Last Fruits

Day 363: My everbearing raspberries ("Heritage") have been a delight this year. Bambi left them pretty much alone except for browsing the fresh tops in mid-August and somewhat limiting my late-season harvest, but there have been plenty for my personal grazing as I made my daily patrols to the mailbox. The jays ignored all but the ripest ones, surprising me with a generosity which does not extend to the grapevine. The plants are not yet mature enough to yield enough for jam, and it's possible that two vines will never produce in sufficient abundance given my poor soil and intermittent husbandry even if I could suppress my taste for a snack of sun-warmed berries plucked in passing.

The blueberries did not fare as well. One bush has disappeared. Whether it was eaten by deer or overwhelmed by grass, I do not know. The second produced only a small handful, all but two or three gone for jay food. I think I'll write blueberries off as a bad idea, but I might be tempted to fill their space with two more raspberry vines.

Spice It Up!

Day 362: "Caraway, cardamom, celery seed, chili powder...wait a minute...caraway, cardamom, celery seed...where the hell is the cayenne pepper?" That outburst you heard was me, and I was standing in the spice aisle at the grocery store, looking for one of my cooking essentials among the house-brand jars. Cayenne was missing. There wasn't even a shelf tag for it where it should have been, c-a-y following c-a-r and before c-e-l. Nor was it under "pepper, cayenne," something I tried because I couldn't believe my eyes. A second store yielded up similar results, although I did find it among the specialty spices with a prohibitive price tag. I glared at the dollar signs and left the store empty-handed, thinking I might find it in bulk at another location. Nope, no cayenne. I was too far from home to swing by the Olympia Natural Foods Co-op in the hopes of finding it in their bulk section, so tried a third major chain store. I found it there, and although it was still pricier than it should have been, it was about 2/3 the cost of the specialty brand. I can't cook without cayenne. I bought it.

This experience put me in mind of another spice which has disappeared from the shelves: ground rosemary. You can buy the leaves, but not the powder. I ask you: do you like finding pine needles in your stew? I don't. I find the powder much nicer to use, and it's a primary ingredient in my homemade "sheep spice," ground rosemary, garlic powder and paprika. Why isn't it offered in stores? The Co-op doesn't carry it. It's the very devil to grind at home, even in an electric spice grinder.

Ground rosemary, cayenne pepper...what's next? Garlic? If that disappears from shelves, I'm going to give up eating.

Wet Or Dry

Day 361: These two patches should be the same color, but after absorbing eight hours of steady rain, the one on the hat I was wearing today is looking a little waterlogged. Waterproof outerwear did a pretty good job of keeping me from getting totally soaked to the bone, but rain eventually penetrates anything which isn't absolutely water-tight. Still, I stayed warm as long as I was active.

So why was I out there during Washington's first major storm of the season? Today was National Public Lands Day, one of the biggest volunteer events at Mount Rainier National Park. We had an astonishingly good turnout in spite of the weather and accomplished all of our major goals with respect to the restoration of the historic Longmire Campground.

It's not the first time I've been this soggy, and it probably won't be the last. When you live in Washington, you just have to accept that you're going to get wet if you work in an outdoors profession.

The Taste Of Summer

Day 360: With drenching rain on the roster for the weekend, I picked every decent-sized tomato on the vine today and put them in the windowsill to ripen. It's taken almost a week for the first ones to redden up completely, but tonight I sliced into one of them and found it to be absolutely delicious. I have had a better yield, pound for pound, of full-sized Oregon Springs than I ever had from Sweet Million cherry tomatoes. If not quite a "beefsteak" variety, they are close enough for me.

