The Rustling Of Leaves

Day 29: "Is it real, or is it Memorex?" If you had your eyes shut, you might find it difficult to distinguish between the sounds made by the crisping leaves of the Japanese maple and my mother's Bakelite necklace. As a child, I was sometimes allowed to play with her jewelry, and no piece fascinated me more than the three strands of maple leaves. An inconvenient item to wear (it tends to clump just like the real thing), it is a delight to handle, and the rustling noise it makes sends your thoughts to running with abandon through the debris of autumn. The color brings to mind caramel apples and cider, pumpkins and scarecrows and black cats sitting tall on bales of hay. I find myself wishing for an excuse to wear it, but then as I drape it around my neck, my memory fails to bring up any image of my mother with leaves under her chin. I think perhaps she was enchanted by the sound and feel as I am. Who needs functionality, anyway?

South Bridge

Day 28: After putting in a couple of unscheduled hours in the office this morning, I donned my other hat, drove the opposite direction and went to my second task happy to be out of doors one more time before the weather changes. I took advantage of relatively dry grass to make a patrol for invasive weeds in a part of the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property I'd not explored fully, and took the camera and tripod with me in order to make an HDR shot of the southernmost bridge. The northern bridge spans a small backwater, as opposed to the south bridge which crosses the stream itself. In a flood, Ohop Creek leaps from its banks here and sometimes rises high enough to flow across the road. The creek below the bridge has been restored to a natural meander, and the section above the bridge is slated for rehabilitation in the next few years.

Mount Rainier And Rampart Ridge

Day 27: I have always been a morning person. Even as a youngster, there was no "sleeping in" for me. I loved the quiet of morning, having the run of the house to myself, watching the first shafts of light strike the yellow-painted built-in kitchen table where I sat to do my homework. I found morning light invigorating, fresh, alive and growing with each minute's passage. Morning light fills the spirit and lifts the mood. Oh, my compeers thought it was odd, especially since they looked forward to weekends when they didn't have to get up until nine, ten, even noon. By the time they were gathering for play, I'd ridden my bike to the library and was on my way home with a basketful of books.

With the coming of winter, I have tended to do that "sleeping in" thing more as I get older. When the house is chilly o'mornings, I find it hard to throw back the covers before 5:15, and seldom get out the door before 7. I always have the feeling that the day's half gone already when I get a late start like that.

Elfin Saddle

Day 26: This has been one of the best mushroom seasons I've seen in a long time. Oh, I'm not necessarily talking about edibles. I simply mean that there has been a wider variety and a greater number of fungi spring up in our local forests. This is Helvella lacunosa, a fairly common species in the Pacific Northwest. It is characterised by a lacunose (ribbed and perforated) stalk and a purplish-grey to black wrinkled cap. The common name "Elfin Saddle" makes me glad I'm not an elf. That would be a bumpy ride!

Pacific Northwest Deciduous

 Day 25: While the East Coast revels in color in the Autumn, Pacific Northwesterners enjoy (if I may use the term loosely) a surfeit of earth-tones in the lowland deciduous woods. You'll notice I don't refer to Flatland's thickets as "forest." That is a word I reserve for the stately evergreens which dominate the mountain ridges from 2000' to timberline. There, by and large, the canopy is dense and the understory thin. That's not to say that there is no deciduous growth at the higher elevations. It makes incursions up stream and river beds, colonizes open space and puts up ramparts at the margins of forested stands. However, in Flatland, it grows thick and fast, and sheds a litter of leaves each fall which in turn support a variety of vines and brush, making cross-country almost impossible without a machete. The jungle-like tangle is a paradise for a wider and less specialized wildlife population than those species which inhabit the restrictive alpine and subalpine regions. Here, food is plentiful and protection from predators is readily available to small critters of all sorts.

That said, the deciduous Pacific Northwest is nothing if not brown in Autumn. There are some reds, but they are rarities amid blander hues. Yellows quickly fade into the murk of browns from tan to chocolate, returning to the Earth without flamboyance, without a shout. When fall comes, the lowland forest curls up quietly and goes to sleep, trusting the evergreens to keep things in line until the spring.

Plants Vs. Zombies In Real-Time

Day 24: The Nisqually Land Trust's annual Hallowe'en tree-planting event saw several Zombies obviously affected by behaviour-altering Hypno-shrooms working hard at digging holes and installing saplings in an area of Ohop Valley wetland. Most of the 45 participants in this project missed the memo regarding the dress code for the occasion, but it didn't dampen their enthusiasm. We planted 500-600 native trees and shrubs, including Baldhip Rose, Salmonberry and Oregon Ash, all especially selected for the wet-soil ecology of this newly-acquired property. It doesn't take BRAAAAAIIINS to understand the value of the work contributed by these volunteers, both alive and undead.

"Use The Force!"

Day 23: Surely Obi-Wan Kenobi must have been guiding my hand as I swept through both worlds of "Angry Birds Star Wars 2," but I think the Master taught me too well. Unless I purchase new characters (and there is an abundance of them), my work here is done. Rovio's latest release put a new slant on the game yet again, keeping it fresh and just as entertaining as the earlier versions. I've earned the full complement of credits which will allow me to buy some (but hardly all) of the other characters. Anything more requires cash-money. This time, I'm tempted. I love my Angry Birds.

Beneath The Ramparts

Day 22: It felt good to get back to work today after such a long hiatus, good to see that for all the posturing and foolishness of recent weeks, some stability remains in the Universe. Rampart Ridge hadn't tumbled down. The grasses in Longmire Meadow continued to gossip among themselves in soft whispers. The shadows took the pools and hot springs in their arms and sang to them as gently as they had ever done. Beyond the evergreens, above the ridges and folds of land, the Mountain dominated Earth and sky. Everything was just as I'd left it, if perhaps a little more golden around the edges. Three weeks is a long time to go without touching base with your oldest friends.

Pardon Me, Your Slip Is Showing

Day 21: First let me say that I did not place that piece of lichen on the cap of this mushroom. This is exactly how I discovered it. Today along the Yelm-Tenino trail, the mushrooms were abundant and varied, but of all I saw, this specimen was the most beautiful. Based on what I observed in other examples, I believe it is a member of the Stropharia family, although the annulus is not readily apparent in this photo. Others exhibited a distinct "ring" beneath the cap. The gills were dusky lavender, and some specimens showed significant scales on the stipe. The "lace" is typical of Stropharias: "Pardon me, your slip is showing."

Taking the mushroom tour today brought back a lot of good memories. My late husband and I lived only a few miles from the future trail, although in those days, it was still an active railroad line. Our property had been his grandparents', and when we inherited it and started making preparations to move in, we often took walks on the acreage to familiarize ourselves with the unique ecology of western Washington prairie. On one particular occasion, we found a dozen or more perfect specimens of Amanita muscaria, the "Mario mushroom" with the red cap flecked with white spots. The species became our mascot for the family ranch, which we then named "Toadstool Acres," although it wasn't the only Amanita which occurred there, nor even the most prevalent. Each walk in the autumn woods turned up something new and generally suspect. Occasionally, we'd find something we knew was edible: boletas, shaggymanes, and one spring, a solitary morel which chose to grow at the very edge of our concrete stoop. Some years, the muscarias failed to appear; other times, they grew in profusion. We never determined what conditions they favoured.

In other mycological pursuits, Bruce proved himself to be a superb "truffle hound," rooting out the best and biggest before my mom or I had added a single 'shroom to our baskets. He had a nose for boletas which couldn't be matched, and frequently out-picked us two to one. Riding through Mushroom Country today, I had to wonder what he could have found for dinner while I was grubbing around on my knees taking pictures of "toadstools" you wouldn't want to eat. I bet he'd have come up with something.

