Tim – Page 3 – In the Woods

summer in the light

As we walked along the Streamside Trail, our Merlin Bird ID app indicated that we were hearing a phoebe singing. I was delighted to finally spot the little sweetheart and get a couple of pictures before he flew away to the next tree.

After walking that trail we went through a back gate into the botanical garden to see what signs of spring we could find there.

3.4.25 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden

An American hazelnut shrub (close-up above) was flowering. The dangling yellow catkins are male and the tiny magenta flowers are female, but the shrub does not self-pollinate. We’ll have to come back in the fall to see if there will be any hazelnuts on this one.

A walk through the Mountain Habitat provided glimpses of a few spring ephemerals just getting started…

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold — when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
~ Charles Dickens
(Great Expectations)

We stopped by the bird blind at the Children’s Wonder Garden but the feeders were empty. However, scratching around on the ground with the squirrels, through a pile of discarded sunflower seed hulls, I spotted a couple of song sparrows!

They weren’t singing and they were hard to catch, but I was happy to capture with the camera my first song sparrow in North Carolina!

sick days and snow days

2.26.25 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden

February wasn’t very kind to us this year. It started out well enough with a couple of nice walks but then we were hit with a couple of weeks of viruses, and several days of snowy, icy cold weather. Worrying about my sister’s worsening health problems has added to the feeling of the rug being pulled out from under our feet. But yesterday the temperature reached 71°F and we made a brief afternoon visit to the botanical garden.

We were looking specifically for the tiny sandhills pyxie-moss that we saw last year but were disappointed to see only one little flower on the clump. Maybe February was a bit too harsh for this ‘rare minute creeping subshrub,’ too. But we were happy to see some of our old friends from last winter.

seedbox *(ludwigia alternifolia)*
aka square-pod water-primrose

Last year we had daffodils blooming in the woods behind our house on February 21. Not this year. I think the 3.5 inches of snow we got on the 19th, followed by days of cold temps, made them wait a week or so. But now they’re blooming! Today I’m dealing with malaise and the chills from my second shingles vaccination. But I hope to get back on track soon.

rocky water path

2.4.25 ~ Confluence Natural Area, Hillsborough, North Carolina

The first thing to catch my eye as we started down Rocky Water Path was a patch of Christmas ferns (above) growing down the edges of a gully, hanging like drapes. They usually grow up in a fountain-like shape.

And then there was a large group of boulders, not something we’re used to seeing in the woods in these parts. Our trail was leading us sharply downhill to the West Fork Eno River. But just before we reached the river we encountered a box of walking sticks.

Need a stick?
Take a stick.
Return the stick for
another to use.

The sign on the box (above) and the sign next to it (below) had us scratching our heads. Why would we need a stick? We already knew what path we were on, why a sign in the middle of it? Why was there a lost and found, also in the middle of nowhere?

We soon learned why we might need a stick! Turning around towards the river we saw a sign for another trail, pointing across the river. But how to get across? Checking the map we found our location and noted that we were at the “River Crossing.” Hmmm…

We sat down to rest on a conveniently placed bench and after some time figured out that there were some stones going in a straight line across the river. (below) Apparently that was the river crossing. The stones were far enough part that we would not have dared to cross, even with two sticks in hand! Maybe if we were 20 years younger, but it’s hard to remember what having that sort of confidence feels like…

From studying the map it looks like there is no other way to get to Poplar Bend Loop. But if you crossed back over from that trail and happened to forget how you got there, at least you would find the sign and know you had made it back to the Rocky Water Path and could choose to follow it in either direction. As for us, we passed by the crossing and continued on our way along Rocky Water Path. Niste:kmani:hątkóx, means Rocky Water Path in Yesnechi, the language of one of the Sioux tribes who first lived in this area.

holly tree growing over the river
(a bit of green to go with the Christmas fern seen earlier)

Rocky Water Path along West Fork Eno River

Fresh air is as good for the mind as for the body. Nature always seems trying to talk to us as if she had some great secret to tell. And so she has.
~ John Lubbock
(The Use of Life)

As we were leaving we disturbed a flock of robins foraging for food on the trail. One of them was standing his ground, keeping a close eye on us.

