Moon as Ovum and Other Surprises

I was a little bleary this morning. There was, after all, some kind of once in 500-years total lunar eclipse, the slowest ever bla bla bla...I don't pay much attention to the various  distinguishing human markers slapped on every celestial event, but I was excited about seeing the moon in an altered state. There was a mackerel sky in force upon my retiring, and I had high hopes it would break up by the time the eclipse got going. 

My brain, naturally, woke me at 1:30 AM, 2:33 AM. and 3:47 AM. Each time I got up to look. Finally, at 3:47, the clouds had cleared and I had to run to the west side of the house to find the moon. It was worth it.

I couldn't shake the impression that it was not a moon; it was an ovum. It looked watery, diaphanous. It looked like it would jiggle like an egg yolk if you poked it. There it was floating in the vast womb of the sky, waiting for something to come swimming along and make something of it. It was unfinished, protoplasmic. I was riveted. Penumbra. That's what the disc is called, right? Even that sounds like a reproductive term.

It was very difficult to photograph, especially without a tripod. I should have digiscoped it, but fussing with a scope, tripod and phone adaptor at 4:05 am was just not something I could handle. I couldn't even deal with finding socks for my freezing feet. So I sat down on the ground, leaned against a cold concrete retaining wall, steadied myself, and shot some lousy photos. I kind of like this one, that includes the Pleiades, or Seven Sisters, in the upper right corner. Orion was bold and bright, but he was caught up in the twigs of a birch and I had no hope of capturing him. I have a sort of crush on Orion. At least he makes me smile each time I run into him.

I went back upstairs and it was getting light when I finally drifted back to sleep. I opened my eyes again at 6:55 AM. Four wakeups feels like a lot, even for me. Still, getting to enjoy the celestial events (that always happen at miserable hours) is one of the very few benefits of chronic insomnia. 

Who could be droopy and sorry, though, when this is waiting for them in the living room upon arising? 

We call this Wide Stance. He assumes it when he is asserting himself. Such a guy. I'm very proud of Curtis because a quick check-in at the vet's today showed that he has dropped more than four pounds! He's a lithe 43.4 lb. and I am delighted about that. It's all about the crispy fall weather. Running weather. And run he does. I can't believe my companion is 7 now. Where do the years go? Well, we started the clock at Year 4. That's most of it. How I wish I could have loved him from Day One. But his life experience has made him the dog he is. He is the Most Wonderful Dog.

            

I walked out the meadow with him. First, there had to be zooms, and hiding. He doesn't hide himself very well; I think he thinks I'm blind.  He hides the way an adult hides from a baby. He lets me find him.

       

We went out the orchard next, and I got an idea. After a slowly spectacular near-total lunar eclipse, well, there might just be another surprise out there. Yes! The first frostflowers of winter 2021! The red blackberry leaf says it all. It's still fall, and they're already out.

I was so intrigued. There was a freshness, a pristinity to them I hadn't seen before. I think these are the earliest frostflowers I've ever found. Please click on each photo, because the detail is so beautiful, and these photos are so small.

One American dittany plant, its stems splayed, a flower on each one!

Being so fresh, and the first, these were tight, beautifully formed, close curling flowers. This one looks like a cone shell.

I almost threw this photo away before I saw the only in-focus part: a frost flower just forming in the rightmost dark stem! Wow! Do click on the photo to see what I mean. The stem is split, and the flower is just starting to protrude.

This one reminded me of Casper the Ghost's friend. Elmore? I can't remember his name. I love the way they're rising up into the frigid morning light. OooooOOoooOooo

There's something so delicious about seeing fresh frostflowers with green grass blades.

For those new to my blog, you can get the whole story on frostflowers and why they form at this post:

http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com/2020/11/finding-frost-flowers.html

Please note that in this post, I had the plant incorrectly identified as pennyroyal when it is in fact American dittany. I was in the right family (mint), but it took awhile to ID the plant from the withered remains I found. I'm also bemused that last year's post is from November 22...pretty much right on target. See, that's the great thing about getting older. You forget when stuff happened, so everything is fresh and new all the time! Here I was thinking these were my first November frostflowers. Well, they're earlier by maybe two days...

This is a much better post about frostflower origins:

http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com/2020/12/fairy-skirts-for-christmas.html

It's devilishly difficult to photograph American dittany (Cunila origanoides) complete with frosty skirts because the stems are hair-thin and just vanish in the clutter. But those small paired green leaves belong to the frostflower plant!

It's wonderful to get down and close with them, especially when there are still green leaves about.

Yes, it was a frostflower morning, and a fine one. Everything old is new again. I am continually amused by the wonders laid out for me to find. For that I am continually thankful. 

I made my way back up the orchard from the gasline cut where the dittany dances. I had long since misplaced Curtis; he was giving occasional bays from deep in Orchid Valley, safely in the middle of my land, and that was fine. 

I walked very slowly as the orchard was seething with birds. Gleaming cedar waxwings in the tulip tops, preening and cuddling. I love a bird that will sit touching shoulders with its friends. 

The winter wren that chimps at me every time I walk past Bill and Elsa's graves. 

