We fly slowly.

I've generally considered myself a very adaptable person. I would claim a genuine appreciation for change--seasons, school years, jobs. In theory, I accept the fact that change is the only certainty in life, and that you might as well make transitions gracefully.

But the truth is that I have been dreading tomorrow since the first day I moved into cabin, on August 15th of 2013.

I write to you tonight beside my last bonfire. The wood was a bit wet from our recent rains, and I burned through match after match in an attempt to kindle a lasting flame. I'd like this night to last forever, but I know it will burn out, just as I always knew I would have to leave here.

Two evenings ago I laid on the dock with Leto, welcoming the dusk. I was waiting, anticipating my favorite residents of the woods. Sure enough, it wasn't long before we heard the strange, slow staccato of the cranes calling to each other, sweeping over the canopy from the southwest. They made an elegant arc over the lake to land in their favorite corner, the shallows by the old "arboretum" to the west. They settled. Even from the dock, they are beautiful to watch. Their silver gray color stands in stark contrast to the dull browns and greens of the evening. Their lovely figures fit so well with the surrounding vegetation that, when still, they could be sculptures. One began stalking along the edge of the lake, lifting each leg slow and deliberate, pausing at the top before slipping toes back in the water. The mate followed ten feet behind. They came to a stop, five feet apart, and just stood quietly. Separate but together. Not touching. Not speaking. I was completely captivated by them, as I am every night they come.

After sometime watching, I began to feel uncomfortable. Like I was trying to steal a piece of something that didn't belong to me. The only thing that could make this evening ritual they share better, more precious, would be if they were truly alone. That they could share that quiet without prying, curious eyes. The feeling was persistent, so I left them quickly.

The idea of leaving the forest, of leaving this house I've come to call my "own," has been agony to come to terms with. But when I think of how much better it felt to leave the cranes their privacy, I feel slightly better. Perhaps the only thing that could improve this place would be my absence. Letting it exist free of my porch lights, my fires, my whoots and hollers as I ski the paths on dead winter nights.

So I accept that tonight is my last here. And in whatever way it is possible to thank this piece of land, I do. I thank it for helping me to grow up, for helping me understand what I need to be happy and what I don't. For making me aware of subtle changes, and simple beauty. I thank Saginaw for forcing me to learn how to sharpen tools, fix a lawn mower, and use a chainsaw. I'm grateful for all of the people I brought together here for dinners, walks, and workdays. For the lovely hikers I met walking the trails. And I am indebted to this place for the hundreds of moments I shared with my best friend Leto: cold January mornings wrapped in blankets on our futon, boat rides, hikes, and evenings on the dock with my head propped on his furry rump.

Though tomorrow ends my residency here, I will still be visiting these woods, contributing to their history with my footsteps. As a parting gift, I've planted a number of wildflowers here in the hopes that they will someday take back some land as invasive plants are removed in the years to come (the cardinal flower is doing particularly well!).

To those who have kept up with my intermittent blogging, thanks for joining the ride. And for those of you I've shared the trails with, look after them for me.

Cheers,

Jenny & Leto

Summer Storms.

Last night after dinner Leto and I wandered down to the dock to enjoy the cool breeze. The ruthlessly hot day afflicted even our very early morning rounds, leaving us panting and guzzling water. That late evening breeze was the breeze of salvation. Watching the hoards of tiny mosquitos attempt hopeless flights to my exposed skin was equally satisfying.

We enjoyed an interesting mix of soft hues stirring amongst patchy clouds for nearly an hour. I noticed an ominous block of gray coming in over the northwest corner of the lake. Dog seemed content to stay out all night, but I got him up for our last visit to the outhouse/grassy patch. In the time it took to walk to the outhouse and emerge, the clouds that had hung to the northwest already completely covered the sky.

The house was still uncomfortably warm. I opened the window, turned on the fan, and tucked in for the night. I barely made out the sound of the wind rustling leaves over the whir of the fan. I drifted off. I typically find storms in Saginaw to be calming. Like a tranquilizer. But at 1:30am I was cracked awake by thunder so immediate it sounded less like a rumble and more like two trucks crunching together head first. My tiny window was alive with light. The noise from the fan, right next to my bed, was so imperceptible that the only reason I knew it was still on was the soft, rhythmic brush of air against my face. My phone lit up with a tornado warning. Nestled as I am right at the base of a hill in the lake valley, the house isn't likely to see tornado damage. Nonetheless, the warning made me hyper aware of the wind, and I started running through the condition of the trees on the hillside just beyond the walls from me. I stayed awake, watching the lights.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually the sound of the fan started coming in to sharper focus. The thunder was becoming a distant rumble, the rain a soft patter. I fell back asleep.

