Nature Poetry

During the time in the nature

Earth was muddy

Snow was brittle

On the side of river

Locate fallen trees

And garbage was scattered

The sky was painted grey

Every creature was too silent to tell the future

Sonnet for February

The trees like claws, reach up towards the sky,

Their branches stand so barren and brittle.

Plans of year-round green often go awry,

Though nature’s beauty is decreased little.

The brilliant blue of the crystal dome,

Nowhere marred by the soft splash of a cloud,

Rests over the top of our Earthly home,

Its hue shining downwards so bright and proud.

The wind cuts sharply underneath my skin,

Its cold a force to be fought with drawn swords,

All animals hide themselves and their kin,

When through the reeds they hear its ghostly chords.

Yet here the plants of a young spring do grow,

It will once again be warm, this I know.

God bless trees! I live in nature!
od bless trees! I live in nature! G
d bless trees! I live in nature! Go
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bless trees! I live in nature! God
less trees! I live in nature! God b
ess trees! I live in nature! God bl
ss trees! I live in nature! God ble
s trees! I live in nature! God bles
 trees! I live in nature! God bless
trees! I live in nature! God bless
rees! I live in nature! God bless t
ees! I live in nature! God bless tr
es! I live in nature! God bless tre
s! I live in nature! God bless tree
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ve in nature! God bless trees! I li
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n nature! God bless trees! I live i
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nature! God bless trees! I live in
ature! God bless trees! I live in n
ture! God bless trees! I live in na
ure! God bless trees! I live in nat
re! God bless trees! I live in natu
e! God bless trees! I live in natur
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God bless trees! I live in nature!

Wander together

Lost kids found teens by the creek

My love comes slowly

Nature Poem

un-Comfortaby numb 

     Outdoors

     Lots of trees

     Do not want

     Nope

     Everything is frozen 

     Spain

     Suffering

Rebecca’s Second Venture

Today, instead of going to my spot, I went with Nathan to his spot. We walked through the woods together, along with Steven, and adventured near a creek and some fallen trees. Nathan was determined to make me enjoy nature more, and I think he partially succeeded.
   The woods are peaceful and serene, but also dirty and rarely fully comfortable. It’s pretty common knowledge that I’m not a huge fan of dirt and grime. Maybe I should learn to find peace in nature, to work with it instead of against it, to love nature. But will I ever truly love nature? Does loving nature even provide me with any benefit? The planet, sure, but I’m not focused on the planet. I’m focused on my peers, on loving the people around me, on human interactions.
   I remember when I was a kid, there was a creek near my house that we would walk to and play and explore for hours. My reverie with Nathan today reminded me of that a bit, just walking up and down the banks. I remember being so small that 5 foot high banks seemed massive, towering above me. Now when I visit creeks they’re a little bit underwhelming. Maybe I should listen to Nathan, heed nature’s call, look out to the world with wonder again.
   There’s always next week.

The creek.

A small waterfall.

Sense of Place?

What is my sense of place?

I was born in a city with parks consist of marbles and trees planted alongside the avenues. Although there are some countryside around the urban area, unlike my grandfather’s generation, I am a boy born among skyscrapers who have no interest in fields that grow rice or rapeseed, a source or oil in my hometown. Sometimes I do not understand why my mother and father are so passionate about those crops, but it seems like they have the sense of place as a shelter in their minds.

Field of rapeseed

Fortunately, I have visited some places outside my hometown. Despite the fact that I still prefer the destinations where you can find excessive human activities, I have been to some forests, seasides, and mountains. They are all great places for a number of people but me, even if I can appreciate more from there than those professional photographers. Also, they may not be able to be the so-called sense of place since I have been there as a visitor for less than a week.

Seaside

I tried to remember my first journey. My parents took a seven-year-old boy who got in the airplane for the first time to a national park. I picked up a wooden stick twice as long as my height with the imagination of a hero beating against antagonists. My father was still dynamic to play with me. We walked for a long time that makes me felt extremely exhausted. The river was a kind of nice and clean. There are trees with leaves in red, yellow and green, which I knew years later that people come to the park for seeing them. I do not clearly remember everything. I guess I had just graduated from kindergarten when I came there but I am not sure.

