“Suicide by Botany – A Rant and a Prayer”

I found the wild blue irises growing in a certain roadside ditch. 

I’m not a “real” botanist.

I knew I took a chance, near homes full of guns. Hostile signs threaten me. 

I don’t trespass, but I fear I might provoke gunfire.

I imagine a confrontation in which I say, “That’s okay, I’m a bit suicidal, so go ahead and shoot me.” 

Feeling sarcastic, I imagine saying, “But you’ll have to clean up the mess, and take care of the paperwork. You probably can’t just leave my body on the roadside…”

I only encounter a polite homeowner who asks if I am “okay”. That’s code language for “Why are you looking at my ditch?”, but I’m good with that.

I’m grateful for my calm neighbor. He was willing to assume I was harmless.

May his day and mine be filled with flowers. 

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“Lovely is the Lee” by Robert Gibbings, 1946

I found this book on a junk pile, about to go to the dump. Pure luck! Maybe the luck of the Irish, to which I am genetically entitled. The book could be categorized as “travel” or “memoir”.

The Irish river Lee crosses (roughly) from the town of Ballingeary to the city of Cork, the author’s birthplace. The book is an account of Gibbings return home after developing his career as a writer, sculptor and illustrator using wood engravings. It’s a travel book, mixing geography, natural history, folklore and personal anecdotes. Good reading!

The book is illustrated by the author’s wood engravings. From my perspective as a cellphone-camera photographer, I’m impressed by the effort that went into illustrating this book, and charmed by how expressive the wood cut prints are. 

I found some unusual information on the back of the title page of this old book which was published in New York.

“A Wartime Book

This complete edition is produced in full compliance with the government’s regulation for conserving paper and other essential materials.”

There’s also a patriotic logo, see above. An eagle in flight carries a book in it’s talons. A banner in the eagle’s beak reads “Books are weapons in the war of ideas”.

What ideas does this book support?

You CAN go home again. Nature is a source of endless wonder. The Irish are abundantly hospitable, whimsical and creative. Nothing in this book has anything to do with war, waged with weapons OR ideas.

Wikipedia has a highly informative biography of Gibbings. He was much better known for his wood prints than his books. I’m curious about a book entitled The Radium Woman: The Life Story of Marie Curie. Gibbings is listed as co-author with Eleanor Doorly. His contribution was woodcuts used for chapter headings. Scientist Marie Curie has long been a heroine of mine. 

Lovely is the Lee reminded me of The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd (see this blog, March 25, 2021), but Shepherd stayed within one mountain range, while Gibbings travelled widely.

If you want to read something calming, old travel books are the best!

“The Living Mountain: A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland” by Nan Shepherd

I discovered Nan Shepherd when a friend passed along a poem of hers, dated 1934 and entitled “Summit of Corrie Etchachan”. Fortunately my friend provided some context – a “corrie” is what we call a cirque, a glacial erosion feature in mountain terrain, a “steep-sided hollow…on a mountainside…” (Google Dictionary). The poem is written in that demanding form, the sonnet. The poet compares the corrie to the human mind. One reviewer refers to Shepherd’s writing as being “geo-poetic”. 

Curious about Nan Shepherd, we promptly found her in Wikipedia, learned about her books, and downloaded The Living Mountain on Kindle.

Shepherd, categorized as a “Scottish Modernist”, published three novels between 1928 and 1933, but The Living Mountain was rejected and finally saw print in 1977, six years before Shepherd died. A biography by Charlotte Peacock was published in 2018.

The Living Mountain is nature writing at its best, a series of sketches describing the landscape Shepherd loved so well and her reflections (both scientific and emotional) on what she experienced. She hiked in all seasons and weathers, accepting the risks of rough terrain and changeable weather. She loved solitude and silence.

The Living Mountain reminded me of The Outermost House by Henry Beston, published in 1928 and situated on Cape Cod. Like Shepherd, Beston emphasizes the physical aspects of nature (wind, water, light) as well as living organisms. 

