Tree Troubles

When we bought our house, we knew that we had some not-so-healthy trees in our backyard.  At the moment we have 3 sugar maples, 1 GIANT spruce, 1 apple and 1 pear.  The spruce and apple are so-so health wise, and one of the sugar maples is doing fairly well.  However, 1 of the sugar maples is exceedingly unhealthy, 1 is somewhat unhealthy, and the pear is on its last legs. 

Looking up into my beloved spruce:

We took some of the dead branches off one of the sugar maples when we first moved in because it happened to stand waving all those dead branches right over our driveway.  I'd prefer not to have to find out whether our homeowners or our auto insurance would cover the damage if our tree squished our car.  Although we bought ourselves some time trimming off dead branches, it's time for the whole tree to come down.

My husband has a client who is a certified arborist, and runs a business doctoring and removing trees.  He's very knowledgeable, and at least thus far seems competent.  I know a number of people who have had bad experiences with tree removal companies, so I'm pretty picky about who I am willing to hire to cut down trees in my yard.  This fella meets all my requirements of bonding and insurance and all that jazz, and also generally seems to have some pretty high standards.  Don't tell him this, but I'll probably pay him whatever he wants to charge us for removing that tree.  The other tree removal companies we've talked to sounded pretty shady (pardon the pun!).

In the background is the one healthy sugar maple, though you can't tell since this was taken in the spring before it got leaves:

The poor pear tree we can cut down ourselves with little more than one swing of the axe, though we're getting a quote for removal of that second maple, too.  It's probably cheaper to do it all at once, but I suspect it will be a little while before I can afford to have that one cut down.  If that tree falls it may squish our barn, which wouldn't be good, although might be better than squishing the car.  Come to think of it, though, if it hit the barn hard enough it would also squish my husband's beloved classic 1983 Mazda RX7 that is in the midst of being restored.  That would be bad.  But, insurance money for the barn might permit us to put in a more useable garage instead.  I'd hate to see the old barn squished, though - call me sentimental.  Thankfully, barring a massive and catastrophic storm, I think that second maple is a long way from the falling and squishing stage.

The happy news?  We have something to plant to replace one of the sugar maples.  A few years back my husband and I found a kit for growing a baby elm tree.  My father always loved elm trees, so on a whim we picked it up for him.  This particular little seed came from a tree that was naturally resistant to Dutch elm disease.  My father diligently followed all the instructions for how to get the baby tree to grow from a seed, and while I don't know the details, I think it involved a stint in the freezer and whole bunch of random soil/water/light manipulations.  Clearly he did something right, as it's now a healthy growing tree, and is getting too big for Dad's yard.

As soon as that maple comes down, we're going to try to dig up the baby elm from Dad's yard, wrap its substantial baby elm root ball in burlap, transport it to our yard, dig another massive hole, and put it in.  I hope we manage to do it properly.  If we wait much longer, even the three of us won't be able to manage getting a root ball that big out of the ground, and rumor has it that spring is the best time to transplant trees.

Surely, this is a saga that will be continued.  Probably with photos.  Hopefully they will be photos of a happy little transplanted elm and a chopped up maple, and not of downed power lines or huge divots out of my yard or anything else bad.  To be continued...

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Now and Then

Today we decided we wanted to find someplace for a hike that's a little different from what we've been doing lately.  We didn't have time to drive terribly far, but decided to venture to Bear Swamp for our walk.

I hadn't been to Bear Swamp in years.  There are a number of Bear Swamps, but the one I'm talking about is down near the southern end of Skaneateles Lake.  It's owned by New York State and managed by the DEC.

It's a fascinatingly wild spot.  In total there are 3,316 acres, with about 13 miles of trails.  Some of the hiking trails seem to not get used very often, and we took one of those today.  There were spots where we had a mighty hard time telling where the trail was, and it was a good thing there are trail markers.  Other trails are much easier to follow and are maintained for snowmobiles, and then others are passable by car.

The history of Bear Swamp is that it was settled after the Revolutionary War.  In fact, I believe the area was actually cleared and settled by Revolutionary War veterans.  The population in the area hit its peak during the Civil War era and then declined until the Great Depression.  It was purchased by the State in the 1930s and planted with red pine, Norway spruce and larch by the Civilian Conservation Corps.  Now it is used for hiking, mountain biking, snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, and judging by the number of shotgun shells we passed, hunting.  The State-owned land has a very jagged and erratic border, and is surrounded by privately-owned land with a few ramshackle hunting cabins scattered about.

This early in the spring there wasn't a whole lot growing, which made the few green plants stand out.  There were lots of what look like trout lily leaves, but no flowers.

There were also some big patches of myrtle, and some wintergreen, too.

One of the most noticeable plants was the skunk cabbage, which was everywhere.  I'm utterly fascinated by the stuff.

I love its speckly, shiny, pointy shoots, its pretty deep reds, and the way it looks so artistically swoopy when it first starts to grow.

A few of the trees were showing buds, but not all that many.

