The spherical webs of the forest spiders glisten in the afternoon sunlight, the slight breeze stirring the yellowing leaves of the Indian plum and unleashing a sprinkling of fir and hemlock needles. The crunch of the madrona’s leaves and peeled bark under my feet is the only sound except for the territorial chatter and occasional piercing alarm cry of the native Douglas squirrel. The image of the squirrel, at the top of Douglas fir trees tossing down ripe cones to then gather and store, is the quintessential expression of this season: a celebration of the bountiful summer harvest with an equal appreciation for the need to begin storing for winter. I call this season “Hints of Autumn in the Undercurrent of Summer.”
This is the time of the year when we begin to notice that the days are indeed getting shorter, celebrated by the ancient Celts with great feasts which traditionally lasted for one month — 15 days before Aug. 1 and 15 days after. The ancient Celtic holiday of Lammas (Aug. 2) is known as the Cross Quarter Fire Festival, occurring exactly midway between the summer solstice and the fall equinox.
To the observant, the signs of summer’s peak are everywhere. Even as the native trailing blackberry, the thimbleberry and the red huckleberry are in the midst of producing their juicy berries, the ripening of the late summer berries has begun. The first ripe salal berries were eaten last weekend, and one or two almost ripe evergreen huckleberries have been spotted.
The last of the late summer flowers are in full bloom now: the natives pearly everlasting, fireweed, and heal all, and the non-natives — yarrow, nipplewort, wild lettuce and tansy. When these plants are flowering, it signals the end of most other plants’ period of growth and entry into their more dormant, post-flowering phase.
The chattery chickadees and the raucous stellar jays have both reappeared to these parts from their summer in the mountains. The hummingbirds have mostly disappeared, heading south after feasting all summer on luscious Northwest nectar. Speaking of nectar-loving pollinators, the bumblebees are not as prevalent now as there are precious few flowers for them to indulge in; most of the bumblebees will die, and only the impregnated females will winter over underground. I still see those big lumbering dragonflies here and there, but butterflies are beginning to die off, having laid their eggs that will hatch into new caterpillars in the spring.
As I walk through the forest, everything has a sparser look. The plants don’t spring back as I step on them, the way they did a month ago. The foliage has transitioned from the blue-green of vibrant new growth to the yellow-green shades of dying back. I can see farther into the forest since a lot of the lower leaves have already fallen. The willow and the cottonwood leaves are already distinguishably yellowing, the alder leaves are dropping, and the vine maple leaves are changing into their seasonal reds.
This is the time of year when I begin to harvest many of my root medicines for tincturing, such as Oregon grape, dandelion, devils club and valerian, as the energy and concentration of the plant’s medicine moves back underground. We, too, will feel this shift as our energy begins to move back inward, following summer’s expansionism. Primal natural rhythms, that we are all aware of on some level, cue us into the turning of the wheel of the year.
— Erin Kenny is a naturalist and one of the founders of Cedarsong Nature School.
