Change a'Comin'

The sun sets alarmingly early now and we're resorting to an alarm clock to help us get up in the mornings.  I find myself waking in the middle of the night, usually 3 or 4 AM because my body is not getting the same clues it was getting even two weeks ago about our progress through the dark hours.  Such are some of the signs that things are changing, and changing rapidly, at the Genuine Faux Farm.

Crazy Maurice is not terribly keen on some of the upcoming changes, or so he told me recently.  And, surprisingly it has nothing to do with shorter days and longer nights.  To Maurice, that's perfectly natural, as is the hibernation process he goes through each Winter.  Believe it or not, Maurice has been around long enough to know that another change, that has less to do with the weather, comes with the turning of the seasons.

The poultry that hang out under his branches will go away.  And the farmers won't visit as often. 

For the last few months or so, one (or both) of us has taken a trek out to the northwest portion of the farm to check on our flocks two to three times a day.  While there, we always greet Crazy Maurice, one of our tree guardians on the farm.

I will admit that many of these visits are short - especially if you consider that trees see time in much bigger chunks than humans do.  But, that works out, oddly enough.  If a tree registers your presence, it tends to remember that you were there for the entirety of a given rotation of the Earth.  At least that's how I interpreted it after some conversations with our Willow.   

If your presence was noted during a day, then you were there for that moment in time that was a day. It doesn't matter so much if you were there for ten hours or ten minutes.  You were there.  You were a part of that time unit and that's a good thing - as long as the tree LIKES having you around.

Now, Crazy Maurice isn't stupid or naive, he just has a different perspective.  Maurice also has a good feel for the difference between quality time and time that isn't quite as... um... quality.  On days where I trot out, do some chores and barely nod in his direction, he might notice my presence.  And if he does, he probably won't consider it a quality interaction.  

On the other hand, on days where I stand out there and listen to his stories or when I teach him new words, Maurice holds on to those events - perhaps more than I do.

Well, Crazy Maurice has been a bit slower to speak recently.  But, when he does, it usually has a wistful tone.  He knows that even the short, low quality, interactions will become less frequent once the birds are gone.  And I did confirm for him that the date to take them to the park was set for this coming Monday.

He tried to be a bit philosophical about it all, reminding me (and probably himself) that he'll be taking his Winter nap soon and won't be able to notice whether I am there or not.  And I, recognizing it all for what it was, was tempted to tell him that I would come out and visit even if the poultry was not out there anymore.  But, I've thought that every year.  And, to be truthful, while I have taken a few trips out there, it's never consistent - because life pulls us in different directions when the seasons change.

Maybe this time, I'll follow through and take a comfortable chair out there for a while on a nice Fall day.  I hope I do.  And if I do, maybe I'll get a new story from Maurice that I can share with all of you.

Maurice Has Company

I've been seeing Crazy Maurice much more frequently lately - at least twice a day - which is much more than we typically visit.  Trees are not usually as attuned to visitors as Maurice, our Weeping Willow, is.  But, we all know that, as far as trees go, Crazy Maurice is positively hasty and much more friendly toward visiting farmers than most trees.

It's not that I don't like visiting Maurice.  I actually find that to be one of my favorite places to go on the farm.  But during busy days, there are other outdoor places that demand our attention.  At least that's true until we move laying hens (or turkeys) out by Maurice.  Then, suddenly, we find ourselves visiting to provide food and water to those birds.  

Maurice reminded me the other day that I really don't need the excuse of these noisy, fluttery, squawky, twitchy, fussy creatures (aka chickens in farmer language).  Actually, the description Maurice used is much longer than noisy, fluttery, squawky, twitchy, fussy...  this was just all I could remember.  You see, trees don't actually have a single name for anything they observe.  Instead, they prefer to describe what they are seeing, hearing and feeling and THAT becomes the name.

And those descriptions are very long because... trees are very observant.  Perhaps you would be too if you were stuck in one place your whole life.

Let's just say that Maurice is often disappointed in the farmers when they complete their chores before he is done with whatever description he is working on.  In fact, I think I heard Maurice trying to describe the farmers to a Cardinal that was perched in his branches and the word "disappointing" was somewhere in the mix.  If a tree is going to make a name (description), it's going to be honest and you'd better be ready for a few less than flattering parts. 

On the other hand, a Cardinal has even less attention span than we do and it took off before our friendly tree could get past two words.  I think Maurice thought a bit more kindly of us after that reminder.  At least I hope that's the case.

Chestnut

We have a chestnut tree in our front yard - planted next to the spot where one of our Bur Oaks used to be.  The memory of the oak is a hollowed out stump and a break in the canopy the other oaks still respect - as if the old tree were still around to use that patch of the sky as its personal solar collection area.

The flowers on the chestnut have been visited regularly by a hummingbird or two, which - of course - makes both of us happy.  We planted this tree a few years ago, but we still have not given it a name.  Or maybe, it hasn't bothered to tell us its name yet.