The Living Mountain is a classic and will be enjoyed by many.

“Looking for Eagles” (1990) by Janet Lembke

I discovered Janet Lembke when her book River Time (1989) turned up on a relative’s coffee table. I read several more of her books after that, especially enjoying Dangerous Birds (1992) and Despicable Species (1999). Recently, Looking for Eagles turned up on my guest room bookshelf. Very appropriate, as I’ve sighted more eagles in the past four weeks than the previous four years.

Looking for Eagles is subtitled Reflections of a Classical Naturalist. What is a classical naturalist? “The classics” are the ancient Greek and Latin texts that reflect the Greek and Latin worldview, often considered to be the foundation for Western civilization. (No, I’m not getting into the arguments about Western civilization here.) 

I’m assuming we can agree on the definition of a naturalist, and to be clear, Lembke is the kind of naturalist who is outside much of the time, wandering in the woods, getting bug bitten and muddy, and sometimes fishing or gardening, but mostly just looking at everything.

In understanding ecology, Lembke depends on the usual academic fields (ornithology, entomology, etc.) but also searches classical mythology to find out what the Greeks and Roman thought about the creatures and ecosystems they observed. (They often got things wrong.) She examines scientific nomenclature, which relies heavily but not exclusively on the Greek and Latin languages.

The result is a book full of interesting observations and comments. I especially like her chapter “The Wind-Egg”, about birds and their eggs and nests. I’ll spend more time looking for nests this Spring. The river in  River Time and the location of Looking for Eagles is the Neuse River in the North Carolina coastal plain. The river and its surroundings are threatened by sea level rise and increasing storm activity.

Lembke’s literary output was broad ranging. She produced several important translations from classical Greek and more than a dozen works of non-fiction, including a (soup) cookbook in 2001. I’m particularly curious about The Quality of Life: Living Well, Dying Well (2004) and her last book Chickens: Their Natural and Unnatural Histories (2012).

I really wish Lembke had lived to finish her memoir, I Married an Arsonist. 

As climate change presses itself on us more and more intrusively, the reflections of naturalists increase in importance. I recommend Janet Lembke’s books to everyone concerned about the impact of climate change on ecosystems. 

“Mr. Audubon’s Lucy” (by Lucy Kennedy, 1957) and “Audubon – A Biography” (by John Chancellor, 1978)

I’m such a sucker for romance! I picked up “Mr. Audubon’s Lucy” from the used book shelf at the Northwood Cape May Bird Observatory, a New Jersey Audubon Society Center located in Cape May Point (NJ). It is a fictionalized account of the courtship and first three decades of the marriage of Lucy and John James Audubon, told from the viewpoint of Lucy Bakewell Audubon. It covers events from 1800 to about 1830.

Lucy Audubon was a well educated English girl brought to Pennsylvania by her family. Audubon was a young Frenchman of uncertain origins, wealthy but spottily educated. Like Alexander Hamilton, he was born in the Caribbean. Audubon’s father returned to France a little before the Haitian revolution, which began in 1791.

At the time of their marriage, Lucy and Audubon intended to travel west and engage in trade. Kennedy describes in detail their journey, including river travel much earlier than described by Mark Twain. Wonderful to read!

Audubon was a wanderer and a dreamer and left Lucy and their two sons on their own for years at a time. In his biography, Chancellor asks whether she recognized and wanted to support Audubon’s unique genius, or if she was simply foolish. At this remove, we can only speculate. I am unreservedly impressed by Lucy’s success in supporting herself and her sons by teaching in wealthy households.

Chancellor’s biography of Audubon is a delight, because he provides extensive documentation, much of it visual – paintings by Audubon and others, letters and lists, photos of artifacts, woodcut prints…

Both these books are highly suitable for nature lovers and history buffs. Enjoy!

