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All of the banner background photos on this site were taken by Whitey.
Above is a close-up of the bark of incense-cedar (Calocedrus decurrens) in winter.
This white ash (Fraxinus americana) on the University of Oregon's campus here in Eugene is certainly one of my go-to trees every fall. Most white ash cultivars sold these days (e.g., the cultivar called 'Autumn Purple') have leaves tinged in pinks or reds or purples. They're lovely, too, but I just love the simple yellow of this individual that was apparently grown from seed and is now over a century old. It's especially picturesque because of the four main trunks arising from a single base (due, perhaps, to an injury when it was still young).
Alas, the first week of September’s wonderful rain—the first significant rain since mid-April (!) that totaled 1.30 inches in my gauge over several days—was just a big tease. Eugene hasn’t had a decent rain since then, and October’s lack of rain may end up breaking a former record for “driest October ever.” And so it goes.
It’s so dry that I felt I needed to water my native woodland in the front yard last week, as plants that had greened up with September’s rain began to wilt. Elsewhere, native licorice ferns—epiphytic ferns mentioned in my last post—that had unfurled their new fronds following the September rains—are wilting and even dying now, as well. Usually, the new fronds don’t unfurl until sometime in October and then, even if we have a dry spell of a week or two, they can make it through okay until the “real” rains begin in November. At least that’s the way things used to work around here. Everything is a toss-up anymore.
In happier news, I continue to harvest fresh tomatoes daily from my locally famous Tomato Wall on the south side of my house—now protected from both cold and rain by clear plastic (see photo below). We’ll see how long it is before our first killing frost (below 30 degrees F) which will spell the end of the season for those bright red fruits that masquerade as “vegetables.”
And fall colors of deciduous trees and shrubs, at least where the plants aren’t drought-stressed, are as stunning as ever. (How about that white ash above? Wow.)
Okay, a just-baked cauliflower quiche--from cauliflower frozen last June--awaits me in the kitchen. Gotta go.
And Life goes on!
The view from the space between my Tomato Wall--where I stand to pick the ripe tomatoes at this season--and the south-facing windows of my house. The view from inside the house is wonderful, too, as the low sun at this season shines through the vines and illuminates the ripest tomatoes.
Always a nice sign of the changing seasons at this time of year: a wooly-bear caterpillar crosses a narrow forest road in Oregon's West Cascades. Yes, I hovered over it until it made it safely to the other side--in case a motorized vehicle should come along. The caterpillar eventually metamorphoses into an Isabella tiger moth.
I had glanced elsewhere for just a few minutes--from my sitting spot in a stand of old conifers in the West Cascades--and when I looked back at the essay I was writing, HEY! A banana slug had arrived in the meantime and was enjoying a snack of the edge of my sheet of paper! I wrapped a fallen maple leaf around the slug (to avoid getting slimy fingers) and moved it several meters away and then continued writing. I may be the only bipedal hominid in those woods, but there are lots of other creatures who share "the habitat" with me!
(This page updated 24 October 2026.)
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