 Having names for things on the farm is often important for me.  Or, more accurately, having the correct name for a thing is important to me.  I have gotten less hung up on this over time because the farm simply gives me other things I need to worry about.  And, if you name it - it's harder to watch it die.  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of healthy trees, bushes and plants on the farm.  But, we have had enough issues that it kind of wore down the desire to be as attached to the idea of names.

We both recall that we purchased the tree a couple of years ago when we became aware that there had been a breeding and genetic engineering effort to bring back the American Chestnut tree.  And it appears that there may be an attempt to re-forest some areas with this new strain of the American Chestnut.

I admit that I have mixed feelings about this.  But, this is also not a surprise to anyone that knows me.  I appear to have mixed feelings about most everything.

A big part of me would love to see these trees returned to the North American landscape.  I would also love to see American Elms returned to the parkways of our Midwestern towns.  I am saddened by the current losses of ash trees in the United States and I am watching this year as other trees in our area of the world struggle.

I am sad, angry and disappointed that, in each of these cases, humans played a significant role in precipitating these losses.  Dutch Elm Disease was brought in from France with infected logs purchased by a furniture company.  The chestnuts were lost to a blight that was imported by people who wanted to plant Asian chestnut trees.  And, the Emerald Ash Borer probably came across the ocean in wood shipping crates.  In other words, humans are often unkind to nature.

Now, we have groups who are working hard to bring back the chestnut and the elm.  I want to applaud because I miss the elms that I remember.  I want to applaud because I would love to experience the beauty of a chestnut forest.

And I wonder if we actually know what the heck we're doing.
And I wonder what all of the unintended consequences are going to be.

Crazy Maurice (our Weeping Willow) was just telling me yesterday that I think too much.  But, I don't think he really means it quite that way.  Because I often wonder if a big part of our problem is that we don't think enough.

You see, trees have a good deal of time to think, in a very deliberate and thorough way.  While Maurice is likely considered to be 'positively hasty' by many other trees, I suspect he might be reminding me that I flit around the issues quite a bit.

I guess I'll have to think on that for a while.

But It Wasn't Funny

I thought this post featuring Crazy Maurice was a good candidate for a Thursday Throwback post (something I haven't done for a while). After all, Maurice and I are working on a new blog post - but it is taking some time.  Remember, when you are a tree, things take a bit longer to do.  So, this one will have to tide you all over until we are done with the new one.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Crazy Maurice is a young Weeping Willow tree in the northeast section of our farm.  For a significant part of the Summer of 2020, Maurice was keeping watch over the older hen flock as they went about their business, kicking up the dirt around his trunk and taking shelter under his limbs.

Being a young tree, Maurice is still fairly 'hasty' (as an Ent might say), so he frequently has conversations with the humans on the farm.  In fact, he has even authored some blogs for us in the past.  We hope that he will remain hasty enough to continue to talk with us.  But, even if he gives in to the slow, contemplative ways of the older (and possibly wiser) trees, we'll still enjoy visiting him.

This is Crazy Maurice's latest - dictated to me over the course of the Summer (2020).

=======================================================

I do very much enjoy the visits with the Pretty Lady and the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top.  It almost is worth it having all of these fussy, noisy, feathered fussbudgets running around me.  After all, I know they come out here to give them food and water.  I am also aware that they collect eggs from those little buzzards every day.  But, I also know a day will come this Fall when I won't see either of them much.

It's ok.  I usually take a bit of a nap for the colder months anyway.  If they visited then, I am afraid I wouldn't be the best company.  But, it does get a bit lonely out here sometimes.

Blaise (the maple) isn't much of a conversationalist and is destined to be much more tree-ish than ent-ish, in my opinion.  Minnie (the oak) is still too small to tell what she's going to be like.  The conifers think they're better than the rest of us because they stay green all year.  Ya, ya.  Whatever.

But, occasionally, I get to hear the whispered conversations of my elders - the Burr Oaks on the southern part of this farm.  I have learned that, when they talk - I should listen.  And, when I listen, I have to be prepared to listen for a while.  I mean - they are kind of... well... deliberate.   That's a new word the Fuzzy Guy taught me this year when I tried to explain it to him.  I like that word.  And that's not an accident.

See!  I have even learned to make jokes.  That's the Fuzzy Guy's fault too. 

Anyway, this Summer was enjoyable because the Fuzzy Guy was telling me about a story of trees... and some other creatures....  Burrrahobbits?   Eh.  Whatever.  Some little fellow called Billedfrobo?  Well, anyway, that doesn't matter because some of the key characters were Willows and Rowans and an Oak-like creature called an Ent.  

I was a little dismayed that the Willow was portrayed in a less than flattering light - but Fuzzy Guy assured me that he felt my mannerisms held no resemblance to that Old Man Willow character.  Perhaps that tree didn't get to hear stories from nice farmers when he was young?

He told me a story about going to see a, what was it?  Mohvee?  A book that had sound and movement?  Whatever.  I know what a book is, because Pretty Lady explained that one.  I like Pretty Lady, she is ever so kind.

Anyway, he told me that the Ents were sad because they had lost the Entwives.  When asked what Entwives looked like, the Ent said he could not remember.

And Fuzzy Guy told me that some people laughed.