National Park

Nevertheless, it does not totally motivate my love to nature who still sleep well now. The journey was fun, the air was fresh, and the leaves are beautiful, however, I feel fine not to go to the similar spot twice. My passion ended with the visit naturally, or, compared to the biophilia people, it seems that I do not have any passion to nature. This is why I dislike the article by David Morr, I am not biophobia unless he think I am.

I like nature when no one takes photos beside me. I like birds, deers, rivers, beaches, grass, and even the avenue trees. They just cannot excite me enough to be my sense of space.

Nature Spot

It was the noise that proclaimed the silence.

Sometimes in the nature, the environment seems so quietly peace but in fact if you pay attention to what you can possibly hear, it is not true. There are quite a lot to be heard in the nature, most of which are below 40 dB. The noise are from birds, rivers, wind across the leaves, however, it does not interrupt the atmosphere. As elements of a park, as well as seawave to the beach, those sound will let people inside the park involves in the nature.

The trees are lifeless. As I am able to see, there is not even a leaf on a tree. All tree seems dead. I cannot imagine how horrible space will be at midnight. The lively streams of the small river above the shoal, on the contrary, bring energy to the whole park.

There are still some snow on the ground which lights up the entire place. It has been several days that those piles are no longer soft but fragile.

As I mentioned, the trees are lifeless. Some trees’ deaths are confirmed. They are either cut in pieces or just laying on the ground. Some of the tree corpses are set in a peculiar way which provides a way to walk into the eyot, the island in the river.

I do not usually come to the spot in winter. In summer the park was in green. I hope, honestly that spring can arrive on time to decorate the trees with leaves.

A Sense of Place blogpost#2

There’s a picture of me and my dad on my dresser. I must be about one in it, and he’s visibly younger. We’re in the middle of a field, and he’s carrying me. I’m in some sort of backpack/stroller thing meant to carry babies on hikes. It's either Spring or Summer. I'm wearing a baseball cap and my dad is wearing dorky sunglasses. Bright yellow flowers are in the background. It's a good picture.

While I don't remember it being taken, I remember plenty of experiences like it. I spent the early years of my life in Manassas, a suburb southwest of here by about 45 minutes. The distance from DC is definitely noticeable. Neighborhoods feel more open. The distinction between suburb and nature is less distinct. Concrete turns to grass without anyone noticing. Nature felt less distinct than it can in more urban places.

I remember following my siblings to go pick blackberries. We didn't have to go that far. We cut through a neighbor's yard and followed a trail blazed path. I was always too afraid to try eating them, but I liked tagging along anyway. We had plenty of similar adventures. Always being able to explore and experience nature, but never actually leaving our suburb.

I think that's essentially the relationship I have with nature today too. Being able to move between nature and suburbs with little effort. While I would say I feel fairly comfortable in nature, I'm in no means untouched by biophobia. The ease of transition between settings doesn't come from an understanding and appreciation of both suburb and nature, but rather from an unhealthy combining of the two. The fine line between nature and civilization has become blurred to me, in a way that makes it hard for me to completely appreciate either one.

While I’m happy with my comfortableness in nature, I fear that it may just be derived from a misunderstanding of it, which would limit the potential of a meaningful connection with it.

Me and my dad on a hike. 

My Spot blogpost#1

I’ve been to my spot before. Two years ago I took a class with a teacher named Jacob called Mysticism. We studied people who believed they had come into contact with god, and the art they produced from those experiences. One of our final projects was to create our own mystic religion, and a practice to hopefully induce a spiritual experience. Part of my project was being in nature. When we were outside, I started looking for a place off the path, and relatively secluded. Ever since I’ve referred to it as “The Mystic Spot”.

