A THOUSAND BUD CAPS ARE WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

NOVEMBER 6, 2022 – When the weather is mild, November is a splendid month in the Northwoods. Today the sun brightened the landscape and the wind—gusting past 20 mph—had free rein. Mindful that falling debris could have free rein, as well, I kept eyes and ears peeled for arboreal projectiles. I didn’t go quite as far as my mother had at the cabin when Skylab was falling out of orbit in July, 1979—she wore a football helmet—but I recalled my dad’s practical advice to be careful about walking in the woods on a blustery day. I didn’t allow vigilance today, however, cloud awareness of the beauty around me—the horizontal November light, the full aeolian symphony sounding off the lake, and above all, the towering pine, singing and swaying in the high breeze.

Now that the hardwoods and woodland shrubs have lost their leaves, the pine are in their prime. From late spring to early fall, the abundant, lower foliage hides most of the crown jewels of our woods. In November and continuing through April up here, the pine are very much in charge.

Today, I walked into the middle of a large grove of mostly Norway pine and looked straight up. The old giants swayed so much, you might say they’d thrown caution to the wind. I marveled at their flexibility, as their massive, soaring trunks moved to and fro and the lush crown boughs of each tree mingled briefly with the crowns of its neighbors, then separated effortlessly.

I was mesmerized by this remarkable intensity of motion among these titans of the woods—colossi that on a calm day, stand perfectly still and lull us into thinking they’re fixed objects. On a gusty day like today, they’re anything but stationary. Filled with spirit, the old growth trees are the life of the woodland party.

It was the deer, I noticed, that stood stock still. After trimming some brush in trägården (the “tree garden”), which is ringed—guarded—by groves of sentinel pine, I nearly bumped into a doe. Rather than high-tailing it (what used to happen when deer encountered man), the forest cow became . . . a fixed object, which, for a deer, is a form of camouflage. I shouted, flapped my arms, charged toward the motionless animal, but nothing sparked a response, unless staying frozen in position qualifies as a response. Ultimately, I picked up two heavy sticks and smacked them together. The deer twitched its ears, turned its head toward me, turned away, then sniffed the air Just when it had me thinking it was fixed to the ground, the deer leaped into the air and bounded off.

I didn’t have to tell the creature that all the leader buds of white pine seedlings and saplings in trägården are off the menu: over a thousand paper bud caps are worth at least a thousand words. Accordingly, a year sooner than would otherwise be the case, those young pine will one day join their elders swaying high in the sky.

(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)

© 2022 by Eric Nilsson