But, it wasn't funny.

Trees do not forget.  And, if they do, it must be a tragedy.  That's another new word my friends taught me - but I am not as pleased to have learned it as I was with the word "deliberate."

I listen to my elders, the Oaks to the south.  They tell me about the ball of fire that took one of their number away.  They remember her shape and feel, still refusing to encroach on her space even though she has been gone many seasons now.  They have grudgingly allowed admittance of a young sapling (or so I have heard), nearby, but they still see their missing sibling when they look at that open space.

They have not forgotten.

And it isn't funny.

What would it take for a tree to forget?   After all, the Oaks tell me it is tree-ish to remember.  It is tree-ish to endure.  And it is tree-ish...to not talk to the farmers.

I whispered back to them that that wasn't funny.

And they laughed.

I'll remember that.

Not So Marigolds - Another Faux Real Story

 After yesterday's story, I received some feedback that I thought would be worth sharing here.

First - there was a question about how Maurice took the story I told in yesterday's blog.  My direct reply was that Maurice was getting pretty sleepy.  Perhaps this was a bedtime story for him?  Though, if it were, I would have selected something a little less frightening from the tree perspective.  Our Weeping Willow's response was just a long, drawn out, "hmmmmmmmm."   

I was worried that, perhaps, he was upset with me, so I went out today.  Upon seeing me, he asked for another story.  And, it just so happens, a comment in yesterdays' blog ALSO asked for another story.

So, here you go!

Our desire to grow our gardens without chemicals has become stronger over the years, but we held this conviction even with our first garden in Burke, Wisconsin.  Tammy and I probably had a tendency to think this way already, but Tammy likes to point to the moment when we read the label for a popular pest control dust that was commonly used by gardeners.  It said something about NOT eating anything treated with the product for 48 hours (or something like that) and we both asked the question, "What sort of magic happens between hour 48 and 49?"

The answer?  Nothing special... the product would not just simply disappear because it was following label directions.  

Anyway, I tell you that little tidbit so I can tell you THIS story!

-------

Our landlords were kind and had a section of ground tilled up for our garden. We already knew that there were many rabbits in our area and we had nightmarish visions of our entire garden being mowed over by the 'evil' little critters. We didn't really have the money for fencing and we weren't anxious to spray a repellent or kill the bunnies. So, what to do?

Thus begins our first foray into companion planting. We had heard from somewhere (or someone) that marigolds were a good companion plant for vegetable crops. Why? We didn't know. But, when we also heard that rabbits did NOT like marigolds and would tend to avoid them, we formulated a plan.

It was a simple plan that would be the master stroke. It would solve all of our rodent problems! Let's go buy enough marigolds to circle our garden. Surely it would provide us with a natural fence that would keep the critters out, be a friend to our vegetables, AND look pretty as well!

 

In went the garden. Around it went the marigolds.  As we stood back to look at our handiwork, we came to realize that the were not all that big - now that you saw them in the ground. They were only 2 inches tall - most with a single marigold flower.  We had spread them out evenly on the border and watered them in well. 

 

In one day, we had planted our first garden, complete with a natural fence.  Even if that fence looked a little... well... inadequate.

 

But, hey!  Rabbits do NOT like marigolds!  We were sure we had put enough of them around the garden to do the job.  So we went inside, feeling quite pleased with ourselves.

Our first morning foray into the garden revealed our first gardening tragedy. The tiny peppers were fine. The little tomato plants were fine. The broccoli plants? Well, we lost a couple. The marigolds?

Every last marigold plant had been nipped just above ground level. And, the rest of the plants (with now wilted flowers) were neatly lying next to the stem. It was true. Rabbits do not like marigolds.

And they had just seen to their removal.

Box of Maple - A Faux Real Story

 

Crazy Maurice asked me to tell him a story.  You see, the good thing about Maurice is that he understands that his stories often take too long for him to tell the farmer - but he knows the farmer can manage to tell him a story AND he tolerates the brevity.

Maurice did not particularly like the idea of me cutting a tree down, but he actually asked if I could explain why humans sometimes cut down trees that had not lived a full life.  So, since he had that question AND he wanted a story - I told him this one:

---------

Once upon a time there lived a family who had a backyard that was filled with one too many trees. The mighty pin oak and the sprawling locust had left very little sky for the maple tree to reach into with its sparsely leaved branches. While the tree had, in fact, grown to a respectible 20 feet in height and had a 3 inch diameter trunk, it was a bit sickly and was judged to be entirely too close to the humans' abode.

The decree came down from the parents of the household that the tree should be removed. And this task fell to their first child on a fine June day. Out he marched, with a saw and a branch pruner, determined to reward the trust placed in him to do the task efficiently and thoroughly. 

 

Taking the tree down in manageable portions, it was soon reduced to a pile of brush. But, what should he do to prepare its transport to the city brushpile? The solution came in the form of one cardboard box that was slated for disposal. This box had once held an artificial Christmas tree. What better container to use for a downed maple?

