Extension News: August 2008 Archives

The barn burned down a long time ago. The original stone well in front of the barn, right at our doorstep, provided water for over 200 years. During a long drought, it was replaced with a drilled well and filled in, leaving a large mounded scar right next to the house entrance.

For several years I have been digging in front of the barn foundation, removing the old well hump. Gradually I unearthed the north wall of the barn foundation. The large granite slabs are beautiful, with steaks of pink, gold and silver running like little rivers all through the wall. There are several gorgeous boulders with bits and pieces of glacial grandeur molded into them.

My plan was to plant a small welcome garden with old-fashioned herbs and flowers to greet those who came to my door. At first I set aside a small area to sit on­the pinkest, flattest stone. The mountains on the other side of the valley look lovely when seen though a mass of dark-red bee balm dancing with bees.

However, the more of the granite foundation I exposed, the larger the project became. I spent evenings and weekends on my hands and knees with a bucket and hand trowel, picking through the earth like an archeologist. During the years of digging, weeding and planting, I discovered lovely marbles, whole and broken bottles, forged garden tools, pieces of livestock tack and kitchen plates, crocks, and more. Untold stories at my doorstep.

As a Master Gardener, I dutifully had the soil tested. I dreamed of home-brewed teas from my front yard­mmm. The results came back from the UNH Analytical Services Lab with the following: Lead, Mehlich 3… 159 ppm Medium. Contact your local health care professional and have children under the age of six checked for lead in their blood. Do not grow leafy vegetables or root crops….Because lead levels are usually highest in areas near buildings painted with lead-based paints prior to about 1970….it may be possible to re-locate your garden to a less contaminated site.

My hopes of tasting and sipping from the welcome garden dashed, I’ve concentrated on plants chosen for their beauty and aromas. Although I brought in some new plants I had to have, most of them are transplants that thrived elsewhere in the yard. I often divided crowded plants, transplanting the divisions to the edges of the garden and assigning them the work of holding back the ever-creeping lawn.

Now dozens of multi-sized bees, brightly colored butterflies, and iridescent hummingbirds feast on this huge garden full of mature perennials. Their squeaks and buzz bring the joy of sharing to this garden. It's become too wild to sit in, so crowded I can't even get in to weed or water. The entire front of the barn foundation is just the backdrop glimpsed behind stems and leaves. My husband refers to the living colors mirroring the hues of the stone foundation as my “garden palette.” The perfumed mix of Anise, lemon thyme, spearmint, phlox, coreopsis, yarrow, and geraniums encourage you to stop a moment and sniff.

This spring, in the back, right next to the barn foundation, where I started the garden so many years ago, a large pink digitalis appeared. Many-stalked, it grew tall and proud all through the early summer. Someone must have planted it long before I moved into this colonial cape. I felt connected with this previous gardener, part of a continuum of all those who came before me and appreciated this garden spot in front of the barn foundation.

By Stephania Pearce, Master Gardener

Drawing by: Pamela Doherty,UNH Cooperative Extension

Thoreau reminds us that “we are surrounded by a rich and fertile mystery,” and implores us to spend time in the natural world, simply enjoying what is here and available to any of us. That may explain why I frequently head for the Lower 40 with clippers and a folding saw (for trail work), binoculars or a camera, guidebooks, notebook, and lunch.

I may look like a hiker, but I am definitely not going hiking. Instead, in Thoreau’s terms, I’m simply going into the woods to “probe and pry” into the “rich and fertile mystery of life.”

This probing and prying encompasses several levels of activity, all of which can be described by the same term: life in the woods. At first, it’s enough just to identify the frogs, the birds, the dragonflies, and the flowers­hence the guidebooks, the binoculars, the camera and the notebook.

After a while, though, it’s natural to go further, to enjoy what Thoreau called “gazing with interest at swamps,” which is much more than creating a life list or taking pretty pictures. Careful observation helps to sense and perhaps understand more about life in the woods.

For example, consider the wood frog’s beautiful skin, almost a fawn color, offset only by a black mask. Why the mask? Well, one day in the spring I came across an adult wood frog sitting among the rotting leaves and other detritus of the forest floor; the fawn color was exactly the color of the leaves, and the black mask was the color of the soil. The coloration provides perfect camouflage in early spring, when these frogs travel to vernal pools to mate.

I never know what to expect. Last summer I was surprised to see many pickerel frogs stationed in the grass about a foot from the edge of the pond, surprised because I had seldom seen even one of these frogs. That same day I noticed, also for the first time, a dragonfly with very clear wings and no evident distinguishing marks, just hanging there in the grass.

Further examination revealed that dozens of dragonfly nymphs were emerging from the pond, walking 12 to18 inches inland, then climbing and eventually clinging to stalks of grass or weeds. After a while, the dragonflies would break out of their larval skins and just hang there, letting their wings dry. As I approached, they would fly straight up 15 to 20 feet, look around, and then fly off on their maiden voyages.

The two new sightings were, of course, related. The frogs were there for a nice brunch, a delightful meal served but once a year. And other obstacles confronted the young dragonflies: tree swallows zipping back and forth across the pond, rather than flying in their usual circles. In fact, as I watched through binoculars, a tree swallow slammed into a dragonfly that had just risen to make its first-and last-voyage.

This brings me to the second reflection on life in the woods, namely the sheer abundance and exuberance of life there. The wood frogs, protected by their perfect coloration, assemble early in the spring by the hundreds at the pond, and each female produces hundreds of eggs. I’ve seen swarms of tadpoles, 20,000 to 40,000 of them in a dense ribbon 50 yards long and a yard or two wide. Like seeds of a pine tree, few will survive to adulthood, but most will make it out of the pond, valiantly moving through the fields to the woods and their new life.

A third perspective on life in the woods concerns my life in the woods. I’m not just an observer and a student there, but a participant. I cut trails, prune trees, leave a border around the pond for the dragonflies and the frogs, and help conserve some open space. We all need to do this, protecting and preserving habitats and, where possible, reintroducing habitats.

While pursuing these activities, we may find the essence of our own lives in the woods. Time loses its constancy-my split-second sighting of the swallow catching the newly-emerged dragonfly will stay with me the rest of my life, yet an afternoon clearing trails passes in a flash, a Zen-like experience of being one with nature.

I am endlessly fascinated by life in the woods, and each time I set out for the Lower 40, I hope to pry a bit further into its “rich and fertile mystery.”

Carl D. Martland, Wildlife Coverts Cooperator