And hermit thrushes. Man, do we have the hermits this year. I have a way of talking to them that, if I'm very patient and lucky, often results in their singing a few phrases. They're pretty territorial in winter, I guess, because my pitiful imitations of their songs and a much better imitation of their tchup! call bring them right in. Today, after much waiting, I was rewarded with November songs. Ahhhh how that conjures the boreal forest for me, even as I stare into a miserable tangle of Japanese honeysuckle in Appalachia. I do adore these little elves of the thicket. I'm so grateful they stay the winter here. All hail sumac and honeysuckle fruit; withered grapes and the odd snail or slug. 

                  

I've been wanting to blog for a very long time, but just couldn't pull the trigger. I'm too busy. Crazy to imagine someone living in the middle of the woods being too busy to blog, but there you go. New ventures, new directions, good things. I miss writing to you. I especially wrote this one for Jeanne. 

I'll leave you with a Towertop Sunset. Sound up for a bonus white-throated sparrow, rambling adorably. Dootin-doo-doo, feelin' groovy! in a sparrowy kind of way. 

                  

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

Finding Frost Flowers

It was a typical crisp blue morning walk, November 18, with Curtis in high spirits and me following his lead. I love how his bells give a Doppler effect as he comes tearing by like a tiger train. 

 I never know where we'll end up on beautiful mornings like this. We often end up in strange places on gray mornings, too. 

It was a rare morning with the temperature around 28 degrees in this beautiful, protracted autumn. I was drawn down a trail I've recently re-opened, one I last cut when Phoebe was in a backpack on my back! I remember swinging the boltcutter style clippers as her sweet drowsy weight shifted from side to side. I was a pack mule then, and I still work like one. I have this idea that I'm going to cut trails to all my favorite places on our land. It's rather a big job, but oh what a delight it is to be able to walk without getting whipped and snagged! I'll git 'r' dun!! The trick is taking tiny bites of the 1,000 pound pumpkin,  not trying to eat it all at once. 

We came out into a badly overgrown gasline cut and my eye was drawn to white structures in the weeds.

First I saw one

and another, and another...

and it's fitting that this one is shaped like a heart, because I love love love finding these little things on a frosty morning!

Frost flowers! FROST FLOWERS!!

blooming only when the nights dip into the 20's (Fahrenheit)

followed by bright sun (or not, as I think about it; I don't think the sun has much to do with it, except that sudden dips of temperature like that generally are followed by bright sunny mornings)

The best ones look like ribbon candy. Far as I can figure out, frost flowers form when very cold temperatures shatter the cells in a still-moist plant stem, creating thin fissures through which water and

sap ooze. The liquid freezes as it is extruded, and the plant just keeps taking up water, probably through capillary action, because at that point, like the Wicked Witch, it's not only merely dead; it's really most sincerely dead. 

Now, I've seen people claim that the only plant that makes frost flowers is wingstem Actinomeris alternifolia, and I've seen them on wingstem, but I've also seen them on asters. And these were a first for me, because they were all on pennyroyal Hedeoma pulegioides! (Update: Nope, this is American Dittany, Cunila origanoides)

This is Ditanny,  after frost, of course. It smells divine, even then. A very potent inhabitant of dry  clearings. 

My father Dale Z. called it pennyroyal, and pronounced it "PENnaroyal" and, as was his way, sought out herbal drops containing it, many decades before that was considered a cool thing to do.  He was fascinated with horehound, too! My dad, man. What a guy. So I knew the smell of "pennaroyal" somewhere in my bones, knew that's what it had to be the first time I ran into it in this clearing back in about 1993. "Huh!" I sez to meself. "That must be pennaroyal!" And I was close, but it's dittany.

 I'm so curious now, to know what makes a plant eligible to produce frost flowers. Wingstem and asters are composites, but dittany is a mint. I looked and couldn't find frost flowers on anything but pennyroyal in this clearing. More data needed. More data is always needed.

Frost flowers, to be quite honest, look at first glance like Styrofoam packing peanuts scattered in the leaf litter, and I'm sure many people don't even think twice to wonder what they are when they see them, but do please think twice, and get down and admire them before they're gone.

The best ones look like ribbon candy, spun silk. You have to get down on all fours to shoot them properly, on elbows and stomach to shoot them best

and I am happy to say that I am still vulnerable to dog bombing while trying to make photos of them.

This dog is not as liable to step on my subjects as the first one was, but like The Bacon, he seems to linger in the background longer than might be expected or even proper

and what are the chances that a photographer would end up with two dogs in a row who are terrible camera hogs

who know exactly what they're doing and even leer a bit as they zip through my careful compositions

two dogs who are shameless, deliberate photobombers

unless that first little photobomber somehow arranged to have another sent my way

or perhaps is coaching him from his pile of fleecy blankies inside a Dogburger of softness in the Great Beyond?

It's thoughts like this that flit through my mind when certain dogs do certain things that fill me with joy 

and make me wonder if somebody somewhere is pulling strings so I won't miss him so terribly on those cold crispy mornings that Chet, having practically no fur on his undercarriage, wasn't so keen on

the mornings Curtis loves like I do.