I’m not sure if we’ll come back to this wonderful nature preserve because the cell phone reception wasn’t good. (Tim’s walking app wouldn’t connect to the cell phone towers.) It was remote enough that we were concerned about calling for help in an emergency. But I imagine it must be quite beautiful here in the spring.

southern light, a hawk, groundhog shadows

2.2.25 ~ Bolin Forest, Groundhog Day
(no shadows at first)

On Groundhog Day last year we took our groundhogs, Basil & Oregano, to the botanical garden to check on their shadows, so this year we decided to take them out into the woods. Our friend Susan joined us for a nice long walk down by our neighborhood’s Bolin Creek.

The weather was chilly, cloudy, damp and gray. It had been raining recently so there was plenty of mud along the path, making for some dicey footing. Susan spotted a red-shouldered hawk who visited a couple of trees before settling on one where I could get a picture.

Only the beech trees and their marcescent leaves, looking like sand or wheat, bring light to such dark, wet woods, standing out vividly among the dark-gray oak and hickory trunks and the cyanine green of the cedars. A few of our beech trees are large and well spread out, but many more are saplings, six to twelve feet high, present and proud and serving as fine, multifaceted reflectors.
~ Bland Simpson
(Clover Garden: A Carolinian’s Piedmont Memoir)

A funny thing happened after a couple of joggers passed by us. Apparently it took them some time to realize what their eyes had just seen. (A grown man carrying two stuffed groundhogs.) They stopped running, looked back around and one called out to us, “Wait a minute! Is it Groundhog Day?” We all had a good laugh.

Tim, Oregano & Basil bird-watching together

Bolin Creek was gurgling away, pleasantly full of water and sounding so very soothing.

The sky was so gray, but then, as we started heading back home, the sun made an effort to break through, lighting up the beech leaves…

… and making the creek’s water sparkle in a few spots. So we had Oregano & Basil pose for a second Groundhog Day photo.

Looking at pictures of our groundhogs’ shadows back in Connecticut I happened to notice that they were a lot longer than the ones down here.

2.2.19 ~ Eastern Point Beach
Groton, Connecticut

AI Overview tells me that “shadows are generally longer in the winter, especially in locations further north, because during winter the Northern Hemisphere is tilted away from the sun, causing the sun to appear lower in the sky and cast longer shadows; the further north you go, the more pronounced this effect will be.”
I find this so fascinating!

three stents make a difference

1.28.25 ~ Sandy Creek Park, Durham, North Carolina

It’s been a very busy month! I had a great time at the reception for the Birds of North Carolina: A Community Photo Exhibit at the botanical garden. In addition to appreciating my family and friends showing up for support, I met another photographer. She had several pictures of great blue herons I was admiring. She recommended Sandy Creek Park as a place to find lots of waterbirds. And so, when Tim was clear to resume strenuous activity, off we went to find the park.

Tim was recovering from two cardiac catheterization procedures this month. The first one was looking for the source of his worsening shortness of breath symptoms, and the second one was to insert three stents in his right coronary artery, which supplies blood to the right ventricle of the heart, which pumps blood to the lungs. What a difference those three stents are making.

Some of my readers may remember that Tim had a heart attack in 2007 and was flown by a medical helicopter to Yale New Haven Hospital in Connecticut where he had emergency triple bypass surgery. Those three arteries are still doing well, but this one had been narrowing.