As far as wildlife goes, we didn't spot much.  That's probably because the hounds sounded like a herd of elephants crashing through the dry leaves.  Most critters had enough advanced notice of our approach to skedaddle long before we got to them.  This chipmunk was brave enough to hold still for a photo.

A ruffed grouse did erupt from nearly underneath my feet at one point.  Why is it that with every encounter I have with a grouse I feel like I lose another year of my life?  That kind of shock can't be good for me.

We also heard zillions of frogs croaking, creaking, groaning, clucking and whatever other noises they make.  I didn't manage to spot any, though, as the ground was way too wet to get close to the swampy areas where the frogs were swimming.

The dogs are pathetically out of shape after spending another winter refusing to go for walks in the snow, so we didn't manage to get too many miles in.  The humans weren't quite ready for the adventure to end when the hounds were, though, so we decided to do a little driving on the dirt roads that wind through the swamp.

We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.  Those dirt roads go on for miles, and they're pretty rough.  At one point I did think to ask my husband if there was any air in his spare tire, because it occurred to me that if we had a flat and didn't have a working spare, we might be stranded there for days.  There was no way we could give a tow truck directions to wherever it was that we were. A little later my husband asked what I though his office would say if he had to "call in lost" on Monday.

Then, in the middle of nothing but woods, we stumbled upon a sweet old cemetery.  It was clearly an old Wilcox family plot from the 1850s and 1860s, back when the area was farmed.  One of the stones belonged to a Civil War veteran, and someone still puts a flag out next to his stone.

It's hard to envision the area as it once was - all farmland.  There are a few crumbling stone walls that are the only markers of what the area looked like long ago.  Somewhere in those woods are surely some old foundations from the homes that once stood there.

I have mentioned before my fascination with the way the wilderness reclaims places humans have worked hard to clear and build.  I just have a hard time envisioning the place as it may once have looked, and wonder what the people who are buried in that cemetery would think if they could see the place now.  Would they despair that all their hard work in clearing and farming the land came to naught?  Or would they be pleased to find their resting place so peaceful and wild?  I'll never know.

Eventually, and happily, we emerged from that tangled web of seemingly endless dirt roads into farms and then homes along the southern end of Skaneateles Lake, sans flat tires, and with the exhaust still attached to the car.  Another happy Sunday foray into the woods has put life back into perspective for me.

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Easter Colored Treasure Hunt

Today's blissful warmth, sunshine and breeze brought us outside early on a trip to Baltimore Woods for another of my weekly wildflower watches.  Given that it's Easter weekend, I felt much like I was on an Easter egg hunt as I scanned the ground for hidden treasures.  And find treasures we did!

First, our friends.  This little fellow is just a bitty baby.  He was sunning himself in one of the upper gardens, and measured only perhaps 5 1/2 inches.

How can anyone resist a face like this?

My attention was soon drawn to a spot of bright red under the leaves.  When I moved aside a couple of the leaves, I spotted a scarlet cup, with this collection of critters on it:

I recognize the millipedes (yick - I don't know why but centipedes and millipedes give me the heebie jeebies), but don't know what the cute green bug is.  Perhaps I shall go sit outside on the swing and look him up.

These marks were all along the water's edge.  I suspect they were made my some variety of worm or other?  They looked very artistic:

On to the wildflowers.  It's incredible how much flowers can grow in a week!

Hepatica, with its variety of colors and fuzzy stems:

Bloodroot, still wrapped tightly in its blanket of leaves as if it's afraid to trust that the warmth will last:

Spring beauty.  I adore its smart little stripes, and particularly love the bright pink anthers on the second photo.  They look like delicate pink slippers:

Soon-to-be trillium, which have appeared out of nowhere in the last week.  I love to speculate about which color each will turn out to be:

Myrtle:

Colts foot.  I love the tiny little yellow flower in the center of the, well, flower.

And the Daphne has grown a great deal in the last week, too (thanks, Ellen, for the ID!):

And then the much less intoxicatingly lovely yet still fascinating skunk cabbage:

All-in-all, it was a spectacularly beautiful Saturday walk, and the flower colors are just irresistibly festive.

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On Cats

I write a great deal about my two idiotic, affectionate, stubborn, expensive, exuberant, destructive, irritating, wrinkly dogs.  I write a lot less about the three cats who share my home.  I suppose that's partly because they demand less of my attention, and also because they don't go with us on the outdoor adventures that are so often the subject of this blog.  However, I don't want my readers to think I don't adore my cats.  In fact, most days I think I like my cats way more than I like my dogs.  They irritate me less, for one thing.  But more importantly, cats fascinate me.

As a kid, I grew up begging for a dog, but had to make do with a succession of guinea pigs and hamsters. Eventually our next door neighbor's cat, Minnie, got invited into our house on a regular basis for kitty junk food and the affection we would bestow on her.  Plus, I had a bird feeder suction cupped to my bedroom window.  For Minnie, nothing could beat the ecstatic pleasure of crouching down on my bed under the window until she heard a flurry of feathery activity, and then springing up to pound her front paws against the glass while the frantic finches flew off in a flustered chirping whirl.  She'd keep it up for hours.

