A Sound of Spring

He's back. No, not the invading raccoon that kept sneaking in through the cat door. (That guy's been relocated to a new home somewhere along the Blue River...) It's the summer tanager - a shy red bird that I usually only hear, not see.

His song is quite distinctive (he's a warbler) and I heard him for the first time last night. He comes back every spring and spends his summers in one of our oak trees. From a distance, he looks like a cardinal but doesn't have the crest.





Like many in the animal kingdom, the male of the species is the one decked out in color. The female summer tanager is more subdued in her appearance.

It makes me happy to know they're back, to have this little bit of normalcy in the middle of the chaos that seems to be my life right now. Welcome back, you guys!

Transformation

The new green of the woods is taking my breath away. Every morning this week, there's been a point when the light is returning and I suddenly look up from my computer surprised once again by the color outside my window.

For months, the trees have been skeletal against the sky. Brown and gray have been the order of the day, the only color an occasional flash of red from one of the cardinals stalking the feeders.

But now the green is filling in the blanks. The oaks and the hickories are sporting small leaves of that intense yellow-green you only see this time of year.

In a few weeks, the color will deepen into the rich green of summer. Mr. D and I call it "the green wall." In the wintertime, you can see deep into the forest; you can easily see the contours of the land as it rises behind us. Not so once the fullness of summer comes.

The first green of spring is almost imperceptible. Walking the late winter landscape several weeks ago, I kept seeing green out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked in that direction - nothing.

I finally realized I had to look closer: the green in my peripheral vision was lichen on the trunks of the trees. So subtle I almost missed it.

Nothing subtle about Mother Nature now. The physical transformation of the landscape is well underway as she blatantly displays her beauty.

No wonder our ancestors celebrated this time of year for its promise of new life.

May Day, May Apples

The first day of May - and it's a soggy one. Feels like it's been raining for weeks.

But the May Apples are out in force - standing like beach umbrellas in colonies all over the forest. Their life is short - in a week or two, one small and lovely white flower will appear underneath the parasol of leaves. That flower morphs into a pulpy, yellow berry (the 'apple') and then they fade and die back for another year.


The May Apple is also known as the Devil's apple, hog apple, Indian apple, umbrella plant, wild lemon, or American mandrake. Native Americans would gather the plant's rhizomes, dry them, grind them to a powder, and then use the powder as a laxative or to get rid of intestinal worms, or as a poultice for skin problems. Don't try this remedy at home, though - the rhizome is the most poisonous part of the plant and you really need to know what you're doing with it. (The FDA rates the use of this plant as "unsafe.")

No wonder all those deer out there leave them alone.

In modern times, the plant is used as a base in some anti-cancer drugs. The berries are the only non-poisonous part of the plant, but I've never even once considered a May apple pie...we just look at them.

The May Apple (or Mayapple) is an Eastern plant - Kansas City is about as far west as they grow. They colonize big areas of the forest through those long, underground rhizomes. There will be a big patch one year, gone the next, but then another colony will have popped up somewhere else.

A nice surprise as you're walking in the woods.