Nature Journal Update: Hiking the Late Summer Woods

Since April, David & I have hiked over 400 miles through Raccoon Creek State Park --I've logged each mile. On many of those treks, I had a nature journal tucked under my arm.  I'm ever amazed at how keeping a nature journal ties you to the land.  You see subtle changes, what's in bloom -- now Joe Pye Weed and goldenrod take the fore, as Bergamot and Bee Balm fade.  You notice how the oak leaves have become pock-marked with insect damage and how the Wild Turkey young have grown almost as big as their parents, and have smooth plumage.  

Lately, I guess every bird must be molting for the fall as I find gorgeous Wild Turkey, hawk and owl feathers on the trail.  Can't help but scoop them up and try to capture their essence on paper.  Pretty soon it will be acorns and colorful autumn leaves.  Sketching what's going on right now, following the seasons, has it's own calming effect.  The wheel of the year rolls on regardless of what is going on in human realms, and its consistency is a balm to my soul.

A Warm Winter Sunset

The past week has seen some unseasonably warm weather for us, allowing me the opportunity to sit outside and paint.  What a relief to smell the earth again and hear the little twitterings of songbirds at my bird feeder. 

A Day of Sandhill Cranes and Sunshine

Today I had a rare day off.  And, serendipity granted me a lovely, sunny afternoon to sit outside on an old wool Army blanket south of my house and paint the scene before me.  The sky was clear as a Robin's egg shell, spanning ultramarine to cerulean blue, and I delighted in watching a half dozen Eastern Bluebirds hunting in the Staghorn Sumac shrubs around my home.  A gentle breeze made the dead aster stalks dance and nod, and I simply relaxed and took it all in.

This morning at just after 10 am, I stepped outside and was surprised to hear the trumpeting call of a hundred Sandhill Cranes flying high overhead.  How remarkable that I could hear their wild voices as far as they were from me.  I snapped these photos of the majestic birds on their migration, and offered up Palo Santo incense and a prayer for their safe travels south.  A charmed day.

Sandhill Cranes form two loose V's.

Bike Ride with a Painting Break

In celebration of Labor Day, I hopped on a bike with a pack of art supplies on my back and zipped down the Pan Handle Trail towards Bulger, PA.  Though the town name didn't sound promising, the expansive, rolling landscape was inspiring, and I stopped at the crest of a broad hill to paint.

A Prairie Painting Day

My friend, Brad, and I visited Jennings Environmental Center yesterday on a gorgeous, blue-sky day.  Brad took his camera, and I toted my sketchbook, and we captured images of the wild sunflowers, coreopsis, thistles and other wildflowers decking the landscape. Hummingbirds buzzed in and out of view, joined by Goldfinches and a multitude of butterflies.  I was so inspired by our visit yesterday, I had to return today to plop down in the prairie with my watercolors.  Here's the result.

A Shingle Oak at Jennings Prairie.

Pencil Sketches

Last week included travel, moving our daughter to college and moments to sit and sketch at day's end. 

I sat on the stoop of an Airbnb cottage the evening after a long day.  The shadowy woods in the dimming light of day drew me in.  

Back at home on my front porch.

First Fall Leaf of 2019

There's no denying the shift of the season towards fall.  The grandmother Sugar Maple tree on my farm is beginning to change her cloak.  Not scarlet yet, but the green is tinged here and there with yellow and orange-tinted leaves (in addition to the dead brown clusters killed by the periodical cicadas).
Here's a leaf I found on a walk to my mailbox that called out to be drawn in colored pencil.

A Warm (Enough) Day for Sketching Outdoors

On Monday afternoon, I went out for a hike with my oldest, Sarah, on what we call a Sketch-potition -- a sketching expedition.  The evergreen woods we strode through were carpeted with twigs and branches blown out of the trees by Sunday's wild windstorm. Ducking under fallen trees was tricky with a pack of art supplies on my back.

 The calm after the storm; the stillness after a brisk hike; the open field after a woods scramble -- yin and yang mingled.  I felt grateful for time to melt into the landscape as I sketched.  The brilliant blue sky spilled long, late rays of the sinking sun into the abandoned picnic area our family refers to as The City of Ember after the novel about a crumbling civilization whose inhabitants don't know how to maintain their infrastructure -- Sarah & I sat in acres of open meadow on top of a hill that once was actively used by park-goers, but due to shrinking state park budgets was closed.  The bluebirds, deer and we still enjoy its charms.