Footnote: I am almost certain this is Stropharia ambigua, a mushroom common in Pacific Northwest conifer forests. It is reputed to be edible, but "tastes like old leaves" and therefore is not desirable.

Teenage Mutant Ninja...

Day 20: Cowabunga, dudes! This bodacious yard 'shroom reminded me of my all-time favorite super-heroes, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It's a Suillus or a Boleta and therefore potentially edible, but I chose to let sleeping turtles lie. I don't want to go down in history as the successor to the Shredder.

Unexpected High Seas

Day 19: Half an hour later, I was down there in the far end and as I swung 'round to follow the eastern shore (right side of the photo), a series of low swells came surging across the surface, threatening to take the kayak broadside. I angled into them and rode them out, but they were just the appetizer. The wind came up, pulling the water into meringue peaks and dashing them into the cockpit. "Where the hell did that come from?" I grumbled aloud. "So much for doing two laps!"

The camera was on the floor of the boat, but I didn't dare stop paddling long enough to put it in the dry-sack. If the wind had turned the boat sideways, I could have been in trouble. The western shore was somewhat calmer under the wind-shadow created by the surrounding hills, so I put my back into it and tacked for open water, away from the hazards of barely submerged stumps. Once across, it was easier going, though I was still fighting wind if not whitecaps. A quarter mile from the boat ramp, the wind subsided into a gentle breeze. What's a sailor to do? I made for the far side and finished off the day with a leisurely navigation of the south end, one "lap" made with respect to distance travelled, although I missed out a piece of the eastern shore entirely.

Milady's Fan

Day 18: Most of my "macro" photography work isn't "macro" at all, not in the sense of using a close-up lens to make the shot. Without a remote flash, it can be challenging to keep the camera's shadow out of an image when you're only an inch from your subject. I prefer to stand back and zoom, and the Canon SX30 IS and its relatives offer some pretty impressive magnification. In this instance, my subject was about six feet from the camera position. I was zoomed in digitally at 95x (approximately equivalent to an 800 mm. lens). Milady's lovely lace fan measured less than half an inch from wingtip to wingtip. If you flip the image 90 or 180 degrees, it will be easier to recognize the subject as a tiny moth.

I Think I'll Go As Princess Leia

 Day 17: I think it'd take a lot more makeup than I have in my costuming kit to turn me into Princess Leia. I've always loved getting dressed up, and Hallowe'en gives me a good excuse but for one small issue: I don't get trick-or-treaters here. That said, the occasional get-together or event finds me dragging out the garb. My fishing buddy's great-grandkids love having costumed adults as their chaperones.

Sometimes getting into the act has its drawbacks. On one notable occasion, I'd planned to attend a friend's party as a Vulcan noblewoman, pointy ears and all. Application of the ears was a time-consuming project, painting on latex to join the prosthetic seamlessly with my skin and then blending makeup (both liquid and powder) to match the tone. I'd started early in the morning and finished up around noon, planning to leave home at two o'clock to drive to Seattle. I forgot one thing: I'd put in a call to the county weed control board in regard to tansy ragwort growing on the highway verge. When the agent knocked on my door, I'd forgotten all about the ears. If he did a double-take, I failed to see it, and thus accompanied him out onto the highway to show him several specimens of the weed, oblivious to the sight I presented. A few cars slowed down, but I still didn't make the connection. It was only after the agent had completed his interview and I'd gone back to the house that I realized I was wearing them.

Back to the idea of turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, then...I could never pull off the Princess Leia look. To wear a costume with any degree of success, you have to believe in your role. As I look at this photo, I am thinking, "Morgan Corbye is never gonna make it as a zombie," but of course I can't go as a pirate 'cuz that's my day job.

An Apple A Day

Day 16: I'm right out there with your drill sergeant when it comes to encouraging you to stay fit by engaging in a variety of physical exercise, but in addition to participating in active sports, you need to keep your brain trained as well. Even simple occupations such as putting together jigsaw puzzles, building model kits or following a needlework pattern stimulate synapses and keep them springy. Don't neglect the grey matter when you plan out your exercise routine!

Alien Life Form

Day 18: Just when you think you've seen it all, Nature throws you a curve ball...one made out of some kind of aquatic weed. Floating just beneath the surface of Swofford Pond, I thought at first it was something man-made; however, as I paddled up to it, I could tell it was a vegetative structure. Swofford is full of weed (both invasive and native), but this was the only specimen of its kind.

Ten days have elapsed since my last kayak outing, and I was anxious to do some paddling despite cool morning temperatures. I loaded my gear in the car as soon as the thermometer registered 45°, thinking that an hour's drive would find it raised to a tolerable 50°. When I off-loaded the 'yak and went to get into my waders, I discovered that I'd grabbed my rain pants instead. "Oh, that's gonna be cold!" I said as I rolled up my trouser legs and put on a pair of rubber sandals, clearing my throat preparatory to using all my father's tractor-starting words as I waded in. Within half an hour, I was shedding my wool shirt, comfortable even in the shady niches of the south side of the lake. I wove my way through mazes of "shoestrings" (stems of some small waterlily-like plant), dragged milfoil off the paddles in gobs, put up a large flight of mixed ducks, and wreaked terror and havoc among a population of frogs which seemed to be hanging out with nothing but their eyes showing. I never saw one, only heard their great flops and splashes as the bow penetrated the floating jungle. I had the lake to myself, other than sharing it with the wildlife. Not a fisherman, not another paddler intruded into my sight. A full circuit of the lake accounted for three miles, but as I began a second lap, an unpredicted wind came up. "Enough for today," said I, "I'm going home."

Arachne's Lace

Day 14: This moment of quiet beauty was brought to you by a tiny spider who has no knowledge of the tangled webs we humans weave.

A Bridge For Everyone

Day 13: Lost in their gossip, the two women were entirely oblivious to the Blue Heron standing boldly on the path not a dozen feet in front of them. Even more astonishing was the dog's apparent unconcern, his attention given solely to repeated territory-marking of the bridge's wooden posts. I had braked my bike some ways back, careful not to startle the bird into flight, but I needn't have worried. He turned his back to the walkers, spread his legs in a defiant posture, as if to say, "You're not going to shift me. I was here first." Nevertheless, he was the one who gave ground, walking placidly into the brush at the side of the trail, still unnoticed by the chatting ladies or the dog. I felt for a moment that I had been given a glimpse of a better world, one where all things in nature coexist in a harmonious balance.

Seeds Of Crocosmia "Lucifer"

Day 12: The weather was a bit too cool for kayaking or bicycling today, and the government shutdown means I can't even go into work, let alone take a stroll up one of my favorite trails, so I decided to do a bit of gardening in preparation for next spring. The first project of the day was to move the half-sunken, enormous tomato pot forward so the Sweetfern would have room to expand (which, incidentally, it's doing nicely). I dug out half the soil in the pot and the space in front of it, shovelling the potting soil into buckets and the garden dirt onto a piece of heavy-gauge plastic sheeting I'd laid out on the sidewalk. Once loosened, the pot was fairly easy to "walk" into place without needing to be lifted. I relocated clusters of Grape Hyacinth bulbs and the chives, and then filled in behind the pot and installed four metal fence posts around it. Next spring, I'll put up 2 x 4 wire to keep Bambi out.

A few other small yard projects kept me busy for an hour or so, and then after I'd cleaned all the tools and put them away, I noticed that the Crocosmia's seed pods had opened. Crocosmia is notorious for spreading by both seed and stolon, so to keep the sprawl at a minimum, I harvested the pods for future planting. The hummingbirds love red "Lucifer's" bright flowers, so I'll set aside a corner of the yard where the plant can run rampant. After all, I have to keep my hummers happy, don't I?

