💾 Archived View for muppet.flounder.online › badnaturalist › 031021.gmi captured on 2024-02-05 at 09:25:54. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2021-12-03)
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Took a left from my normal path and diverted downhill. Now facing upslope, which I've never considered doing before. The trees all seem to lean towards me, leering and taunting. The eyes of past branches must blink when I'm looking down. There are most cedars and firs here; Most are spindly with tufts of green stories above me, but some decay where they stand.
In front of me is a fallen tree snapped next to the base. Strands of bark are the threads associating the two parts. They say "I'm cedar, also, who the hell kicked me over?!". Humble but proficient mosses bedazzle the trunk with sporophytes. The stool-leg branches prop the tree trunk up, so the whole thing looks like a fallen L that's also a caterpillar. The boughs are frail, but they are green and grow upwards.
It dawns on me: The bark is not thread, it is shreds of ripped skin protecting intact veins until the bitter end. The tree is alive.
I have been spending more time with my best friend, who is a certified field guide and excellent naturalist. They are very patient with and embracing of me. At first I was too scared to ask questions, to expose my invalidity. All I have learned of the outdoors, I have learned enclosed in concrete walls. It took months of us walking but finally I am beginning to ask for their insight. They are proud but expect nothing of me but to walk with them, even in silence.
We have walked around the county line lake a few times, each with more questions from me. First I asked questions I was sure we both didn't know - mostly about birds, which they aren't proficient in. But I've made by way to asking things they could answer with a smile and a story.
The reward was immediate: We spotted baby squirrels, bryozoans in the lake, wetland offgassing, and myriad mushrooms and decay.
I translate that knowledge to today as I observe and consciously notice more small things.
Bird: Insistent, persistent WAIT WAIT WAIT
Bird: Metronome-like tswoo-wee, tswo-wee, tswoo-wee
Speech-like chattering of squirrels, and the rattle of theirs claws on bark. I am convinced that squirrels are the woods' toddlers.
Bird: CHU/CHU CHU/CHU
Bird: YAW! NYAW! NYAW! (I could have sworn it was a person!)
Nurse stumps were also something I learned about indoors. There are many here. One was a black and soft decaying stump with a furious child, a courageous and brilliantly green Pacific Yew the size of a Bonzai tree. Another was a fir that had died, decaying while standing atop a stump twice its age at mortem. Now I observe another young fir, spindly but for it strong, that curves at the bottom to meet a mossy, segmented nurse. The roots crawl around her, seeking ground.
The death of trees is the nourishment of the next birth; I wish we humans could die so purposefully.
Trying to learn Lushootseed words as I re-lean native species.
x̌payʔ - cedar (is it x̌payʔ or x̌payʔac? i've seen variations)
čəbidac - douglas fir
c̓əx̌bidac - pacific yew
c̓əlaqayac - sitka spruce