12.02.09
Posted in The Woods at 5:11 pm by admin
When I was a kid growing up in Pond, Missouri… what? You’ve never heard of Pond, Missouri?
It’s right between Grover and Glencoe. Newcomers call it Wildwood.
Anyway, as an eight-year-old, I was a newcomer myself, a transplanted native from the ”tough streets” of Creve Coeur. So when I was set free in Wildwood on 40 acres of farmland, I was somewhat amazed by the amount and variety of wild plants. It was quite a change from my suburban background where the list of wild plants was grass… ok, that was it. And the one plant that really got my attention was stinging nettle.
Stinging nettle is remarkably common anywhere there are creeks, and we had one that ran right through the middle of our farm. It’s not a plant easily ignored or missed. It is waist high (or better), has big green leaves, a square stem… oh, and covered with little hairs that ooze with a burning toxin.
Plants that attack are a long way from the lush lawns of Creve Coeur where my biggest horticultural adventure had been an encounter with Rainbow Swiss Chard at the corner Tom Boy grocery store.
So the area arond the creek on our Pond farm took on a sort of “no man’s land” feel for me, which I generally avoided unless enticed beyond reason by water striders skating the creek’s surface, an obvious leopard frog or some other irresistable creek occurance. And then I just dashed through the nettle hoping for the best. Growing up, I had no love for the stuff.
Fast forward 35 years to our A-frame chalet at Innsbrook. It sits on a hilltop overlooking about three acres of floodland and just about every inch of ground is covered by – guess what – stinging nettle.
My first plan was to give our local agricultural products company a boost by purchasing copious amounts of Roundup — but I’m a little hesitant to spray herbicides where I know my “weed rat” children will be tramping — so I researched stinging nettle on Wikipedia to ferret out what it’s natural enemy might be — and that’s when I learned that it’s really pretty useful stuff.
Next to hemp, stinging nettle is the best Missouri plant with which to make rope out (thankfully my Innsbrook lot is not covered with the former plant– it would harken to an entirely different stage of my life).
The fibers of sting nettle (and hemp) can be stripped out, wetted and twisted into a very stong cord which is great for all sorts of things. I also learned that another creekside plant, jewel weed, has a sap that quickly quiets the burn of stinging nettle.
Apparently, nettle also makes a good, nourishing tea, and the leaves have a spinach quality when eaten (though I haven’t had the courage to try that).
In short, the part of our Innsbrook woods that had once been a “no-man’s land” has now become a source of food stuff and fiber — a real boon to our woodland hideaway.
I still crash into the stinging nettle (now followed by three enthusiastic weed rats) but it is no longer to chase frogs or water striders, and the woods seem to be a much friendlier place.
Permalink
07.16.09
Posted in Experiences and reflections, The Woods at 10:23 am by admin
Our week-long kids camp at Innsbrook just concluded and word on the street is that it was much enjoyed by all.
Kids from ages 6 to 13 spend five hours a day at Innsbrook’s farmhouse area in the shade of our giant Mulberry trees learning about everything from Tibetan prayer flags to printing to drama to how to build a cardboard boat.
Here I am trying to keep my cardboard boat afloat!
My favorite part of the week though is the nature hike. I take two groups of 25 kids on a walk along Innsbrook’s Tyrolean Trail where we identify leaves, trees, berries, etcetera. And then we plunge into the forest to follow and old horse trail that crosses the creek two or three times.
It’s a wonderful circular hike and the kids enjoy splashing through the creek and mucking through the mud on the horse trail. It’s amazing to me to see how some kids just love being in the woods — mud, water, bugs — not much phases them.
With this particular group of kids, I think that’s partially a function of being Innsbrook kids and living in A-frames where their playgrounds are a couple acres of woods. By the way, there is a great book about the benefits of raising kids that are woods savy — it’s called the “The Last Child in the Woods” by Richard Louv. Click here to learn more.
This year the hike through the woods was particularly muddy which most of the kids delighted in but a couple found troublesome because their crocs were being sucked off their feet into the mire. Here’s a side note — crocs are not the best choice for hikes.
One little girl — about kindergarten age — lost her pink crocs in the muck and then into the slop and pretty much lost it refusing to go on.
