A Blue Moon

It is easy to miss what is going on in the sky, particularly if you are, like us, surrounded by trees. But this full moon, on July one, was hard to miss. In fact, it had been keeping me up at night, presenting itself in the wee hours after our nightly storms had cleared, glowing brilliantly above the southern horizon, a flashlight in my sleeping face. This July happens to have two full moons, the second of which is known as a blue moon.

If it weren't for an evening out at a friend's place in Minneapolis, I'm not sure I would have noticed the peculiar proximity of two planets fairly close to the horizon. As we sat talking about our art and possibilities, I perceived this celestial phenomenon without uttering a word. I may have missed the planets at their closest moment, but the event warranted an evening trip to the road just to our west, one that is up on the ridge and had been cleared for farming years ago.

Venus, the brightest body in the sky other than the moon and sun, is on the left and Jupiter sits to its right.

Not quite a celestial phenomenon, but the reddened light of the afternoon sun clued us in to smoke in the lower atmosphere. Originating in Canadian wildfires, the smoke arced down with the jet, creating hazy sun, sunset-like light earlier in the evening, and the low-hanging moon became an unofficial blood moon.

The Scarlet

Our neighbor, a Pennslyvanian by birth with farmer cred and a seasoned Three Rivers Parks employee, mentioned a few month's back that our woods was the only woods in the area where he had seen a Scarlet Tanager, Piranga olivacea. I took note. 

Now that spring has long past us, we've taken to having coffee on the screened, back porch in the morning. Much to our surprise, and with great luck, the scarlet bird flitted onto the old bird feeder, derelict as it is near the red oak that once supported it. I learned early on not to sit with a camera for just these surprises as I may not accomplish much else. Unlike many of the creatures that surprise us here, the tanager didn't flee, even as I pried open the swollen stuck screen door to take his picture.

My compact Olympus quickly came to life for a few shots as the Tanager ascended to safer heights. Although perched rather distant for a limited zoom and small sensor, it is evidence enough. 

The black wing contrasts well with the brilliant red body, possibly one of the most stunningly colored birds of the Eastern Forest. Our visitor stayed in the surrounding trees long enough to clue us into his call, a blurred chirrup that sounds a bit like a coarse robin's call. 

Now we'll know when they are in town, by sound if not by sight. The Scarlet Tanager visits only for the breeding season, for which the male erupts into scarlet feathers, then shifts back into an olive and black coloration, something more suitable, maybe, for a winter in South America.

What's Your Poison?

When we started clearing the woods of garlic mustard this May, it didn't take long before I began to spot small shrubs that looked like poison ivy, but may or may not have been. I have long been aware of the morphological nature of poison ivy, Toxicodendron radicans. In the blazing sunshine of New York beach dunes it shows as a glorious shining-leaf shrub thicket or in the dry woods of Long Island it appears as a vining, often shiny but not always, plant growing up trees or just as often a three-leafed low shrub colony at the edges of woods and fields. In the deep, wet woods of Maine it often took the appearance of fresh, pale greenery growing low to the ground. 

Rex always said poison ivy was not growing on the property, but I knew it grew across the road in the sunshine, in front of and under the Alders. Because my possible sightings took place in dappled sunlight or on slopes recently made sunny by fallen oaks along with what I consider a cohabitant, wild grapes, I began mentally bookmarking each specimen as a potential rash. I posted on FB and the results were nearly fifty fifty split between poison and not poison, yet no one could provide a possible alternative to poison ivy.

Leaves of three, let in be -so the saying goes.

But what of this? Sometimes PI looks just like trees.

Another clue is the short branches on side leaves, long on front leaf. 

Surely that is poison ivy. Alternate veining on the leaves.

You say, no way -not this one? But see here. 

Mitten-shaped leaves, leaves of three, alternate veining? 

Reddened stems, alternate veins, short side stems, three leaflets, perfect habitat?

If this isn't poison ivy, then what is it?

Turns out that's not poison ivy growing about our dappled clearings. This one clue deciphered it: opposite branching on our plants. Poison ivy has alternate branching. How did I figure it out?

While Betsy and I were clearing the area around the mailbox at the road, I saw a small tree, but definitely a tree, that had leaves just like our little specimens around the yard. I googled tree that looks like poison ivy (why didn't I think of that first?). It's an Ash Maple, Acer negundo, also known as Boxelder. After two weeks of surveying, each had grown enough to reveal their true identity. Then I found this definitive guide that goes beyond all the hooey about leaves of three you'll find on the Internet. Keep the pdf on your phone when your hiking and all your identification problems will be solved.