In a careful and well thought out manner, the tree was cut into lengths that were very nearly a perfect fit for the length of the box. Any side branches were cut off of each limb. As a result, all of the larger branches and the trunk were placed lenghthwise in the box. And, happily, there was still plenty of room!

In went the small branches, covered with leaves. Anything that didn't fit well was trimmed down until it did. By mid-afternoon, there was no pile in the yard, just one box - complete with a lid that fit perfectly over the contents.

Upon the father's return from work, he went to the backyard and wondered out loud where the brush from the tree had gone. His son, of course, proudly pointed to the box.

"Son," he said evenly, "have you tried to move that box yet?"

To make a long story less long - it took a makeshift ramp and both of us to wrangle the box into the vehicle. Getting it out again was only a little less difficult. To this day, I wonder if Dad didn't force the transfer of brush to other boxes just to temper the disappointment I might have felt if we had done so.

 

Or maybe he was just as stubborn as I was.

Crazy Maurice Stays Up Late

Crazy Maurice is a young tree, and the older trees remind him constantly that he is far too hasty.  The old Oaks on the farm chide Maurice for his conversations with the Fuzzy Guy and the Pretty Lady.  But, now that the Ash trees succumbed to Emerald Ash Borer, our Weeping Willow is rapidly becoming one of the biggest trees on the farm - though he is having trouble trying to catch Runt, the Cottonwood that took root over by the old barn.

If Maurice is truly hasty, you wouldn't know it by how long he chooses to stay awake in the Fall.  Even the Oaks have allowed their leaves to turn fully brown and many have fallen to the ground.  As a matter of fact, Maurice is among the first to wake in the early Spring as well.

The farmers are reasonably observant and they have noticed this pattern with the friendliest tree on the farm.  Since the farmer had some branches and other cuttings to deposit on the nearby Mount Brushmore, he decided to hang out with the willow at the end of a nice day that was full of farm work.

I asked Maurice why he liked getting up early and staying up late.... (remember, a tree stays awake 24 hours a day and 7 days a week during the warm months before entering a long slumber in the Winter).

Maurice usually has many words for me and he likes collecting new human words from me as well.  But, this particular evening he said one word.

"Look."

I turned and this is what I saw.

And I stood there in companionable silence with a tree that is early to rise and late to slumber - admiring artwork presented that evening on the planet Earth.

Then it struck me.  I had done the same thing with the old Oaks a few days prior.  While they grow sleepy a bit faster than Maurice, they are still awake enough to rustle appreciatively as they, too, admire the colors this world has to offer.

The oaks and the willows know.  Late October and early November in Iowa provides a canvas that is worth staying up for.

I believe I'll spend a little more time absorbing lessons from the trees in the coming year.  I would say it holds a fair bit of promise.

Crazy Maurice Awakens

Crazy Maurice (our Weeping Willow tree) has been showing signs of waking up since the days just after the cold snap in February.  You can usually spot some of the earliest and clearest signs of Spring as the stems of willows often turn a bright yellow - especially if you contrast it to either the brown or white that is usually prevalent in our Iowa landscape during the cold months.

In fact, the yellow is changing to yellow-green as the buds of new leaves start to swell.  Crazy Maurice is actually quite awake right now, but he is also quite busy.  After all, waking up after a long Winter can be an all-consuming process.

Even so, Crazy Maurice was kind enough to offer up some beginning of the year thoughts that we will share here. 

---------------------------------

 

It was actually nice to have a visit from the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Hat, despite what the old Oaks on the farm say about him (note: they said it wasn't a good idea for trees to talk to farmers).  Sometimes, Fuzzy Guy comes out to my corner of the farm on that rolling, red thing that growls like it's always wanting more to eat even though it isn't really hungry.... (he means Rosie, our tractor).  But, this time, he walked out here to just look around and to check on me.

Say what you want about farmers, but it felt pretty nice to have him come out just because he wanted to see how I was doing.

Of course, he was also checking in with some of the other trees out here and he needs to see if there are things he needs to do.  I understand that.  But, still... he did come to visit me.

Fuzzy Guy told me that there are some flowers showing up at the farm including one type he calls a Pasque Flower.  Since I don't get around too much (ha ha.  That's a tree joke.) He took a moment to describe them to me.  They sound like a flower I could get to like.  They are among the first to emerge from the ground and bloom each year.  I can respect another plant that likes to get an early start on things each year - even if they are pretty darned small and even though they handle the cold months by hiding under the surface of the soil.

I made a suggestion that it would be neat to have one of those flowers within my range of sight and Fuzzy Guy said something about "We'll see...."  

This is where I wish I could teach Fuzzy Guy about using his words.  As it is, it is hard enough for me to understand him because he uses so few of them to explain things that deserve many MORE words.  I just know, for example, that these little "Pasque Flowers" deserve a much bigger and more useful name.

Anyway, I suspect this "We'll see" thing is code for something.  I mean, if he just put one of these flowers nearby, then we could BOTH see it.  Right?  So, that could be what he means, couldn't it?  But, that's not the sense I got.  