The transition from pavement to dirt isn't very noticeable. As you stray farther from the path, nature becomes dirtier and more chaotic. Brush starts cluttering the floor, and bramble will knick your ankles. The “entrance” is marked by three fallen trees; their uprooted bottoms create a cove where melted snow collects and becomes stagnate. It's gross place.

Climbing over the dead tree creates a clear transition between my spot, and the rest of nature. Dirt becomes sand and soon thereafter water. To call the ground sand is to be gracious. Sand, mud and rocks collect and mix into an altogether messy experience. The ground sinks under the weight of a step and seems to constantly be moving. Compared to the stagnancy of the forest, the stream feels fast and unsteady.

It's hard to imagine this forest ever lived. It doesn't seem like nature should be able to be described as grayscale. Where are the animals? Where is the greenery? Life comes in movement and energy, but this place is still. It's dead. What survives now isn't something that wants to be found. Whatever life is left here is resilient, and deceiving. I know that if I could look at it the right way, this place would be teeming with life. If I knew how I'm sure I could find all kinds of bugs and rodents just waiting to be found. But I don't have that kind of wisdom yet. So I see this place as a graveyard of sorts.

I know that life will begin to show itself soon. I look forward to that.

The path leading to my turnoff.

The dead tree I cross to arrive.

The mystic spot.

Matty's sense of place entry

My sense of place is California. I love the feeling when I walk off the plane of the nice warm air crashing against my face. I don't feel like I'm dying there because the weather is so nice and it makes me so happy.When I'm walking with my dog in my backyard I hear the oceans waves crashing and the seals screaming. I walk down past my pool and my dog trots behind me as I approach the fence thats at the edge of the cliff. My dog jumps up on the barrier to look over.Home is California, i have a mental and physical connection when I'm there. Every time I get off the plane when I land my mood instantly goes up. Something about california Just makes me happy and makes me feel at ease. I could never get tired of living there. Its my favorite place to be. Being with my dog, watching the sunsets while floating in my pool. Its my safe place, its where i call home. There is no way i would be able to Get biophillia. California now has turned me into a spoiled child. Living in a 50 million dollar mansion on the side of a cliff getting whatever i want whenever i want has made me into a spoiled kid.

When I was little, my parents used to take me canoeing on the lake by our house. I used to lean over the sides and let my fingers trail in the water, or splash my dad with the small oar he brought for me, or watch how close we could get to turtles before they slid off their log and into the water.

I still take the kayak out on the lake fairly often in the summer, but more for exercise than to admire nature. The last trip I took just last summer, my sister decided to join me. She’s nine years old, and hasn’t quite lost the ability to see wonder in everything, even things she’s seen a hundred times before, though it is fading. As we were paddling back, she reached over the side of the boat as we passed by a patch of water lilies, pulling one out of the water and breaking its stem so that she could take it back with her.

Lily pads have always interested me. The stretches of water covered by a thin layer of plant which catch on your paddles. The green color against brown water. And lily pads aren't just important to the humans who admire them--they serve an important role in the ecosystem. During the hottest parts of the summer, they provide shade, which helps keep fish and other creatures cool while preventing the excessive spread of algae, which would otherwise cause reduced oxygen and thereby kill off other species. 

During the summer, this lake, Lake Barcroft, is covered in lily pads, but during the rest of the year they’re replaced by fallen leaves or winter ice.

My sister’s interest in the lilies must have reminded me of mine, which I seem to have forgotten since I was her age, because I’ve recently found myself looking for lily pads when visiting lakes. I missed my chance last summer, not thinking about them until they were already receding for the year, so I try to find them elsewhere in order to observe them. This summer, I’ll be sure to pay more attention to the lilies that grow on Lake Barcroft-where I already know where to find them.

More on Lily Pads:

http://blogs.britannica.com/2011/07/life-lily-pad/

https://theponddigger.com/water-lilies/

Connection to nature from my early childhood

I have lived in the same house for 14 years; since I was 6 months old.  As a small child, I spent a lot of time in my backyard, which is filled with trees, and gardens full of plants.  At the far back of the yard, there is a swing set, surrounded by tall pine trees, and the ground is covered in green, leaf-covered vines, and pinecones.  Towards the front of the yard, there are gardens filled with flowers, which are surrounded by fields of grass with clover.  In the summer, the gardens are often filled with many different kinds of insects, and there are often birds and squirrels in the trees year-round.

