You might also notice that leaves growing closer to the ground, where the forest is shady, tend to be larger and softer. This is because trees are trying to absorb as much light as possible with these shaded leaves. Understory trees such as dogwoods live their lives in low light. They not only have larger leaves to absorb all the light they can get but also grow their branches in flat tiers so their leaves are spread out in single layers to make the most efficient use of the light that filters down to them. ~ Peter Wohlleben (Forest Walking: Discovering the Trees & Woodlands of North America)
“Shelter along the Appalachian Trail” by Carol M. Highsmith
The forest behind my house is already becoming something new, I notice, as I walk trails that used to be shady. With so many fallen giants, the floor now lies under open sky. I count sprouting acorns by the dozens, arching their necks and reaching for a new bonanza of sunlight. I have so many hopes for this place I love. Mostly that we’ll rise like these seedlings from our scoured landscape, blessed with the kindness we’ve shared with our neighbors and the will to extend our care to those who follow behind us on these paths. ~ Barbara Kingsolver (Southern Living, May 2025, “The Heart of Appalachia”)
On September 27 last year Hurricane Helene tore through Appalachia, affecting the community in Virginia where author Barbara Kingsolver lives. It also devastated 29 of North Carolina’s 100 counties, which are part of the same geographic region. (The county where we live is in the Piedmont region.) For some reason I never mentioned this disaster on this blog last year, probably because I couldn’t process what I was learning about it in real time.
Our grandchildren had no school that day so we had planned to take them to the Carolina Tiger Rescue. The day before, the weather forecasters warned of torrential rain for our area but the tour is by reservation only and the website said it would happen rain or shine. So we were prepared and bought rain ponchos for the four of us. But that morning the Rescue cancelled the tour and we stayed home. I’m glad we didn’t risk getting caught in a flash flood on the roads. It rained a lot and we had two tornado warnings during the day, which sent us to hunker down in the bathroom, but thankfully we weren’t hit. The disruption to our lives was nothing compared to what was happening to our neighbors only a few hours away.
A year earlier in October, we had stayed for a weekend getaway in the beautiful town of Black Mountain. We had a wonderful time walking through the town, visiting Mount Mitchell, hiking the Balsam Nature Trail in the state park, and driving along the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway. Little did we know Black Mountain would experience catastrophic flooding from the storm. Roads and bridges were damaged or washed away. The pictures we saw on the news were shocking and sobering. But since then the stories being shared of kind people helping one another have been heartwarming. I hope we can plan another visit some day.
However, the severely limited federal response under the current administration has been disturbing. According to our governor:
In addition to the $13.5 billion that I am requesting of Congress in new appropriations, North Carolina has yet to receive billions of dollars that Congress worked together on a bipartisan basis to appropriate last December. Just as I asked in February, I am urging federal agencies to take action to unlock those funds so we can put them to work as soon as possible where they are desperately needed.
We are grateful for every dollar that brings us a step closer to recovery, yet current federal financial support is not enough. In total, federal support amounts to approximately 9% of the total damage western North Carolina suffered. Many of the largest, most devastating storms, like Katrina, Maria, and Sandy, saw upwards of 70% of damage covered by federal funding, and from available historical data, the federal government has typically covered between 40 and 50 percent of costs caused by major hurricanes. The people of North Carolina deserve a fair shake, just like the residents of other states and territories.
~ Gov. Josh Stein (Hurricane Helene Recovery, September 15, 2025, Federal Funding Request)
Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night; and thus he would never know the rhythms that are at the heart of life. There is a time of sprouting, a time of growth, and a time of harvest, and all are part of the greater whole. There comes the time now to savor the harvest, to pause and know another year not yet brought to full finality. ~ Hal Borland (Sundial of the Seasons)
The times are disgusting enough, surely, for those who long for peace and truth. But self-disgust also is an injury: the coming of bodily uncertainty with age and wear, forgetfulness of things that ought to be remembered, remembrance of things best forgot. Forgive this fragmentary life. ~ Wendell Berry (This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems)
George & Julia Brumley Family Nature Preserve 9.9.25 ~ Chapel Hill, North Carolina
An atypical lovely September day dawned and invited us to explore another wonderful nature preserve. There we were delighted to find a labyrinth and two new kinds of butterflies. Tim was pondering how to describe his current style of walking, coming up with strolling, but not entirely satisfied with that word. Thinking of Thoreau, I suggested sauntering to him. He tried it on and used it a few times. Looked it up at home. It’s sticking.
