Archive for the ‘competing for niche space’ Category
spider web
My writing group has been sharing writing prompts in this time of isolation.
The most recent prompt was ‘spider web.’
Took me an hour to find a spider photo since I am spider-averse.
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spider web
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web enlarges spider
her domain, her coefficient of creep
extends her occupation of space
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trap for unwary
blue-bottle flies
beetles on the wing
and gnats, nattering
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all of the cobwebs
I have brushed from my face
would not weigh a gram
but they take up
a fair chunk
of brainscape
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just as the spider
is sensitive to vibration
my skin notices
the sub-threshold of touch
the tiniest occupant
of my domain
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All my best,
Jane
have grape vines, will not prune
I have planted grape vines in quite a few places on our properties over the years.
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At our cabin, one vine survives, climbing an inch or two each year on an arbor we built. The cabin lot was supposed to be great for growing grapes — a sunny slope, the temperature-modifying lake and breezes to discourage insects.
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However, the vines have not been thriving. This year for the first time, I have a scrawny bunch of grapes.
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The vines at home in our garden do thrive, although the light is scarce. Each year I have a few small bunches of grapes.
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my grapes, wandering about in the birch tree
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The vine at the back of the house is amazing. Without pruning, it has climbed high into the maple and fir trees. But an unpruned apple tree keeps the light low. Pruning, that must be the key!
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Competition
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Grape vines climb
high into maple.
Feign kudzu.
Burden the balsam,
bend branches.
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Grape leaves flare,
arrange themselves, nip
every ray.
Mosses and bracken
starved for light.
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But apple
demands its revenge.
Sends shadows
to starve chlorophyll.
Bullies grape.
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Teases leaves
with flecks of half-light.
Grapevine sets
no fruit this season.
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Not a single grape.
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All my best!
Jane
abandoned spaces: fireweed
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about abandoned rural areas and the remnants of gardens left behind. Although these properties are still owned, the homes that once stood there are gone or left to deteriorate. The gardens, once loved and cared for, are left to survive on their own.
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When these home-sites are abandoned, the garden plants:
- disappear (most annuals),
- persist (perennials like day-lilies or roses), or
- escape (lupins, mallow or other easily-spreading plants).
Native plants, those liking disturbed or cleared areas, may move into these sites.
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an abandoned site in Williamsburg, New Brunswick where fireweed has colonized
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As I find abandoned properties, the pink or pale purple flowers of fireweed are often present. Fireweed, an indigenous plant not usually grown in gardens, is often a first indicator a house may once have stood on a plot of land. Often fireweed stands side by side with orange day-lilies and other garden escapes.
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on this abandoned site in the Williamsburg area, the fireweed stands side-by-side with orange day-lilies (Hemerocallis fulva), rose bushes and other cultivated plants
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Fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium L.), also known as great willowherb, gets the ‘fire’ in its name since it is one of the first plants to colonize after fire. As a pioneer species, partial to open areas with lots of light, it also moves in to any cleared or disturbed area. After a few years, other plants will move in, out-competing the fireweed. However, the seeds of fireweed stay viable for a long time and may re-colonize the area if it is again disturbed or burned.
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Fireweed is one of many tall pinkish flowers growing in our ditches and wild areas. It is distinguished by its rather loose inflorescence, the flower’s four roundish petals and its seed pods which angle upwards.
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Fireweed spreads by the roots or by seed. In the later part of the season, the seeds are spread by the wind, aided by long silky hairs. Before dispersal the hairy seeds burst out along the seed pods making the plant look unkempt and hairy.
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Fireweed (pink) among brown-eyed Susans; the stiff, many-podded plants in the upper right-hand corner are the seedpods of fireweed, finished with their blooming
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In New Brunswick we are facing a demographic trend of movement from rural communities to cities in the southern part of the province and elsewhere. This means many small communities that thrived a century ago are now abandoned. For example, in 1866 the community of Fredericksburg, New Brunswick was a farming community with 12 families (Source: https://archives.gnb.ca/Exhibits/Communities/Details.aspx?culture=en-CA&community=1367 ). Today only a couple of homes or camps are found in the area but foxglove flowers, that once bloomed in the gardens, thrive in the ditches. For more on the demographics of small New Brunswick communities see:
Lauren Beck and Christina Ionescu. ‘Challenges and Opportunities Faced by Small Communities in New Brunswick: An Introduction’, Journal of New Brunswick Studies Issue 6, No. 1 (2015).
https://journals.lib.unb.ca/index.php/JNBS/article/view/23057
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foxglove (Digitalis purpurea) flowers thriving in the ditch in the Fredericksburg area
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All my best,
Jane
chimney swifts
Last evening my husband and I took a drive into Fredericton to see a population of chimney swifts do their dive into a brick chimney. The chimney at McLeod Avenue provides home to a couple of thousand chimney swifts. These fleet birds nest inside brick and mortar chimneys, an ideal example of how wildlife adapts to coexist with humans. Once, swifts used large hollow trees, but these are disappearing from the landscape. When the swifts returned to Fredericton in May, a CBC newscast spread the word about the chimney and many folks turned out to watch the display CBC .
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Last evening was late in the viewing season, so we observed a few hundred birds dive into the chimney. My photography skills are always a problem, so the birds were much faster that the setting on my camera. But I really like the silent ghostly image portrayed. In fact the air was filled with their chirping and the dive of the birds into the chimney opening was like pouring water.
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Like the hollow trees before them, brick chimneys are disappearing from the landscape. Efforts are underway to protect chimneys and to provide alternative nesting for swifts, but the struggle to improve the survival of threatened species like the chimney swift must continue.
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All the best,
Jane
volunteers
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volunteers
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I forget to mow.
Volunteers
shoulder in
from every side.
Burnished trumpets of daylilies,
cerulean forget-me-nots,
pagodas of bugleweed
overtake green.
I forget to mow.
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All my best,
Jane
A place to be still
I love to be outside but my knees do not always cooperate. So, I make certain I have a place to sit on my walk-about. I love my concrete bench. I get a great view of the yard. In spring there are crocuses. At this time of year, a huge patch of sensitive fern. In fall there will be red maple leaves. But the bench is cold. Not a place to sit for long! Not a place to linger.
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A place to be still
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Cold concrete,
embedded, still,
where leaves
of purple crocus
press through turf,
sensitive fern
overtakes lawn,
autumn builds
layer on layer.
Cold concrete,
embedded, still.
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All my best,
Jane
Birdbath
Our copper birdbath includes a silver-coloured metal bird, in case no real birds come to call. In the shade of the maple tree the water shimmers. But the little silver bird never flutters, not even a feather.
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birdbath
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embedded in dapple
edge of copper
silver bird never moves
never flutters a feather
never pecks a sparkle
from crystal water
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bird with heartbeat
and dusty wing-feathers
lands for a bath
sputters and splashes
chooses to ignore
immobile effigy
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All my best,
Jane