Our “walks” in recent months were becoming shorter and progressively more difficult for him. In fact, we hadn’t walked in the woods together since early November and that one was very short. We’ve been spending most of our time in the botanical garden where he could sit on a bench while I took pictures. But on this lovely day it was like old times again, trekking through the woods with my sidekick pointing out many of the things he spotted along the way.

the uneven terrain Tim’s back appreciates

Even though everything was dull and drab for winter and we only saw three Canada geese, it was still a beautiful day, and we’re looking forward to coming back here to see all the scenery (and hopefully more waterbirds!) in the changing seasons.

it’s no wonder why blue is my favorite color

moss on wood sculpture that Tim pointed out

Sandy Creek from the Kenneth R. Coulter Bridge

❤️❤️❤️

on the quality of life

Special Note: I hesitated to share the following post because it might come across as a big dose of self-pity. I know many people quietly contend with chronic illnesses without complaint, but somehow after five years I wanted to acknowledge my daily struggle. In spite of it, though, there is still much in my life that I enjoy, including being with my loving family and the things I usually write about, and take pictures of, in this space. My next offering will be back to the usual.

🍂

Given the ease with which health infuses life with meaning and purpose, it is shocking how swiftly illness steals away those certainties. It was all I could do to get through each moment, and each moment felt like an endless hour, yet days slipped silently past. Time unused and only endured still vanishes, as if time itself is starving, and each day is swallowed whole, leaving no crumbs, no memory, no trace at all.
~ Elisabeth Tova Bailey
(The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating)

It’s hard to believe it’s been five years since I received my radiation proctitis diagnosis on January 3, 2020. It’s been a difficult journey, learning how to live with a chronic illness. I feel like Sisyphus, continually pushing a boulder up a hill, with no reasonable hope for relief.

I’ve learned that radiation proctitis is called pelvic radiation disease by the medical system in the United Kingdom, a much more comprehensive description than we have here in the United States.

In the last few decades radiotherapy was established as one of the best and most widely used treatment modalities for certain tumours. Unfortunately that came with a price. As more people with cancer survive longer an ever increasing number of patients are living with the complications of radiotherapy and have become, in certain cases, difficult to manage. Pelvic radiation disease (PRD) can result from ionising radiation-induced damage to surrounding non-cancerous tissues resulting in disruption of normal physiological functions and symptoms such as diarrhoea, tenesmus, incontinence and rectal bleeding. The burden of PRD-related symptoms, which impact on a patient’s quality of life, has been under appreciated and sub-optimally managed.
~ Kirsten AL Morris & Najib Y Haboubi
(World Journal of Gastrointestinal Surgery, November 27, 2015, “Pelvic radiation therapy: Between delight and disaster”)

Quality of life — how on earth can it be measured?

The necessary low fiber, low fodmap diet is terribly restrictive and makes eating with others and/or eating out in restaurants very awkward. I need to bring my own food.

The unpredictable and painful flare-ups of symptoms keeps me from making too many plans and the plans I do make need to be tentative. It’s frustrating, but the alternative is to never go out and do anything.

In my darkest moments I feel like this steep price paid for cheating death is not worth it.

The Heart asks Pleasure — first —
And then — excuse from Pain —
And then — those little Anodynes
That deaden suffering —

And then — to go to sleep —
And then — if it should be
The will of it’s Inquisitor
The privilege to die —

~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #588)

Coping mechanisms — there are quite a few…

Gathering information and helpful tips from my sympathetic gastroenterologists (both in Connecticut and North Carolina) — I’ve been lucky with that. (On the other hand, the radiologist and oncologist who dished out the radiotherapy were shockingly unsympathetic about the iatrogenic disease this cancer treatment caused.)

Finding the Pelvic Radiation Disease & Radiation Colitis support group on Facebook. It’s validating to know others who understand what it feels like to be living with this.

Working on my original 2020 goal “to take a walk in the woods.” Spending time with nature and capturing its wonders with my camera is very healing.

Reducing stress by practicing yoga, reading poetry and books, and listening to music. (I’m so grateful for the beautiful Chapel Hill Public Library and for my playlists on Spotify!)

Distraction = long hours of family history research.

Learning to say “no” (and trying not to feel guilty about it) when I need to rest and recuperate.

