The first time I visited the Pedernal that overlooks Abiquiu New Mexico, that incredible flat-topped mesa where the Navajo ‘Changing Woman’ was born I fell in love! I was with my friend Iren who showed me a place where an enormous band of chert was located on the side of the mountain. The colors of the stone took my breath away – bitter orange, blood red, rust, dusky purple, ebony, charcoal, dense white, light yellow, pale pink, deep rose, blue gray – every color on the spectrum except deep blue was visible. I already knew that this multi-colored stone had been traded throughout the Americas by Indigenous peoples for millennia; I wondered if the arrowheads I had that came from Maine could have come from this mountain…
 
As we climbed through a forest of tall conifers I soaked in the view of a magnificent multi-layered tree line that stretched all around me as far as I could see on one side. The views of the distant snowcapped mountains were spectacular. I experienced a peculiar kind of “high” that I mentioned to Iren, noting vaguely that I suspected it had something to do with the trees.

(Black Morph)
 
Last week I had an email from my friend Carol from Abiquiu asking me to identify a beautiful yellow butterfly…the Tiger swallowtail. I had written an article on swallowtails the year before (it’s in the archives) and mentioned that here in Maine we have been inundated with these gorgeous creatures for more than a month. I was presently seeing them in my garden feasting on peonies and lemon lilies, they are also drawn to an old fashioned moon honeysuckle and my wild roses. Since Monarchs and Swallowtails are my favorite butterflies I am thrilled to be seeing so many in Maine.
 
Imagine my surprise when a stunning blue - black butterfly landed on my foot as I was sitting on the ground this morning. I recognized the swallowtail instantly even though it has been a number of years here in Maine since I have had a visitation from one of these black morphs belonging to the Tiger swallowtail family.

When I awaken before dawn each morning I stay in bed to listen to the first flute-like calls of the Hermit Thrush that nests every year down by my brook. Its poignant melancholy song begins with a single high note that ascends in an upward spiral, and for me it is probably the most beautiful bird song I have ever heard.
 
Although I rarely catch a glimpse of a Hermit Thrush when I do I recognize them instantly because these birds are quite beautiful with their rusty brown coloring, distinctly spotted breasts and reddish tails. Occasionally I have seen one while hiking through an open forest. Hermit Thrushes live in a wide variety of habitats, ranging from boreal forests of the far north to deciduous woods and mountain forests. Look for them in open wooded areas - trails, pond edges, mountain glades, or areas partially opened up by fallen trees. In winter, Hermit Thrushes often occupy lower-elevation forests with dense understory and berry bushes, including pine, broadleaf evergreen, and deciduous woods.

I just picked the first violet blue flowers of the hairy vetch that was creeping along the road, its ladder like leaves following curling spirals. I noticed that a few plants had already found purchase on lupine spires; in my garden the delicate leaves and tendrils of the vine are just beginning their spiral ascent into deep green.
 
Here in Maine the plant begins to bloom in June and I make sure that I have some sprigs in my flower garden each year because long after deep blue is just a memory by mid-summer, hairy vetch provides my garden with blue and my fiery late summer bouquets with a delightfully deep contrast. The plant looks especially beautiful twining among a riot of colorful day lilies. I also love to watch its growth habits, the way its intriguing tendrils meander over the tops of other flowering plants seeking the heat of the sun.

Last year when I returned from New Mexico I found an Eastern Phoebe’s nest under the eaves above my front door. I witnessed the three nestlings mature with deep pleasure, happy because the phoebes have only nested on the house once before, though this little valley has been home to these endearing birds ever since I built the house. Every year I watch them hunt from the wild apple tree with its golden apples that spans the entire southern wall of the house and overlooks the brook. In fact I am watching a phoebe hunt as I write these words. In years past I always looked forward to their arrival in the early spring after a long Maine winter.
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This spring the phoebes chose another nest site, probably one of their old ones, perhaps because last year I removed the dormer that protected their nest; I can’t be sure. 

When I first saw the black - capped chickadees coming to my open feeder this winter I was surprised. I looked back in my notes from last year to check. There were no black - capped chickadees included in the lengthy list of birds I had seen (a list that also included the mountain chickadee).
 
