January 3, 2024

 

Today we lost Ellen.

We bought Ellen back in the early spring of 2013 from a farm near Pottstown PA. She had been destined for auction, then slaughter and processing for Easter dinner. We actually bought her “by the pound”, paying the farmer what he would have gotten at auction based upon her weight. We always said that we rescued and saved Ellen from the dinner table, which was very, very true. On the ride home, Kath gave her the name Ellen, after one of her favorite aunts.

Ellen joined Francis and Irene on our farm, and for a while, went to work with me at the golf club to eat poison ivy and other stuff that we otherwise would have needed chemicals to control.  Reducing chemical use was part of our plan at the course to become a Certified Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary, which we did accomplish. Ellen, along with Francis and Irene, played an important role in obtaining this prestigious award.

Ellen was the “runt”. She never grew to the size of the others, topping out at only 115 lbs, while the others weighed in at 150-200 lbs. Being small, she was at the bottom of the pecking order, and the others would dominate the food and sometimes the shelter. It’s what goats do.

We added a shelter to the pen so that when Ellen was pushed out of the main “house”, she had a place to go. We always put the hay in three different places, so that she could always get to one of the piles. And when it came to grain, I would feed her by hand while the other two shared the bowl. We always did what we could to keep her fed and out of the weather.

We also gave her extra treats when the others weren’t looking.

Out of the pen she was more adventurous than Francis and Irene. She would leave them and go off on her own, and we would have to pay attention as to where she was wandering off to. Sometimes she would wander into the woods, a bit too close to the road, or near the neighbor’s yard, and I would have drop whatever I was doing and go get her.  Most of the time though, she would hang out in the front pasture while the other two stayed nearer to me by the stable or close to their pen. While Francis and Irene were not comfortable alone, Ellen enjoyed her “me time”, most likely because she wasn’t being picked on or pushed away from a sweet spot of grass.

When Dusty came to the farm, he and Ellen formed a bond. When Dusty was by the pen, Ellen would come over and they would “graze” together, nibbling away! Sometimes they were so close that their noses touched through the fence. 

When Ellen wandered out into the front pasture, Dusty would quietly wander out there too. If Francis and Irene were out in the front pasture, Dusty would take off after those two, chasing them away, but rarely did he ever chase Ellen. Those two would just hang out. I know that Dusty will miss her. For whatever reason, those two “clicked”.

We have always felt lucky to share our lives with animals, and Ellen is no exception. She will be missed and thought of often. I am sure that out of habit I will be stuffing treats in my pockets to give to her, thinking that she is there. I will be hoping to still feel her nibbling at my hand, looking for treats as if we were still walking back from the pasture together, as we did almost every day for the past 11 years.

November 13, 2023

 

I’ve come to realize how large nature really is by looking at all the small, mostly unnoticed, parts of it.

Instead of a tree I see bark, buds, leaves, flowers, seed, lichen, moss, deadwood, crawling insects, snakes, birds, squirrels, dew drops, spider webs, bees, galls, sun, shade, darkness, silhouettes, brown, red, grey, gold, birds, moths, root flares...

I hear birdsong, insect calls, the wind moving through the leaves, the creaking of branches and trunks, the scraping of small animals scurrying up the bark, drips of dew and rain, leaves falling, silence...

I smell the newness of buds and leaves, flowers, the soil, scents in the wind, sap, wood, the mustiness of the mosses and last year’s decaying leaves, rain, pine…

I feel the smoothness of bark, the roughness of bark, the coarseness of leaves and their veins, the roundness of acorns, the different fibers of the mosses, lettuce leaves and thread-like strands of the different lichens, vibrations caused by the wind, the sawtooth serrations along the leaf edges, the sharpness of a needle, dryness, wetness…

I can taste the air, the sweetness of springtime sap, the bitterness of the leaves and bark, tea from the roots and stems, the nectar of the flowers…

Whenever I experience anything in nature, and look for
the smallest of things, the natural world I know becomes that much larger.

 

April 24, 2023

 

 

 

I had never seen a Southern Twayblade until last year while hunting for mushrooms in the woods to the east of our house. Only a few inches high with a thin, earthy toned stalk, I probably walked past, or over, these diminutive orchids for years. I don’t remember what it was that made me notice the first one I saw, but once I saw it and adjusted my eyes, these flowers became much easier to spot.

Because Southern Twayblades are so small and not very showy, they blend in with the leaf litter and the mosses where they grow. Because they can be hard to find, they are sometimes considered rare. In a few states they are, but not here in New Jersey. I have learned that the best way to find them is, when looking down, to look for their two opposite leaves, which provide enough contrast from the “background” to pick them out. Still, it’s not easy. Their forked flowers normally are purple to reddish purple which is another reason they blend in and are hard to see. Occasionally, I find uncommon ones which have green flowers.

Southern Twayblades are pollinated mostly by fungus gnats. To most people, fungus gnats are no more than a nuisance, and even by name, they do not seem very appealing. But fungus gnats have their purpose. Besides being passive pollinators to native plants, their larvae feed on soil fungi, helping to decompose organic matter and build up the soil.

Southern Twayblades are the first of the many native orchids to bloom in New Jersey, and are a sign that spring has arrived.  I enjoy the challenge of finding them, especially in areas that I have never explored before. They will never become a “popular flower”, and most likely they will always be overlooked , yet, I think this is what makes them special.  I am fascinated with “the small things” in nature, like the Southern Twayblade Orchid, because they have a beauty all their own.

December 19, 2022

 

Last August, Kath and I traveled to western NY to visit Allen. While there, we took a trip down to Letchworth State Park, nicknamed “The Grand Canyon of the East” where the Genesee River, for thousands of years, has cut a gorge over 15 miles long and as deep as 600’. The gorge and its surrounding area are a mix of exposed rock and towering, dense forest. In the southern part of the gorge, the Genesee roars spectacularly over three waterfalls - the Higher Falls, the Middle Falls, and the Lowers Falls. The park is one of the most beautiful places to be found in the eastern half of the United States.

It was here that I saw these trees, suspended over the river and barely holding on. Their foundation of rock and soil had been eroded away, leaving them almost helpless to the pull of gravity. It seemed as if they were doing all they could to hold on to that little bit of cliff and put off their certain fate for at least another day. This was one of those times when life seemed to be so unfair - how just by chance, the wind had carried the seeds of these trees to the cliff’s edge instead of onto solid ground.

In many ways, we too, deal with chance. Life sometimes puts us in places and situations we wish not to be. Things happen that are out of our control.  This is where I saw a lesson from the trees. The three trees had not given up or given in to their predicament. Neither did the other trees around them. They all chose to change and make the best of the situation.

I noticed they were no longer giving energy to the expanding emptiness beneath them. Instead, the trees were extending their new roots laterally behind them, rather than sending them naturally downward. In this way, they were reaching back into the cliff, anchoring themselves where the rock remained solid, and where the soil could nurture them.  They were also sending their roots to join those of the other trees, which were also changing how they grew, and in turn, were reaching out to them. Beneath the ground, the trees, with their roots all intertwined, were holding on to each other, helping to keep the three from slipping away. The other trees benefited too by anchoring themselves laterally, stabilizing the bank from further erosion.

It was an inspiring moment to me. The three trees were able to make changes and reach out for help, and the other trees answered. The trees intuitively knew that their survival depended upon each other, and that being a forest was better than being on their own. Change is hard. Reaching out for help, and even giving help, is sometimes harder. It is something we all must work on whether we are on solid ground or not. We all need help at times, and at times we all need to help each other. If not, sooner or later, we all will fall. Nature, it seems, has it figured out. We just need to keep our eyes open to what she is trying to tell us.

April 13, 2022

 

The other night I was awarded third place in the 2022 Ocean City Arts Center’s Annual Juried Art Show for my photo, “Introspection”. I am thankful beyond words, and even days later, I am still moved to have received such an honor.

This isn’t the first time I have been juried into a show, or have placed in one. But each time it happens, it still feels the same as it did the first time. My excitement and appreciation have never felt less. I have never taken anything for granted, and I have always appreciated it when the art world has found artistic value in my work. Every time I am given an honor, I think of, and give appreciation to all of those who have supported me along the way.

One of those people is Jill Cucci. She is the one who started it all for me.

Since I can remember, I have always liked taking photographs, but I had never considered myself a “photographer” or an “artist”. Taking pictures was just for fun.  Although I sometimes thought that I created decent shots, I had never considered showing until I met Jill.

I met Jill though Quaker Meeting and began visiting the galleries and juried shows where she and other artists whom I knew displayed their works. Getting to know her, and seeing so much inspiring art had me beginning to wonder, “Was I good enough to give this a try?” “Could I do this?”  For a very long time, I kept these questions to myself.  

Jill, a rare creative who does encaustic abstracts and other forms of art, once owned her own gallery, The Barn. It actually was an old barn, and was located just steps from her house on a treed lot in Seaville. There, she created works of her own, taught classes to anyone and everyone who had an interest, and held art shows allowing all mediums. Jill loved art, but I think, she loved helping others even more.

I don’t remember exactly why I was at The Barn talking with Jill on a late summer day in 2015 – I think I was probably helping her with her chickens. I remember looking at all of her work hung on the walls, and the cups of brushes and paints on the tables that she used for her classes. There was an energy in that barn that I had never felt anywhere else, and out of nowhere, it pushed me to ask, “I am I good enough? Could I...?”

I heard “Yes! Yes, you are good enough, and yes, yes you can!”

“Go over the CVS and get some photos printed! Go to Michael's and buy a few cheap frames, and I’ll put them into the show I am having in September! Yes, you can do this!”

Jill made it so simple. So easy. There was no question or hesitation in her voice - only excitement. The energy I had felt in The Barn was beginning to flow into me.

The next day, I went to the CVS and made a few one dollar prints with the store’s photo scanner and then, a few days later, I drove up to Vineland to the Michael's store and bought two frames that were on sale. Being such a novice, I never gave any thought to mats. I don’t even think I knew what they were at the time.

By that weekend I had put everything together and two of my photographs were hung in The Barn.

Since then, I have been in a number of juried shows, as well as local galleries. I have placed in shows over the years and have made sales. More importantly though, by showing and competing, I’ve learned more about photography and art than I ever would have learned otherwise. I’ve also greatly improved my framing (and matting!) abilities, and I now have my photographs professionally printed. Through it all, I’ve grown and as a person. I’ve learned to be vulnerable and to accept failure as well as success, to stay true to my own intuition and not be any one other than myself. I’ve met some wonderful people. Some of those, like Renee Leopardi, Dan Myers, and Judy Maddox Saylor Allison have pushed, helped, and inspired me along the way.

But it all started with Jill. Every time I look at one of my pieces in a show, I can’t help but to think of her and thank her for telling me “I could”. I will never forget that she believed in me before I was ready to believe in myself!

I hope that everyone who has ever wondered if they “could” is as lucky as I was, and meets a Jill along the way.