The forest I woke up to was something entirely different. Sun blazed through the trees. The lake was brown from the flush of sediment. The flashy creek is down to a very gentle trickle, but I imagine at 2am the water ripped violently through it. A pine had come down across the trail to the southwest, jutting out jagged into the trail at waist height. Despite its size and proximity to other tree trunks, it was actually quite easy to simply lift and move. Another laid across the trail by the cabin. This one proved too difficult to shove aside, wedged as it was between tree trunks. I wasn't disappointed. It had been a while since I last broke out the ax. The last deadfall was back when we were still under snow and ice. It felt good to grip it in my hands again, and to get covered in rich smelling earth while lifting and throwing the cut tree.

Around the other side of the lake I picked up trash left by visitors who had likely hurried out. I grumbled a bit, but at least it was more time to enjoy the beautiful day before returning to my desk job.

The large old ash tree that fell last week is still down. It is low priority on my work list, being that it is easily skirted. I plan to get to it this weekend, chainsaw willing. I also plan to start hacking back growth crowding the trails.

Enjoy the day, all.

Water Sampling and Campfire

Last Friday's Campfire was a blast. I was able to get everything accomplished on time, and although it rained, all of the events were over by the time rain drove the horde away. I believe the cross-cut saw contest ended with two teams tied in victory with a time of 23 seconds.

This week has been water sampling centered. Tuesday were the wells and the tap, and today was the lake. The process of sampling the lake was roughly outlined to me--they take a boat out, divid the lake into three sections, and then test the water at 3 different depths. Generally, the levels of dioxane have been reported as decreasing. I should be getting the report from last years samples shortly.

This morning was stunning. Saginaw has a way of being particularly spectacular when I'm going through a rough time. Whatever mood I wake up with, it dissipates at least temporarily when I head out for morning rounds. The light filtered through the trees in that special way that gives you pause, and the fog over the lake slowly swirled away before my eyes. The witch hazel is looking magnificent, yellow flowers on yellow leaves.

Sometimes I can't believe I live here.

Out in the boat sampling. Chilly morning activity.

Hi, I love you.

You are magnificent.

MAGNIFICENT

Work!

Campfire is coming.

The to-do list is long, and every day I seem to be getting an email requesting information for this or that. Earlier this week, I cut the perfect log for the cross-cut saw competition. Today I kind of ruined that log dragging it to the barn. Idiotically, I did not notice that it was being chipped away by the road. So now the back third of it is a smaller diameter. Alas, it will have to do. What is done is done. And my calves hurt. Many thanks to Bill, Oliver, and Lauren for the help!

Today was a full-on Saginaw day. In addition to the log dragging, I did rounds, attended a Properties Committee meeting, cleaned up the bonfire pit, and mowed down the zen meadow. I'm whipped.

Class use this fall has been extensive. Several ecology classes have been out in the woods, and a few others may be seen floating about the lake. My first year landscape architecture students have made several field trips out here (and will be out again tomorrow). As they research the site for their projects, a lot of interesting photographs and information have become available. One student in particular found some excellent old images at the Bentley Library. So much flannel!

Before.

After

Last weekend I cleared some deadfall from the driveway, and also attended the Native Plant Sale at the botanical gardens. I picked up a hefty load of my favorite perennials to plant around the cabin. My hope is that they will ultimately disperse their seeds throughout the wood. Saginaw, my gift to you.

The big witch hazel by the cabin is already blooming! It is lovely, but much earlier than anticipated.

Spider flowers.

Oh, you pretty.

Fall, y'all

I love this time of year.

Turtlehead looking fly.

It's like this nebulous thing...post-summer...pre-fall...The days are somewhat chilly, the nights quite a bit chillier. The trees are just barely starting to turn over in color--I've watched the subtle and slow bronzing of canopy across the lake--and yet the fall blooming flowers are out in full. Aster. Goldenrods. Turtlehead. I noticed the buds of the witch hazel starting to form (and am already looking forward to its lovely November exhibition). I could walk around this place in circles for hours and hours and never care about anything else. Sometimes I do just that. Some of you might have noticed this by now.

