Cleopatra

Canna 'Cleopatra' in bloom today.

Code red

I was watering some plants about 7 o'clock last night when I got the first whiff of the wildfire sparked by lightning at the Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge, about 150 miles east of here. This morning I could smell smoke inside the house, even with the windows closed and the AC on. I stepped outdoors to find a haze settled over our city.

Yesterday, winds finally started pushing thick smoke our way from the fire, which began 11 days ago and has since burned about 40,000 acres over an area of 63 square miles in three relatively sparsely populated counties, according to local news sources. The fire is described as the largest in North Carolina in the past 20 years, and it is currently the largest active wildfire in the United States.

Our city is now under a "Code Red" air quality advisory due to a shroud of fine particulate matter "that can penetrate deeply into the lungs and be absorbed into the bloodstream, causing or aggravating heart and lung diseases." Hmm. That doesn't sound good. Today produced the highest concentration of airborne fine particles ever measured in Raleigh for such an extended period of time, according to the N.C. Division of Air Quality. We are being urged to stay indoors when possible.

The thick substrate of highly combustible peat is fueling the blaze at the Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge, which lies just west of the northern part of the Outer Banks. It is 110,106 acres of extraordinary wilderness that is home to more than 250 black bears, representing the densest population of black bears reported anywhere (an estimated 1.67 bears per square kilometer). I once had the thrilling, though fleeting, experience of seeing a mother and her two cubs on one of the refuge's many dirt roads. The refuge is also the only place in the world where endangered red wolves* live in the wild.

FYI, Pocosin Lakes refuge get its name from the pocosin (pu-KOH-sin) habitat that dominates the acreage of the refuge. Pocosins, which are highly endangered (and fire-dependent) habitats, are defined by dense tracts of evergreen shrubs and scattered pond pine, underlain by deep layers of boggy, peat soils. Lots of food and hiding places for bears!

I tend to fawn and coo disproportionately over mammals, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that Pocosin Lakes NWR is a spectacular wintering ground for migratory waterfowl. In December 2006, refuge biologist Wendy Stanton counted more than 78,000 snow geese and about 26,000 tundra swans in a single morning on Lake Pungo, a record number for that time of year.

Of course, I thought immediately of the animals, and a reporter for the Virginian-Pilot did too. An excerpt from the June 6th article eased my mind a bit:

Animals in the Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge should be fine, said Chris Lucash, a wildlife biologist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in charge of the red wolf restoration project that has been going on at the refuge since the late 1980s.

If the fire threatens animals - deer, bear, raccoons, squirrels, birds and the red wolves that live there - they will move away, Lucash said.

If the fire had come a few weeks earlier, there would have been concern for the baby red wolves that might have been in dens. But the fire, later in the year, shouldn't be a threat to the area's animal population, Lucash said.

"They will simply move to an area where the wind is pushing the smoke away," he said. "In some areas, the fire has been raging, but wildlife has evolved where fire is a part of their existence. There's something in wild animals that tells them to avoid these situations."

* For a cool account of a wolf/bobcat sighting at the refuge by Mike Dunn, a naturalist, educator, photographer and all-around-great-guy, check out this page from Field Trip Earth.

Our h2o footprint: 112 gallons per day

With 76 of North Carolina's 100 counties still under drought conditions, water use is on everyone's mind. In my city of 276,000 people, significant watering restrictions have been in place since last summer.

According to our recent water bill, our household uses an average of 112 gallons of water each day, or 56 gallons per person. I was a little surprised, until I made a quick mental note of the daily activities for which my husband and I use water. I had a pretty good idea of what we use showering, flushing and washing dishes. But I wasn't sure about the washing machine. I figured maybe 10-15 gallons for a large load. I did a little googling and found these figures: the average washer uses 40 gallons per full load or 55 gallons per full load (click here for additional source). I was floored. I tried to find out some information about our own. I looked on the washer lid and in the owner's manual, but the capacity wasn't listed. Based on info I found online, it appears that our Kenmore extra-capacity model uses 23.1 gallons for a large load. Whew. Not quite as alarming, but still more than I'd guessed.

I've always heard that you save water by doing full loads of laundry. But I never understood why a full large load would use proportionately less water than a full small load. I am terrible at math, but was this true? I obviously have a lot to learn about solids and water displacement. The information I found about our Kenmore 5-setting washing machine supports the conventional wisdom, with the breakdown as follows:

• Large Load: 23.1 gallons
• Medium Large Load: 20.5 gallons
• Medium Load: 17.8 gallons
• Medium Low Load: 15.2 gallons
  
• Low Load: 12.7 gallons

After I solved my little math problem, I started wondering how our average water use stacks up to other households. The American Water Works Association estimates that the daily indoor per capita water use in the typical single family home is 69.3 gallons. If that figure is accurate, then my husband and I are each 19.2 percent below the national average. But the AWWA does not include in its estimate the amount of household water people use outdoors. The City Water Department's assessment of our household's daily average water use includes both indoor and outdoor water consumption. Since we don't have a traditional lawn or a pool, don't pressure wash our house or wash our cars, I figured we'd be even lower.