The good thing about being a tree is that I do have a little extra height that allows me to see more things at a time than short farmers.  Fuzzy Guy said he could share a picture of what he can see from my location, so I'll trust that he'll do that. (note, see above picture from last Spring)

Being one of the first to wake up enough to get a look around gives me the opportunity to welcome some of the "hops around in branches, flaps in the sky and make pretty, high-pitched noises things" (birds) as they return.  The "noisy, squawky, ground hoppers that the farmer feeds, etc..." (chickens) are a bit further away from me this time of year - and I am very fine with that.  Those things just never seem to shut up and it doesn't seem to matter what time of year it is for them to chatter.  

Don't get me wrong.  The chickens (as the Fuzzy Guy calls them) are fine visitors in the warmer months.  They can be amusing and quite absurd (a new word Fuzzy Guy tought me today! I like it!).  But, I do prefer a chance to read the news of the world as it unfolds in the Spring without their incessant interruptions.  

The grasses and clover in the pasture areas are greening up and there are hints that my other tree friends out here are getting the sap running.  

Fuzzy Guy mentioned that the Ash trees on the farm are dead or dying.  Of course, I knew this was happening because we (the trees) do share the news.  The Ashes really weren't a bad sort, to my way of thinking.  A bit quicker to accept a 'hasty tree,' such as myself - unlike the old Oaks.  Perhaps not the most creative - but they came from good seed, as we say.  Sadly, their end came prematurely.  But, sometimes there is no way of avoiding such things.

I am aware that Pretty Lady and Fuzzy Guy have planted some younger trees near the old Ashes over the years.  Since I get most of my tree news from the furthest parts of the farm from the bigger trees (because I can see and hear them), I only get partial updates about the younglings.  The Oaks claim they don't think much about us - preferring the company of our elders, but they say I am getting hard to ignore.

I think that might also be because there are so few around here that are older trees.  It's something to ponder.

Now I shall spend some time observing the turning of the Earth.  There is so much to see.  And so much to learn.  And so many words to describe it all. 

Turkey Smiles

 "Oh look!" I said to myself.  "The turkeys are visiting Crazy Maurice.  I should take a picture of that."

 

"Oh look!" said the turkeys to each other.  

 

"There's the farmer!  I think he wants to take a picture of us!"

"We should run towards him so he can do just that!"

"Wait?  Why is he putting the camera down now?"

 And so, the turkeys ran the rest of the way to the border of the turkey pasture and hen pasture.  They raised a crowd gobble in an effort to get the attention of the departing farmer - but he continued to walk away.  

Their sounds became a bit more dejected.  "Don't you want a really GOOD picture of us?  I thought we were your favorites?  We'll even smile!"

Ok, that got the farmer's attention.  He has yet to see a turkey smile.

Do ANY of these turkey faces actually have a smile?  You tell me!

Oh - wait!   I found the bird that was smiling.....

Crazy Maurice's Monarchy

In the process of checking with Crazy Maurice, our young Weeping Willow tree, about his last blog post, he expressed an interest in providing me with more on the blog.  This was positively hasty on his part, but it was a good topic and worthy of putting out there.  

You can see Maurice (this picture is from a year or two ago) in the background of the picture below.  He's a bit bigger now!

================================================

The Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top was nice enough to come out to ask if it would be ok to expand the Knuckleheads pasture (he means turkeys -Fuzzy Guy) to include the area around where I live.  I told him if it means more visits from Pretty Lady...   Well, and Fuzzy Guy, too, I suppose.   

As I mentioned in my last post, trees simply do not forget.  Trees are also very observant.   That's my new word for today - I described what I wanted to say and Fuzzy Guy helped me discover the right word.  But, this might be why I get along with Fuzzy Guy pretty well since he tends to put some value on observation as well. 

We were talking about the little fluttery things that can't seem to fly straight.  He called the orange and black ones "Monarchs," but I like calling them "little fluttery things that can't fly straight and occasionally glide, love flowers, and roost in tree limbs at night, sometimes tickling the host tree..." (note, there was more to this name - Fuzzy Guy).  

This is where Fuzzy Guy and I sometimes have a problem.  You see, trees give names that are always growing as we observe more.  Humans tend to rely on a short name and hope that it conveys enough for others to understand what is being said.  I believe that this is why humans have so much trouble communicating.  They are always in such a rush to get things said that they don't see what needs to be said.  They rely on these silly abbreviations (another new word today!).

I would say that Fuzzy Guy does pretty well as far as his observations of the "little fluttery things...." and so does Pretty Lady.  But, I have observed other humans on the farm, and I do not think their names would be nearly as long for the "little fluttery things..." because they know so much less about them.

How can a short name, like "Monarch" possibly help another being understand what it is?  If we tell a being's full story with their name, wouldn't it be harder to discount their existence and importance?  

I told the farmer he should be more like trees.  I think he might agree, but he had to run off and do something else.

There are days I envy his legs, but I do not envy the short attention span.

==================================================================

Farmers note:  Crazy Maurice's name for Monarch is a fair bit longer than what I shared above.  Part of the name has to do with how many Monarchs Maurice has seen in his relatively short life.  Even this young tree includes words like "infrequent" and "fewer" in his descriptive name for this butterfly.  But, perhaps the word that shocked me the most was the word "precious."  

