Together Forever

Day 79: With the year drawing to a close, it is fitting that I spend this day with the two dear friends pictured here. Despite the fact that our acquaintance is only newly formed, this couple has become an integral part of my life, accepting me in a manner exceptional for their kind. None of their predecessors showed me this confidence despite my best efforts to win it, and no pair was ever so open in their affections within my sight.

This was a gift I had no right to expect today, but when I laid out the breakfast dog food and cawed out in Crow to announce the spreading of the board, they arrived with a flock of their smaller cousins. They were more cautious in their approach and sat for a while on the fence together, exchanging gurgled intimacies and many beak-to-beak kisses before alighting at the base of the feeding station to begin picking up tidbits knocked off by the flurry of Crows. They graciously allowed a number of photographs to be taken, and once again, this photographer is humbled by the gift of trust these two birds have accorded her. Thank you, my magnificent Raven companions!

Thorns Of Frost

Day 78: When I got up this morning, it was to a cold house. I'd neglected to call the oil company before Christmas as planned, and the tank had run dry. Fortunately, I live in a small service area, so when I called the office and spoke to the driver, he said he'd be out as soon as the roads were safe to drive. After he'd filled the tank, he advised me to wait a few hours before firing it up in order to let the ancient muck settle back to the bottom, so I went out for a walk. What the heck, if I'm going to be cold anyway, I'd rather be cold outside.

I hadn't gone far down the road when I noticed frost-covered teasel heads, so I waded through the snow in the ditch and started taking pictures. As I panned the landscape on zoom while peering at the flip-screen, this iced-up Canada thistle jumped into view. Y'know, it's not often you can say that thistles have any redeeming merit other than as part of an extremely complex ecologic chain. One certainly does not associate this common, invasive and problematic weed with beauty, yet here it springs forth with elegant and delicate grace. That said, I will be content to photograph thistles on their own side of the fence, thank you, and will keep an alternate food source in good supply for the Goldfinches who visit my yard.

Young Lovers - A Triptych

Day 77. It is mating season for Ravens, and time for lifelong bonds to be made between young lovers. I sat on the cold concrete step of my back porch this morning for twenty minutes, hands past the point of pain from cold, taking photo after photo of this pair of newlyweds so obviously in love.

Don't give me "anthropomorphizing," either. That they were already paired was obvious from their -ahem- activity. They tumbled and rolled in the snow, passed clumps of snow from one beak to the other, locked bills in cooing kisses, preened each other tenderly even after the deed was done. At times I felt I was intruding upon their intimate conversation, said so low that they sounded for all the world like Mourning Doves; soft, sweet gurgling of private words. They were quite aware of my presence and, like teenagers at the mall, their ardor for one another was too great to be hidden from public view.

I have seen many generations of Ravens at my feeding station, but the thrill is always there when I realize that once again, I'm going to be a grandma!

Bird's Nest Fungus, Nidula Niveotomentosa

Day 76: I had gone out intending only to make a short hike around the nature trail at Longmire (Mt. Rainier National Park), but when that was done, I didn't feel I had a photo which would qualify for today's post, so I pulled off at the Kautz Creek parking area and put on my gaiters. A mile would get me to the creek crossing and surely I'd find something there, if not on the way.

I had gone only a hundred yards or so down the trail when I encountered the first of many large deadfalls, victims of last week's violent windstorm. Navigating through them or around them in thick, young forest was not easy and I nearly gave the project up as more trouble than it was worth. In a tenth of a mile or so, I'd worked through it and had a clear path almost to the creek crossing. There, I climbed over one last fallen tree, still no satisfactory image in the camera. Over the slick log bridges I went, hoping for an interesting ice formation, but nothing caught my eye. After climbing partway up the hill on the far side, I decided I'd have to find something closer to home.

As I was ascending through the snow-covered boulders lining the deeply entrenched stream channel, I spotted this teeny-tiny Bird's Nest Fungus at eye level, growing on the side of a long-dead log. At the end of the log was a cluster of five or six more, not yet open. Bird's Nest resembles pencil-eraser sized puffballs before the "lids" burst to reveal the "eggs" inside. What you see here is a fully mature specimen with its cargo of peridioles which in turn hold the spores of the species. If you look closely at the log beside the nest, you can see an egg. This fungus relies on rain to wash the "eggs" out of the cup. In this species, the eggs are attached to the cup by a thread of tissue (below).

