Tag Archives: Nature

Travel Tuesday: The redwood forests

We cut down three 70-year-old trees on our property last week, and it made me unreasonably sad.

The Chinese elm trees were mostly dead, and it was time for them to go, but I miss them and it made me think of a trip a couple of years ago to northern California when we drove through the Redwood forest.

You may have sung the lyrics to “This Land is Your Land” when you were a youngster, but a walk through the forest here will have them ringing in your head for days: “From the redwood forest to the Gulf Steam water, this land is made for you and me.”


Look up and behold, in a Redwood forest, you feel like you’re in a special place.

California’s coastal redwoods, which grow on the northern coast (the scientific name is sequoia sempervirens), can grow up to 377 feet tall, the tallest living things on earth. Like the related sequoia trees, redwoods are long lived, due in part to their bark, which can be up to a foot thick. That bark protects a tree from cold and from forest fire.

Our trip two years ago through California included a drive and walk through the Redwood National and State Parks, an experience I can’t recommend highly enough. Being there, breathing in the piney air and feeling the silence as much as hearing it, one is reminded of dinosaurs and is tempted to believe in dryads and wood nymphs. The trees are alive, and they might be smiling or frowning or about to reach out and touch you. No wonder one of California’s stereotypes is of tree huggers. Even a logger’s gotta love a tree like that.

Standing among those majestic trees reminds me I am nothing, and my life, however long it is, passes in a blink. The “little” trees we removed from our property are gone, but not forgotten.

If nature is a place of worship, the redwood forests are cathedrals. Worth a trip.


Good neighbor + good timing = good show

Sometimes I’m just amazed at the kindness of strangers.

Some benefactors make me want to be a better, more generous person.

Don was that good neighbor to us yesterday.

He took us for a boat ride, and it turned out to be the most memorable jaunt on the water I think I’ve ever experienced.

We visiting the area of Ten Thousand Islands. I find this ironic, coming from the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Here in southwest Florida, the bits of land are sprinkled in the water like the pools of water are spread across the land in Minnesota.

Don has spent his winters here for 30 years so he has a lot of experience navigating these shallow waters between islands and mangroves (or, he joked, he has one year of experience 30 times over).

The wind was calm, and the sun was high in the sky. Don has a boat, and he offered us a ride. Who wouldn’t want a boat ride on such a beautiful day?!

He toured the nearby mangroves, showed us an osprey nest (I’m pretty sure it was an osprey — I’m no birder) and brought us to the edge of the Gulf.

And then the show began.

He instructed us to look for fins in the water, and we spied some dolphins frolicking in one of the bays.

As we approached, another boat met us from the other direction, and the dolphins discovered his wake. What fun!

dolphin leaping

Then the dolphins discovered our wake. There must have been at least a dozen of them! I’m no National Geographic photographer (and I only had my iPhone), but several times we saw dolphins right next to our boat and swimming beneath us.

Here’s a shot of a school of dolphins behind us (do dolphins swim in schools?).

dolphin school

And here’s a shot of dolphins swimming in front our boat.

dolphin close

For 20 or 30 minutes, Don drove around and around in circles playing with these amazing and charming creatures. More than once he said we were being treated to a special show; he meant the dolphins, but I know his patience and knowledge of the waters had brought us to this serendipity.

Don’s kind offer and generosity with his time meant we got a special gift — a personal, up-close performance of some of nature’s most fascinating sea life.

The lowly ‘shroom


Had nature any outcast face,
Could she a son contemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
That mushroom, — it is him.

~ Emily Dickinson

Nest test

Nothing like a slaughter to put you in the mood for spring, right?

You’ve heard of the phrase “first, do no harm”? It’s a doctor’s guiding principle (though I sometimes think oncologists walk on the wrong side of the line).

We don’t abide by that theorem here. No sirree, here on Minnesota Transplant, our principle is “anything for the blog.” I’ve posted pictures of me dressed as a Klingon warrior, I’ve made ricotta cheese, I’ve even mucked through an arid 155-page report to determine how much teachers are paid (a relic written in 2009 but still one of my most popular posts to date).