Woolly Bears And Old Wives

 Day 11: It's terribly unfair of you to expect the humble Woolly Bear caterpillar to predict the weather. Pyrrharctia isabella knows no more about the coming winter than the rest of us. Even so, this is a pretty amazing little creature. Did you know, for example, that Woolly Bears enter a type of cryogenic stasis every winter, during which time all bodily functions cease, including the beating of its heart? In the Arctic, Woolly Bears have been known to "return to life" after having been frozen for more than a decade. But as for telling us the weather by the width of the orange band around his middle, the larval form of the Isabella Tiger Moth's coloration is simply a function of age. Just like the hair on a human head turns color as we advance in years, W.B. "goes orange" as it ages, the black bristles replaced by rusty ones.

Just Enough For Dinner

Day 10: A couple of nights ago, I made what was arguably the best meatloaf I've ever prepared. It had just the right amount of sausage mixed with the ground beef, just enough tomato sauce, just enough bay and oregano, and I used old-fashioned slow-cooking oatmeal for the filler instead of bread crumbs, so it turned out light and tender. I've been eating it under ketchup, but tonight, I made it even better by topping it with freshly picked chanterelles done up in a cream sherry sauce, a suggestion which came from a friend who also enjoys these fungal fruits.

I'm a decent cook when I put my mind to it but ordinarily, I consider cooking and eating to be dreadful wastes of time. Tonight, in an unusual departure from form, I savoured my meal. The chanterelles...well, I ate them all. Maybe I should have divided them into two batches because I still have meatloaf in the fridge.

Metals And Stones

Day 9: The hobby of rockhounding inevitably creates a desire to do more than tumble-polish stones, collect minerals and go on digs. The enthusiastic lapidarist finds himself (or herself) tempted by equipment such as rock saws, grinders and faceting machines. Naturally, the acquisition of one or more of those devices leads to the issue of what to do with your finished gems, and mounting them is the next logical step. Ready-made settings are commonly available for rings and pendants, but some hobbyists take their craftsmanship further and delve into casting or metalsmithing.

You would think that with my penchant for doing tiny needlework and beading that I might have fallen into this art easily, but that was far from the case. In fact, it was my ham-handed husband who painstakingly modelled the most detailed and delicate waxes to be cast in gold. His skill at faceting was amazing, and he spent hours at the machine, an Optivisor entrenched in the wrinkles of his forehead helping him see that the "meets" met at precise angles. On the other hand, I dabbled with silversmithing using pre-made bezels and shanks, soldering the parts together to hold the cabochons I turned out on a polisher. Bruce worked with precious stones: sapphire, tanzanite, garnet, alexandrite and such. I futzed with agates and opals and occasionally a piece of lapis lazuli. Mutt and Jeff we were, or Jack Spratt and his wife, opposite to what you would have expected of us. Bruce's work was elegant and classy, mine clunky and serviceable.

The stones and rings in this photo were all hand-cut save for the brown Linde star sapphire in the top left. All are Bruce's work except the bezel-mounted fire agate set in sterling. That one's mine.

The Green Man

Day 8: Deep in a thicket, the Green Man bides, and guards the forest. He brooks no trespass by wildflower pickers or wood-cutters, and tolerates only those who gather nuts and mushrooms as long as they take no more than their share. Some would call the Green Man malevolent (those who have reason to fear him), yet this woodwose is merely Puckish by nature: mischievous, one who lays false trails to mislead hikers and prevent them from discovering the most delicate and rare of those species he protects.

The Green Man is best known from Celtic myth as a nature/fertility figure and is often incorporated into architectural design, nearly always appearing as only a head surrounded by or sprouting vines. However, he has counterparts in many other cultures, including some Native American societies. If you go out in the woods today, mind where you tread. The Green Man will be watching you!

Autumn Splendor

Day 7: Unlike the vibrant shades of red and orange which make New England famous for fall color, a good year in the Pacific Northwest sees a transition largely in the range of yellows and golds. For the most part, autumn is an almanac of browns: umber, ochre, tan, buff, sienna, khaki, coffee, mahogany and on through a thousand shades too subtle for the eye to name. That is not to say it is a dull season, because when the sun breaks through and the Mountain peers over the tops of burnished evergreens and sere pasturelands, the landscape is gilded with copper and shimmers where it is laid against a pale aqua sky.

Warm Winter Woollies

Day 6: I decided to dedicate myself to finishing up the sock project over the last couple of days so I could start a pair of mittens. I waited for this morning's natural light to weave the toe, and once that was done, I pulled out a skein of wool worsted and a set of size 4 double-point needles, casting on a mere 44 stitches for the mitten cuff. It didn't take long before I had the requisite three inches completed and now I'm ready to start the thumb gusset. I seldom knit with worsted yarn and it always suprises me at how quickly the heavier material works up. I feel like I'm knitting ship's hawser on a pair of spars!

Yard 'Shrooms

 Day 5: It's the time of the year when my yard sprouts mushrooms by the hundred and over the years, I've never found any I knew for certain were edible. These, a species of Russula, are not, but they are abundant in my yard and always put me in mind of my mother whenever I see them.

When I was young, my mom taught me to recognize many savoury 'shrooms, mostly those classified as "beginner species," and the family often ate the provender from Nature's larder without questioning her mycological skills. However, her ability to identify mushrooms reliably came into question after I had reached adulthood and caught her fixing herself a meal of "blewits." The white stalks and blue caps told me immediately that they were Russulas and that she had made a potentially dangerous misidentification. After that, I never trusted her IDs again.

These days, I stick with chanterelles, a few particular boletes, shaggymanes and the occasional spring morel. For all of the mistake she made in mushrooming, my mother gave me one piece of advice which is unshakable in its accuracy: Better safe than sorry! And that goes double where 'shrooms are concerned.

Redefining Species Migration

Day 4: First, let me beg my readers' indulgence for my fixation with Sundews. Discovering them in the wild has been the highlight of my career as a naturalist. Today, I had occasion to go to Yelm again to tidy up some other mildly annoying business, so to make the trip worthwhile, I threw the kayak on the car with intent to add some miles to my paddling total. A Sundew patrol was a given. I was not exactly taken unawares when I did not find Drosera Island (the old floating dock) where it had been only two days ago, but once again, a survey of the northwest arm of the lake failed to turn it up. Sure enough, it had floated another 0.12 miles south of its last location, putting a whole new slant on the term "species migration." This afternoon, however, winds came in from the south, strong enough that paddling against them in a draw, I was only gaining two or three inches per stroke. I will not be the least bit surprised if my next trip finds the colony back in its original location.

As a side note, I am pleased to report that since I bought the kayak in early August, I've logged 85 miles. Most of that total can be ascribed to my present passion, Drosera rotundifolia.

Photographer's Eye

Day 3: The first rule of thumb for photographers is, "Never go anywhere without a camera." You never know when something will catch your eye. I was out with a friend today and wandered past a decrepit building I've seen without registering hundreds of times before, but my full attention was directed to it when he said it looked like it was ready to fall over at a touch. As I glanced over my shoulder, the "commercial" sign leapt out at me and I had to have a closer look. I had taken it for cardboard at first. Closer inspection revealed that it was thin, corrugated metal, the paint faded beyond all hope of perceiving a tint. I thought, "That's worth a picture." Only when I framed the shot did I notice the "Lawn & Saw Shop" placard and the scrawls of graffiti beyond it. The whole effect of rustic dereliction begged to be captured. Although this image is not an HDR composite, I readily admit to tone-mapping it to enhance the visual texture of the boards and paint. Small adjustments were also made to brightness and contrast. Who knows? If I had not had the Albatross around my neck today, my next trip to Yelm might find only a pile of boards in this spot and the photo opportunity gone forever.