And to think I might have turned around at the first sign of deadfall obstructing the trail! Such a tiny treasure, this, and well worth a walk in knee-deep snow.

Tremella Mesenterica

Day 75: The jellies are a diverse group of unusual fungi, largely inedible although not poisonous. If they could be said to resemble wads of translucent chewing gum, their texture is somewhat tougher. My identification of this particular one may not be accurate, although the lack of a whitish base inclines me to disqualify it from being Dacrymyces palmatus, another orange or orange-yellow cousin.

Often called "Witches' Butter," these are quite common in Pacific Northwest forests, often offering up a bright spot of color even during the winter. They remain succulent only through the rainy months, drying up into nothingness during the summer except in damp, cool corners of the forest.

A Community Of Colonies

Day 74: Living side-by-side, colonies of half a dozen different moss and lichen species share a mere twelve inches of branch, a precarious equilibrium which does not kill the parent tree. Some take nourishment from the tree itself, feeding on natural chemicals drawn from decaying matter in the soil while others rely on nutrients carried down to them by rain.

One has to wonder if Nature is delivering a metaphor here. Admittedly, at some point, one colony will dominate the branch, but this occurs through an ecological attrition. When one population falls, another expands into the vacated territory. For now, however, lichen is content to exist beside moss and vice versa, maintaining not only balance, but doing so with exceptional elegance and beauty.

Peace On Earth, For The Moment

Day 73 (Christmas): I rose earlier than usual, as is my custom on Christmas morning, to sit in a room lit only by the lights of the tree until dawn. For a while, Tip shared my lap, but then he became fascinated...or perhaps enraptured would be a better word...with the larger-than-lifesized Cardinal I use as a topper. I wondered if it was the first time he'd really noticed it, because I don't usually leave the tree lit without some other type of light in the room. For his intentness, I figured Chaos was soon to reign supreme.

Tip is ordinarily a good Boy. He never gets into untoward mischief, stealing receipts off the kitchen table aside, but I could see disaster in the making. I could not sidetrack him. He'd circle the tree, slinking low, to come back to that same spot to stare fixedly at something above. It was only when I sat down beneath the tree to open my gifts that I discovered the source of his passion. A big ol' fat winter fly had wakened from its torpor and was buzzing around amid the branches.

I am happy to say that peace has been restored. And Tip, hunter that he is, has had an enjoyable and crunchy Christmas breakfast.

A Special Place

Day 72: The first ornament to be hung on the tree and the last to be removed is a memory which runs as deeply as any river and with many complex undercurrents, some so dangerous that they must be avoided at all costs. You see, for many years, I shared my life with a Cockatoo. I say "shared," but he was in fact the precise geographic center of the Universe, as he was often told. For all of knowing this full well, he did not exploit it, being content to love and be loved in return.

We were more than companions, Cocoa and I. Our relationship was much more like parent and child, sometimes with roles reversed counter to what you might think. His patience with me was endless; as if by willing it, he could somehow bring me to his superior level of intelligence but, dumb mammal that I am, he was forever one jump ahead of me all the way. His wit was matched by his capacity for innocent mischief, and he knew the distinction between something I had reason to prohibit and that which I merely wanted to make off limits for my own reasons. His teases were sometimes disastrous, such as the time he tried to fly off with an open can of tomato sauce. He discovered gravity that day and flew free of it just in time to save his soft white feathers from a dye job. Not so my kitchen!

My memories of Cocoa are precious to me, and so it is that every Christmas, his ornament is first to be hung on the tree and last to be packed away. It has a special place, front and center, as does Cocoa in my heart.

Raven's Gift

Day 71: Today, I was given an exceptional gift by Raven. I was driving through a small valley where some years ago, I participated in a wetland rehabilitation project and as I cut across the center of it, I noticed a pair of Ravens playing wing-tag above the flanking ridge. Since I never go anywhere without the Albatross (SX10 IS) around my neck, I pulled over to see if I could get a few pictures.

For half an hour, I stood beside my car, door open to provide a stabilizer for my elbow as I attempted to train the camera on the antics going on above me. Fully a dozen Ravens were frolicking against the clouds, performing aerial acrobatics Raven researchers dream of seeing. The quorking sounds were enormous, echoing in the valley as they did, punctuated by my occasional gasp. I did not want to leave, but cold and time forced me homeward.

