Thursday, 6 November 2014

A full frost moon

Frost moon
Fall moons are often luminous, especially the harvest moon (in October), when the moon is low on the horizon as it rises.

I'd thought the frost moon might have been a no-show here, as rain was predicted, but rising in the back of the house, it's peaking through the shadows of the old black cherry above the shed.

The label of a November full moon reminded me that I'd made a post about November moons before:  it was a much later moon that year.

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Witch hazel

We have a wonderful witch hazel in front of our garage that's now in full flower, with a few remnant yellow leaves. 

It has a wonderful shape (it's now a small well-rounded tree).

in fall 2009
Its fall color this year wasn't the equal of this image -- an early freeze hastened leaf drop.

But it was interesting to read what I'd written at that time. 

Alas, the huge red oak is now in major decline, post water line breaks and digging needed to repair.

Sunday, 2 November 2014

The beauty of apricot-colored tulips

Sometimes, my screen around "plants that work for a living" includes plants that bring joy.

Tulips are in that category. 

They're totally "useless" in their cultivated form for anything beyond that (not producing nectar, feeding insects, etc.), unless you count feeding deer.  In nature, species tulips undoubtedly had many ecological roles, but cultivated tulips, not many, except being pretty.

Nonetheless, I've loved them since I first saw the tulip displays near the Jefferson Memorial, in the Washington, DC tidal basin area, many years ago. 

And they were among the first plants I planted as a newbie gardener over three decades ago, not long after that.  I planted red tulips in a triangular block next to our gate to the backyard. 

And potted tulips have long been a Valentine's Day staple, although cyclamens have supplanted them in recent years.

So these lovely apricot-colored tulips, grown in Virginia (which count as regional, I guess), appealed to me and my gardening companion yesterday.


Saturday, 1 November 2014

Late afternoon snow melt

As the snow melted from the leaves of trees this afternoon, under a still lead-grey sky and intermittent flurries, the trunks and branches of the trees in the ravine glistened with remnants of the overnight snow.

As I was putting dinner together, the view was striking.  Now, as the oven hums, the wind howls, and with mid-30° F temperatures, the snow echoes are almost gone.

view from the kitchen window

the big red oak through the deck door

An unusual early snow

Overnight snow on November 1 is highly unusual, much less the soft fluffy snow that fell, clinging to leaves still on the trees and furrowed bark.

The contrast between the glimpses of fall color cloaked in snow with the vibrancy of a couple of days ago in clear light -- remarkable.
November 1 snow
scarlet oak, red oak, and ginkgo with snow
snow out the window


Friday, 31 October 2014

A lovely morning walk

Beaver Lake in mid-morning
There's a human-created lake (Beaver Lake) in North Asheville that's truly magical. 

It's a neighborhood lake, supported by the surrounding community, with the only "fee" being for boaters and dog-walkers.

I admit that we've been scofflaws, bringing Woody for walks without the annual permit for dogs (but always picking up after him, when needed!)  

But we'll be happy to contribute to their permit program when we're up here full-time.



Thursday, 30 October 2014

Fall colors

I'm grateful to have two wonderful places to enjoy fall color and inspiring views.

The views from the windows in our small mountain house are glorious right now - at their peak.
Black gum from studio window
kitchen window view
view from the deck


view from my small studio
The views from the windows in our older house are enchanting, too, created by enveloping plantings of natives, punctuated by a few special non-natives. Here's one from the front.  And a view from our bedroom of a wonderful gingko that we planted, that's gotten quite large.

We have a gingko in the mountains, too, that's just started to turn to yellow.  

Transitions are always lovely, with bittersweet overtones.