I helped her up and offered to carry her through the rest of the mud. She immediately agreed and when I picked her up she buried her head in my chest and cried. The counselor that was with us dug up her shoes and we all walked down the slope to the creek where the rest of the group had stopped.
The creek in this spot is beautiful — shallow riffles a couple of inches deep about 12 feet wide. The water sparkles with the sunlight that filters through the Sycamores that form a canopy 70 or so feet above. The edges of the creek are lined with wildflowers, bladder nut and lush vegetation.
We all washed the mud off and the other campers helped my young charge restore the pink to her crocs. It was kind of a special Innsbrook moment – 25 kids standing in a creek dappled with sunlight in the middle of the woods helping each other scape the mud off and doing quite a bit of creek play in the process. By the time we left the creek, we were smiling, clean and ready for more hiking.
My passenger was not to be pried of my hip — she preferred being carried. But she was done crying and by the end of the hike, was pointing out the dragonflies that danced along the trail.
We came out of the woods together, clean, smiling and one big family. It seems like that moment in the creek was a little bit of a metaphor of what Innsbrook and frankly, any escape into the wild should be. It’s an opportunity to scrape off the muck of everyday life, to regain our balance, to play a little and leave our tragedies behind — and when we return “from the creek”, we are again ourselves.
Permalink
05.07.09
Posted in The Woods at 10:12 pm by admin
Somebody recently sent me a news story about a Mississippi community that is embroiled in a fight over treehouses — that’s right, you read correctly, treehouses.
It seems that a family has built a rather large treehouse in their own back yard — in fact, it is so large that the town mayor as decided that it doesn’t meet local zoning codes and wants it removed. The fight has gone all the way to the Mississippi Supreme Court and more than $50,000 in legal fees have been shelled out.
Clearly, this is a family that values their right to a treehouse. Wasn’t that in the Bill of Rights somewhere? I think it was right after “peacable assembly.” The family has started a grass roots (tree roots?) campaign to fight “the man” and keep their sylvan retreat.
But what, I wonder, is this strange attraction to an escape in the tree tops? Or is it more than that? Maybe it’s a playhouse or a fort mentality. Kids are always looking to create a home away from home. My son Dylan is constantly making structures in the back yard out of whatever he can find. And my other two boys aren’t far behind. Out at Innsbrook, they have created a fort in the woods across the creek from our A-frame.
Pattie and I will sit on the deck and listen to the sounds of the boys playing in the distance. There is something oddly wonderful about children’s voices echoing through the wooded valley beneath our deck. When their voices get deeper in a few years we may have to rent children to fulfill this need. Young voices have become as much a part of the woodland sounds to us as the whippoorwills or the spring frogs.
But while we’re happy that they are engaged building their own cabin, we wonder what the fascination is. I guess it’s a kid thing — to always want a getaway, a sanctuary, a place that is closer to nature to slip away to. “Thank goodness adults outgrow that need,” we say (irony alert).
William Butler Yeats wrote a great poem about this very topic (after reading about Thoreau’s fort in the woods). Here it is (enjoy it — but don’t ask me what a wattle is):
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Permalink
04.29.09
Posted in The Woods at 4:11 pm by admin
“Wow” is all I can say. Whether it has been the ideal combination of sun and rain this year, or the cool spring, or the deference to the newly titled Innsbrook Blog, the dogwoods are putting on a spectacular show at Innsbrook this year.
They have been very cunning and have staged their appearance perfectly. These are some trees with a plan.
First, they waited until all the competing flowering trees had done their things. The red bud is done, the service berry is finished, and the blackberries haven’t started yet. So there is no competition for the triumphant return of the dogwood.
Second, they all flowered in the same five minutes in a perfectly synchronized explosion of white blossoms so the effect has been remarkable. The woods went from no dogwoods to being absolutely laced with blooms.
There are a few “don’t miss” natural events at Innsbrook and this is definitely one of them. For a taste of the full effect — take a drive (or walk) around Lake Alpine, though I’m sure they are also awesome in your neck of the woods. I haven’t found information on how long they bloom except for “they have a short blooming period.” I’m sure May 2 and 3 will be the “peak weekend.”