From left to right, top to bottom:
Image One - The bottommost bird is half into a barrel-roll, one of the least observed aerial stunts performed by Ravens. I have only witnessed barrel-rolls twice before.
Image Two - Two birds take turns divebombing one another at close range. If you look carefully, you can see that the bottom Raven's head is turned toward the upper bird, beak open in a quork.
Image Three - The shape of the body and wings clearly show that these are Ravens, not Crows (as if the sound could have left any doubt!)
Image Four - Precision flying, side by side, is often conducted with wingtips almost touching. These two had been playing wing-tag and had separated for the moment. At times during the half hour I watched, four or five birds would fly together in perfect synchronicity.
Image Five - Yes, the bird which appears to be smaller is really, honestly and truly upside-down, legs sticking straight up in the air. No, the photo has not been altered in any way other than a crop of excessive white space and to adjust brightness and contrast to eliminate grey PNW sky.
Image 6 - Close formation flying often turns into a game of wing-tag where one bird tries to break the "stride" of the other. When the second bird falters in flight, he becomes "it" and the game continues.

Where's Waldo?

Day 70: The Box arrived today, a trove of goodies from ParkerRiverKid, who insisted that some of them needed opening immediately.

Now it so happens that by the time she received my email saying the Box had been delivered, I had already installed the gifts under the tree, carefully arranging them to prevent feline incursions. Many had heavier things stacked on top of them to deter the curious who would not be content only with investigating the ones bearing their names.

When I received instructions from PRK to open "the red one with white snowflakes, about six inches square, two inches thick," I got down on my knees and began unstacking. I could not find a present meeting that description, and emailed PRK a query regarding one which was similar. Nope, that gift was off limits until Christmas morning. I went back and searched again, coming up with another possibility. Nope, she said, although that one would do as a substitute.

Perturbed, I wanted to find the specific gift she'd suggested, and in truth, she was beginning to wonder if she'd forgotten to mail it. My next email to her read, "I will have to take a picture of the tablecloth I use for a tree skirt. You talk about chameleon camo! I might not have found it until I put the tree away!"

Top center, label now clearly showing. That's where Waldo is, in disguise as delicious home-made trail mix which I'm sure my canny, catty associates would have found overnight.

Raven's Return

Day 69: A very long time ago, there was only darkness on the Earth. It was cold as well, and the Animals and People could not see to hunt and were shivering. The Animals who were the Peoples' protectors convened to see if they could find a solution. They decided that someone would have to steal Fire from the Sun, but which among them would be brave enough or smart enough? Coyote was known to be a trickster and clever, but he was afraid to approach the Sun. Seeing that his age-old rival was a coward, Raven boasted that he alone had both the cunning and the bravery for the deed.

Now, in those days, Raven was a white bird. He flew for many days toward the Sun, feeling his feathers get hotter and hotter, but his reputation was on the line. He could not go back to the People or face Coyote until he had achieved his goal. On and on he flew, and came at last to the Sun. One quick grab, and he had a piece of Fire in his beak and was streaking back to the Earth as fast as his smoldering wings would carry him. Today, Raven is black because his feathers were charred. He was successful in his task. He gave Fire to the People and the other Animals, and with it, the warmth and light they needed to survive.

When you see figures of Raven or Crow carrying a star, this is the story you must remember. Today we celebrate the Solstice, and a refreshing of the light which warms the Earth.

It's Not Christmas Without Cardinals

Day 68: We do not have Cardinals (Cardinalis cardinalis) in Washington, and more's the pity. In fact, none of the states west or directly north of Arizona have these "Christmas birds." There are none in California, none in Utah, Nevada, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho or Oregon, and only in small corners of Colorado and New Mexico are "redbirds" seen at the feeder; yet these bright spots of avian color have come to be traditional for the Yuletide season all across the United States.

For as long as I've sent out Christmas cards on my own, there had been a Cardinal somewhere in the cover image...that is, until a few years ago when for the life of me, I could not find Cardinal cards. I had enough stockpiled to use that year, but when the subsequent mailing season came, again Cardinal greetings were not to be found in any store. I settled, grudgingly, for pine cones and the following year used Chickadees, the other popular Christmas bird.

