periodical cicadas - four years early??

Cicadas emerged two weeks ago in our neighborhood, littering the ground with their molts.  I'd never before seen them still in their shells, or emerging, so this was  an amazing thing to witness! I've only heard one call so far, but these creatures don't typically emerge until the weather has been stiffling hot for days (last year they emerged in June, the third week of middle summer), so having them appear now, in May, is a little eerie.  Looking back at my posts from a year ago, this is when we found the periodical cicada in Virginia, which is what I think this brood is - not the annual black-eyed dog-day cicadas that we've had here before.  According to brood maps and time tables like this one, these are 17-year cicadas, arrived four years early...

listening for spring

maple buds on the tree over our house

 It's early this year - and we've had but a couple of snowfalls and one weekend of ice - but I decided that's no reason to ignore all the spring that's happening around here.  It feels undeserved somehow, but is that how all of the South feels every year? Surely not. Spring is to be reveled in, regardless of how it arrives or how little we've suffered for it.

Crocuses! Not from our yard, but they'll be here soon

 Dan's been working against several deadlines this past week - and is not yet done - but he took time this evening to join us for a quick meal and then a walk down the bike path.  We'd heard a rumour of spring peepers...

 The river was serene in the evening sunlight, lower than usual, but sporting an impressive pile-up of timber from recent high waters.

We may have heard some wood frogs way off in the distance, but no peepers tonight. We did hear some of our first redwing blackbirds - O-ka-leee!!  And a huge flock of blackbirds - I'm guessing a mix of starlings, grackles, and blackbirds, chattering and swimming through the skies like huge schools of fish.

 It was mesmerizing.

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from Poor Will's Almanac:

February 27: Great flocks of blackbirds and grackles move across the nation as February comes to an end. They tell you that sweet corn has been planted along the Gulf coast. 

How does he do that?! 

forgotten fungus

 Yesterday's post had me thinking that I didn't remember sharing photos of some pretty awesome fungi from a hike Ani and I took with my cousin Jessica in July.

 Yes, there were two people and a dog with me...they are really amazing too...

 And there was an inch worm...

 Little mossy home for "inchy"...

 

 But what I've really been wanting to share is this photo of an earthstar mushroom (can you hear the incredulity? the awe in my voice? that such a thing exists and I got to see it?)

All because I happened to glance down at the right time - these little mushrooms were only the size of a dime or so (I think they can be much larger), and I think I will spend a good bit of every hike I take from now till forever, hoping I can see another one.  Yes, I am that dorky, and yes, it was that cool.

There is a good reason as to why fungi are on my mind; Poor Will calls this coming week, the second week of September and the first week of early fall, The Week of The Puffball Mushrooms (yes, we saw some of those yesterday as well)...read on to find out what all is happening now in the world while the puffballs are growing in the dark...

The Week of the Puffball Mushrooms (taken from Poor Will's Almanack; and I just have to mention that the whole time I've been writing this there has been a female goldfinch talking to me on the other side of the screen in my kitchen window. She sits and chatters while Mr. Goldy eats, and eats and eats.)

One of the first signs of early fall is the appearance of giant white puffball mushrooms in the woods. As the sun moves to within a few degrees of equinox, other creatures tell the time as well as puffballs. Sycamores, locust, elms, box elders, chinquapin oaks, lindens and redbuds show their autumn colors. Leaves gather in the backwaters and on sidewalks and paths. Sycamores are changing to a golden green, dogwoods to pink. Bright patches of scarlet sumac and Virginia creeper mark the fencerows. Some ash and cottonwoods are almost bare. Slippery elms are turning yellow-brown, and poplars fade.

The rich scent of late summer pollen is almost gone by end of the week, replaced by the pungent odor of fallen apples and leaves. Cicadas are dying. Bees are awkward and stiff in the cool mornings. Sometimes on sunny days, woolly bear caterpillars swarm across the roads. Kingbirds, finches, ruddy ducks, herring gulls and yellow-bellied sapsuckers move south.

Most berries are gone from the wild cherry trees when puffball mushrooms grow in the dark. The fat osage fruits are falling. Berries are red on the silver olives, orange on the American mountain ash, purple on the pokeweed. The domestic plants of local ponds are shriveling: the water lettuce, hyacinth and pickerel. The green frogs are finally silent.

They're here...

the cicadas have arrived!

(right on time, according to Bill Felker, of Poor Will's Almanack: during the third week of middle summer...)