Today, I almost killed a baby bird.


Yeah, but the worst part is, it wasn’t on purpose.

So I let the dog out in the backyard. A common occurrence when it’s not 50 degrees below zero. And this angry bird starts dive-bombing her.

I’ll remind you, my dog weighs 8 pounds, and while she’s energetic and territorial, she’s not a birding dog.

So I leave my usual post behind the patio glass to investigate, and I heard chirps coming from the nest built in the rafters of the deck.

A-ha! Mama robin is defending three baby robins in the nest.

Do I think, “Oh, Mama robin has a point, maybe I should get the dog back in the house?”


I think, “I’ve gotta get a picture of this for my blog!”

So I grab my camera and venture up the deck steps to get a closer look. Like paparazzi after a Bieber pic, I stick the camera in the babies’ faces and boom! One of them flies out of the nest — or drops out of it, it was sort of awkward so I’m not sure — and I hear Mama robin going even more berserk. Eek! I’ve disrupted the ecosystem for sure. That baby bird won’t be able to get back into the nest, and I’m in big trouble.

Meanwhile, the dog is peacefully sniffing rabbit turds in the corner of the yard.

I realize I’ve got to get the dog back into the house so Mama robin can cajole baby bird back into the nest, so I approach the dog in the perimeter of the yard.

She thinks it’s a game, and starts running in circles around me.

I shriek.

The dog thinks we’re having a good time now! She makes her way to the patio where, of course, she spies something even more interesting than her shrieking master.

The baby bird.

Oh! My! God!

I’m screaming, “No! No, Chloe! No!” My dog is about the examine baby with her mouth.

Baby is skittering away on the cement. Mama is chirping somewhere in the background. Chloe is intent on catching her first ever bird.

I race to scoop up the dog, and I snatch her into my arms just before she chomps on a chicken a la robin sandwich. In the house we go.

I didn’t touch the nest.

I didn’t touch the bird.

I didn’t mean to get baby almost killed. I hope nature’s balance returns baby bird to Mama’s nest.

But I got my picture:

robin nest

Coyotes intrude on suburban security

two tracks

Let’s establish this much up front: I couldn’t track my way to dinner even if I was starving and my prey was blind.

But I’m 100% sure these are the tracks of two coyotes that crossed behind the fence in my back yard yesterday.

I have witnesses, your Honor.

My Beloved, his office colleague and a neighbor all saw these two interlopers — possibly a male coyote and his mate — patrolling the so-called wetlands beyond our fence.

Coyotes are enemies in suburbia. They have killed at least three dogs in Wheaton since November (read about it here). Wheaton is a long way from Hampshire, but I’ll confess to species-ism: I judge all coyotes by the actions of a few.

My dog is a babied victim of overindulgence (and low body weight), so I know she wouldn’t stand a chance against one of these territorial tricksters.

The good news? I found no evidence of coyotes inside my fence, and the tracks I found outside it kept going. When I inspected the area to take these pictures, the only other tracks I found were likely left by a rabbit and birds (but on the other hand, see caveat at beginning of this post).

sign tracks

Do not disturb. Or else.

Winter vision


Snow was falling softly yesterday morning, and a couple of deer nibbled on whatever edibles they found in the wooded area behind my backyard fence.

The scene prompted me to dig up a bit of winter poetry. I found this bit from  Gary E. McCormick, and I changed his word “evening” to “morning”:

It comes very quickly
This winter vision
In the wink of a swift instant
On this will-o’-the-wisp morning.


Grass with an attitude

The ornamental grass outside my front door underwent a color job at the hands of Jack Frost at some point in the past few weeks, and now it’s flaunting blonde tresses.

Here’s how the clump of grass looked a summer ago:

ornamental grass

I considered taking a picture of it this past weekend, but the drab and rainy put a sorry cast on everything. The sun made a flighty appearance this morning, so I snapped this shot:

ornamental grass blond

It’s the color of straw, only silkier. I wish I could get away with visiting my colorist only once a year.

“Blondes are like white mice, you only find them in cages. They wouldn’t last long in nature. They’re too conspicuous.”

~ Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin