Totems

Day 48: The three wooden story poles (commonly called "totem poles") depicted here were hand-carved by artists from the Tulalip tribe for my mother. To the best of my knowledge, the figures consistently represented on them are (from the bottom up) Whale, Bear and Raven, with the addition of Coyote on the alder wood carving and another unidentified animal on both the alder and the taller cedar pole. The small black pole is made from an artificial stone and was commercially produced, but since Raven appears as the topmost figure, it holds special meaning for me.

The baskets behind the story poles are of Papago manufacture. One bears a tag saying that it was made by Linda Mike. The necklace is my own beadwork, using clay Raven heads handmade by an artisan from Olympia WA.

Smoke And Mirrors

Day 47: My journey today was unplanned, one of those spur-of-the-moment impulses so undeniable in those of us who love to explore. I had left home with a different goal in mind, but the call of a closed, snowy road marked only by the tracks of one pair of skis was more than my feet could resist. The snowshoes were in the closet at home, waiting for a greater depth of unbroken whiteness. With no specific destination on the roster, I felt I could endure the agonies of postholing until I was halfway. Halfway to what? Just halfway. You always only go in halfway. Then you turn around and come back.

As I stumbled along the ruts left by skis or tripped in elk and deer tracks, I began thinking about my secret waterfall. The distance there and back was appropriate to my clothing and lack of gear and there was a possibility it might provide some interesting ice structures as indeed it did.

There are two illusions in this image. The first is that it is a black and white photo. It is not. It was shot in full, living color. The second is that both fire and ice coexist in this special niche. In truth, the smoke in the background is splashing water, rendered into haze by a lengthy exposure. Smoke and mirrors...the camera is good at tricks!

Frozen Fish

Day 46: Our local lakes provide fishermen with a wide variety of game and food species, however they are relatively unproductive during the months of colder weather. That said, a skilled angler can generally pull something out of the water if he or she is patient and can endure the hardships incumbent with the sport even during this season.

Today, I stopped at a public access on the banks of a large reservoir which is famous for its kokanee and silvers, intending to make some photographs of the leaf ice lining the shore. Imagine my surprise when I found this specimen of rare Eulachon (Thaleichthys frigidus) skimming along on the frozen surface like some mad walking catfish.

Tillandsia

Day 45: This is an experiment. Having previously overwatered any Tillandsia in my care, only to have the plant die when it developed mold in its roots, I plan to follow the instructions to the letter despite what my instincts tell me. My history with other houseplants has proven that my instincts are wrong at least 50 percent of the time.

For some bizarre reason, there are a few difficult exotics which thrive for me, such as a 15-year old Dioscorea (a member of the Yam family), a species the grower admitted to losing consistently before the plants attained two years of age. Yet I kill African Violets with abandon, overwatering some, underwatering others and never striking a happy medium. I've tried Tillandsias before. After all, they are an epiphyte or "air plant," meaning they grow without necessity for soil, requiring only the occasional misting with the occasional addition of fertilizer to the spray. Members of the same family as the larger Bromeliads, in the wild these plants simply rest in trees, drawing nutrition from whatever other decaying plant matter washes onto their roots. How can you fail to grow a plant like that?

We'll see. This one followed me home from a nursery today. If it's still around in a month, I'll be pleasantly surprised.

Microenvironment

Day 44: Within this space of twenty-four square inches (a patch 4 inches by 6 inches), a complex balance exists between competing species. Living on an old-growth cedar stump, we find here Deer Fern (Blechnum spicant), a moss of uncertain identity and the young scales of one or more species of Cladonia (a lichen which you may recall from a previous entry). More careful examination reveals one tiny mushroom near the bottom of the photo, right of center.

The lichens and little mushroom thrive on rotting wood while the mosses have taken hold in nutrient-poor soil, blown in and trapped in crevices within the structure of the tree's bark. The fern has rooted within the organic debris of previous generations of moss and lichen. In time, these plants and fungi will consume the stump and, having nothing more on which to feed, they themselves will die off, creating detritus in which yet other species will thrive. As the cycle continues over countless generations of Man, this small patch may again support a cedar to fall naturally or be cut, again to supply an environmental niche to fern, moss, mushroom and lichen alike.

Raven Himself

Day 43: Raven, the iconic figure of Native American legend in my area and a personal friend of mine, stopped by with a companion for a Thanksgiving dinner of dry dog food. The two engaged in much beak-touching and allopreening as I watched, possibly a mated pair or maybe siblings. Ravens mate for life, and offspring may remain with the parents for a year or two, learning to care for the next brood under the guidance of the adults.

This majestic, intelligent, wary creature is among the most difficult to capture in a detailed image. The slightest glint off a lens will send him off to the top of the tallest tree, the least motion on the part of the photographer likewise. Perhaps he couldn't see me kneeling in the kitchen doorway, his vision obscured by blowing snow, or perhaps he decided to favor me this once. I prefer to think the latter.

Porch Parrot Profile

Day 42: Depending on which reference you use, you may find this fellow (and a "fellow" he most definitely is) listed as Coccothraustes vespertinus or Hesperiphona vespertinus, commonly called Evening Grosbeak. Let's put science aside for the moment and clarify the taxonomy once and for all. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a Porch Parrot.

Porch Parrots came to be called such while my husband and I were on a backpacking trip. As I was cooking dinner, I heard a whoop and call of, "Come here! Come quick!" so I ran to the edge of our campsite to see what was causing the furor. "Look!" Bruce continued, "A whole tree full of parrots!" Indeed, a flock of Evening Grosbeaks had descended upon a conifer and were busily gobbling as many seeds as they could possibly shell.

Friends who have flocks of these beautiful birds visiting their feeders often refer to them as "pigs with wings," an unjust appellation despite their voracious appetites for black-oil sunflower seed. Here, I often go through 500 or more pounds of black-oil seed each year, loving every moment of watching them and listening to their plaintive "Churp?" call. Next to Crows and Ravens, the Porchies are my favorite people, and today they appeared at the feeders, two months earlier than they have ever arrived previously.

You will undoubtedly see many more photos of Porch Parrots here in the days to come!

Birdie Buddy

Day 41: Snow on the ground makes for great bird photography if you have a reasonably tame population. This Song Sparrow (Melospiza melodia) felt very secure when approached and for the most part, wanted to present his back for me to admire. After perching in a variety of places (a metal milk crate on the back porch, the top of the garbage can, a stake in the flowerbed), he eventually settled in the contorted filbert facing the camera, no more than five feet from the lens. I didn't notice the buds on the filbert until the images were uploaded, so as his friend Snowflake was named for the crystal caught in her feathers, this handsome lad simply must be called Buddy.

Snowflake

Day 40: When I initially observed this Dark-Eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) during the summer, I thought he had something wrong with his eyes. Eventually, I determined that the feathers surrounding them are actually white. He appears normal in every other regard and is a regular visitor to my feeders, posing today with a perfect six-pointed snowflake caught in his "hair." Henceforth, this little sweetheart's name is Snowflake. He and his flockmates are year-'round residents, sharing the plentiful supply of store-bought seed with Steller's Jays, Spotted (Rufous-Sided) Towhees and the occasional Fox Sparrow.

White Zygocactus

Day 39: The "white" Zygocactus was among the first hybrids of the species to be developed. Although it is not a pure white, when grown in certain lighting conditions, it comes very close. These plants prefer to be set back about 12 inches from a sunny window. If they receive too much light, the blossoms take on a more rosy tone.

All of the Zygos are low-maintenance plants. Water when they become dry, and only transplant when absolutely necessary. They are easy to slip. Just pinch off two joined segments and pot so that the junction is buried in soil. Keep moist until new growth appears. They may also be rooted in water. As a general rule and despite their reputation as "Christmas" cacti, they will reward you with a flush of blooms in mid to late November, followed by another lesser blooming period approximately six weeks later.

Deer Fern

Day 38: Deer Fern (Blechnum spicant) is a common sight in the damp forests of the Pacific Northwest. It prefers to grow where Red Alder is also present, but is often found growing in masses on downed logs and stumps of cedar. Seen here in association with Rhytidiadelphus triquetrus (yesterday's feature), it is a lover of moist, shady niches where some sunlight penetrates the overstory, and will occur frequently at the edges of bogs or lightly wooded areas along streams. Its name derives from the fact that it is enjoyed by both deer and elk as a principal forage food.

Rhytidiadelphus Triquetrus

Day 37: Rhytidiadelphus triquetrus is identifiable by its thick red stems. It is a common moss in the Pacific Northwest, particularly in the rainforest and other moist environments. Here, you can also see another identifying feature: the sporophytes. These are cylindrical bodies which form at the ends of wire-like stems and occur in this species in pairs (look for a mature brown pair in the center of the image). This moss prefers to grow on rotting wood, particularly cedar.

The Whiskered Boy

Day 36: It was a long way to Tipperary. After losing a new kitten during a routine surgery in January 2009, I was devastated. Although I didn't feel I was ready, friends who had seen the change in me wrought by playful, loving little Harry Dickens insisted, "You have to get a kitten now, Crow. Listen to us." Skunk, my older kitty, also seemed to be in mourning. Oh, she'd spat and hissed at Harry enough times to establish that she was queen of the domain, but I'd also caught the two of them curled up together. For her sake and for what my friends assured me was mine, I went kitten-hunting less than a month from Harry's untimely death.

My first attempts took me to various pet stores. Kittens were not to be had, only fully grown cats. The humane society told me I'd come in the wrong season. No kittens. I expanded my search to the next county, to newspapers and bulletin boards. No kittens. I kept saying to myself, "It used to be you'd find kids with boxes of kittens out in front of every grocery store. What's going on here?"

A friend was in town from Chicago, staying at his second home on Whidbey Island. I went up to visit him and discovered that my other friends had contrived a plan: I was not to go home without a kitten if there was one to be had in all of Western Washington.

Well, to cut the story short by a full day's hunting, we eventually found my sweet little Boy at a cat rescue facility in Kirkland. Tip for short, his full name is Tipperary...because as the lyrics to the song tell, it was "a long way to Tipperary...a long, long way to go."

Hardanger Embroidery

Day 35: Hardanger embroidery was brought to its height in the Norwegian district which gives it its name. A simple needleart to learn, its patterns are geometric for the most part. The fabric used in Hardanger is generally a simple tabby-woven cloth such as Lugana or Jubilee, available in a number of different thread counts, and the thread most often used is perle cotton in several weights.

As opposed to drawnwork where all threads are left in place in the fabric, Hardanger is a form of cutwork. Clusters of stitches (Kloster blocks) frame open areas and provide stability where severed threads terminate. Various pattern stitches may fill any or all of the open areas. Oftentimes, satin and stem stitch embroideries will be used to embellish the pieces, although traditionally, Hardanger is comprised solely of Kloster blocks, wrapped threads and pattern stitches within openings.

The World's Most Perfect Houseplant

Day 34: Hoya bella has no common name. It needs none. Anyone looking at this plant when it is in full bloom will automatically say, "Beautiful Hoya!" which, of course, is what its Latin designation means.

You might think this was a delicate hothouse species requiring infinite patience and care. Quite the opposite! If you are a haphazard caregiver as I am, you may notice that you've allowed its leaves to wither until they look like green raisins. Don't panic. Just pour some water on it and a few hours later, the leaves will have plumped up again.

Hoya bella is a member of the subdivision of Hoyas known as "everblooming." It will put on a profusion of blossom clusters such as this one approximately every six weeks. The flowers are thick and waxy, delicately scented with a soft perfume. The pendent umbels contain up to ten individual flowers and form not only at the tips of the stems but also at various nodes.

The plant is a rapid grower. When mine reaches three or four feet in length (at least once a year), I prune it back to a more manageable two feet and root the slips to give to friends. No home should be without one!

Waterfall

Day 33: This beautiful waterfall is my secret. It hides in a niche only 20 feet from a potholed dirt road, so nestled among cedars and hemlocks that only its more gently flowing lower tiers can be seen. Here the dense overstory provides shelter for Chickadees and Grey Jays, and the shade allows the growth of moss, lichen and fern. In summer, the streamlet disappears, going into hiding for the busy tourist season at Mt. Rainier National Park, and only returns when rainfall rejuvenates it and protects it from casual explorers. It has no name on a map, but if you stand beside it, it will confide to you its baptism in the sibilance of its passing.

Spotted Towhee

Day 32: If there is a bird more difficult to photograph than a jumpy, twitchy Spotted Towhee (Pipilo maculatus), I hope it never comes to my feeders! Towhee scratches up seeds by sinking his front talons into the soil or grass, then propels himself jerkily backwards with repeated thrusts. His tail is almost constantly in motion, flicking up and down, left and right while his head snaps from side to side, always on the alert for a predator. One second here, in the next he'll be three feet away and by the time you've focused your camera, this elusive bird is among the bushes and hidden from sight.

Towhee's bright red eye is brown when the bird is young. His outer tailfeathers are cornered with white to complement the white spots on his wings, a field identification point which is often helpful as a flash of black and rust darts from the edge of observeration and into dense brush.

He is sometimes referred to as the "Rufous-Sided Towhee" (Pipilo erythrophthalmus) in field guides, although taxonomists now tend to consider the East Coast and West Coast variants one and the same bird.

Lipstick Cladonia

Day 31: Lipstick Cladonia (Cladonia macilenta) is easy to identify because of its bright red fruiting bodies. Here featured as an integral part of the "Field Guide to Crow's Rail Fence" series, the first specimens I photographed a few days ago were not yet in full color and had an unfortunate encounter with Jack Frost before they could fruit. This morning found these putting on a display.

You might not notice the nearly microscopic scarlet knobs unless you were specifically looking for them. The grey-green scaly clubs (podetia) from which the Latin name is derived are a mere 10-20 cm. in height. Each club arises from a cluster of basal scales. The fruiting bodies (apothecia) are but pinheads of scarlet, significantly larger than life in the image.

Cladonia

Day 30: With over 70 species of Cladonia in our area, I am not going to attempt to narrow this one down further to a specific variety. It grows in profusion on the sides of wet, shady slopes, a lichen among mosses at low to middle elevations. This specimen was growing in Charles L. Pack Experimental Forest.

In reading my field guides, I have learned that lichens retain radioactivity in much higher concentrations than flowering plants do and in turn pass it along to creatures higher on the food chain, such as the animals which rely on the species for fodder. A frightening thought occurs: that the venison jerky my neighbor provides might be laced with isotopes which somewhere down the line might prove deleterious to my health.

It all connects...a thread here, a fiber there...all woven into the fragile web we call Life.

Mineral Reflections

Day 29: Fishing season has closed at Mineral Lake, leaving the fog to wander freely, the reflections to lie undisturbed. Voices no longer echo across the water, loud enough to wrinkle the surface. Here, clouds can posture before the mirror; the hills can pose, prideful of their evergreen garments. A solitary and impoverished stump shares a moment of pleasure in the companionship of a cold blue sky.

Crow-Motion Photography

Day 28: A radical departure from my customary photographic style, this image was inspired by a submission to the Daily Shoot made by One Stop Short entitled, "The Wing." I came to appreciate disfocus more as I viewed that image, something I had heretofore eschewed as bad photography almost without exception. Old dogs can learn new tricks, although sometimes it takes whacking them upside the head with a metaphorical two-by-four to make the point.

Cousin Fred here had been perched contentedly in the top of a favored tree until I went out the door with his breakfast, camera slung around my neck. I thought to get a portrait or a profile before heading back inside, but as soon as he saw the meal I'd laid out, he launched headlong toward it, rewarding me with this abstract view of perfect downbeat wings.

Crows often guide me, both literally and symbolically. Fred, bless his buttons, taught an excellent seminar on motion-blur photography.

Golden Ilex

Day 27: When we think of Holly, we usually think of red berries and Christmas-green leaves, but there are also yellow-fruited species. Golden Girl is one of the best known. Its dark green leaves provide a rich contrast to berries which are canary yellow at maturity. This particular tree has parented many others in my area, the seeds carried by birds who feed on the fruit. I keep hoping a Robin or a Cedar Waxwing will plant one in my yard, but it hasn't happened yet.

Phenology

Day 26: Phenology is defined as the study of the relation between climate and periodic biological phenomena. For some time, I have been participating in the USGS Bird Phenology Program as a transcriptionist, entering for posterity in cyberspace meticulous observation data which was recorded from approximately 1750 to present by ornithologists whose names may or may not now be household words. Over six million cards of field notes have been in storage, faded and often illegible, waiting for volunteers like myself to enter them into a master database where they will be analyzed to establish changes in migratory patterns as they relate to global climate shifts.

Today, I received in the mail a somewhat unexpected package. I say "somewhat" because the program's coordinator sent me an email last week saying something was on its way to all volunteers who had transcribed over 5000 cards, a thank-you for the hours these people had put in. I had no idea what might be in the box, so when it arrived, I ripped into it like a kid on Christmas morning. To my delight, I found a matching set of coffee mug, mouse pad and fridge magnet bearing the logo of the program, as well as a pen and a letter of appreciation.

If you'd like to know more about the program or would like to participate in this valuable and on-going project, please visit
www.pwrc.usgs.gov/bpp/index.cfm

Swofford Pond

Day 25: This idyllic spot is one of my favorite fishin' holes, and not for the reasons you might think. There are no homes along the shoreline (almost all of which is accessible for public use either on foot or immediately beside your vehicle) and combustion motors are prohibited on the lake, so it is a quiet spot. It is the kind of place which makes you want to park a lawn chair, prop your rod up on a stick and tilt your hat down over your eyes for a lazy nap. You may catch a fish or you may not. You don't really care when you're sitting here. Anyone worthy of the name of "fisherman" knows the truth of it: these times are not about catching fish...they're about fishing.

A Sudden Fall

Day 24: Yesterday, my little Japanese Maple was fully clothed in a garment of lipstick-red hues, a harlot beside the demure dogwood whose cheeks are yet barely rouged. This morning I discovered her en deshabille, her gown thrown on the ground beneath the rail fence as if begging Jack Frost to have his will of her. Yet tears stain the fabric she wantonly shed because Jack paid her no visit last night, and now she stands naked and embarrassed.

Echoes Of Fog And Flora

Day 23: Cattail swords, an alder branch and a submerged stump are echoed against reflected fog at a nearby lake, its silvery mirror only barely disturbed by Boreas' chilly breath. Rorschach would have loved this morning, or Mandelbrot. Symmetry conquers chaos for a time, but already shows signs of giving way to Nature's perfect disorder.

Evergreen Blackberry

Day 22: Mounds of Evergreen Blackberry as tall as single-storey houses are a common sight in the Pacific Northwest, lining urban pathways, filling vacant lots, growing rampant along roadsides, the kudzu of the North but with benefits. The Evergreen Blackberry and its close cousin, the Himalayan Blackberry, provide excellent forage for animals, birds and humans. The fruit is the size of the end of your thumb, seedy and juicy with a zesty flavor which makes delicious jams and jellies, not to mention pies. These berry plants are so numerous that I doubt they could ever be over-harvested, not if every man Jack in the state of Washington gathered up a five-gallon bucketful for personal use. The rich Autumn color shown in this image is the exception, not the rule...a sample of Nature's "Red Year" artistry.

Wilkeson Creek

Day 21: Out for a bike ride on an unseasonably warm and pleasant day, the default turnaround point is at trail's end in the small town of South Prairie. Here, Wilkeson Creek customarily runs peacefully with barely a riffle, but following the recent heavy rain, its channel was in full flow. Its potential for flooding is much greater, though. One look at the gauge standing on the bank will tell you that in a year of severe flooding, the water depth may be as much as ten FEET above its present level.

Beaver Pond Reflections

Day 20: This little beaver pond sits alongside a forest service road not far from my home. At one time, it was one of my favorite places to fly-fish, most often practicing a policy of catch-and-release. Unfortunately, the pond was discovered by bait fishermen who not only littered it with PowerBait jars and beer cans, but fished it out as well. Now it remains fishless but beautiful, and on this chilly and bright morning, its mirror-like surface and shallow, dark water provided a rare photographic opportunity for capturing perfect reflections.

Pineapple Express

Day 19: They call it the "Pineapple Express." It sweeps across the eastern Pacific from Hawaii, bearing with it buckets, barrels and reservoirs of rain, and when it butts up against our mountains, it drops the whole shemozzle on western Washington's long-suffering residents. Those of us who have lived here all our lives shrug and go on about our business in Goretex rainwear, laughing at the easily identifiable and dreadfully discommoded Californians who all carry snappy little umbrellas in assorted shapes and sizes.

The figure you see shown on my Davis Weather Monitor II represents what poured into the pluviometer between 7 AM and 3 PM. It is still coming down in buckets, barrels and reservoirs, and looks like it has no intention of stopping any time soon.

A footnote: 1.63" fell in the 24-hour period.