Since I subscribe to Felder Rushing's mow-what-grows philosophy, we do not have a "lawn" or irrigation or sprinkler system. What isn't a hodgepodge of grasses, clover and weeds on our .16-acre lot is either mulched natural area, established perennial beds with mostly drought-tolerant, low-maintenance plants, or small vegetable patches. I have a few pampered specimens, which include my dahlias and plants in pots that are either newly rooted, too small to be planted in the garden, or awaiting the appropriate permanent location. I estimate that my outdoor water use averages about 20 gallons per day (that estimate is mostly based on how many times I usually fill my 2-gallon watering can for daily outdoor rounds). However, I may be kidding myself, as I do water a little bit with a hand-held hose on the days when we are allowed to do so (four 4-hour increments of time, two days per week).

The City of Raleigh, where I live, estimates that outdoor irrigation accounts for an average of 20 percent of the water use in a typical household. I don't know if this statistic applies to summer only, or averages the amount over the course of a year.

I've regularly read estimates that the average household in America uses upwards of 50 percent of its water consumption on outdoor irrigation. It irks me when articles/organizations don't link their assertions directly to a source or study. For example, this Web article states that 30-60 of urban water is used for watering lawns. The EPA quotes no source for its assertion that "Nationwide, landscape irrigation is estimated to account for almost one-third of all residential water use, totaling more than 7 billion gallons per day." The National Wildlife Federation touts the statistic I usually see regarding per capita water use in a typical household: "The average American uses nearly 100 gallons of water daily for preparing food, bathing, washing clothes and dishes, flushing toilets and watering lawns and gardens." If you start with the AWWA estimate of 69.3 gallons per capita per household for indoor use and tack on outdoor use based on the more-inclusive NWF statistic, then 100 gallons per person per day may be in the ballpark.

I don't want to seem too persnickety about the numbers, as I recognize that environmental advocates (including conservation organizations, water utilities, government agencies, etc.) want to supply us with a general rule of thumb for gaging our impact and trying to mitigate it.

Though I've always identified myself as an environmentalist, I began scrutinizing my water-use habits even more when our state was shriveled by a record-breaking drought and when our city started imposing restrictions. It's undoubtedly responsible for making me an even better steward. I still have water indulgences I could curb. And, as I'm sure many of you are already thinking, household water use is only a small part of the consumption pie. Consumer choices come into play too, such as the amount of water, energy and other resources used to produce food and other consumer goods that we use daily.

When I confirmed that our household water consumption is below the national average, I felt pretty good. Until I quickly reminded myself that "average" doesn't equal "good." I could preface what I'm about to write with "I don't want to point fingers, but ...." But I won't. That's because I'm unapologetically pointing my fingers: The quest for perfect, sprawling lawns makes me froth at the mouth. Not only because it requires an abominable waste of water, but it is also a source of other evils (introduction of pesticides/herbicides into the environment, burning of fossil fuels to mow and maintain, etc., etc.). If lawn lust is checked, and I hope it soon will be (out of necessity if nothing else), I believe our averages will become something to be more proud of.

I'd love to hear feedback on any surprises you've discovered about your own water consumption, plus links to original sources for popularly quoted statistics. And, of course, corrections to any of my math will be graciously received.

A closing note: I found interesting this study by a Duke University student on how economic status affects household water consumption. Though the study parameters were small, it gave a little validation to my assumption that wealthier people use more water. If undue outdoor lawn watering is as excessive as sources report, then it seemed logical to me to assume that big incomes = large houses = large yards = lush lawns = heavy irrigation.

A Chilean in Scotland

My friend Frances took this neat photo during a recent trip to Scotland—a small "monkey tree" on the grounds of Balloch Castle. I did some googling to learn more about this funky-looking plant. Also called the monkey puzzle tree and Chilean pine, Araucaria araucana is native to Chile and Argentina. It is a threatened/protected species in its native habitat.

I love the warning on this Web site: "Monkey puzzle tree drops branchlets and sharp-pointed leaves almost continuously." And this ringing endorsement from a Dave's Garden member in California: "My trees are 120 years old—part of a large garden which belonged to a Sanitarium in the 1890s. The dropped limbs and cones are extremely dangerous. Cones the size of basketballs have dropped, weighing 17 pounds."

Wow, perfect castle defense!

There's an interesting historical photo and links to more info at the UBC Botanical Garden Web site. I loved these two reader comments on that page:

Chuck wrote:

The only time I've ever heard of this, the "monkey puzzle tree," prior to this email, was in the film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir starring, if memory serves, Rex Harrison and (possibly) Gene Tierney. The Mrs. Muir character angers the sea captain by cutting down his monkey puzzle tree.

Abbas wrote:

This is a very interesting and mind cooling photo. It is recommendable to show more pictures like this in this scenario in the future also.

Mind-cooling. I like that.

Oakleaf hydrangea leaf

I went outside to photograph the oakleaf hydrangea in bloom, but this leaf stole the show.

Scrambled turkey eggs

Last week my brother was mowing his oats when he flushed a wild turkey. He stopped to investigate and discovered a nest with 13 eggs in it (turkeys nest on the ground). Wild turkeys are common sights in the area, but I've not heard anyone describe happening upon a nest.

Avoiding the nest, he mowed around it, leaving a good size swath of oats. He hoped the bird would return, and she did. I visited on Friday, and he took me down to the field to show me the location. At the edge of the stand, we could see a dark shape hunkered down over the nest, but we kept on driving so as not to disturb her.

The next day, he and my 10-year-old niece and I rode down on the golf cart with the intent to snap a long-distance photo. Sadly, what we found were pilfered and broken eggs scattered among the oat stubble. The work of any number of possible scavengers—dogs, raccoons, coyotes, foxes. My niece hung her head and said "I feel so bad for the mother turkey." Due to the circumstances, her nest was unduly exposed to predation. But it could have happened anyway, anywhere. That's nature.

I snapped this photo of the egg shells as well as a shot of the baled oat hay.

Earth mother

If it crawls or grows, my Mom is interested in it. In her later years, she’s developed an aversion to snakes, but when I was a kid she’d pick up anything. I think it’s because of her that I approach any new plant as a full sensory experience. To see it is not enough; you have to smell it, feel it, sometimes even taste it.

On our nature walks, it seemed that nothing escaped Mom’s notice. She even coaxed ant lions from their sandy dens with a stick and the incantation, "Doodle-bug, doodle-bug: Come out of your hole!"

In early summer, Mom seems to know the location of every wild patch of milkweed within a 20-mile radius. When I was a kid, she picked a bouquet of the orange flowers, and there was a monarch caterpillar pupa attached. We waited for days, then watched in awe as the butterfly emerged from its chrysalis on the dining room table.

Mom was the sole source in helping me ID several dozen tree species for an elementary-school notebook made of leaves and seeds we collected. For another school project, we harvested all sorts of twigs and bark to investigate which made the best cloth dyes. I’ll never forget (nor likely will anyone else in the family) the rank smell in the kitchen as she let me boil pokeberries, sassafras and other plants in vinegar, then dip strips of muslin for staining into all the pots and pans. Mom is the main reason I am enthralled with native plants and animals.

Libelous vandals!

I don't know which is more distasteful: people who deface library books or people who don't get their facts straight. But those who do it at the same time? Don't get me started! In case you can't read the handiwork of this vandal, it says, above the listing for Liatris, "No longer a politically correct plant. Very aggressive and invasive." Could it be the person just saw a spiky, purple flower out of the corner of an eye and thought it was purple loosestrife, a beautiful but noxious plant that runs roughshod over wetland environments? Liatris, often commonly called blazing star or gayfeather, is a beloved native wildflower in the wild and in the garden. I've never heard anyone describe it as being invasive.

By the by, Heller's blazing star (L. helleri) is a threatened species listed under the Endangered Species Act, and several other Liatris species have protected status in North Carolina.

What's curious is that our unscrupulous editor had nothing at all to scribble on the listings for the thugs Japanese honeysuckle and English ivy. I can only assume his/her pen ran out of ink.

Phyllostachys allergy

I took this photo of my neighbor's magnificent oak today while lying flat on my back in the back yard, prostrate from exhaustion. I'd been digging bamboo for four hours—the bamboo that has wandered uninvited from my neighbor's yard. I have decided that if even my closest friends asked me to help them dig bamboo, I'd respond: "I wish I could help, but I am deathly allergic to bamboo. If I get within 20 feet of it, I go into anaphylactic shock."

You see, our new neighbor—bless his heart!—has started attempting to eradicate the jungle in his back yard, and so I have seized this opportunity to put a stop to the encroachment. Our lot is less than two-tenths of an acre, so we can't spare another inch of space for a bowl of panda chow that never gets eaten. To my amazement, the bamboo (planted decades ago by some silly person infatuated with its good looks) only started to invade last summer (our 11th year here). I was mowing when I spotted the shoots emerging about 10 feet into our yard. I gasped. Satan's horns! I think it was the shade of the gargantuan oak and competition for moisture that kept it mannerly for this long.

I've decided that if we were shopping for real estate and found our dream home but there was a grove of bamboo in the yard, we would keep on driving. Unless it was a self-cleaning house with a freezer that dispensed an endless supply of Edy's ice cream. Oh, and a staff of 12 that would dig bamboo 24/7.