At the time, I did not think to ask about that.  What makes a butterfly "precious" to a willow tree?  

I will say that this year has featured very few Monarchs on the farm and I find that fact to be distressing.  I, personally, have taken great joy on the days when dozens of Monarchs have visited our hedges of zinnias we plant each year.  We had zinnias again this year.  In fact, there was a 400 foot long row of them in the East fields this year.  

And very few Monarchs.

My fear is that Maurice's name for Monarch will include "and were never seen again" at some point in the not too distant future.  If the Monarchs leave for good, the trees will see it.  And they won't forget.

But It Wasn't Funny

Crazy Maurice is a young Weeping Willow tree in the northeast section of our farm.  For a significant part of the Summer, Maurice was keeping watch over the older hen flock as they went about their business, kicking up the dirt around his trunk and taking shelter under his limbs.

Being a young tree, Maurice is still fairly 'hasty' (as an Ent might say), so he frequently has conversations with the humans on the farm.  In fact, he has even authored some blogs for us in the past.  We hope that he will remain hasty enough to continue to talk with us.  But, even if he gives in to the slow, contemplative ways of the older (and possibly wiser) trees, we'll still enjoy visiting him.

This is Crazy Maurice's latest - dictated to me over the course of the Summer.

=======================================================

I do very much enjoy the visits with the Pretty Lady and the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top.  It almost is worth it having all of these fussy, noisy, feathered fussbudgets running around me.  After all, I know they come out here to give them food and water.  I am also aware that they collect eggs from those little buzzards every day.  But, I also know a day will come this Fall when I won't see either of them much.

It's ok.  I usually take a bit of a nap for the colder months anyway.  If they visited then, I am afraid I wouldn't be the best company.  But, it does get a bit lonely out here sometimes.

Blaise (the maple) isn't much of a conversationalist and is destined to be much more tree-ish than ent-ish, in my opinion.  Minnie (the oak) is still too small to tell what she's going to be like.  The conifers think they're better than the rest of us because they stay green all year.  Ya, ya.  Whatever.

But, occasionally, I get to hear the whispered conversations of my elders - the Burr Oaks on the southern part of this farm.  I have learned that, when they talk - I should listen.  And, when I listen, I have to be prepared to listen for a while.  I mean - they are kind of... well... deliberate.   That's a new word the Fuzzy Guy taught me this year when I tried to explain it to him.  I like that word.  And that's not an accident.

See!  I have even learned to make jokes.  That's the Fuzzy Guy's fault too. 

Anyway, this Summer was enjoyable because the Fuzzy Guy was telling me about a story of trees... and some other creatures....  Burrrahobbits?   Eh.  Whatever.  Some little fellow called Billedfrobo?  Well, anyway, that doesn't matter because some of the key characters were Willows and Rowans and an Oak-like creature called an Ent.  

I was a little dismayed that the Willow was portrayed in a less than flattering light - but Fuzzy Guy assured me that he felt my mannerisms held no resemblance to that Old Man Willow character.  Perhaps that tree didn't get to hear stories from nice farmers when he was young?

He told me a story about going to see a, what was it?  Mohvee?  A book that had sound and movement?  Whatever.  I know what a book is, because Pretty Lady explained that one.  I like Pretty Lady, she is ever so kind.

Anyway, he told me that the Ents were sad because they had lost the Entwives.  When asked what Entwives looked like, the Ent said he could not remember.

And Fuzzy Guy told me that some people laughed.

But, it wasn't funny.

Trees do not forget.  And, if they do, it must be a tragedy.  That's another new word my friends taught me - but I am not as pleased to have learned it as I was with the word "deliberate."

I listen to my elders, the Oaks to the south.  They tell me about the ball of fire that took one of their number away.  They remember her shape and feel, still refusing to encroach on her space even though she has been gone many seasons now.  They have grudgingly allowed admittance of a young sapling (or so I have heard), nearby, but they still see their missing sibling when they look at that open space.

They have not forgotten.

And it isn't funny.

What would it take for a tree to forget?   After all, the Oaks tell me it is tree-ish to remember.  It is tree-ish to endure.  And it is tree-ish...to not talk to the farmers.

I whispered back to them that that wasn't funny.

And they laughed.

I'll remember that.

Chestnut

We have a chestnut tree in our front yard - planted next to the spot where one of our Bur Oaks used to be.  The memory of the oak is a hollowed out stump and a break in the canopy the other oaks still respect - as if the old tree were still around to use that patch of the sky as its personal solar collection area.

Naming things is often important for me.  Or, more accurately, having the correct name for a thing is important to me.  I have gotten less hung up on this over time because the farm simply gives me other things I need to worry about.  But, it still bothers me that I did not properly record this tree type when we planted it.  Perhaps it is because we have enough experience on the farm with trees, bushes and plants that just didn't make it.

If you name it - it's harder to watch it die.  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of healthy trees, bushes and plants on the farm.  But, we have had enough issues that it kind of wore down the desire to be as attached to naming.

