Argiope, where are you?

Last October I took these pictures of an Argiope trifasciata, or banded garden spider, in my irises. Every morning, now that it's late summer, I look for this year's argiope, but I haven't found it yet. There are many other spiders in my garden, and I love them all, even the Giant Clothesline Spider who each night builds a net for catching Zoes in, and who each morning catches a Zoe.

The first two pictures are the back, and the third picture is the belly.

Mushrooming

It might seem small, but when Matt and I first got together, I relished the discovery that we travel through the forest at the same pace... I'd never had a boyfriend who wanted to spend hours poking around in the woods, just like me.

Over the past two summers Matt has gotten really into mushroom hunting. I held back at first, on account of I didn't want to eat a mushroom and die a horrible death. But Matt's enthusiasm, along with the entertainingly written ID tome he's been reading (David Arora's Mushrooms Demystified) drew me in. Mushrooms still make me nervous, but I understand these points: with a little effort, many of the choicest edibles can be keyed out and positively identified, and there's no reason to eat something you aren't absolutely certain about - you can always choose to simply admire it for its lovely wildness instead.

Looking for mushrooms takes time... It takes a readjustment of vision and mind. The ground is a whole other world, and while I've always been a scrambler, an inspector, a sifter... I've never quite known the ground like this before. I feel like I am as close to being a moss-dwelling beetle as I ever will be.

So this summer, Matt and I have not paddled on the river once, or gone on a long, strenuous hike. Every day off, we've just taken a slow walk into the woods. We've found a lot of mushrooms, and other things. It's not a recognized or respected skill, this thing we do - looking, smelling, occasionally finding a delicacy on the ground... But I think just being in the woods - in a whole-body-and-mind way - is probably the thing we are best at, of all the things we do, and that feels very gratifying.

Black trumpet (Craterellus cornucopioides)

Craterellus ignicolor

A mixed bag of Craterellus cornucopioides and C. ignicolor

A type of milk cap, Lactarius hygrophoroides

Hedgehog, Hydnum repandum

September light

Goodbye

Last night I picked a few more seeds from mom's garden, and said goodbye to my parents land. Goodbye to the foxes, the rocks, and the rye. I will keep crying over you for awhile, but also look forward to the year ahead, as Matt and I ready our little house-in-the-city to be sold, and begin the search for a few acres in the country, and a new heartland.

Cuphea 'Purple Passion'

I spied this cuphea in the Baker Creek catalog last winter and wondered... Could it really be that good of a color? And I thought... not freakin' likely. But the part of me that loves cupheas, or maybe the part of me that loves to prove people wrong and then get mad about how they lied, ordered the seeds anyway. And now I can tell you: Cuphea lanceolata 'Purple Passion' is really that color - like blackberries bobbing in Pinot Noir, lit from behind by a sunset. Mine is growing amongst bronze fennel, which makes for a quiet little combination that you have to examine up close to appreciate.

Good god am I grumpy

and I have been for days. Would you like to hear about the prick on a 4-wheeler whose head I nearly threw a rock at? Or how I wished the man driving the Halliburton truck that just about toppled me into the ditch would EAT A POISONOUS MUSHROOM AND DIE?

Probably not. Instead, here are three things that have managed to crack my crappy mood.

Oh hell, I can only come up with two.

The devil's darning needles

Clematis virginiana is one of the better things about Pennsylvania's roadsides. Not only is this native vine quite decorative, but it also hides from view our plentiful Keystone Ice cans and Happy Meal cartons.

A few years ago I clambered down into the swamp over the hill and pulled up a little rooted piece. I took it home and tucked it into the soil beneath the flowering quince in our yard, and every late summer since, I've sat on the glider and wondered: where is that damn thing? I can see a few stray strands of it amongst the quince branches each spring, but by August, they've disappeared.

This summer was a wet one, and the clematis thrived. Finally, the dark, glossy foliage of the quince is veiled in cream-colored lace - better than I'd hoped. If you sit in the grass underneath and look up, you see the source of a wonderful humming - one hundred pollinators, of all stripes, foraging.

Clematis virginiana also has a host of wonderful common names: you can call it devil's darning needles, virgin's bower, or old man's beard. If you were having a nudist wedding, and you were the bride, I think you could just drape yourself in a few strands and be quite stunning.