Interface with your place

The snake lies directly in front of me. That doesn’t mean I see it. I step forward and find, as my foot falls to earth, a ropelike form slithering in haste toward the safe haven of the meadow’s edge. Into a small rock pile its tail disappears.

As I bend down to examine the entrance to the snake’s den, a second snake comes into focus. Daintily coiled atop a lichen-riddled stone, this petite reptile remains motionless, except for the flame-like flicker of its tiny tongue as it scents the air for information about my presence.

These snakes, and quite a few others here, share the good fortune of living in a place where the property owner is willing to share this habitat. Let’s face it—humans often eradicate creatures we deem offensive. But when we turn such effort instead toward learning something about that which we fear, we often discover within ourselves a measure of tolerance. Sometimes such tolerance turns into appreciation.

I’ve become enamored of a fist-sized Bufo americanus that has laid claim to the front porch of this cabin. I exercise a little extra caution to avoid treading on the diligent and patient American toad. The stumpy Buddha is quite beautiful, boasting a rich mosaic of brick and caramel tones on his warty cloak. His broad face and rugged jaw pivot slowly as he monitors the progress of a green caterpillar. He is well nourished from the bounty of insects drawn to the motion light mounted near the log pile that serves as shelter.

Meanwhile, more mushrooms than I’ve ever seen before have risen from the forest floor during recent days of rain, heat and high humidity. The fungi love this fairly dark place of limited sunlight on these north-facing slopes. Largely undisturbed, they claim their brief days, then dissolve back into the soil as silently as they appeared.

The variety of fungi species thriving here would thrill a mycologist. Within a radius of perhaps a quarter mile lie coral, sac, tooth, bracket and jelly fungi; pink, brown, dark and light-spored mushrooms; and slime moulds. A sunny place would possess, by nature, a very different sort of abundance.

Clavaria vermicularis, a white worm-like coral mushroom, presents itself along the fringe of a stone pathway. The brilliant purple gel-enrobed marbles of Cortinarius iodes peep from the edge of a fallen tree. Horn of plenty, Yellow staghorn and something that looks like a giant just-flipped pancake appear here and there.

Amanitas, many of which contain toxins that destroy the human liver and kidneys and can result in death, dot the leaf litter. Amanita virosa, or Destroying Angel, is a white, plain and benign-looking mushroom that happens to be one of the deadliest fungi in the forest. Also poisonous, Big Laughing Mushroom, is no laughing matter if ingested.

With such compelling names and diverse appearances, one could wander many years among the fungi here. More adventure beckons in the interesting antics of amphibians and reptiles, the flora and fauna calling this place home and the fascinating interplay of their various life cycles.

Every place holds potential if we pay attention. One of the local woodpeckers has just begun drilling for dinner. I’m going out to have a look.