Everyday for most of my life, I have found myself looking out the window to the back of my yard, constantly being aware of changes in the weather and the effect that the weather had had on all of the things in my yard.  Year after year, as the seasons changed, I could see the color of the leaves on the trees changing from green to orange-red, and then gradually falling from the trees.  And after the winter had ended and the weather brought warmer conditions, how small buds began forming on the trees again, which in turn would gradually become green leaves.  With the many hours that I had spent outside, I could observe how all the gardens were changing, how everything was full of color in the summertime, and how the color turned to brown in colder months.  When I was very young, I was afraid of most insects and spiders, and anything else that would crawl around outside.  I had realized very soon that although there were many bugs in the summer; bees hovering lazily around the plants, and various insects crawling on the ground, these creatures could scarcely be found in the winter.  I also had soon realized that this must have been because most of the bugs preferred warm weather and lively plants.  Much of what I had first learned about biology and nature at an early age was from being in my backyard, and making observations and connecting the information that I had gathered from observations.

The Colors of a Winter Forest

I hold my clipboard to my chest, blocking some of the cold wind that swirls around me, biting at my skin. I’m sitting on a downed tree, covered in spongy green moss that hugs the thick, uneven bark.

Fallen branches lean against the trunk of the tree on which I sit, ragged and sharp edges at first, tapering into small sticks no thicker than my fingers. Their surfaces crawl with lichens, a pale greenish color. The patterns stretch outward from the center, flowery segments that resemble classic embroidery. They look too planned to be natural, too fascinating.

Lichens, a complicated life form that is the result of a symbiotic partnership between a fungus and an alga, have always fascinated me, but until recently I had no idea what they were. To me, they were merely a pretty and nameless organism that grew on downed branches. The dominant partner in this relationship is the fungus. Fungus is incapable of creating its own food, so it uses the alga’s photosynthesis.

  

My vision is filled with the browns and greys characteristic of a forest in winter, so the small patches of color immediately attract my attention. There’s a small patch of emerald grass, partially covered by dull fallen leaves. Bright moss grows upon the surface of a tree’s trunk, which lies sideways on the muddy ground.

They seem almost defiant, bright and cheery even in the cold weather. In fact, moss will survive throughout all of winter. Though today is a poor testament to moss’s ability to survive in the cold, as temperatures are warmer than they usually would be in February, moss can even keep its bright color while frozen.

There are small deposits of snow littered around the area, most of it has melted. This leaves the ground wet and, in some places, spongy. Puddles abound, and I find myself thankful that I wore boots today. The damp leaves which form a thick covering of the Earth makes it hard to tell exactly where these puddles are. In one place, the thin layer of water above these leaves gives a puddle a strange likeness to a painting, rather than real life.

Soon, I hear the voices of my teacher and a few of my classmates, calling everyone back. I gingerly collect the materials which rest upon a log and make my way back onto a path. As I walk back towards the school, I notice other students emerging from  the woods, each having made their own observation in their own places. Already, the colors of my spot are fading from my mind, their details becoming foggy. The path opens into a wide parking lot, which, in turn, leads to a street and a sidewalk and the school building. I walk towards it, leaving nature behind me, even if only temporarily.

Sources

http://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/beauty/lichens/whatare.shtml

https://njaes.rutgers.edu/pubs/fs1205/

https://www.mossandstonegardens.com/re_store/faq

http://www.lichen.com/biology.html

Visit №1 in the Space of the Final God

I’ve claimed a space today. I’ve named it “the Space of the Final God”, and I look forward to getting to know it more intimately.

Two trees are fallen close by. The root bases and associated earth are completely flipped. Vines have covered the bottom of the trees, or maybe they did before the trees fell, they look as if they’ve been stretched from the ground to reach the tops of the roots. I wonder why the trees fell in the first place—did they die or were they knocked down? Were they just too tired from standing up for so long?