Sundew With Seed Pods

Day 2: The heavy rain and blustery winds of last week had an unanticipated effect on the Sundews of Lake St. Clair. Three-quarters of the way through a 12-mile paddle, I swung by to say "Hi" to my little friends in Site #2 and couldn't find them or the structure on which they'd been growing. A nearby "island" was in its accustomed spot, but the chained-together logs were nowhere to be seen. Site #1 was intact, and I made many trips back and forth between the two locations as I tried to pinpoint any evidence of my precious Droseras, and only succeeded in finding one solitary specimen. Where had they gone?

The mystery was solved when I gave up searching and began paddling back toward the confluence of the lake's four lobes. A quarter of a mile south of where I'd last seen it, there was the "raft" of logs strung out but still chained together, and to my utter delight, one of them was simply covered with Sundews, far more than I'd seen last week. It made no sense to mark the location with the GPSr, not with the colony on a winter cruise. I'll simply have to remember some of the "raft's" distinctive features and search for it each time I go out.

My readers will be happy to learn that my documentation of this species has been referred to both the Rare Plant Care and Conservation Program and to the leading Washington State botanist who works with the Dept. of Natural Resources on rare plant issues. These Sundews are well on their way to having the protection they deserve.

Dispatch

Day 1 (yeah, I've decided to keep going): A quarter of a century ago, I divorced myself from the hype of "news," figuring that whatever was happening was going to happen one way or another, knowing that there was nothing I could do to change it. I'd deal with "it" when "it" affected me personally rather than getting all stirred up about it, losing sleep over it, having my health affected by it. It's a system which has stood me in good stead, although sometimes it irritates friends when I tell them I haven't got a clue what they're blathering about.

This discussion is rather timely, as a matter of fact. The US Government is shut down, Federal employees furloughed and sent home. I would have had no idea this was coming but for the fact that it affects my work at Mount Rainier, and moreso, it affects my supervisor and good friend Kevin. As we were driving out of the Park last week, his job at that time in limbo, he mentioned to me a previous shutdown. My response was an indicator of just how insulated against bad news I've made myself. I said, "Huh? What? When?"

Seems the last shutdown slipped right past me and I never knew it. It happened in 1995. The world kept turning. I didn't miss any meals. Nobody shut my power off. The mushrooms kept sprouting and the birds kept chirping. In blissful ignorance, I went about my daily life not knowing about the event. "No news is good news," they say, although I think my slant on that is slightly different than the intended meaning.

My "newspaper" is the Eatonville Dispatch's "Marketplace." It gives me a few local headlines which I ignore, classified ads for yard sales and farm equipment, and the ad from Plaza Market where I shop. Of the above, the grocery flyer is the only part I read. I mean, I can get worked up about cake mix going on sale.

Her Imperial Majesty, Skunk

Day 365: There is no doubt about it, Skunk is the queen of the household. She's getting on in years and is a bit arthritic in addition to being deaf, but she still manages to keep Tip in line when he wants to play too rambunctiously. She spends most of her day perched on the back of my recliner or sleeping on the seat, or if I happened to take possession of the chair before she could stake a claim, she will insert herself beneath my book or needlework to curl up on my lap. If you serve Her Majesty well, she will reward you with her warmth and a soft purr of contentment.

Young Master Tip

Day 364: I am convinced that the superstition which designates black cats as "bad luck" originated because they justifiably sunk their teeth and claws into people who stepped on them in the dark or sat on them when they were sleeping on dark upholstery, bad luck for the person who was clawed and bitten, but worse luck for the poor cat. Whatever the reason, the reputation is undeserved. I have shared my home with several black or black-and-white cats over the years, and Master Tip is certainly one of the sweetest and most loving kitties I've known. My Boy has been with me for five years now, and certainly qualifies as a stroke of good luck in my book.