aztec stela, protruding from jungle vegetation: a jaguar shaman, kneeling in prayer, or preparing to spring.
Just a little driveway mandala, all the more beautiful for its impermanence.

We're on our weary way home from Nebraska today. More nodding, bolt upright and folded into airplane seats. Now I'm glad my blog elf slept on the job last week...I won't have to dream anything up for a couple more days. Bill and I are in a land somewhere in the mists beyond exhaustion. But our sweet kids and millions of Baker kisses await.