On the other side of me a swamp spreads out in a lazy and mostly lackluster fashion—I’m not sure it’s even a year-round affair.

We’re still close enough to the road that most of the soundscape is populated by cars rushing past, quickly going from place to place (although I do hear a few birds chirping and warbling and squawking away). Not that I want to move any farther from the road—I’m a fan of civilization, it’s no secret. I need the distraction. Civilization and nature are perfectly fine on their own, but they tarnish each other magnificently when mixed—our perfect cityscape ideals don’t translate well to the forest, and vice versa.

I’m a fan of interest, and the vast, vast majority of nature is massively uninteresting, either too close to civilization to be truly enjoyed or surrounded by so much of the same as to seem like a massive bore.

These trees are mildly interesting, and the nature of the ground is beginning to take them back, covering them in moss that will slowly (with the help of the rain and the fungi and the bacteria) decompose its huge mass.

That’s all for visit №1 in the Space of the Final God, tune in next time for more!

Further reading:
Decomposition and Decay
Life Stages of a Tree
Cornell Lab of Orthinology

Wet Winter Wanderings--Poison Ivy and Lesser Celandine

Observations from visit on February 4, 2016

Puddles… wet shoes… dirt-speckled snow patches…

With Thaiss Park wet and swampy from recent rain and snowmelt, our class ventured into the puddle-filled stream valley to find our “special spots.” As part of our Readings in Natural History, I wanted my students to connect to and experience the details of seasonal changes by visiting their chosen spot several times over the quarter, even if that meant connecting to and experiencing the wet chill of early February.  

I was looking for the excuse to get out and explore the park myself, as I had spent my past few years teaching in an urban environment where field trips and parks were hard to come by.  I feel blessed and spoiled to know that my class can access this gem with less than a 10 minute walk, and I intend to get us “out there” at least once a week.  I felt like I had lost my connection to NoVA Nature since completing my Virginia Master Naturalist coursework in 2009, then living in a completely different biome for 3 years, then returning and forgetting much of the seemingly infinite species list I had once learned.  Now I am in the process of getting reacquainted with my native environment.

There is the paradox of the winter forest--there is “less” to see, yet you can see more/farther into the forest with the leaves gone.   Bare, but not boring.  It’s like talking to an introverted person for the first time--because of the quiet and the minimalist nature of the stripped woods, it can seem like there’s nothing there at first.  But with careful observation, you start to notice more of what makes it tick…

The first familiar connection I made was the rust-colored hairy vines clinging to the trees.  As a small child who attended plenty of nature camps and girl scout camps, I was taught early and often about how to identify poison ivy.  While the “leaves of three, let it be” works in the summer, without leaves, the obvious feature to identify it was the thick, well-established poison ivy vines.  With our anthropocentric tendencies, it’s easy to write poison ivy off as evil, out to get us, useless, etc.  While it’s true that exposure to oils in the sap can cause itchy, red reactions in humans, poison ivy is a major food source for browsing deer or birds attracted by their white berries.   It’s also a native vine that belongs in our ecosystem--while it might be appropriate for removal in a residential yard where children play, it’s ecologically advantageous to just let it grow in the wild.

Image Source

Sorry.  I had to.  I have a Frozen-obsessed 3-year-old at home.  It hasn’t rubbed off on me at all [sarcasm].

One of my laments about plant identification in Northern Virginia is that so many species common in our parks are invasive--most of the obvious plants you get excited about seeing and knowing are targets for elimination through initiatives in the park service.  Not that their elimination is a bad thing--many times these invasive species crowd out natives so that there is no competition.  Such was the case for the beautiful, lush, green patch of lesser celandine I observed on the forest floor (Ranunculus ficaria L. ).  Because it has hardy, tuberous roots, it’s especially difficult to eliminate completely.  Lesser celandine’s early timing as a spring ephemeral plant also crowds out other more subtle native beauties like trout lily before they have a chance to surface.  It can also grow in giant swaths that don’t leave room for any other plants to grow.  I hope to observe the bright yellow flowers to confirm my identification when they bloom in the coming weeks… and then contact Fairfax’s invasive species removal program!