St. John’s wort
fence holding up an apple (?) tree
part of the labyrinth
American beautyberry
🍃
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology —
Because he travels freely And wears a proper coat The circumspect are certain That he is dissolute
Had he the homely scutcheon Of modest Industry ’Twere fitter certifying For Immortality —
~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1701)
🍃
red-spotted purple
We couldn’t get enough of the bright color of these red-spotted purples and couldn’t wait to get home to identify this butterfly!
eastern redbud seed pods
Carolina satyr
There were hundreds of these satyrs flying around the labyrinth and nearby. They were tiny and didn’t stay still long enough for a good photo shoot.
?
pokeweed
To be honest, I forgot to think about ticks before taking this walk. Then, about half way through the walk we encountered three serious birders coming down the trail, carrying large camera lenses and binoculars. I noticed they all had their pants tucked into their socks, which jogged my memory and started me worrying since I had no tick repellent on.
sunlit mulberry leaf
Later that evening I felt a strong itch near my knee and the next morning saw the seed tick bite. Just one. Why do I never see an adult tick? Why do these invisible seed ticks get me every time??? (And never bother Tim…) But one bite is better endured than the 27 bites I got the first time this happened. I’ve got to learn to not let my guard down.
Isn’t that the broader dilemma too? How, as they say, to walk lightly? Or how to keep our justified stomping — about injustice, cruelties, the various wrongs we might try to right — from drowning out the likes of music, birdsong, our gestures of ordinary kindness? ~ Barbara Hurd (Listening to the Savage: River Notes & Half-Heard Melodies)
Whenever we go out we pass by this oversized yard sign on our way home. An identical one went up right after the last election and at some point it got so weathered that the homeowner replaced it with this one. Persistence. It reminds me that I’m not the only one who feels like we’re living in a world turned upside-down, a world impossible to navigate.
July went down as the hottest month ever recorded in North Carolina history, but what a surprise, August turned out to be the coolest August in over thirty years. With all the recent medical appointments we didn’t get out much to enjoy the fresh air, but on Labor Day we did get a chance to walk out in the woods.
Carolina elephant’s-foot
We kept thinking we were hearing a creek’s water running but finally figured out it was a breeze stirring the leaves above our heads. The first autumn we were here we learned to look up if we wanted to see any leaf colors, and we applied that lesson this day, looking up to see the leaves, still in their lovely summer greens.
this made me think of a still life
It was slow going and there were many stops for Tim to catch his breath, but we managed to walk three quarters of a mile and he seemed none the worse for wear after we got home. The rests gave us time to notice all sorts of little treasures on the forest floor, too.
fleabane
A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I’ve envisioned that woman’s silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf. ~ Linda Hogan (Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World)
quartz surrounded by moss
Carolina elephant’s-foot
honey fungus (?)
turkey tail fungus (?)
My respiration and inspiration….the beating of my heart….the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves. ~ Walt Whitman (Leaves of Grass)
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1560)
identical twin spider webs
8.29.25 ~ Battle Branch Trail Chapel Hill, North Carolina
We tried out this trail on another lovely, low humidity day. We wound up getting lost and reluctantly decided to cut through somebody’s yard to get back to a road. Summer is fading away, as it always does, each day a minute or two shorter than the last. Emily’s poem has an added layer of meaning for me, now, as I take note of Tim’s breaths becoming shorter, too.
Sometimes when one is feeling cooped up with summer cabin fever, the universe will send a little gift from the great outdoors right to one’s window. This little molting Carolina wren was sitting on a dead rhododendron branch, singing very loudly and with marked enthusiasm. A bright streak of sunshine bathed him in a magical aura. After I got my camera he started to preen, and preen, and preen.
Just now the wren from Carolina buzzed through the neighbor’s hedge a line of grace notes I couldn’t even write down much less sing.
Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat and delivers such a cantering praise — for what? For the early morning, the taste of the spider,
for his small cup of life that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill. All things are inventions of holiness. Some more rascally than others.
I’m on that list too, though I don’t know exactly where. But, every morning, there is my own cup of gladness, and there’s that wren in the hedge, above me, with his
blazing song.
~ Mary Oliver (The Wren from Carolina)
‘Twas my lucky morning! You never know who might stop by. These pictures were taken through a dirty window with my neighbor’s wall and window in the background. I’m glad her shades were closed — there were already enough reflections cluttering up the shots. I’m surprised the photos came out as well as they did.
