Potions, Saffron, and Wild Greens

On Saturday at noon I sampled a sauté of wild greens. The dish included leaves of tender dandelions, nettles, and wild carrot tops along with green garlic, chives, and thyme all from my sister's garden and yard. The chefs were my 9-year old niece and her friend, with a little help from my 7-year old niece. They added salt and sautéed the mix in olive oil on the stove. After tasting, my niece said it needed a little something more and I suggested some fresh squeezed lemon juice and red wine vinegar. It was truly delicious, all the more since my young niece and her friend created it on their own while playing outside and the ingredients were mostly what they found in the yard.

The sauté was the result of their earnest efforts to create powerful potions in their indoor and outdoor laboratories. When I arrived on Thursday my niece prepared a happy potion for me in her bedroom laboratory. Meanwhile my even younger niece worked on a sleeping potion and then a potion that "makes angels come to you." The latter included water, lavender, parsley, sunflower seed, sunlight, and a spell. The spell is placed on potions by waving their special wands that they created themselves. We gave them small branches of red maple and spicebush for Christmas. They carved and sanded the wands themselves (or perhaps with a bit of help) and added a gem at the hand end.

On Saturday the laboratory moved outdoors and the wild green sauté was the ultimate result. The girls were tremendously impressed with their sauté, as were we.

During my three day visit with my nieces we also made kulfi--an Indian ice cream--with ingredients that I brought along: one can condensed milk, 1/2 cup ground cashews, 1/4 tsp cardamon seeds ground in a mortar and pestle with 1 tsp sugar, a few more teaspoons of sugar, and 5-6 strands of saffrons, plus 3 cups of milk. Thanks to my sister-in-law in India for the recipe.

The delicate, thread-like, vibrant red saffron strands are considered the most expensive spice in the world, as they are hand-picked stigmas (flower part) of the saffron crocus. The kulfi was a big hit. I also helped my niece gather the stigmas of a plant growing in my sister's yard--the invasive gill-over-the-ground, also known as creeping charlie. We carefully pulled the pale, slender stigmas from the blue flowers and gathered them in a small tin. My niece now has her own supply of "saffron" as one more powerful ingredient for future potions.

Who knew potions could be such fun and lead to such delicious food and vice versa. Thanks to Lia, Rosie, and their friend (and my sister's yard) for great fun and food.

Treefrogs and More

Another stretch of rainy days ended yesterday, petering out by mid-day.  The moist, muggy air has helped the garden grow, although the sun is most welcome now. Despite the spate of rainy spells in May the mosquitoes and black fly populations are surprisingly and pleasantly low. A droughty April surely helped squelch the hatch of the pesky bugs.

Last evening gray treefrogs trilled from the trees in our yard. Four or five males were competing to attract females. Their loud bird-like trilling belies their small size, only two inches in length. I've spotted a treefrog only a few times as they are well-camouflaged, changing colors according to light, humidity, and temperature. Often they look just like the lichen-covered tree bark. As I listened to their trills I pictured the diminutive frog with huge sticky toe pads and warty, lichen-colored skin melting into the tree branch, hidden from all predators while charming the female treefrogs.

In the wee hours of the morning the barred owls cackled and hooted from the backyard as a cool breeze wafted into our open bedroom windows. On our dawn walk we heard three type of thrushes: a veery, a wood thrush, and several robins. All the birds are busy foraging for insects in the sudden sunshine. Many are already feeding young, including the pair of phoebes beneath our deck. I saw about three or four small heads hunkered low in the nest, while their parents were off gathering food.

We had another sort of hatch as a result of the recent rains. The shiitake logs sprouted and I gathered a half dozen mushrooms just now.

It feels good to see and feel the morning sun, after days of gray sky. May is such a lush, busy month for plants, for birds and frogs, for gardening, for weeding. The days are full.

Sandwich Dome and Jennings Peak

My heart started pounding as soon as we began our ascent on Sandwich Mountain Trail off Rte 49 in Waterville Valley this morning. The air was still cool, below 40F, when we set out at 8:30 am. Fortunately the trail passes through a scenic region of the Sandwich Range, prompting us to stop often to catch a breath and look and listen. It always takes me awhile to hit my stride after weeks away from the mountains; we live in the relatively flat coastal plain of southeastern New Hampshire.

We paced ourselves as there was much to pause for. A winter wren sang its long, melodious song from the thickets near Drakes Brook. The painted trilliums were in full bloom along the trail. The flowers stunning with their splotches of pink centers.

Hobblebush--a viburnum--was just coming into flower. This large-leaved shrub has equally large, white flower clusters; the large outer flowers are sterile while the small, inner flowers are fertile. Black-throated blue warblers often nest in hobblebush. We heard many "BTBs" today as we hiked, especially in the lower section of trail where hobblebush were thick.