Now for a Cliff Clavin minute. Every wonder why they’re called dogwood? Well I did, and here’s the Wikipedia take on it:
“The word dogwood comes from dagwood, from the use of the slender stems of very hard wood for making ‘dags’ (daggers, skewers). The wood was also highly prized for making loom shuttles, arrows, tool handles, and other small items that required a very hard and strong wood.
“Larger items were also made of dogwood such as the screw in basket-style wine or fruit presses, also made were the first styles of tennis rackets made out of the bark cut in thin strips.”
And finally, in stumbling around Google looking for the bloom duration for dogwoods, I came across a good NPR essay on what music to listen to while viewing dogwoods. For that story click here.
So there you go — come out to Innsbrook this weekend, sit on your deck with a glass of wine (made with the help of a dagwood wine screw) and listen to the Benny Goodman Mozart Clarinet Concerto recommended in the NPR essay…or even better, invent your own dogwood tradition. It’s an event worth celebrating!
Permalink
04.13.09
Posted in The Woods at 11:15 pm by admin
Saturday was the first official deck day for the James family — that’s not really a word we use, but I can’t think of another.
Personally, I’m not one for “relaxing” vacations. I can’t stand lying on the beach for more than a few minutes — and sitting watching the mountains makes me itch to hike. I have been diagnosed with chronic relaxation aversion. The second opinion concurred and all treatment has been to no avail. I just get antsy.
Our deck is completely surrounded by trees (and every Innsbrooker reading this is saying, “Ours too!”).
For our family, a deck day means we are holed up in the treetops. It’s too cool to go to the beach, but the sun and temperature are perfect for wiling away the day surrounded by trees. I tend to find a book to read or deck to sweep, anything to keep from falling into an actual state of rest.
Saturday was such a day. The boys dragged their collection of polar fleece blankets out and covered a sunlit patch of the deck. The blankets are their strategy for keeping toys from falling though the cracks — though sometimes the toys are intentionally sacrificed to the great underneath. Then out came the action figures and Legos. With that, a day of deck play commenced (relaxation isn’t really an option for them).
Redbud at Innsbrook, a wonderful color combination
I, on the other hand, decided to be productive and take some pictures of the red bud for this blog…which, by the way, proved that my earlier statements about red bud being a misnomer was…well…incorrect. The flowers are lilac, but the buds are indeed red. Actually the contrast lends to the effect. Good design! Whoever thought up that color scheme definitely went the extra mile.
After putting in a hard 15 minutes of work photographing red bud and trying to make sure I got the contrasting blue sky, I decided to take a well-deserved break. Alright — it wasn’t 15 minutes — I got the picture on the first try.
The deck was waiting and so was a hammock that a fellow Innsbrooker gave me last year. She got it as a gift in South America — apparently it was hand woven and colored. It may be the gaudiest hammock I have ever seen. But I love the colors. The nice thing about Innsbrook A-frames is you don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks. You can have stuff you love around you — it can be silly or “in poor taste” or sentimental. But if it makes you happy, hang it up. I sometimes wonder why we don’t take the same lighthearted approach in our “real” house.
Perhaps the world's most comfortable -- and colorful -- hammock
So out came the world’s gaudiest hammock. I strung it between two trees and quickly found out it may also be the world’s most comfortable hammock — the yarn is soft and the shape wraps around you allowing in the sun’s warmth. I laid back and listened to the kids playing, aware that this would only last a couple minutes and then my relaxation aversion would send me off on another mission. But oddly, that didn’t happen — well not exactly.
I looked up and realized that the view above might actually be even nicer than the view off the side of the deck toward Lake Innsbrook. The trees do some really amazing things as they arch away from the hammock — things that you don’t see when the leaves are on. The bare limbs look like black lightning against the deep blue sky. Or maybe they resemble aerial images of rivers just before they reach the sea or veins in a leaf or perhaps pictures I’ve seen of the human nervous system. I had an odd moment as I thought about one tree-like pattern (my nervous system) in the act of contemplating another one.
I think those patterns that are repeated throughout nature are called fractals. They are a reminder that everything is connected — that the beauty we see all around us makes sense and is repeated throughout nature, that there is order and like the color coordination of the red buds, the design is a good one.
“I guess I’m busy enough,” I thought as the breeze blew through my hammock while the sun gently warmed me and overhead, paterns of gently swaying limbs assured me that we are all part of the same design. And I felt connected.
The view from the hammock
Permalink