Seeing my disappointment that year, I was thrilled to receive Cardinals in other forms as gifts from friends, a tradition which continues even now. You can never have enough Cardinals, because without them, it's just not Christmas. Here, Mom is minding Fuzzball newly fledged, and I am delighted with the prospect of a burgeoning population here in this micro-habitat at the foot of Mt. Rainier.

Pacific Madrona (Arbutus Menziesii)

Day 67: A Coast Salish legend tells this story:
Pitch was a fisherman, and it was his custom to go out in the early hours of morning before the Sun became too hot. As the day warmed, he would withdraw into the shadows to rest. But one day the fishing was exceptionally good and poor Pitch stayed out too long and melted into a puddle. Douglas Fir was the first to find him and picked up as much of Pitch as he could carry. Then each of the other trees came to help. Arbutus came last, but all of Pitch had been picked up and carried away. That is why today Arbutus has no pitch.

Commonly called Madrona or Madrone, this striking tree is most easily recognized by its red bark which peels off in sheets seasonally. Its leathery leaves are evergreen, and it bears clusters of red berries which the birds enjoy. It grows near salt water as a general rule, although these particular trees were found among others of their kind in the Charles L. Pack Experimental Forest near LaGrande, WA.

Snowflake In The Filbert

Day 66: My little friend Snowflake has been a regular visitor to the feeders since late summer, so easy to identify among other juncos by the white feathers surrounding his eyes. His black hood is also marked with white beneath his chin. Today, following a storm which blew in on 60 MPH winds, Snowflake was the first of the juncos to appear in the contorted filbert to await his breakfast.

This Is My Mountain

Day 65: One cannot live in Washington and fail to be moved by the Presence which so often veils itself with cloud. Yet those same clouds are often the curtain across the dressing-room door behind which the Mountain exchanges one set of clothing for another. This is our reward for grey days: a Mountain no longer craggy and grey, lined with ridges and valleys, dusted with the unflattering rouge of rock dust, but a Mountain dressed in winter finery more luscious than ermine or velvet.

Though this very beauty makes Mt. Rainier aloof and unapproachable, we may admire it from a distance. At the foot of timeless majesty, we are humbled and reminded of our brief tenure upon the Earth and the consequence of our careless footfalls. The glaciers are receding, and we may lose sights such as this forever.

Solstice Tree

Day 64: This little glass tree came to me from a friend who annually observes the Twelve Days of Christmas with a gift for each day. In its spun-glass base, lights rotate through a cycle of blue, magenta, pink, orange and red, each bringing a different hue to tiny red and green balls at the tip of the branches. It is a lovely addition to my home decor, and one I will cherish; henceforth to be known as the Solstice Tree. Thank you, Mousie!

Feathers And Lights

Day 63: It will come as no surprise to those who know my love of nature to see that my Christmas tree is decked out in birds of many shapes and sizes.While the avian membership accounts for ninety percent of the population, a few glass baubles and bangles are interspersed among their inquisitive beaks.

As a Crow, of course I enjoy shiny things, sparkly things. So too do I love the bright lights of the holiday season whether white or colored. Following a long-established custom, I will rise even earlier than usual on Christmas morning and light a few candles in the darkness before turning on the tree. Then I will take up residence in my comfy chair, warmed by a fleece blanket and a cat or two, enjoying the twinkle of tiny electric novae as I await the dawn. At sunrise, gifts are opened, but not before, lest the magic of the pre-dawn hours be lost.

Sacks And Surprises

Day 62: Ecologically-minded friends of mine and I often enclose our gifts in fabric bags tied with cloth ribbons, circulating the sacks among our group in subsequent years or occasionally using one for a recipient outside our "family" in the hopes of encouraging them to do likewise. Although I hate to admit it, I am the worst of the group at remembering I have bags on hand when it comes time to wrap and ship. Perhaps it's because I can't bear to part with the luscious brocades and metallic weaves, exotic and exquisite textiles I've not seen in local stores.

There is something uniquely nostalgic in the untying of a satin bow and delving into the soft interior of a cloth bag. It reminds me of a yesteryear I never knew, of Charles Dickens and trees lit with burning candles. It brings to mind Currier and Ives, and parlor games played in a spirit of warm fellowship, and of closely knit families gathering by the hearth. It adds a touch of mystery and magic which paper fails to convey and curling ribbon cannot approach. Gifts become a tactile experience as well as a visual one, another layer of pleasure for the recipient as well as the giver.