We were more alert (as was Kodi) after we passed a very fresh and very large pile of black bear scat. I would show a picture of the scat, but it is not nearly as pretty as the wildflowers.

The trail climbs through dense woods of young spruce, the forest floor covered in mosses and lichens. A place to lose yourself in the solitude, which we enjoyed all the way to the 3,980' summit of Sandwich Dome (now more commonly called Sandwich Mountain). One large erratic boulder caught our eye as we passed by.

At 1.6 miles, an open ledge offers the first view, and a spectacular one it is. We sat for a snack and a rest and to look north toward the snow-covered High Presidentials and many 4,000-footers in between. The blue sky above was a welcome change to the rainy spells of late.

The top of Sandwich Mountain is a small rocky outcrop. If you stand on top of the rocks there is a nice view to the north, but the spruce and fir are growing up all around and closing in. We relished our sandwiches here on top of Sandwich Dome/Mountain. The sandwiches spread with our own homegrown and homemade cilantro pesto (just an aside!). The breeze was surprisingly brisk and cool on top, so we ate our lunch while tucked into the rocks, took a few photos and then began our descent. Here is Kodi and me, battered by the wind.

Kodi was happy to be on the trail again today. Below is a photo of him as we descended from Sandwich Dome. Soon after this picture we met a nice couple from Canterbury at the junction of Sandwich Mountain Trail and Smarts Brook Trail. To Kodi's delight they had two beautiful and playful Samoyeds ("Sams"). While we chatted the three dogs entertained each other.

On the way down we hiked up the 0.2 mile spur trail to the top of 3,460' Jennings Peak. This peak has a gently sloping ledge that offers great views to the south. Well worth the extra effort and a destination in itself. Here is the view over to Sandwich Dome from Jennings Peak. If you are short on time I would hike to Jennings Peak via the Sandwich Mountain Trail as it offered the most interesting views near and far.

From there we began the longer descent down Drakes Brook Trail. This trail follows along an old logging trail and parallels Drakes Brook for a stretch. We passed a bunch more people on the way down. Despite all the rain and the high water in the brook, the woods on this east side still seem a little dry. The Sandwich Mountain Trail was decidedly cooler and held more moisture in the soil. The mosses and lichens were quite lush there.

I spotted one lone red trillium in bloom as we neared the Drakes Brook crossing. The latter took a little searching to find the best crossing. We managed to hop across large rocks with the help of a big stick without getting wet.

Red admiral butterflies also kept us company on the trail today. And purple finches--the state bird of New Hampshire--were in full song. One sang beautifully from the top of a balsam fir on the higher slopes of Sandwich Mountain. And then another in the parking lot above our car when we finished the 8.7 mile hike at 2:15 pm.

Thinning the Chard and Planting Beets

This year I am volunteering at two local farms, helping each farm one morning every week. I've been helping Farmer Renee at New Roots Farm in Newmarket for many years and this year I also started helping Farmer Kate at Stout Oak Farm in Brentwood. I fill trays will soil, plant seeds, thin seedlings, transplant seedlings into bigger cells, plant outside, and as the season goes along I'll add weeding and harvesting and more planting.

As I work with the soil and the plants I listen to the chickens clucking from their free range pen and to the songs of wild birds. I bend and stretch and walk up and down rows. We work in the greenhouse when it rains and outdoors when it doesn't. I often go home with a couple seedlings for my own garden, or a dozen fresh eggs, or some new knowledge about farming, or perhaps just admiration for these hardworking, organic farmers.

Today at Stout Oak Farm I helped Kate and her assistant Joanne plant three kinds of beets and several types of lettuce. Last week we planted rows and rows of various kales, five kinds I think. Such beauty and diversity in these local farm fields, so much more than you find in a grocery store.

In between planting beets and lettuce, I thinned trays of Swiss chard and lettuce in the greenhouse. Several seeds are planted in each cell to ensure sufficient germination. Sometimes all the seeds germinate and thus need to be thinned to one sturdy seedling per cell. The stems removed are saved and eaten -- the first fresh greens of the season. I brought home a bag of the thinnings, a small treasure really.

At New Roots, Renee is a master at growing tomatoes. Yesterday I spent the morning transplanting tomato seedlings into bigger cells. All sorts of tomatoes: San Marzano, green zebra, garden peach, sun gold, sweet olive, and a hybrid named BHN 589--a better name will come apparently if it does well. There were many more kinds waiting to be transplanted. Sitting alone in the greenhouse surrounded by tomato plants while rain rattled the plastic roof I felt fortunate to be in this cozy place.

Birds Arriving in the Rain

A family of barred owls cackled and called from our backyard at 4:30 am today. This was a nice wake-up call if you get up early like we do. Rain fell overnight, a continuation of the on-again off-again gentle rain that has fallen all week. The vernal pools and small brooks are nearly full again, for now, after this week of rain. The woods are filling in with vegetation and starting to fill-up with bird song.