Two words a gardener can't resist:

"Free plants."

Of course when it comes to participating in a sanctioned plant rescue, the term free is open to interpretation. Yes, you get a ton of plants and don't have to run them by a cashier afterward. But the price is your readiness, if necessary, to brave mosquitoes, ticks and chiggers, get caked with mud, wade through poison ivy and briers, and maybe hit yourself in the head with your own shovel handle and forget who you are for 10 minutes.* And did I mention the digging? The relentless meeting of blade and soil, blade and soil, blade and soil?

Today it paid off in spades (which is good, since I lost my trowel in the woods). In exchange for about four hours of moderate labor, I returned home with a carload of yellowroot, royal fern, lady fern, grape fern, Christmas fern, netted chain fern, Carolina lily, club moss, Solomon's seal, Jack-in-the-pulpit, fringe tree, pinxter azalea, wild ginger and coral honeysuckle.

How can this be, you say? Well, it seems I know a few of the right people. And one of the right people to know is Tom Harville. If you can get on Tom's good side, you'll learn where the choice digs are. Fortunately, it's pretty easy to get on Tom's good side. If you're a relatively nice person and you love native wildflowers, shrubs, trees and the like, you're two-thirds of the way there. If you want to close the deal, you should join the North Carolina Native Plant Society. Tom is cuckoo for the NCNPS. In fact, he has been known to take people on labyrinthine trips into the forest, then refuse to lead them back out until they've coughed up their dues.**

Among many other admirable activities, NCNPS conducts native plant rescues in cooperation with North Carolina governments, landowners and developers in an effort to save native plants that would otherwise be lost to construction and development. To learn more about the Society's mission and how to become a member, click here. Go ahead, make Tom's day.


* As far as I know, this has never happened. However, I could have forgotten it.
** Don't go into the woods without your checkbook!

(Pictured: Soil guru Pete Schubert in a little slice of fern heaven, Raleigh, North Carolina)

Luna moth in repose

I went on a plant rescue in the woods today (more about that later), and a member of our party noticed this luna moth resting on a twig on the forest floor. I took a few profile shots but thought this overhead perspective was really bizarre (click on the image for a closer look). You can tell this luna is a male from its bushy antennae. The female's is more narrow and whiplike.

I have raised luna caterpillars on a diet of sweetgum leaves, then released the adults. But this is the first time I've seen a luna in the wild that was not in flight. Thanks, Pete, for spotting this fella!

The fountain of youth

The corporate hawkers would have us believe that the secret to feeling younger is looking younger: "Ladies, get your anti-aging alpha-hydroxy anti-oxidant and other a-word-enhanced epidermal creams! Gentlemen, chase away the gray with Just for Men!"

But if you want to feel younger, I suggest this prescription. Slip into your Keds, or whatever kind of shoes you wore when you were a kid. Better yet, go barefoot. Fill up a watering can. Then go outside and gently sprinkle your fledgling beans and onions and radishes. Later on, you may notice your aches and pains again. But for a few minutes, you might swear you're 7.

Black swallowtail caterpillars on yummy bronze fennel

I made note of seeing the first black swallowtail butterfly in the garden nine days ago. She was laying eggs on bronze fennel. Clearly, someone was here before that, as these caterpillars I found today are fourth or fifth instar already. I was going to inspect the whole plant for a total head count, but it started to rain. And it hasn't stopped—we've gotten almost 3 inches so far!

Baby bunny makes my day

I'm putzing around the garden this afternoon when I spy a tiny young rabbit totally unaware of me. I crouch and sit as still as possible and watch it explore the garden. It's just beyond my arm's length. This young chap (or chapette) is no bigger than my fist, and it toddles in such an adorable, clumsy way.

It approaches a dahlia shoot. Sniff, sniff. Not interested. Ah, a bit of tansy. Nibble. That's an interesting flavor. Perhaps a tad too strong though. A taste of wild verbena. Not bad. But here: a tender clover leaf! This, I like, thinks little cottontail, whose tail is not yet cottony.

Then it turns and ambles toward me, and I make nary a move. (Now, usually I'm not good at sitting still. I have less patience with birds, but in an encounter with a wild mammal of any shape or size, I have the discipline of a Buckingham Palace guard). Here it comes: the reward. The baby bunny steps right onto the top of my shoe and perches there. Hold my breath, hold my breath, hold my breath. It sits for just a second, then moves on, across the garden, past the onions, and eventually through the fence and into the neighbor's yard.

(Remains of meal retrieved, and scanned for your viewing enjoyment. Cute little teeth marks!)

First poppy, first hummingbird

The first opium poppy bloomed today. And the first hummer arrived at the feeder. Finally, birds I can afford to feed.