My relationship to nature

Robin Kimmerle, author of Braiding Sweetgrass (see my review dated March 5, 2019) has a relationship to nature which is different from mine.

Anecdote:

One day I hustled my son out of church because I saw a tick crawling up his neck. Having dealt with it, I was later approached by someone who asserted that ticks had a positive role in nature, a purpose. Food for birds? Feeling flustered and disgruntled (a good Mom keeps ahead of the ticks), I snapped “The only purpose of ticks is to make more ticks!” End of conversation…

This sums up my view: nature is WHAT WORKS. Birds don’t eat berries IN ORDER to spread the seeds of trees and shrubs. Said shrubs don’t produce berries IN ORDER to feed the birds. The birds and shrubs are there (wherever they are) because they can survive there. So when someone describes nature as “generous”, I feel skeptical. Beautiful, yes. Fascinating. But neither kind nor malicious. I love nature. I don’t believe that nature loves me back.

“The Fly Trap” by Fredrik Sjoberg, translated from the Swedish by Thomas Teal

Published in 2004. Translated from Swedish in 2014 by Thomas Teal. Paperback by Vintage Books, 2014. 278 pages.

This cheerful book delves into two of my amateur interests, entomology (the biology of insects) and art history (with emphasis on art theft and forgery). I hang out with entomologists, and visit art museums casually.

The Fly Trap is both memoir and biography. As Sjoberg’s personal memoir, it is the first volume of a trilogy. The next two books are The Art of Flight (2016) and The Raisin King. One reviewer suggests that these three books might also be categorized as travel, natural history, popular science or even poetry.

The “fly trap” of the title is a collecting device used by entomologists and called the Malaise trap. It is named after it’s inventor, Rene Malaise (1892 – 1978). According to Wikipedia, Malaise was an eccentric Renaissance man, and little was written about him before Sjoberg produced somewhat biographical this book.

Sjoberg is described (by Wikipedia) as

• entomologist
• literary and cultural critic
• translator (If you are Swedish, do you have any choice?)
• author

Malaise was

• entomologist
• explorer (Siberia)
• art collector
• inventor
• geologist (one time defender of the Lost Continent of Atlantis)

With a mix like this, the book was bound to be interesting. It is enhanced by Sjoberg’s whimsical, non linear style. While studying Malaise, Sjoberg “caught” the art collecting passion, described in the book’s final chapter.

I pay attention to authors mentioning other authors. In one chapter (entitled “Slowness”), Sjoberg mentions (at least) three authors:

• Lars Noren – Czech born French writer, still living
• Milan Kundera – Swedish playwright, still living, best known for The Unbearable Lightness of Being
• D H Lawrence – English, 1885-1930, best known for Lady Chatterly’s Lover

I recommend this book if you like the out of doors, natural history and/or bugs. Also books, art and travel.

“The Voyage of the Narwhal – A Novel” by Andrea Barrett

Published in 1998, 394 pages, Norton paperback edition.

I can’t believe how much I liked this book! It’s one of the best novels I read since Cold Mountain.

(Digression… Why was I predisposed to read this book? My Father’s World War II military service included spending two winters in Point Barrow. Alaska, prospecting for north slope oil. Barrow was a tiny, isolated community and the Navy (Construction Battalion) unit was left more or less on its own for the cold, dark months. Dad came home with an interest in the arctic exploration, and read everything our public library provided about the polar explorers and their journeys. If Dad was alive, I would send him a copy of this wonderful story!

The other thing that hooked me was theword  “narwhal” in the title. The narwahl is a beautiful creature, much less studied than the whale or dolphin. It’s single tusk may be the source of the unicorn legends…)

The plot exceeded my expectations, which were of a standard adventure/survival tale. The 1850s was a period of exploration and public excitement about distant places. An expedition leaves from Philadelphia, hoping to find a missing explorer and fill in some blank places on the emerging map of the far North.

