When Ivy shook the crabapple tree, dozens of fruits thumped down on the grass, alerting the deer across the street. Right away one mama hurried over with her two fawns to  accept the offering.

I’m at daughter Pippin’s for a few days, having many literary, outdoorsy and even poetic adventures. Five hours farther north in California than I live, and at higher elevations, I’m enjoying the more dramatically aromatic and visual signs of fall.

In their back yard, dozens of mushrooms have sprouted: these are Western Black Elfin Saddle, and Spectacular Rustgill — plus one I didn’t identify.

Higher up where we played at the edges of a lake, various plants drew our attention to them because of their beautiful colors, and even Pippin learned a new species: Dwarf Bilberry. In our sightings it was often set off by azaleas turning color in a wide range of tones.

At the lake we discovered schools of baby trout, minnow sized, in a sunlit pool making for a natural fish nursery.

The most surprising thing close to home was a Monarch butterfly in Pippin’s garden, seemingly having wandered way off course; they are never seen in this part of the country, and this is the wrong time of year, as well. It was fluttering among the extravagant dahlia flowers, and we encouraged it to light on a white one, or any color more complementary. But it preferred the red one.

Just below is a picture of this year’s most startling bloom, maybe 9-10 inches across, “Belle of Barmera.” I never get bored looking at these beauties, which are planted inside a high-fenced garden to keep them from the deer. This was one of the years that the deer poked their heads through and ate some anyway.

It’s been quite a rich visit as far as natural wonders go.
I hope to tell about other sorts of fun I’ve had, very soon.