Lettuce Lung, Lobaria Pulmonaria

Day 61: Lettuce Lung (Lobaria pulmonaria) is a habitué of moist forests and cool temperatures. It grows in dense colonies, often intermingling with other species of lichens and mosses. In drier summer months, its vivid chartreuse coloration pales to grey-green and the plant becomes quite leathery.

The name "lungwort" arose from the plant's supposed efficacity in treating respiratory ailments, a practice which came about through the "doctrine of signatures." This old belief stipulates that the medicinal uses of a plant can be determined through the plant's resemblance to an organ of the body. The appearance of Lobaria suggested the human lung, hence its application.

Honey-Drenched Baklava

Day 60: Sinful and delicious, butter-rich baklava is simple to make. The recipe is on the back of the Athens frozen fillo (phyllo) pastry box. You might want to use a proportion of pecans in place of walnuts as I've done here, and a little extra cinnamon and cloves. Be sure you have a napkin handy, because the honey runs down your chin no matter how hard you try to eat it politely. The best thing about homemade baklava? You don't have to limit yourself to one of those teeny little diamonds of pastry they serve in restaurants. You can cut off a whoppin' big square and have it for breakfast!

Friends And Traditions

Day 59: For a number of years now, my fishing partner and his wife have invited me to lunch with them at Watson's Nursery as one of our Christmas traditions. These wonderful folk have taken me into the bosom of their family, old enough to be my parents and often referring to me as their "third daughter." They share their holidays and birthdays with me as if I were blood kin. A friendship such as theirs is hard to find in these times, and is treasured beyond words.

Today was Watson's day. It is not a scheduled event with us, except to occur some time in December after the nursery has exchanged its standard boutique fare for decorated Christmas trees by the dozen, each unique and elaborate. Festive poinsettias and abundantly blooming Christmas cacti fill shelves which otherwise would hold mundane ferns and ficuses, pepperomias and pothos. The gift section is packed with glitter and sparkle, candles, decorations and even fine hand-crafted wooden furniture. Outdoors, hardy cyclamen in many shades of red, pink and white blanket tables beside wreaths and swags and potted evergreens, and of course holly sprays abound.

Lunch means dining at the in-store deli which produces its own exquisite quiche lorraine as well as a variety of sandwiches and soups. Espresso, that stereotypical Pacific Northwestern beverage, is also available in assorted flavors and strengths. The three of us shared quiche and coffee today, and browsed for an hour and a half, delighting in each other's companionship, happy in this personal tradition of the holiday season.

Hip, Hip, Hooray!

Day 58: The hips of the wild rose are said to be rich in Vitamin C and may be used to make a flavorful and very aromatic jelly. Several species are found in the Pacific Northwest, often hybridizing with other varieties. The oval shape of these indicates a lineage principally from the Baldhip Rose (Rosa gymnocarpa). The plants often form a thick hedge eight to ten feet in height which affords protection from predators for small birds and mammals.

Work In Progress

Day 57: Lest anyone think I am behind in creating Christmas gifts, rest assured that I am not. These are for next year! Yes, I'm already started on a project which I will peck away at as the mood strikes me, taking an approach which allows me leisure time and gives me something to do on rainy days. With any luck, I'll have a half dozen done by Easter, a full dozen by June when the backcountry opens up and hiking takes precedence over any other activity. Planning...it's all in the planning, and in getting our priorities straight.

Waifs Of The Woodlands

Day 56: Little Grey Jay (Perisoreus canadensis), branded with the nickname of "camp robber," comes down for the winter from his home in alpine country, pleading for his breakfast with the softest and most plaintive mews. My heart melts when these precious folk arrive on my doorstep as they have done for many years. Only a few come...four or five at most...to compete with the larger Steller's Jays for whatever tidbits they can get.

Grey Jay is so personable that he will sit on the head or hand of a total stranger who happens to be backpacking through his domain. He'll snitch a graham cracker out of your mouth while your attention is on the rest of his clan. But he is not brazen, only prudent. He takes his booty to a forked branch and cements it in place with sticky saliva, secured there for retrieval during the coldest days when foraging is scant.

A member of the family of Corvidae which includes all Jays as well as Crows and Ravens, Grey Jay is a smart little fellow. I'm convinced he knows he's cute, and I know he knows I'm a soft touch for at least half my backpacker's lunch when he comes around.