I am always amazed at the transition from bud to leaf-out in spring. Not only in the transformation of the forest from openness to dense foliage, but the emergence of the leaves from such tiny buds. The beech is a great example of this annual ritual.

The wood thrush just arrived from its wintering grounds in central America. We heard a male singing his beautiful ee-oy-lay song from the hardwoods on the lower slope of Bald Hill on our walk at daybreak. The ovenbird arrived too. I heard its familiar teacher-TEAcher-TEACHer-TEACHER song today on a morning walk with Kodi. They've joined other migrants in our local woods including the black-throated green warbler, a common bird of mixed woods that is easily recognizable by its buzzy song: zoo-zee, zoo-zoo-zee.

Eric Orff who lives in Epsom and writes at New Hampshire Notes checks the movement of amphibians in his neighborhood every spring when it rains. This week he went out and found some spotted salamanders moving - unfortunately 50% had been run over by cars. Amphibians are small creatures with regular migration routes, which sometimes involves crossing roads. To avoid running over these animals it is best to avoid driving at night during spring rains.

This week we've helped a couple red efts across Bald Hill Road and sadly a few were already squashed. Thus, it was nice to cross paths with a live eft in the woods today -- this is for my blog friend John who is still looking for his first eft sighting.

On Monday (April 30th) we saw our first Canada goose goslings of the year. The parents were wary as they guarded their four fluffy young. Other geese, including the one below, in the same wetland were not so concerned with our presence.

Long Mountain and Rattlesnake Knob

I grew up looking across fields to the top of Long Mountain from our home on Bay Road in Amherst, Massachusetts. In winter we'd pull our sleds a long way up the mountain and then sled down. I remember using flashlights one time to see our way down when sledding in the dark. Or maybe that story is just a legend, I'll have to ask my brother as I think he was the ring-leader on that particular expedition.

While still in grade school I learned to identify mountain laurel and rattlesnake plantain and Christmas fern as we hiked up the mountain on summer days with my parents and siblings. Bay Road was quiet back then - we walked to a neighbor's driveway to catch the bus and hung around with our friends in the road. Today the road is a major thoroughfare, traffic is fast and loud at times and busy. But the view across the fields to Long Mountain remains.

We return often to visit my parents at Winterberry Farm, their home now for more than 55 years, and this weekend we celebrate Dad's 90th birthday. It is a lovely spring weekend, if a bit breezy. There is always lots to do outside at the old homestead. In between we find time for walks to the back forty and up into the hills. In recent years we've been hiking to Rattlesnake Knob just west of Long Mountain. The Knob provides a great view east to Long Mountain.

I've written before about the trail to Rattlesnake Knob as it passes through a beautiful oak-beech forest. The final ascent to the top of the knob is steep, but it is easy to pause along the way as the basalt-laden slope hosts many interesting plants. Today was no exception.

Hepatica had already flowered, although its leaves are beautiful too.

Two small clumps of cancer-root or bear corn (Conopholis americana) were emerging. This non-photosynthezing, parasitic plant was growing not far from the base of an oak tree, one of its favorite hosts. I've seen this plant only once before, from this same trail.

Large-flowered bellwort (Uvularia grandifolia) was flowering farther along the trail, near the top of the Knob. It's single pale yellow flower dangled from the plant's perfoliate leaves -- leaves that clasp the entire stem.

My young nieces enjoy these outings more and more, gathering their own nature experiences based on what they see and feel and smell. Together we tore and sniffed the leaves of wintergreen and paused to see the hepatica leaves and bear corn stalks. They stopped and played with small stones and floated twigs and leaves down a small brook. It is always fun to spend time in the woods with them, watching them explore the very same places that I explored when I was their age.

These woods are full of interesting things to see, especially in spring when hardwoods are just leafing out and understory plants take advantage of the filtered light streaming through the canopy. We find something new every time we hike this trail.

Sweet Rain

According to the UNH Weather Station our area received about 2.5 inches of rain in the last two days. Such a relief. On our walk at mid-day, in between bouts of rain, we felt the humidity. Even that was welcome after weeks of dry, parched Spring air.

The woods sighed with relief as the pools and small streams filled with water.

Overnight the rock tripe transformed itself from a dry, brittle collection of ugly lichen clinging to the rocks to a luxuriant carpet of green.

And how sweet to cross paths with tiny red efts--the immature stage of the red-spotted newt--as they were wandering the freshly moistened forest floor.

Every woodland plant was covered in water droplets, including this solomon's seal perched on a big boulder.

The rain fell steadily overnight. I was worried about the peach trees in our yard; fortunately the blossoms held and the trees weathered this storm quite well. Everything looks grand.