What makes this book work so well? The characters are well conceived and idiosyncratic. The author does not give too much away. I suppose I knew there had to be a “bad guy”, but who it was and what acts he would commit were not signaled in advance. The plot surprised me (more than once), and there was a subtle arc of retribution that I barely caught on my first reading.

Yesterday I glanced at the New York Times (April 1, 2016) and found a review of another novel about the far North, with emphasis on whaling rather than exploration. The North Water by Ian McGuire sounds too gory for me, and possibly too laden with literary references. But I realize this is only one reviewer’s opinion, so I may grab this if I find it on the “new arrivals” shelf at the library.

Meanwhile, I plan to read more by Andrea Barrett.

Candlelight Labyrinth and Night Hike

Two years ago, I celebrated Christmas and the winter solstice at a candlelight labyrinth. (See my blog entry of January 5, 2014.) This year I walked another candlelight labyrinth. It was offered on the beach at Brigantine. The weather was cool and windy, and the moon almost full. Lovely!

Two nights later I discovered another activity that offers the same sense of peace and opportunity for reflection. I walked a Pine Barrens sand road at night! It was closer to home and required no coordination of schedules.

What got me out into the Pine Barrens at night, on Christmas Eve, no less? I’m married to a naturalist/ecologist. Happily, he studies LOCAL ecosystems, not the rain forest or tundra, so he has research sites in our back yard (literally) and within a few minutes drive from home. Christmas Eve was warm and wet, so he invited me to join him looking for moths.

As usual, we took the precaution of notifying the property owner. We don’t want to be mistaken for “prowlers”! Then we stepped into the woods.

Finding moths requires the use of flashlights, and we were suitably equipped, but it was bright enough to walk without them much of the time. We were prepared for rain, but the weather was changing and the clouds broke up. We were treated to occasional moonlight, sometimes quite bright. We couldn’t resist taking photos with our cell phones, trying for the artsy black and white effect.

I wore rubber rain boots, which allowed me to feel the path beneath my feet. At a slow pace, I found walking in the darkness comfortable and safe.

What reminded me of the labyrinth was the fact that the paths we followed were sandy and often quite bright. After an hour of rambling, I felt adjusted to the darkness and pleasantly calm.

It wasn’t a great night for moths. My husband collected a dozen or so. But that’s what makes natural history interesting. You don’t know what you will find! We heard peepers (really shouldn’t be there in December), geese (barking like dogs) and other birds we couldn’t identify.

I highly recommend a night hike when you have the opportunity. In the Pine Barrens, if you are lucky enough to be here!

“Ecology of Center City, Philadelphia” by Kenneth D. Frank

Yes, this is the same Ken Frank I wrote about on December 6.

Ken Frank is a hugely talented and enthusiastic amateur naturalist. He refers to his field of study as “the history of natural history”. Having lived in Center City, Philadelphia for 40 years, in retirement (from his career as a physician) he writes about the LIFE in the neighborhood he knows so well.

“If this book has a unifying theme, it is the many ways people have shaped communities of plants and animals that inhabit downtown, the ways these communities have defied human control and survived in spite of, or because of dense urban development…. The ecology of Center City has been dynamic and resilient – qualities I expect will endure.”

Ken Frank notices everything! Who ever heard of the bridge spider? It’s attracted to artificial light, and Frank identifies Walnut Street as a favored habitat. They build beautiful and intricate webs.

Frank documents the “pee line” on trees, where the presence or absence of dog pee determines the identity and color of lichens.

There’s a whole chapter on fireflies, and a page on morning glories. Frank claims to have found 26 species of plants growing on the paved “islands” in the middle of South Broad Street.

The photographs in this book are delightful.

“Ecology of Center City, Philadelphia” makes a great coffee table book, but it is extensively indexed and documented, hence useful to scientists and teachers in their work.

Ken Frank plans to post this masterpiece on line. What a great find it will be for curious future investigators! The publisher is Fitler Square Press.