I embarked from Dana with high spirits, wearing my trusty poncho and shorts instead of sweatpants. I say high spirits, but really it was as high of spirits as you can get with the knowledge that this post is due tomorrow, so I suppose the superior phrasing is “desperate spirits”.

It just so happened that it rained today, so my poncho came to good use. The water of the creek was colder than I remembered as I ventured to my spot – though maybe that was the contrast of weather rather than a change in water temperature; it was far hotter last time than it was today. I went a different route this time, to get a better grasp on the landmarks surrounding my spot. I walked on the edge of the tree line, and by doing so discovered that I’m adjacent to the stables, quite a ways west of Tinker.

Focusing closer in on the more direct vicinity of my sit-spot, I have discovered a small crevice indenting the cliff-face directly behind the tree root I use as a seat, concealed by the trunk of the tree and miscellaneous branches. In it spiders have woven their webs. South of where I sit exists a pasture, and to the east and west the creek stretches further on, and on, and on…

As I sit for my moment(s) of quiet observation time, I hear the trademark sounds of the forest – nothing unusual or out of the ordinary from last time, sans the rain. There are crickets cheeping out a tapestry of noise that envelopes you in how constant it is. There is no silence. Somewhere above, a bird chirps sporadically. Water flows as it always does. Fish flash silver in the sinking sunlight, leaves rustle in the raining wind. There are no concrete ants crawling about today, having probably hidden from the onslaught of wet weather.

With one last lingering exhale, I unravel my legs and hop down from my post to explore my sit-spot further. Slipping a multitude of times on shifting rocks, I wander about, finding wonder in everything I find. If it sounds cheesy, that’s because it is.

Though I must admit, I have already examined this area in detail. Everything seemed different though, with the addition of rain.

Comparing my pictures of the water levels of Carvin Creek, it appears as if they have risen since my last visit, which makes sense, as it has drizzled a couple times in the past few days. The blue lobelia flower has shriveled and browned, drying up on its stem. No longer does it sport the vibrance it had before. The rest of the plant grows strong and green, still, not yet retreating for the winter. I found the way it grew interesting, how it emerged from a vertical surface, only to stretch up and towards the sun. This is an adaptation that many plants utilize in order to maximize the amount of sunlight they absorb.

Creek levels – Day 2

Creek levels – Day 1

Blue lobelia – dried up flowers

The lichen has not changed much. I don’t imagine it grows very fast.

Lichen – Day 2

Roots growing around rock

A rather interesting discovery was a rock, nestled snugly in a tree root, as if the root had grown and morphed around it. It protrudes from the wood, stark against the ash brown. An orange-speckled flower (identified to be a jewelweed) blossoms. Its petals are cupped in a trumpet shape, which I later learn are a favorite of hummingbirds. This is one of the adaptations I’ve noticed: flower color and shape influence which pollinators can access the pollen – for example, the aforementioned jewelweed is orange (the color that attracts birds) and trumpet-shaped (again, hummingbird favorite).

Jewelweed

There is moss growing on the fallen tree that bridges the creek, as well as a fungus-thing that I can’t identify. What looks like the remnants of a bird’s nest is also perched on this log. Dead yellowed grasses are tangled in a bird’s nest-esque way. In this dry grass I saw a few shoots of plants sprouting, growing against all odds.

Two monarch butterflies flutter by and land on a leaf (see picture!), exhibiting the last adaptation I’ve noticed in detail. Their coloration is a warning, of sorts, to predators. It tells them that they’re poisonous, to stay away. Interestingly enough, another species – the viceroy butterfly – emulates their pattern in a phenomenon known as Müllerian mimicry.

Monarch butterflies