I never really got to know cats, though, until I met my husband.  He had this massive cat named Streak, who was really just an overgrown punk of a kitten with a lot of attitude.  Streak hated me at first.  I was the interloper, and was trying to encroach on his human's time and affection.  Until the day I die, I will swear that he regularly tried to smother me in my sleep during those first few months.  Over time, though, Streak and I developed an incredible affection and respect for one another.  He died more than eight years ago now, but I still miss him.  I don't think I will ever meet a cooler cat.  And I've gotten to know quite a few, as over the years we've rescued a number of cats who developed major health problems and did not live nearly long enough.

I'll always be grateful for having had Streak in my life, in large part because he converted me into (horrors!) a cat person.  I don't want to ever have a house without a dog, but I don't think I could endure life without a cat.

Here are just a few of the things that I love about my cats, but that completely baffle me, in no particular order:

1.  The places one finds them when they've been too quiet for too long.

That's Streak, and yes, he's at the top of a telephone pole.

You'll have to take my word for it that there's a cat under the bulge in the rug... or stay tuned for the proof below.

If you didn't spot her at the first glance, try this one:

2.  The wild adventures they create out of ordinary objects.  Can anyone who has lived with a cat really believe they don't have imaginations?

Mine regularly engage in fantasies about being lions, leopards, and basilisks, I swear.

3.  Fangs.  Heaven help me, the fangs crack me up, but also strike a shiver of fear into my soul.  Seriously?  Do my cats really need those things in the plush, cushy lives they lead?  What for - opening tuna cans?

Yikes.

4.  That whole box/bag thing.

5.  Spastic midnight FRAP ("Frantic Random Acts of Play") mode.  Why must they run around and around the house as if they are being pursued by Satan, and do somersaults and chase their own tails, all by themselves?  And don't you love it how they will pause gracefully in the middle of one of those cross-house tears to sit, stick out a leg, lick it, and then resume as if there has been no pause at all?

6.  The ability to use a litter box, as opposed to needing to take them outside in the freezing cold at 2:00 a.m.

7.  The fact that they are largely self cleaning.  Every time I watch one of my cats lick him/herself, I am reminded that I am grateful I don't have to bathe myself with my own tongue.  Pleh.  How can they stand all that fur in their mouths?  Regardless, I am delighted I don't have to bathe them.  It's questionable whether I would survive the experience of trying to submerge any of my cats in water.

8.  This one is peculiar to just one of the many cats I have owned, but it's quirky enough to make it on the list.  Tucker likes to "scarf" my husband when he's sleeping.  He's a persistent little booger, and if said spouse isn't in lying on his back and tries to ignore Tucker when Tucker wants him to roll over, Tucker will escalate his irritation (from meows and gentle nudges, to sinking his claws into my husband's shoulder and pulling with all his wee kitty might) until my husband gives in and rolls onto his back.  Tucker then curls across his neck, kneads his shoulder, and nicely lets a long stream of drool roll down my husband's neck.  (*shudder*)  He doesn't dare try it on me.  That's a special bond only my husband and Tucker share.  (evil grin)

9.  How sweet and innocent they can look.

10.  How devilish they can look.  Honestly, sometimes they make me a little paranoid.  Wouldn't you be, too, if you looked up and found this staring at you, unblinking?

11.  How well they can master the Evil Eye.

12.  The holy heat-seeking device that guides them to every sunbeam, no matter how small.

13.  Bed pinning.  By this I mean their incredible ability to each curl up next to me when I'm lying in bed so I cannot move any part of myself without disturbing them.  And I'll stay like that for hours, even if I'm uncomfortable, so as not to disturb them because they're so cuuuute.  Never mind that they sleep approximately 22 hours a day and I never manage to get enough shut eye - somehow their sweet peaceful snoozing overrides my own need for rest and comfort.

14.  The way my 12 pound cat bosses around my 50 pound dogs.  He can stop 100 lbs of hurtling Basset hound with an eye squint.

15.  Along that same line, the way the same 12 lbs of cat can boss me around.  He has me so well trained it's incredible.  You want food?  Of course, master.  You want my lap?  Allow me to rearrange everything on it for you.  You want to go outside this exact instant?  Just let me drop what I'm doing.

16.  How busy they can be.  Where are they going when they walk purposefully through a room, and why?

17.  Insect seek and destroy.  I know the instant there's a bug in my house because at least two cats are staring at it, preparing to annihilate it.

18.  How much luxury can be crammed into a stretch.

19.  Stubbornnes that isn't even on the same scale as mine.  Our cat Sneakers held a grudge against me for a year and a half after we acquired a new kitten.  She's only recently started speaking to me again other than just to demand food.

20.  And last, but certainly not least, the purr.  There is no day so horrible that it can't instantly be put right by the weeniest member of our family jumping up and purring her massive rumble while rubbing her jowls across my cheek.  It solves every problem, or at least makes me feel better about it.

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