We both seem to recall that we purchased the tree a couple of years ago when we became aware that there had been a breeding and genetic engineering effort to bring back the American Chestnut tree.  And it appears that there may be an attempt to re-forest some areas with this new strain of the American Chestnut.

I admit that I have mixed feelings about this.  But, this is also not a surprise to anyone that knows me.  I appear to have mixed feelings about most everything.

A big part of me would love to see these trees returned to the North American landscape.  I would also love to see American Elms returned to the parkways of our Midwestern towns.  I am saddened by the current losses of ash trees in the United States as well and wish they weren't also leaving us with a bit less shade to rest under.

On the other hand, I am sad, angry and disappointed that, in each of these cases, humans precipitated these losses.  Dutch Elm Disease was brought in from France with infected logs purchased by a furniture company.  The chestnuts were lost to a blight that was imported by people who wanted to plant Asian chestnut trees.  And, the Emerald Ash Borer probably came across the ocean in wood shipping crates.  In other words, humans are often unkind to nature.

Now, we have groups who are working hard to bring the chestnut and the elm.  I want to applaud because I miss the elms that I remember.  I want to applaud because I would love to have experience the beauty of a chestnut forest.

And I wonder if we actually know what the heck we're doing.
And I wonder what all of the unintended consequences are going to be.

Crazy Maurice (our Weeping Willow) was just telling me yesterday that I think too much.  But, I don't think he really means it quite that way.  Because I often wonder if a big part of our problem is that we don't think enough.

You see, trees have a good deal of time to think, in a very deliberate and thorough way.  While Maurice is likely considered to be 'positively hasty' by many other trees, I suspect he might be reminding me that I flit around the issues quite a bit.

I guess I'll have to think on that for a while.

Miss Tree Ted

As I was taking my 'farm tour' a couple of days ago and taking photos of the things that I saw, I mused that our record with trees on the farm is not necessarily a good one.  Ok, it isn't necessarily a bad one either since there are plenty of success stories.  But, the reality is that our farm offers some challenges, including the high water table and semi-frequent strong wind gusts that have little else to stop them as the blow on through the farm.

Count'em - the good and the bad.

There are seven trees in the photo above that we have planted since we arrived at the farm.  There are three that were here form the beginning.  Of them, two were intentional and we're pretty sure the cedar at left of the photo was not.  We have had a reasonable amount of success in this area because it is one of the 'higher' spots on the farm.  There were, at one time, three crab apple trees (put in a couple of years ago).  One failed to make it through the first winter, so we replaced it (the smaller one at left).  A third didn't get caged before a combination of deer and rabbit took it out.  We told you about the poor Gingko tree in our Mid May farm tour.  

On the other hand, the spruces and the white pine look pretty good, though the pine is growing slower than we might normally expect. 

Sadly, the two large ash trees are most certainly on their way out.  We don't see much reason to take them down a they provide some good woodpecker habitat and they are still leafing out some.  They aren't next to any structures, so we're inclined to leave them as habitat and clean up as they come down in their own time.

The front of the house has had oak trees in front of it for quite some time.  We love Burr Oaks.  And, you know what they say?  If it ain't Burr Oak, don't fix it!  Um.  Ok, they don't say that.

Oaks are slow growers and long-lived, typically.  One of the group did succumb to a lightning strike several years ago and another has some very large dead branches.  Otherwise, they seem fairly healthy... except.  We have noticed a problem called "Oak Tatters" for the past few years.  The causes for this problem are not firmly established, however there is a strong possibility that certain kinds of herbicides could be a cause.  If you wish to hear from people I respect on this topic, Charity Nebbe hosts Bob Hartzler, Mark Vitosh and Jesse Randall on Talk of Iowa.  And, this Iowa State Extension article also discusses possibilities.

From an anecdotal perspective, years we have noted this problem on our trees have corresponded with our observing an herbicide spray event within a couple of miles on the farm when winds were in excess of 15 miles per hour.  Most of the damage has been on the side of the trees facing the observed spray.  Beyond that, we have no proof.  This year, for example, we DID have unseasonably cool conditions at the point the young buds were swelling.  But, like so many things in this world, there is likely not ONE cause, there is an aggregate of things that causes the situation.  If enough of these things are present - you get Oak Tatters.

Peach trees and the uphill battle they face in Zone 4 climates aren't unknown to anyone who has tried them.  Our poor peach trees have also had to deal with extremely wet soil AND wind that has pushed them in that wet soil.  Believe it or not, the tree above does have some leaves and blooms up at the top.  We have gotten some peaches over the years off of this fine tree.  But, I am afraid its time with us is nearly done.  That certainly won't stop us from trying again.

We have several apple trees and had two in the South pasture that have gotten to a very nice size and have been very productive.  Unfortunately, one of them got hit by wind gusts from a couple of directions in a short period of time and it simply was wrestled to the ground.  We haven't had the heart to clean it all up because it has come back each of the past two Springs.  We are almost afraid to spend time staking and pruning it for fear that the extra attention might kill it.  Sometimes you just praise the tree and let it be.