Sundews, Second Location

Day 359: Oh, I am so excited! I don't know how I missed them, especially since I've done several supposedly thorough surveys of the log where I found these today, but yes, I have discovered a second microecology where Sundews are flourishing (if not in the same number as on the primary log). These appear to be the same species superficially (Drosera rotundifolia), but the tentacles are much brighter red than those in the main location, making me wonder if the type of wood supporting the colony or some other environmental factor affects the coloration. These timbers appear to be old-growth cedar as opposed to Doug fir at the principle site. The two locations are approximately 150 feet apart, but the exposure is identical.

Mycology 101

Day 358: It's autumn, and the wild mushrooms are springing up everywhere, so I want to post a warning for any of you who are thinking of gathering Nature's provender for your dinner table. There are many species of 'shroom which are very difficult to tell apart, and a mistaken identification can kill you, or make you very sick either now or in the long term by causing organ damage. Some are so lethal that a single mispicked mushroom can contaminate the edibles in your basket, so be sure you know what you're doing when you go collecting.

I don't mean to put you off mushroom hunting. In fact, there are a dozen or so delicious "beginner species" which can hardly be mistaken for anything else, and I'll put my Chanterelles up against your Portobellos or Shiitakes any day. They fry well, and make a delicious cream of mushroom soup. That said, if I'd found one growing alongside this Amanita, I'd have left it right there in the interest of living long enough to enjoy another season of picking what I know to be safe to eat.

It's Just Not Fair!

Day 357: Oh, those jaybirds! It's been a week or so since I checked on the grapes, and the first thing I noticed was that the rampant sprawl of vine which normally covers the back side of the garage had fallen from its supports, undoubtedly brought down by the recent rains. I peered into the jumble of leaves expecting to see one or more of the two dozen bunches of small green fruit in the tangle, but no, there were no grapes among the greenery. I searched more deeply and found one bunch, a dozen grapes, no more, and the work of the jays was evident in a neatly severed stem. They'd left me nothing but a nominal tithe as thanks for my cultivation. "It's just not fair!" I said. "You stinkers cleaned me out again!"

In all honesty, I'm laughing. A human being wants the sweetest fruit and therefore waits for the first frost to set the sugar. The jays are not so choosy. Even the lightest touch of sweetness is sufficient for them, and a pleasant addition to their diet. These few were still a bit tangy on my tongue. Yes, I could foil my corvid cousins with a net or bits of flashy foil, but my taste for grapes can be satisfied by a trip to the grocery store; they don't have that option. I grow grapes for jaybirds, and should be more appreciative of the size of my allotment.

Oregon Spring Still Life

Day 356: For the first time since I moved here over two decades ago, I have had some moderate success with full-sized tomatoes. The growing season is quite short here, a factor which previously led me to select "Sweet Million," a 60-65 day cherry tomato, nibbling them straight off the vine as they ripened. For the last several years, though, I have been lucky if I got half a dozen fruits from two vines, hardly worth the bother of keeping Bambi at bay. This year, I thought I'd try a different variety and selected "Oregon Spring." The name sounded good, anyway, as if the plants might have been developed specifically to withstand the Pacific Northwest climate. I brought them home, babied them indoors until the end of May and then stuck them in the big pot outside the back door. I saw blossoms emerge and tiny fruits begin to develop and swell. Then they continued to swell without the slightest blush appearing and I wondered why. Oh dear! I'd misread the tag! They weren't cherry tomatoes at all! Oregon Spring was a full-sized variety. I figured failure was inevitable.

Well, I picked these two before they were ripe just in case Jack Frost got moody. Nights have been in the low 40s, and that's a bit too close for comfort. Give them a few more days on the kitchen counter and they'll be ready for taste-testing. Oregon Spring may well become my garden's delight.

Today, This Is A Rainflower

Day 355: The first storm of the season has not come in with quite the flourish the forecast warned us to expect, and although it's blown the tomato screens flat a couple of times, this sunflower...rainflower...remains undaunted. It's a "volunteer," a seed thrown into the garden by a Jay or a Towhee, the careless eaters of my avian dinner guests, and possibly close enough to the house to escape Bambi's predations. Sunflowers never survive to maturity here, not with deer and elk bold enough to walk right up to my doorstep. I gave up trying to grow them years ago, but the birds have been discouraged from their horticulture not a whit. They plant with no expectations of a harvest, in contrast to my agrarian motives, leaving me to wonder if there isn't more wisdom in those little brains than in my own.

