Nature, Warts and All.

I know we've been crowing a lot about all the birds we saw at the New River Birding and Nature Festival, but the "and Nature" bit of the title is an important piece of information. The New River Gorge abounds in flora, which probably explains why it also abounds in fauna, particularly of the avian sort. They see a good thing on their flyover, and they stop in for a visit and maybe to have a baby or two.


So it was on our very first day in the woods that an amble up Opossum Creek Retreat Centre's dirt road in search of ovenbirds and tanagers netted just about everyone in our party a "life flower" -- the showy orchis. (For the record, I keep a life list of birds. I don't keep a life list of flowers. Yet.)

We had been greeted the night before by an ecstatic Geoff Heeter thrusting his camera into our faces and saying "Look at this! Look! They found this this morning."

"Wow!" I said. It was a small purple flower, pleasant enough but I didn't understand the import. I passed the camera to Susan, sure that she would. And she did, responding very enthusiastically before announcing that the Bahama Mamas that evening were especially tasty. And stiff.

And so the next day our little group slowed to a crawl on the road as we approached the site where the orchis had been seen. Like Elmer Fudd, we got vewy vewy qwiiii-et (wouldn't want to scare it away, after all) and there in the ditch it sat, just waiting for us. Many, many photographs were taken. When Jeff Gordon explained how long it takes for the plants to reach maturity to shoot out a flower, and when we considered that it was living in a ditch by the side of the road where it could have been trampled at any time, all of sudden I understood the other Geoff's excitement. So I took a picture too!



For the rest of the trip, I alternated between looking at gorgeous birds and taking pictures of the beautiful landscape. It helped to have My Own Personal Naturalist, the stylish Liz Gordon, in attendance.

At first I thought Liz was making gentle conversation with me when she'd hold up a stick and ask me something about it, and then I realized over a tulip tree leaf that she was in full-on educator mode. And that she's darned good at it.

Which turned out to be lucky for me, because the next day, shortly after we had been introduced to a warbler sitting on a grape vine, I walked up to a viney-looking plant, gestured at it and asked, "Is that a grape vine?" Guide Paul laughed out loud and said "No, it's poison ivy." Ha ha ha, I said, reaching out to pick it up and ask just why the little grapey bits were so teensy.


"NO, IT'S POISON IVY" screamed Paul, Kelly, and My Own Personal Naturalist, in unison.

Sheesh. No need to get so excited.

A while later, Liz ambled up behind me and offered a small twig, saying "chew." Now, with most other people, I would think twice but Liz did, after all, help save me from death-by-itching not a hour or so earlier, so I felt that I could trust her. It was like chewing root beer. Sweet Birch! (Hey, that sounds as it it could be a kind of genteel swear word, like the way some people express consternation with a well-enunciated "Mother of Pearl!" Except this would have positive connotations. So, when someone says "Hey, I just discovered a new warbler!" you would reply, "Sweet Birch!")

Walking through the woods, we saw huge thickets of rhododendrons. Murr reminded us of a passage in an historical series that both she and Kelly have been reading for the past few years, where the hero comes upon a "rhododendron hell." Ever thought that rhodos were nothing more than persnickety but beautiful garden ornaments? Think again.



Violets of all kinds, including this one, the long-spurred violet, which again caused all kinds of excitement.


I have tried to find out the purpose of the spur, but have had no luck. But I did find out, thanks to the State of Pennsylvania, that this lovely flower is "extremely vulnerable," being displaced by our relentless pursuit of more land on which to live, and our tendency to import pretty flowers that are not indigenous and then take over everything in sight. Global climate change will have a negative impact, as the spurred violet's preferred cool microclimate will gradually warm and thereby be rendered inhospitable. Ironically, efforts to develop cleaner fuels in order to halt climate change might also have a deleterious effect, should we really feel that plantation-grown bio-fuels are the way to go and suck up the spurred violet's rich habitat as farmland. Kind of makes you wish that the spur had some bite to fight off its enemies.

There were mushrooms. No idea what this is, but after the poison ivy incident really had no desire to investigate too deeply.


And there were paw-paw trees. The fruit from these trees is edible.


Complex rock formations.


We also found amphibians and buggy things. This pleased Murr, who loves salamanders. I think she did find a couple salamanders, or perhaps newts. Sadly, I was not lucky enough to share this joy. But I did see several millipedes, like this one in Nina's hand.


And this very colourful one, which could be a mascot for the Caterpillar tractor company.


We also saw a rosy maple moth. It hung out on the bathroom door at our outdoor breakfast site. Told about it, I ambled over and was amazed at the orderly lineup of nature lovers waiting to take its picture. Turns out they were lined up for the toilet.


Much excitement ensued on one trip when we were promised an eagle eye view of toad eggs. "Oh, wow!" I foolishly thought as I tripped along a wet dirt road. Here are the eggs. Amazing.

At least they were until Julie began to describe (with an uncommon enthusiasm) how they are laid and I actually, as I told Kelly moments later as I retreated from the spawning ground, "threw up a little bit in my mouth."

The next day I saw an actual toad, but he was, alas, flat. I sure hope he got to fertilize a few million eggs before me met his maker.


Other critters included tent caterpillars, which build these fascinating nests:


And turkey vultures, close-up. This one came with his very own deer carcass. Yet another thing that could make you throw up a little bit in your mouth.


That's nature for you.

When I was a kid, I hung out with nature just about every day. There was a rocky, woodsy hill behind our house, and until they drained it to build a subdivision, a swamp with a rich frogpond 5 minutes in the opposite direction. We collected hazelnuts from trees that grew along the stream beside our elementary school -- I can still feel-taste (it was a combined sensation) the fuzzy-sour green skin that covered them. Summers were spent up to my knees in the cold water of Bonavista Bay, "catching" sea urchins and starfish.

Hanging out in the woods with my brother, 1976. Chances are that we pulled gum off this tree and chewed it.

And while I love my life in the big city --having chosen a spot on the edge of a deep ravine, and carved out a small peaceable kingdom there-- I sometimes wonder what happened to that kid who came in at the end of the day with treasures in her pocket, dirty hands, and fly bites everywhere.


It was nice to go to West Virginia and find her again.