Fall, yo.

Tomorrow I am giving some students a tour of the forest. They will be doing some research on improving the educational value/experience of the SNRE properties, but particularly this one. Saginaw Forest is the most well-used of SNRE's research plots, being so near to downtown. I don't think that much will happen in the remainder of my time here in terms of big projects, but it's exciting to discuss them nonetheless. I do still continue my desperate "battle for the barn" and volunteer tools. One hinges upon the other. I am persistent but not hopeful.

Give us a wave if you are around the woods. This is a happy time.

Activity, activity.

Things amped up around here the last month or so.

"Amped up" by 80-acre forest standards,  I mean.

Between students coming out to do research and classes starting up, bodies have been busy here around the moss house. Some of you may have noticed this weird contraption out on Third Sister.

I refer to it simply as the "robot boat." But really it's an interesting project being tested by a group of engineering students. Their goal is to design a new and improved method of measuring evaporation on the Great Lakes (current measuring tools are land-based, not real-time). Different versions of Robot Boat have come and gone from our waters as they tweak the design (leaking seemed to be a problem).

A more permanent installation has been put in place to monitor the flash floods of Honey Creek, just behind the outhouse.

Classes are going to start using the site soon as well. Soil Ecology, Woody Plants, and even the class I'm the GSI for--the first year landscape architecture studio. I'm really excited to be working with a class taking on a design project out here. Talk about a perfect opportunity for all involved. I've been gearing up for the influx of activity with meetings, clearing honeysuckle/buckthorn, mowing, and collecting tools. This is an exciting fall.

The weather wreaked havoc on tree branches here last night, as I'm sure those of you in Ann Arbor can believe! But I do love this place post storm. It takes my breath away every time.

Enjoy the goldenrod.

So. Flowers.

As you might expect from a Landscape Architecture student, I love flowers.

Love them.

So it has been a lot of fun to see what's popping up month after month. June is a joy because one of my favorite native wildflowers, Columbine, begins it's annual display of awesome. I don't know if you've ever taken the opportunity to look at it up close, but it's such an amazing little piece of architecture. Dual colored; long, graceful nectar spurs; the crazy cluster of stamens...Aquilegia canadensis, you always steal my heart. The best of the Ranunculaceae!

Geranium and False Solomon's Seal are on their way out. Spring Beauty came and went in the blink of an eye. The days spent cooing over the little white flowers of Blood Root have passed, and with it my interest in painting red lines all over my face with the plant's colored latex.

I can't wait to see what comes next.

A flower you will see in abundance right now is Dame's Rocket. Please feel free to pull it up--it is invasive and we want it out of here!

Yesterday I cleared a tree, sharpened tools, and mowed. Today I pull Dame's Rocket. See you out there!

Ah. Sunshine and silliness.

Guess who calls DPS whenever you're parked anywhere at the (well-signed) front gate to have your butt ticketed?

Yeah. This girl.

The weather is getting nice, so naturally people lose the ability to decipher signage.

Wait, is that how it goes?

Also, stop trying to hide your fishing pole behind your back! I can see it!

Signs of Spring

Some nights ago I had a dream about my dog breaking out of the house into the night. He gleefully leaped about the "yard" snapping up frogs. The dream felt very real, as he a) loves eating frogs and b) loves to escape. Although he is a winter dog, he admits there are perks to the summer--eating frogs being the main one.

The following afternoon, I heard something I hadn't experienced in many months: a symphony of frogs. The dream was a premonition!

The week has been filled with interesting elements. It's been fun watching the snow and ice melt away from its final strongholds. There are still a few patches, but I imagine they won't last another week. On Monday I shoveled a dead raccoon off the trail along the berm. Today I removed a downed tree. The pup took care of the sticks. Team teamwork.

Selfie with dog turns into stick getting pushed into chin.

You are the cutest thing that ever happened to forest management.

I saw the first spring flowers opening up beside the cabin--unfortunately they are a non-native garden escapee (siberian squill). Lovely shade of blue, though.

And finally--the willows!

Spring.