The b/c chickadees are such friendly little birds that it is easy to train them to eat out of one’s hand. And they are one of the few birds that greet me with an enthusiastic “chick a dee dee” chirp whenever I appear with sunflower seeds.
 
I am particularly happy to see this species here in New Mexico, because Audubon says that the Black capped chickadees are moving northward due to climate change/tree devastation. Fortunately they are still around my house in Maine.

A number of years ago I decided to raise some baby mallards. As a child I used to feed and make friends with them, even as a toddler I was told. Because I live so close to North Pond I decided to raise some mallards and release them on the lake, although I had never seen mallards here and wondered why. After doing some preliminary research I learned that this area was a breeding area for wild mallards, so I figured that I had nothing to lose.

What an adventure! The “quackers” were characters. My dog adored them and they seemed equally fascinated with her because whenever Star visited with them they would waddle over to quack excitedly at her when she pawed their cage. I came to love them too, and although they made a horrible mess I loved the quackers enthusiastic morning greeting. When the day came to release them I felt sad.

By this time I had spent a lot of time in my kayak looking for a safe haven for the youngsters. I created a nest at the end of a peninsula, and left them there on North Pond. I saw the quackers occasionally during that summer but when they migrated in the fall they didn’t return… I believed my experiment to re- introduce them had failed.

Canadian Geese have been on my mind a lot lately. This past winter I have missed the skeins of geese that fly back and forth up and down the river appearing every single morning like clockwork. In Abiquiu when winter turned to spring I noted that the geese were behaving in much the same way the Sandhill cranes did before they migrated, splitting into pairs or groups of three and flying erratically. I was puzzled. I didn’t recall witnessing such behavior before this year. I wondered about migration patterns. Were the geese shifting their flight patterns too? Or perhaps the small groups I saw were staying year round? Some days it almost seemed as if these water birds were confused by something.*
 
I saw three Canadian geese on the last predawn walk I took to the river/Bosque, just an hour or two before leaving for Maine. I knew that a perilous journey was ahead because we were driving. The C/virus was a frightening threat though I brought all food, and would camp/use woods as bathroom. The first morning after my arrival in Maine I saw and heard three geese honking over my head. I was struck by the odd synchronicity – (three geese at the beginning and ending of the journey). I remembered the mother goose tales of my childhood also recalling their mythology.

Totally by accident, I discovered a picture of a most beautiful flower commonly called Adderstongue (Scoliopus bigelovii) that I had never seen before. Of course I had to look it up…
 
I learned that Adderstongue only grows in old growth forest in the understory of the ancient Redwood trees of California in moist mossy places that are shaded. It grows from a rhizome, and I immediately suspected the plant must have a symbiotic relationship with the Redwood’s underground fungal network. The flower is pollinated by fungus gnats, the fruit is a drooping capsule and when it bursts the seeds are carried away by ants. The moment I laid eyes on the picture I longed to see one in the flesh… and this is what got me started on my Redwood Quest.
Once Redwoods grew throughout North America as well as along the coasts of Europe and Asia, but now they are now restricted to the Pacific coast. And I have never seen one.
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The earliest Redwoods -Sequoia sempervirens -(the name Sequoia is Cherokee in origin) appeared shortly after the dinosaurs disappeared. Redwoods have lived in their present form for about 240 million years although California didn’t become their home until about 20 million years ago.

I first became interested in herbalism as a young mother who kept a small herbal garden outside her back door. There is nothing better than fresh herbs to spice up any dish (as any good cook knows well) and baking my own bread, making homemade granola, etc., like gardening, was simply part of what I did. In retrospect, I see that cooking served as a highly creative endeavor that helped me to create some balance between the millions of mundane jobs associated with single motherhood and my need for creativity…
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It seemed quite natural to begin to explore herbs for medicinal purposes. I first experimented with plants that grew wild near my house on the island on which I lived. I sensed that developing a personal relationship with the plants I was using mattered, an intuition that continues to inform my growing and preparation of herbal remedies to this day. If I don’t have the right growing conditions for an herb I need, I wild craft responsibly. Until recently I have never used store bought preparations.