Photos: Suzanne’s Mom.
After an unexpected visit from mushroom hunters in September, I’ve started paying attention to what pops up after rain. It’s not that I want to eat wild mushrooms, but I would like to know something about them. Their names for example. I do know the one above. It used to be called Indian pipe, but nowadays, it’s called Ghost pipe, a name that works for me. [Late note: See naturalist Kim Gaffett’s helpful corrections in the comments below.]
Just from noticing a little more, I’ve realized that the round yellow ones with the white dots flatten out after a few days. I haven’t decided if I want to pay for the mushroom-identifier app, so if you’re a micologist, maybe you could tell me the little guy’s name.
From my walks in Massachusetts: there’s a black squirrel who lives along the bike path, unusual around here. Kathleen’s garden box features a gigantic aster practically dancing with buzzing pollinators. Pat’s garden box has late-blooming dahlias. The milkweed announces fall.
From my walks in Rhode Island: New Shoreham’s West Side beaches are quiet in the evening. One view shows the goldenrod that covers the island at this time of year. The tiny frog is, I think, a peeper, normally seen in spring. The shark on the rock celebrates a big anniversary for a famous movie that gave white sharks a bad name. The cloud photo shows the sea at its most benign. The one after that shows its dark side, a tombstone for fishermen whose bodies will never be found.
From where I live now: artwork that includes a metal fish by Cassie Doyon and Muppet-like shapes by Joan Mullen. Finally, an early morning view of the Sudbury River from our fitness center.
Suzanne's Mom's Blog 