Call of the wild vs. scream of the grading pile

perfoliate bellwort

I wonder what harmonic convergence of conditions resulted in a massive bloom of perfoliate bellwort on the slope across from our meadow. Most years I have to hunt to find one or two in bloom, but suddenly they're all over the place, or all over that one particular place--I haven't seen them anywhere else. They're small and subtle and easy to overlook, but I love to see those buttery-yellow ribbonlike blooms fluttering like feathers in the breeze. 


Nearby, Solomon's Seal unfurls, its incipient blooms dangling beneath the stalk. The leaves emerge in delicate curls before eventually straightening into fernlike fronds. It looks like a banner year for Solomon's Seal, along with mayapples and more unusual wildflowers. My birding-and-botanizing buddy introduced me to miterwort, so named because the tiny white blossoms are said to resemble the headgear worn by cardinals. (Not the bird. Don't be silly. A bird wouldn't be caught dead in one of those silly hats.)

Solomon's Seal

We heard a phoebe call and found its nest, and we watched a catbird mewing in a tree just across the creek, its deep-blue feathers shining purple in the afternoon light. The call of the Louisiana waterthrush drew us along the bank, binoculars at the ready, but we never saw the bird. 

"You'll have to come down here every day about this time and listen for it," said my colleague, but we both know that's unlikely to happen this week. How can I heed the call of the waterthrush when the grading pile is screaming so obnoxiously?

sitting in the catbird seat

Squirrel Corn