When we first arrived on the farm there was a huge Cottonwood on the northwest corner of the farm.  Not soon after our arrival, half of the tree came down in a windstorm (see a theme here?).  The other half lasted a couple more years until it, too, came down.  But, it didn't come down before it had a couple of children take root.  One is in the swampy area by the barn.  We've just let it grow and it appears to be quite happy.  In fact, it likes to talk to us when there is a nice breeze as we work in the field.

The apple trees in the north pasture have had a better time of it than those we planted in the south pasture area.  That doesn't mean they haven't had their share of adversity, but they keep on plugging on.  We've been able to feed ourselves from our own apple trees pretty well for several years now - even getting enough to give to our CSA members (and occasionally selling extra).  We still patronize a couple of our local orchards, such as Blue Ridge Orchard in Denver and Apples on the Avenue near Nashua.

At some point, we'll let Crazy Maurice, the Weeping Willow, introduce you to his friends in the northwest portion of the farm.  Until then, have a fine remainder of your day!

Crazy Maurice Talks About Neighbors

Crazy Maurice is our farm's local creature correspondent for the blog and we felt it was about time that he give us a report on some of the natural neighbors we've seen recently.  For those who do not know, Crazy Maurice is the resident Weeping Willow tree on the northwest corner of the Genuine Faux Farm.  He first appeared on our blog when he gave his two cents worth last Fall.

Crazy Maurice

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------

 The Pretty Lady and the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top have not been out to see me nearly as much this Summer as they did last Fall.  I have to admit that I have been a little disappointed by this as I find their company agreeable.  However, they assured me at our last visit (when they asked me to write this post) that we would be seeing each other much more in coming days!  They also assured me that I would not have to deal with those silly chickens again this year.  If you'll recall, I found them amusing, but they can get on your nerves with all of the talking:

"That's my spot, get out of my spot!  That's MY spot! Get OUT of my spot!"
"I'm laying an egg!  I'm laying an EGG! I'm laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaying an EGGGGGG!"
"Give me food!  I want more food! You call that food?!?  I want food!"

I was able to observe the turkeys last year and found them to be a bit less vocal and Pretty Lady told me I would get to see them a bit closer this year.  I think that will be ok, but I am learning that you don't really know someone until you live with them for a while.

 Once we got past June, things on the farm have gotten much dryer.  I realize the farmers are happy about it, but I don't wind the wet so much.  Still, I have to agree with them - the last year through early Summer was too wet for our farm.  Some of my tree friends failed to survive the Winter and the Fuzzy Guy was saying he thought it was because they were in some the areas that didn't dry out.  It was hard for me to watch while the farmer took out the remains of one of the 'Bristle Brothers,'  but it wasn't pleasant looking that spruce's remains every day either.

On the other hand, the wet weather has encouraged an increase in the number of frogs we have had this year.  I've had more tree frogs hanging around in my branches than I ever remember.  I admit that they tickle a little bit, but generally I like having them around.

Most of the frogs aren't looking for much attention, but we have a couple that are looking for notoriety.  Russell, the Cucumber Frog, has been in the cucumber patch most of the Summer.  Unlike past cucumber frogs, Russell doesn't like to jump out at the farmer much.  Instead, he'll just move a bit out of the way and observe as the farmer harvests.  Bob, on the other hand, likes to hang out in the tub that catches the water from the veggie cleaning station.  It seems like all he does is float around in the water, though I heard him singing the other day.

It is my understanding that the 'henlets' are on the other side of the Poultry Pavillion right now.

Pretty Lady collecting eggs.

Pretty Lady told me they were going to move the young chickens into the flock with the older chickens soon.  The next day is always quite an event.


You see, the hens are neighbors, of a sort.  They reside in the Poultry Pavillion at night and they come out to their pasture during the day.  Their pasture is not too far away from my location, but they ARE far enough away that I don't have to be bothered by their chatter most of the time. 

But, the day after moving day?

"Who are you?! That's my spot, get out of my spot!  That's MY spot! Get OUT of my spot!"
"I'm laying an egg!  I'm laying an EGG! I'm laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaying an EGGGGGG!  Hey!  New bird!  Stay away from my EEEEEEGGGGG!"
"Give me food!  I want more food! You call that food?!?  I want food!  You can't have that food, it is mine!"

Ya.  Same words, just directed and with extra emphasis so it can be heard everywhere on the farm.


The farmers added a new bee hive to the farm this year (yes, we've had honey bees here before) and these have been very pleasant neighbors.  I especially like it when they come by and hum a tune for me.

Lately, I have been most entertained by the new hatching of dragonflies!  The wetter year has provided a bit more support for them and the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top told me this is the largest population of dragonflies he has seen since he got here.  I can just sit here and watch them hover, dive and spin.  Some of them have favorite places to land in my branches.  They will often use them as a sort of 'jumping off' point to go grab some insect as a snack.  Then they come back and chew a bit.  Happily, most dragonflies know to chew with their mouth closed so we don't have to have discussions about manners.

Can't see the dragonflies?  Click on the picture to enlarge and look at the sky!