What a long strange trip it’s been these last five years, running concurrently with the pandemic in the beginning, and complicating our move to North Carolina. Most of all, I’m grateful for my husband. Tim lends a patient and supportive listening ear, bearing witness to my pain and struggle. I honestly don’t know how I would have gotten this far without him!

🍂

ragged-edged beech leaves

Stop and listen to the ragged-edged beech leaves, pale specters of the winter forest. They are chattering ghosts, clattering amid the bare branches of the other hardwoods. Wan light pours through their evanescence and burnishes them to gleaming. Deep in the gray, sleeping forest, whole beech trees flare up into whispering creatures made of trembling gold.
~ Margaret Renkl
(The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year)

12.20.24 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden

A week ago I made a quick trip to the botanical garden to take a final picture for my four seasons photo hunt, and added it the post, which had become an eight season collection. It was a chilly, gray day but I was tempted to linger and see what other kinds of pictures could be taken in the very dim light of midwinter. One beech tree was full of marcescent leaves. A single leaf was dangling from another one.

Finally, I got pictures of one of the white-throated sparrows foraging under the bird feeders, where there is a little less brush for them to hide under. There is stark beauty to be found in the winter garden, when seedheads are left naturally for the birds to eat.

It still amazes me how pansies are winter flowers down south here! Imagine – pansies outside in December! Even though the temperature was in the low 50s that day, it felt cold and raw to me, in spite of my extra sweater, winter jacket, hat and gloves. I could have used my thermal underware but I didn’t think it would feel that cold out there.

One of the many things I do miss about being a young person is what was my tolerance for the cold. I used to love winter, being a January baby, and have many more fond childhood memories of playing outside in that season than in the others. (No bugs!) My sister and I spent countless hours ice skating in the frozen swamp in the woods behind our house. It was fun gliding across the (sometimes lumpy) icy hollows between the hummocks. A challenging obstacle course. And not a pansy in sight until April!

winter in the garden

Yesterday we went to a winter craft market at the botanical garden and of course I couldn’t resist getting a few pictures outside. It finally feels like winter here, with low temperatures some mornings in the 20s. But it was a warm afternoon and it felt good strolling around, even if a host of white-throated sparrows foraging in the brush wouldn’t come out for a picture!

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it — the whole story doesn’t show.
~ Andrew Wyeth
(LIFE, May 14, 1965, “Andrew Wyeth: An Interview”)

Winter under cultivation
Is as arable as Spring
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1720)

The Winter, most commonly, is so mild, that it looks like an Autumn, being now and then attended with clear and thin North-West Winds, that are sharp enough to regulate English Constitutions.
~ John Lawson
(A New Voyage to Carolina, 1709)

Lots of folks are rushing around getting ready for the holidays, but I like to stay quiet this time of year, snuggling under my wool throw with a good book. I’ve started reading Clover Garden: A Carolinian’s Piedmont Memoir by Bland Simpson. The author lives not too far from us and I’m enjoying reading about the natural history of the local area.

as autumn becomes a memory

11.27.24 ~ North Carolina Botanical Garden
northern mockingbird

November ends. I come across a poem by my favorite poet — she describes the sense of loss and disconnect I had been feeling all month.

She could not live upon the Past
The Present did not know her
And so she sought this sweet at last
And nature gently owned her
The mother that has not a Knell
For either Duke or Robin
~ Emily Dickinson
(The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1535)

I’m grateful for and encouraged by nature, poetry and my books, and family and friends, as I imagine most of us are. This squirrel came up to me on our last visit to the botanical garden, as if to say, “I’m here, too.”

The poorest experience is rich enough for all the purposes of expressing thought. Why covet a knowledge of new facts? Day and night, house and garden, a few books, a few actions, serve us as well as would all trades and all spectacles. We are far from having exhausted the significance of the symbols we use. We can come to use them yet with a terrible simplicity. It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
(The Poet)

spotted cucumber beetle on a New England aster

simple healing in
watching a mourning dove feed
on the forest floor
~ Barbara Rodgers
(In the Woods)