Unhomed And Angry

Day 354: Hornets and wasps are often very hard to tell apart, but thanks to the nice people at BugGuide.net, I know that these are European Paper Wasps, Polistes dominula. We've always called them "yellowjackets," but we also used that term to describe a similar species. In any event, they are decidedly unhappy about the state of affairs at the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property where I volunteer as a Site Steward, and today, one of them exacted revenge.

The Trust has been working on restoring Ohop Creek to a productive salmon stream for some time now, recreating the former meanders and thereby lengthening the overall run of the creek. They've removed tons of debris left over from unsuccessful farming ventures and deliberate illegal dumping. They've planted thousands of native trees such as Red Osier Dogwood, Red Cedar and various willows (I worked on a replanting project in the valley about 25 years ago). One major project was just recently begun: removal of several old barns and outbuildings from the upper terrace overlooking the valley which, until last week, had been home for an assortment of evil-tempered stinging wasps/hornets.

A bee specialist was brought in to remove as many of these nasty critters as possible, but apparently, he missed a few. I found this lot trying to reestablish a colony on the side of an old concrete bridge. I stood back at a respectable distance to take the photo and did not disturb them, but unfortunately while I was up near the old barns, I got distracted by a bird I believe was a Black-and-White Warbler, and while I was intent on trying to capture it in the lens, one of these varmints slipped up under my shirt and installed her stinger very close to my armpit from the back.

I am allergic. The allergy is strongest to honeybee stings and I've managed to avoid them since I was about three years old. "Yellowjackets" have left their mark on me less than half a dozen times in my adult life. Today was one of those memorable occasions. I am sitting here now, feeling like someone installed half a tennis ball in my armpit, and although it doesn't actually hurt like you might expect, it's a rather unpleasant sensation.

The Sundew Census

Day 353: I spent seven and a half hours on Lake St. Clair yesterday, paddling approximately eleven miles as I conducted a minute examination of almost every log and stump in the water which hosted any type of plant life. I feel I can now say with 95% degree of assurance that the Round-Leaved Sundews occur in only one microenvironment no more than six feet in length and a foot and a half wide. This log is their only home. I believe it was a Douglas fir, and my hypothesis (based on my understanding of mycoheterotrophy and related symbioses) is that a particular fungus affected only this section of the tree. I am led to conjecture that there may have been an intermediary stage where the fungus and a companion algae cooperated as a specific lichen, which then set the stage for the Sundews to colonize.

 

Drosera rotundifolia is a "carnivorous" plant. Its leaves exude a sticky fluid to attract and trap insects which the plant then breaks down into nutrients by means of enzymes. Five-petalled white flowers emerge in small groups at the tips of stems which rise above the clustered leaves (the brown seed pods are visible in the upper photo). Sundews are moisture-lovers, preferring peaty bogs and decaying wood, but as their name suggests, they grow in sunny areas. These colonies only populate the south side of the log which is exposed to the sun for the better part of the day. Coming on these from the north in early morning light was like paddling toward a field of diamonds...in more ways than one. As a naturalist, finding this species in the wild has been the highlight of my career.

Waiting On The Tide

Day 352 (International Talk Like A Pirate Day):

The fair weather of summer brought a surprising change in the demeanor and appearance of the Winged Adventure's crew. If they did not become precisely what one might describe as "model citizens" when they went ashore to obtain supplies, they at least avoided any serious confrontations with members of the constabulary. They cleaned up their salty language as much as any sailor could be expected to do, and their bodies likewise; then they emerged one by one from below decks into the sunlight in spanking-clean sailcloth and colorful silks to walk among the populace with the romance of distant ports surrounding them as much as did the scent of exotic spices. Piracy, for the moment, seemed but a pale penumbral shadow at their backs.