Count Your Geigers

Day 55: Now I will tell you the other half of the story regarding yesterday's snowflakes.

What you see here are glow-in-the-dark icicles from the 1950s era, that time in human history when radioactivity was much used and little understood. They contain what is undoubtedly far more radioactive material than is good for me, but you might say it's too late now to make much difference. You see, I've already been thoroughly irradiated...and so have yesterday's snowflakes.

Yesterday's snowflakes are not supposed to glow in the dark, but they do. Albeit faintly, they have a definite glow about them of this same hue. They were always stored with the radioactive icicles and by their close association became marked, much as a young, innocent person hanging with the wrong crowd might be. It is too late for them to redeem their reputation. It will mar their character references, stain their resumés and keep them from entering employment as ordinary snowflakes forevermore. Tarred by a radium-bearing brush, their past will follow them through its half-life whenever a Geiger test comes around.

Snowflakes Of Yesterday

Day 54: Snowflakes, seven of them from sixty years ago, preserved from year to year grace my Christmas tree. Once there were eight, but like their natural cousins, they possess a fragile crystal structure and one met an untimely end at a very early point in their history. These remaining ones are handled with utmost care. Another most unusual facet of their character will be revealed in a subsequent story!

Without Spritz, It's Not Christmas

Day 53: For me, the holiday season begins with St. Nicholas Day. In my family, St. Nicholas paid his visit during the evening of the 6th some time after dark but before my bedtime. It upset me somewhat that my daddy had just excused himself to go get a cup of coffee and was therefore out of the room when I heard the audible "Thunk!" which meant St. Nick had thrown the traditional bag of candy and cookies in through the front door. It bothered me to think that Daddy was missing out on the experience, not because I suspected him of collusion with the saint.

In remembrance of those days, I now make cookies on or near St. Nicholas' feast, nearly always beginning my baking with spritz. Without spritz, it's not Christmas. Let me forego turkey and dressing, but do not deprive me of these buttery little jewels so gaily crusted in glittering sugar crystals!

Frosty The Towhee

Day 52: The Spotted Towhees (Pipilo maculatus) were particularly photogenic this morning, perhaps because of a heavy frost. Normally a very elusive and rapidly moving subject, several of them perched on various branches of the contorted filbert instead of scurrying around beneath it, furtively lurking in the tangled stems. A beautiful robin-sized bird, they remain in the Pacific Northwest throughout the winter, adding color at the feeders, our "Christmas bird" stand-in for the cardinals of the eastern portion of the country.

And A Crow In A Hemlock Tree

Day 51: The top of this hemlock is a favored perch for the Watch Crow who is supposed to caw out when breakfast is put out on the crow board. Almost every morning, one of my feathered kin will be waiting for me there, and as soon as I spread the dry dog food out on the board, the swarm descends, often not letting me get more than ten feet away. It's taken years to build up that trust. If no one happens to be on watch, I give out a three-caw call myself to indicate "Food here, not sure if it's safe" after once telling an inadvertent fib with a four-caw "Safe food" announcement. My neighbor started his truck ten seconds later, and the crow board was regarded with suspicion for some time following.

Girl In A Snow Chapeau

Day 50: I left home with intention to take a short snowshoe hike back up to my "secret falls," this time with the tripod in my pack. I was terribly disappointed when I got there, because not only had I forgotten the "foot" which screws into the bottom of the camera for mounting, the ice had degraded rather badly and didn't offer much which would have been worth photographing. In order to salvage something from my efforts, I chose to go further up the road.

Did I mention that it was noon when I left home? One thing led to another and then another, and before I knew it, I was three miles in. I kept going for another half mile or so until I reached a minor destination, took a few photos and started the trek back. I'd gone a quarter mile or so when I noticed a fringe of ice hanging from a mat of snow on top of a large boulder, so I pulled out the camera. In panning the boulder, I spotted this profile. To me, it looks like a young woman, and the snow makes a perfect fur hat to keep her warm through the winter.

'Tis The Season

Day 49: It is the season of sparkle and glitter, of lights, of ribbons and packages, of the scent of evergreens and fresh-baked cookies. It is December, and time to start wrapping those packages and writing those Christmas letters. What, you haven't started yet? Best get cracking before you look up and find December 23 glaring at you from the calendar.