Perfect Saturday morning: Up early. Toast. Tea. Hike. Ax.

Winter seems to have kind of come back this morning, but I rather liked it. The brisk air was the perfect temperature while I worked up a sweat hacking at a fallen ash, Leto singing his displeasure nearby. Pushing the log out of the way, the chilly breeze was refreshing.

The leaves have frozen on the ground, so as we made our typical morning rounds they produced a pleasant crunch beneath the feet.

Being "spring," I have a growing list of things to do, some done, some not. Carpenter ants have been making appearances in the cabin, so I laid out ant bait. Now dead carpenter ants are making appearances around the cabin. Debris collecting in the gutters from winter melts was cleared out this morning. Tools need sharpening.

Leto got giardia this week from his nasty habit of drinking out of muddy puddles in the driveway. This meant some unexpected items on the to-do list.

Two mornings ago, we saw a coyote precariously slipping around out on the ice, off to do who-knows-what.

The world just seems to be waking up. Myself included.

Well, it's been fun; good luck to the new caretaker

Adios after four and a half years.

Hopefully the new caretaker will update this blog, but that is not my decision.

It's been fun!

Definitely much better this year

Last year, the drought had taken a toll on the forest, especially visible in the lawn, compared to previous years.

July 25, 2012


July 25, 2013


Yup. MUCH better.

Heavy rains, humidity, and the dilemma of whether to open the windows

The heavy rains of the past few days have really invigorated the forest. Everything is now looking a lot greener than it did even at the end of last week. That's a good thing.

Of course, keeping the inside of the cabin cool during these warmer days is made difficult by all the additional humidity that all the rain and increased transpiration rates imply. The other day, I opened up the windows to let the inside of the cabin cool off, only to wake up in the morning with ~90% humidity inside, and everything quite damp. Close the windows then, and turn on the dehumidifier. By the time the humidity returned to a far more comfortable 60%, the temperature had risen back to where it was before I opened the windows.

Therefore, like every summer, it's a choice between cool and damp or warm and drier. Yes, it's nice to be cool, but not at the cost of having damp, mildew and mold set in. Having grown up in a humid climate, I know all to well what damp can do to mold growth, and what mold growth can do to furniture, coverings, clothes, walls, carpeting, etc.

Still, when the cabin is all closed up, thanks to the shading of the trees all around, the internal temperature doesn't rise that much during the day, so even when the outside temperature rises from 65F to 80F during the course of the day, the inside of the cabin might only rise a couple or three degrees.

Having an air conditioner would be nice, but it is also unnecessary so long as the trees continue to shade the cabin during the summer.

Fireflies out

Last night, I saw one winking firefly on the sumac. Summer is here.

Muggy days in store this week.

Looking ahead to the weather of this week: it looks kinda icky. No low temps below 60F, and always humid. It looks like I'll be keeping the cabin closed up this week, with the dehumidifier running in order to take advantage of evaporative cooling.

Hello turkey vulture, please come back!

Last week there was a turkey vulture flapping around the trees near the cabin. Yesterday, I smelled the sickeningly sweet smell of decay. I guess this guy wasn't just paying a friendly visit, but was actually looking for lunch. Hopefully, it will eat its fill and help diminish the time that the rest of us have to smell the rot.

Grrr... Canada geese

I saw two Canada geese sitting on the little spit of (erosional) sand next to the row boats, and - "loving" the geese like I do - I was about to shoo them off the sand when I saw a little head poking up behind the roosting goose: there were at least two little goslings.



Okay, you geese, I'll let you stay for now. Just don't come up on the lawn and leave your massive white droppings everywhere.

A Dusting of Snow

The below-freezing temperatures left a dusting of snow last night. Hopefully, this will be the last.

Damnable Garlic Mustard

It's sprouting up, and although it seems like I pulled out a bunch last year, it still surprises me how prevalent these plants are.

Heavy Rains Lead to Swollen Creek

These spring rains seem to have been heavier than the last years. Certainly, they're carrying away a lot of sediment from the creek.



As these rains get heavier, the structural stability of the pathway that runs along the creek will become increasingly compromised. Each time I see the sediment-stained waters flowing down from the culvert at the property line, I think, "If only the weirs were maintained or rebuilt. At least they would act as check-dams and not let all the sediment flow into Third Sister Lake..."