In our next ventures to our observation spots, I hope to focus on finding and observing more native plants and beneficial species in our parks.  I also have questions (as any curious naturalist should!) about why some trees still have dead, brown leaves hanging on them through the winter.  Is it an inefficiency in the leaf-shedding process and they shouldn’t really be there? Do they somehow protect the surface of the branch where the new leaf will sprout in the spring?  Is there any ecological advantage or disadvantage to this in different species?  Please leave a comment if you have any insight.  Thanks!

Sources

http://www.poison-ivy.org/poison-ivy-winter

http://www.invasive.org/weedcd/pdfs/wgw/lessercelandine.pdf

Observation by stream and steep mud

Observation by stream and steep mud

My scene was a cute little area that was hard to get to. (Thaiss park in Fairfax Virginia) I walked on the path trying to find a spot, slipped twice and then a spot caught my eye. As I focused on it I locked my eyes on it and made sure that was my space. I started walking there not paying attention to my steps and I started walking through the water which ruined my shoes. Ignoring the fact that my feet were almost getting effected by frost bite I kept moving. I went down the steep muddy area to a nice beach themed area. I start walking up and down it seeing broken glass.The dirt near the bank is still wet because of the snow melting, that is causing the white on my shoes to get a dark brown. What amazes me is when the creek floods it causes the banks to erode so theres an overhang of Tree and plant roots. I see white tailed deer tracks in the snow, i know this since my backyard we have many deer crossing through.
             Later, I see Seth up the bank. I go over to the creek to sit down and take in my surroundings. I look into the murky water and see a little stargazing minnow. I see that there is a piece of trash hanging from a branch by the clay side of the creek. I want to go get it and move it to clean up the creek so its less dirty.

citing 

http://www.web1.cnre.vt.edu/efish/families/stargazing.html

http://www.dgif.virginia.gov/wildlife/deer/

Observation of woodsy area near bench

The ground is saturated with water and covered thickly in leaves.  There appears to be algae growing in the puddles along the pavement, and there is moss on many of the fallen logs.  Many of the trees are covered in pale, orange-brown leaves, though many of the trees are also bare.  There is a lot of vegetation on the ground, including soggy-looking grass that is mostly plastered to the mud; ivy, and other various plants.  The only trees nearby that have green leaves are the holly trees.  There is a surprising amount of chirping noises, considering the time of year.  I noticed several robins and woodpeckers, and I can hear what sounded like crows, though I haven't see any.  I first noticed the woodpeckers when I heard a nearby tapping noise, which at first I didn't recognize as a sound made by an animal, until I realized that it sounded too rhythmic to be caused by something else, such as something falling from trees.  The tapping noise didn't follow a constant frequency, but rather a pattern, which sounded not unlike a rhythm of a song.  By this point, I had concluded that there must be a woodpecker nearby, and I soon spotted the source of the noise sitting on a tree stump:

I can't be sure what the woodpecker was trying to accomplish by tapping on the tree stump, since woodpeckers are omnivorous and will eat many various foods such as insects, worms, berries, nuts, etc., and they will also use tapping noises as a form of communication.  I had also seen a woodpecker high up in a tree, where there were only thin branches, also making a rhythmic tapping noise, so it is possible that the woodpecker was using this as communication, especially since finding food in such thin branches seems unlikely.  Along with this, woodpeckers usually spend autumn gathering and storing food for the winter, so presumably they would not expect to be finding food at this time of year.
(source: http://www.biokids.umich.edu/critters/Melanerpes_erythrocephalus/)

The only constant noises other than the birds chirping is the noise of the wind as it goes through the trees.  The wind is also very cold, and the sky is clouded over completely.  There are small mounds of snow scattered around the area, though most of it has melted; a likely cause of all the puddles.