Weeds Impinge Path, But Would Be Worse If We Had Had Rain

June 23, 2010.  Wednesday.

Situation:  Same 9 am routine as yesterday:  turn on the computer, pour the water for the coffee, go outside let the chickens out, etc.  Mway’s ready whenever I am to go for her morning walk.  The only difference is there’s no turd on the rug in kitchen; that’s because I let Mway out late last night.

State of the Path:  It’s going to be a hot day today, feel the heat and humidity immediately.  Beneath the apple tree and along Moi’s garden pond, there’s a low-lying violet flower that looks something like gill-of-the-ground; a cursory check of Audubon doesn’t tell me what it is.  Day lilies by the walled garden are in full blaze.  The morning dew has almost already all evaporated.  I hear a mourning dove in the distance, then a farmer’s machine coming from the mountains.  The radio squeak of unseen birds: probably cardinals.  I realize as I’m walking along, that as much as the path seems hemmed in by weeds, it’s nothing compared to what it might be if the season were wetter.  Because of the lack of rain, the path is staying open, inviting our foot and paw steps with its beat down grass and dry white ground.  The elderberry flowers are turning into green berries; the red willow flowers, or whatever they are, are also turning green.  As I step across the board at the swale from bug land, I think about the deer we chased out yesterday, its absence now, and how disappointed it was to discover that what it thought was a perfectly secluded spot to bed down was a place visited by a human and his dog.

State of the Creek:  At the tree stand, Mway goes into the water, stirs it up; when I look at it it’s a muddy creamy color.  She steps over the dry rocks, which crackle under her paws, and exits the creek bed at her usual spot, below the red-berried honeysuckles.  I count the same pools of water as I did yesterday, then I hop over the feed channel, a little treacherous now, not because of water or mud, but because the foot holds are obscured by jewelweed and other weeds growing over them.  I look at the creek along the crest of the skating pond.  What’s usually one long pool of water has now shrunk into two smallish ponds, ringed by mud that was recently covered by water.  A dry wide outcrop of rocks, with the tire along the bank, is all that remains of the creek beyond the second feed channel.  It hits me today that most of the creek is now dry.

The Fetch:  Up at the clearing, I toss the “pro-quality” stick into the goldenrod; for some odd reason, maybe because the heat is affecting her brain, Mway dashes off in a tangent back down the path, and I have to call her back and walk toward the stick to reorient her.  After that, though, she fetches the stick with great accuracy.  We play “Put it down” once.  Walking back along the sumacs, I realize I should bring the clippers along with me on these walks, or another stick; the briars are getting thick here, and pretty soon they’ll be catching against me with every step.