Admittedly, we stayed no longer than a fortnight in any one port, and seldom that; there is only so much good behaviour a proper pirate can be expected to exhibit, and the coincidence of slit purses, missing pocket watches and a sleek barque in the harbour may register slowly in the minds of the official body, but it does inevitably signify. In any event, it was thought that the Winged Adventure was due for a good careening, so we sailed forth and put into a tight cove on a tiny uncharted island for the duration of the season where the graceful ship was brought out of her element and laid over on her side, an inelegant position for a lady of her standing. All hands turned to, the Captain included, for Morgan Corbye is not one to ask of a man that which she would not do herself.

It was of an evening whilst seated by a fire of driftwood enjoying a savoury stew of mussels and wild pork that the subject of the seasonal nature of professional piracy was brought into perspective for this biographer. I had risked giving affront by suggesting that we had been idling under sunny skies for almost three months of the year without so much as a minor raiding party being raised and wondered at the logic, hoping that the innocence and ignorance of my inquiry might temper the Captain's response. Indeed it did. With a laugh which crackled like a lightning strike, she spat a leathery bit of shellfish into the fire. As we watched it sizzle and bubble into greasy ash, she said, "Aye, ye're as green as a little gourd upon th' vine, an't ye? Think ye we'd be showin' o' ourse'fs t' th' 'ole wide 'orizon, sailin' there on calm sea flat as glass, bold as pimple on 'is Lordship's nose? Ye'd no' last long in th' trade wi' that strategy. 'Tis cunnin' wot keeps us alive, weather cunnin'."

My raised eyebrow encouraged her to continue the explanation. "D'ye no' feel it? There's a damp in th' air an' th' breeze 'as shifted direction. A week, ten days, fust rains come in, nought but pissin' rains at fust. We bides a bit then, an' when th' fog rises thick o' mornin's, then's when we puts out, an' no man's eye upon our sails. Slick as oil, we tucks away ag'in, an' when storm comes, why, then ye'd best 'ave yer sea-legs quick as Johnny, fer 'idin' a-hind swells is wot this ol' gal does best." A nod in the direction of her ship told me that Captain Corbye was not referring to herself, although she could have fallen within the compass of the statement with equal ease. "'Tis th' autumn wot's piratin' weather. Did ye no' know that?" As she dipped the ladle into the stew and refilled her bowl, I began to suspect then that the next few months of my life would be divided between boisterous, extravagant enterprises and the gut-wrenching despair of seasickness with our Captain driving the Winged Adventure into the heart of the storms. Morgan Corbye is waiting on the mists, waiting on the tide.

Here's Looking At Ewe

 Day 351: Oh, the memories this lovely lady brings back! For approximately five years between 1985 and 1990, I maintained two to eight sheep on our prairie property. Two acres of the land was grass pasture, so with that census (sheep are heavy grazers), I supplemented them with alfalfa hay and COB (a corn-oats-barley feed). They were sheared by a professional whose attempts to teach me the art failed miserably, and each year I retained some fleece for my own use and sold the rest to Pendleton Mills in Portland, or to a weaving supply shop in Seattle. Each ewe was allowed to lamb once, and then at eighteen months to two years of age, I turned my woollies into lamb-burger for the table.

At times, raising sheep was nightmarish with early lambings in downpours, attacks by dogs, being chased by an ill-tempered ram as I ran as fast as my feet could carry me down the length of the pasture, only narrowly missing being launched from behind by Bruce's intervention. He was watching and waiting at the gate and grabbed the black monster by the ears just as I passed the fenceline. But there were the joys of playing with twin babies, as sociable as puppies in their early months, and having four-legged lawn mowers to take care of one of my least favorite chores. For the most part, sheep take little care other than feeding, shearing and hoof-trimming, and for the few headaches incumbent with keeping them, the balance lays in their favour. I miss my sheepies!

 

A Sound Memory

Day 350: It was one of our first Christmases together. My husband and I were still learning about each other, and errors of judgment when it came to gift-giving were inevitable. I had discovered to my dismay that Bruce was not an avid reader, for example, and he had figured out that stylish clothing was simply not my cup of tea. We both knew we were on safe ground when it came to gadgets and toys, so presents often took the form of weather instruments, electronics kits, puzzles and other useful but unnecessary things with which to fiddle. We stuck religiously to proscriptions regarding box-shaking and squeezing when specified lest we spoil a surprise, but many items were fair game for tantalizing examination. We often included materials meant to mislead in our wrapping: a few beans here or there, marbles, a bag of sand, anything to put the recipient off the scent of the real object.

After we had distributed our acquisitions under the tree, we observed a nightly ritual of rattling and prodding selected parcels. Bruce handed me a box which I held up to my ear and gave a gentle shake. "Can I rattle it harder?" I asked, and got the expected approval. My memory leapt back twenty years at the sound, but in an era of plastics, I knew that what I was recalling could not be. The words jumped out of my mouth although I was sure the product was no longer made. "That sounds like the little metal cash register bank I had when I was a kid!"

Bruce concealed his reaction beautifully. He made me wait to open it until Christmas morning, too.

Grow Your Own

 Day 349: Every year, my little avian friends try their beaks at raising a crop of birdseed in my flower beds. The issue is proximity to the feeders. As they scatter seed, some of it inevitably makes its way into the garden, and as casual as I am about weeding, pulling only the most obvious offenders after the first few serious eradications have been performed, something nearly always escapes my watchful eye. In fact, while in the living room yesterday, I noticed a suspicious-looking plant which had come up taller than the window sill, i.e., topping three feet in height. I went out for a closer look and although I'm not positive, it looked to me like a Burdock, and most undesirable. The seed likely had been transported on my boots after a patrol of my Land Trust beat in Ohop Valley where it is prevalent. Hitching a ride is a favorite tactic of invasives. In any event, I uprooted it and then bent to pull some of the "corn" sown by the birds. There, amid other greenery, were several sprays of millet almost at maturity. I am betting that Farmer Jay is keeping a close eye on his crop, anxiously awaiting the day when those tiny seeds are perfect for harvest. Perhaps if I leave them for his enjoyment, he'll leave a few grapes on the vine for me.

After The Storm

Day 348: The Nisqually Land Trust's annual Salmon Bake is held in a small private park near Johnson Point overlooking the area of Puget Sound known as the Nisqually Reach. It is a lovely venue with views of both Anderson Island and Key Peninsula with a glimpse of McNeil Island in the distance between the two. Today's event was punctuated by half-inch hail, thunder, lightning and a brief but intense downpour which drove all of us under cover until it had passed over, leaving the bay to mirror the sky almost without a ripple. As tempting as this scene might appear to a kayaker, I am advised that the harbour is subject to strong and unpredictable currents.

Sundews In The Wild

Day 347: Today, I lived a naturalist's dream. Any of us who is seriously interested in native plants will have a list of rare species we long to find but hold little hope of discovering. Among the top five on my Elusives List was Round-leaved Sundew, Drosera rotundifolia. I thought some day I might make a trip to Oregon specifically to look for it since it occurs with greater frequency there, or to the Olympics where I know it has been reported. I did not expect to find it almost in my back yard.

Four new "paddle caches" (geocaches requiring a boat to reach) were published yesterday, all of them on Lake St. Clair near Yelm where I had been only a week or two ago. Since I had been planning to go for a paddle today anyway, I let my geocaching partner convince me to join him. We met at the lake at 9:30, found the caches (one of which was a First To Find for us) and then set off to do some exploring. Before we'd gone very far, his phone gave out the distinctive set of noises which told him that a new cache had been published locally. It turned out to be very local indeed! It was back up the way we'd just come down. With no other contenders on the lake at the time, the two of us paddled our 'yaks like maniacs, racing to claim a second and easy First To Find of the new release.

Dan was beginning to suspect that there might be another as-yet-unpublished cache somewhere in the northwest arm of the lake. His hunches are usually pretty good in that regard, so again moving north, we retraced our route, this time examining every stump, stick, overhanging branch, bit of rope or plastic or chain on the off chance that we could locate a cache without coordinates. It was during this minute examination process that I was working my way along a half-submerged log and discovered the Sundews. I'm sure my yell made Dan think I'd found a cache site, but if so, he concealed his disappointment and came abreast on the opposite side of the log so he could hold one end of my paddle while I hooked the other end under my knee, stabilizing the boat and freeing up my hands for photography. If the focus in this image isn't quite perfect, it was the best I could effect under the circumstances.

Discovery of one colony of Sundews led to another and another until over fifteen minutes, I had finally mapped the microenvironment at approximately 1.5 feet by five feet. The delicate and specialized little insect traps did not occur at any other location I examined. With five five-star caches in the bag, two of them First To Finds, I had my priorities straight whether they agreed with Dan's or not. I babbled happily all the way back to the boat launch: "I can't believe it! I found Sundews in the wild!"

Piggy Music

Day 346: You can't deny it. Piglets are adorable and the "Pig Palace" at the Washington State Fair has been moved and improved to provide better viewing opportunities for visitors. They had two litters on display today and in both pens, it was a free-for-all. The runt (the little red guy behind the black and white one) was having no trouble holding his own, and was responsible for the loudest squealing you'll hear in the video.

Browser

Day 345: There are times when I really wish I could make the commitment to keep a couple of goats or sheep on my little patch of turf, but with large predators in the area (some of them domestic), it's just not feasible. Sheep would be my preference because they are grazers, though even a browsing goat would find plenty to eat in my euphemistically-termed "lawn," saving me the trouble of running the mower on hot days like today. With respect to sheep, a carefully selected crossbreed such as Romney-Suffolk or Romney-Corriedale will provide both wool and meat for the table. That said, Angora goats supply a long-staple wool which is soft and a delight to spin. Alas, my dreams of owning a woolly lawnmower will have to be shelved for the reality of a stinky gas engine which needs no fence, no feed and no shearing, but it was a nice thought while it lasted.

Sheep and goats are regular features at the Washington State Fair, although they must be brought in on a rotation basis due to potential veterinary issues.

Fair Harvest

Day 344: The Puyallup Fair is now officially the Washington State Fair, and naturally, some change was bound to occur to accompany the "rebranding." The last several years' disturbing trend toward catering to commercial vendors is even more pronounced, but in one way, it has had a good effect on the Fair overall, at least in this viewer's opinion. The enormous Showplex building which once was shared by Grange displays, the Sheep-to-Shawl demonstration, flower exhibits, honey farmers and various purveyors of things no one really needs is now entirely devoted to the latter, making it easy to pass by without a glance. The carefully wrought artworks of vegetables and fruit, giant pumpkins, massed dahlias and bonsai now have a building all their own, a more cramped space perhaps, but at least one which is tied together by the theme of cultivation. The Granges' panoramic creations are better lighted than they were in the forgotten corner of the Showplex, and ranks of single stems of flowers in simple vases give an open, airy feel to the building which the claustrophobic confines of the Showplex contrast radically. Visitors no longer need to elbow their way through rude crowds ogling hot tubs, pan scrubbers, cosmetics guaranteed to take twenty years off your face, air purifiers, magnetic bracelets, cutlery sets, dog-grooming tools and glow-in-the-dark beer glasses to reach the prize-winning pumpkin of the season. If you want electric hair straighteners, foot rollers, kitschy ceramics, a gutter brush or cheaper car insurance, the 'Plex is your place, but you'll find me down among the kohlrabi, admiring the farmers' finest products and taking pleasure in the treats afforded by a good old-fashioned county fair.

Big Hips

 Day 343: Rugosa Rose won't mind at all if you tell her she has big hips, and believe me, they're enormous. They're also rich in vitamin C and can be used to make fragrant tea, syrup, jelly, marmalade or even wine, but be sure to use only the outer rind. The fine hairs found inside the fruit can cause an itchy irritation of the digestive tract if ingested in sufficient quantity. Rose hips may also be dried and used in potpourri.

September Spoonful

Day 342: Of the two "Spoon Flower" Osteospermums I planted last spring, only one survived having been kept as a houseplant for too long. Lesson learned: buy them and put them in the ground immediately, even if you have to protect them from frost. That said, this one was slow to get started but is now presenting a wonderful display of blooms. Hopefully, I'll be able to enjoy it for a few more weeks until Jack Frost comes calling.

A Jaunt With A Friend

Day 341: For the most part, active sports are something I do solo: backpacking, bicycling and now kayaking. Today was an exception. My geocaching partner Dan had yet to pick up the cache on the island in Lake Kapowsin and I was ready for another paddle. I suggested that we do a grand tour of the lake together, and he agreed. We met at the boat ramp at ten and immediately set off to explore the south end of the lake which I had yet to see. I was expecting it to be full of stumps and indeed there were plenty, although not nearly as many as I'd guessed. Water level was up about half a foot following the week's heavy rain which gave us some additional clearance. Even so, I managed to tag one but at least this time, I didn't get stuck.

Partway back, we cruised into a small cove to check out an odd structure which at first I thought was made of concrete. As we came closer, it was revealed as a bad camo paint job on a plywood box about eight feet tall, eight feet wide across the front and four feet deep. There was a strange figure of some sort perched on one upper corner which at first we took for a plastic owl, and we assumed that the "clubhouse" was a duck blind of some sort until discovering that it had no peepholes in it or slots for rifle barrels. Weirder yet, the "owl" turned out to be the head of a female mannequin staring out across the water, hair and complexion obviously much the worse for weather. There appeared to be a rough trail leading down the steep embankment to it, but no evidence of recent use. Nevertheless, the overall effect was creepy and unsettling even to me, and I'm normally unmoved by such things. The Lady of the Lake's eyes followed us as we paddled somewhat hastily away.

Next, we put in on the island so Dan could find the cache, explored a bit, and then sat on the "inside" shore to have our lunch. Primary goals accomplished, we finished up the day by navigating the stump minefield to the north end of the lake and then back to the boat ramp. We were out four hours and covered 5.25 miles.

Waldo On The Rocks

Day 340: If Waldo was sitting on your hand, you'd probably describe him as being brown, but once he's in his own element, his patterns and coloration mimic warm grey earthtones and shadows amazingly well. However, when he opens his wings and flies, broad bands of yellow may make you think he's a butterfly.

I've seen more grasshoppers this year than any time in the last decade. When I was young, we would collect them by the dozen, but these days, it's rare that I see more than three or four all summer. I wonder if they are truly in decline, or if their range has simply shifted in response to climate change? Many plants and critters are moving north.

Down Among The Pumpkinheads

Day 339: Hurray! It's time for county fairs, grange displays and the grand weigh-in of pumpkins! Oh, these are just babies compared to the ones which will take the prizes, but nevertheless, any one of them would fill a wheelbarrow, leaving only a few gaps to stuff with ears of late-season corn. Farmers' fields are full of orange giants, but the behemoths have been trucked off to their respective places of honor. A fifty-pound pumpkin won't even take an Honorable Mention when competing against a thousand pound squash suitable for Cinderella's carriage. Stay tuned, because the Washington State Fair opened today!

Send Chocolate!

Day 338: HOUSEBOUND, DESPERATELY BORED! URGENTLY NEED CHOCOLATE!

Calypso Creek Fantasy

Day 337: As the dry season comes to an end, tiny Calypso Creek threads its way through Longmire Campground with but a memory of springtime's orchids dancing along its margins. Its hearty May chuckle has matured into a demure smile not unlike that of the Mona Lisa; a secret is at the heart of the matter, one which leaves us guessing. It winds among mossy rocks, playing the coquette, tapping stick and stone upon the shoulder, running quickly to hide around the next turn. Somewhere along its length, a frog calls, a sound stilled by the softest footfall. Beetles cross its width on fragile twigs and burrow themselves deeply in lichen, safe after a perilous passage. It speaks in color: green, green, green, and in so many tones they could not be counted. Calypso is the life of this small and intimate forest, its integrity, and soon the rains will come and set its heartbeat pulsing young and strong again.

Hardy Fuchsia

Day 336: With an eye to attracting more hummingbirds and butterflies to my garden, I have a slip of hardy (perennial) fuchsia in a pot bedded to the rim in the garden. It was "pinched" from a friend's old, woody plant somewhat brutally and only had a few threads of root attached, but as she told me, "It's hard to kill." As I have done with other shrubs, I will keep it in the pot through the winter so that its root system can develop in confinement. Next spring, I'll plant it in a permanent location. A natural diet is best for hummers, and easier on the sugar budget, too!

Reminiscence

Day 335: There is a punchline to this story, so no fair reading ahead!

September is a time of reminiscence for me. It was always my favorite time to head into the backcountry, map in hand and following the compass bearings which led me to destinations not accessible by trail. I'd plan ever so carefully, watching for that elusive weather window of five to seven days, willing to take a chance on getting wet going out or heading in but wanting dry weather for further explorations from a central camp. It came regularly but unpredictably, sometimes early in the month, sometimes late. I often found myself waking to heavy frost outside the tent and once, an overnight low of fifteen degrees. But the days were glorious! As soon as the sun crept over the horizon rim, the crisp rime turned into dewy diamonds, sparkling in the slanting light. From camp, I'd set off with a day kit and my trusty map and go searching for waterfalls, tarns, hidden cols, mountain peaks, and I'd find autumn's wildflowers, snow patches lingering from the previous winter, frogs, polliwogs and rocks I had to name. The best days of my life came in September, alone in the wilderness, but for peregrine falcons overhead and grey jays in close proximity. Best among these places were the high rocky summits and open meadows where I could look out on acres and miles of unpeopled land, where I could feel my spiritual roots reaching deep into the fragile alpine soil. I would bathe in cold, pure water sprung fresh from the mountainside, and dry myself as nature intended, bare to the afternoon sun. Those September days were my restorative, my medicine, the thing which put the concerns of daily life in proper perspective. I breathed in a renewal, and let the world's trivialities slide from my shoulders. I became a part of the natural world, conscious verbal thought dismissed from mind, simply being in the moment.

Though those days are past me now, the emotions and the sensations surround me when September's light is on the hills. As fresh in my mind as if I saw them this morning, these Gentians, the last flowers of the alpine season and my favorite, bloomed 35 years ago. The photo is a scanned slide from my archives.

September Morn

Day 334: Second only to Christmas on my calendar, September Morn is a day of personal celebration. Today we enter the most beautiful season, a time when Nature puts her energies by for winter, like housewives of old at the canning kettle. Ma Nature has on a fog-trimmed apron, and you can see her oven warming in the dawn. Her hair is done up in a kerchief of clouds as she readies for a day of preservation. Now she works her hardest, storing seeds in her root cellar, bedding nuts and fruit in a mulch of leaves to keep them safe against frost; a busy lady, Ma, and make no mistake. She has a family to feed and knows well how to stock the larder. Join me in rejoicing for September Morn!