Western Dog Violet, Viola Adunca

Day 210: After puzzling my readers with semantically bewildering yellow Violets, today provided an opportunity to expand the record with a more "violet" example. Viola adunca (Western Dog Violet) is common in Washington and like its kin, it prefers the moist ground alongside streams and ditches. The lowest petal is heavily lined with "bee guides" and the two side petals have white beards. Another prominent feature of this Violet is the large spur, visible here on the back of the bud (the hole was made by an insect). Note how the spur projects well back from the sepal. As it matures, it will lengthen and curve upward, becoming more hooked at the tip.

Pattison Lake Paddle

Day 209: Although I've pretty much given up geocaching after wrestling with the ethics of the sport, I do occasionally go out after a hide or two, particularly if I can earn five stars for terrain. Paddle caches are an easy way of doing that. In pursuit of two such caches today in beautiful weather, I not only discovered a new lake to kayak, I found both hides, paddled nine miles, and caught (and released) four 12-14" trout. Y'know, you can't argue with a day like that!

Pattison Lake is just a little west of Lake St. Clair of Sundew fame, although in a different drainage. It is divided into two lobes of approximately equal size by a narrow neck of water. An active railroad line spans the center of the "hourglass." I patrolled every bay of both sections, investigated every floating or partially submerged log with hopes of finding another suitable mini-ecology, but found no evidence that Pattison might also support Droseras. I suppose you can't have everything!

Some Days

Day 208: Okay, I haven't done as good a job of this as my friend Kevin did a year or so ago, but there are some things no right-thinking photographer can reasonably be expected to ignore. Metal cabinets full of explosives out in the middle of the forest rank pretty high on the list, especially if you happen to be an enthusiastic fan of Angry Birds. Every time I walk past trail crew's dynamite caches, I think of my little wingless friends and their foes, the bad piggies. Three stars!

Mussie

Day 207: She was Clark to my Lewis, Watson to my Holmes. She was a full harness of Huskies pulling Robert Service through the savage Yukon night. We climbed Mt. Everest together, journeyed to the center of the Earth with Jules Verne and sailed to Polynesia with Thor Heyerdahl, sought the poles alternately with Scott or Christopher Robin as our expedition leader. No matter where the adventure might take us, I had only to suggest it and Mussie was by my side, stepping into her role.

A highly imaginative child, my forays into terra incognita nearly always occurred in some section of unmapped forest near my home. In those days, parents didn't worry about their children's safety as much as they do now. I'd already proved my woodsmanship at age 6 when my mother got us lost on a trailless ramble. As the sun sunk low in the sky and I kept insisting, "Mama, I can get us out," she gave in and let me lead. I brought us straight to the road with the unerring sense of direction which still stands me in good stead. Turning me loose with a lunch, a pocketknife and the injunction to be home for dinner, my mom helped set me on the path toward the outdoor lifestyle which is now my signature, and Mussie was often my only companion.

I've done a lot of post-processing to restore this sketch. The paper has long since gone to a yellowed grey. It is arguably the best of any of my artistic attempts, and certainly one done with a great love for my subject. I was 11 when I drew it, Mussie posing on my bed, and surely anxious to discover where we'd be off to in the morning.

Pacific Bleeding-Heart, Dicentra Formosa

Day 206: The charming shape of Pacific Bleeding-Heart's pillow-puff blossoms endears it to young and old alike. This plant invokes an aura of faeries and fantasy, as if at any moment, a tiny smiling face and a pair of gossamer wings might appear from within its lacy foliage. The stems break easily, so mind where you tread If you go hunting for the wee folk in a glade of Bleeding-Heart.

Edible And Choice

Day 205: Driving by at 55 MPH, I said, "That looked like Morels!" I pulled into my driveway less than five minutes later, hung the camera around my neck, grabbed a bag and a pocket knife, and headed back down the road on foot. Halfway to the site, I remarked aloud, "I'm going to get there and it's going to have been a whole bunch of little brown birds."

But they weren't birds. They weren't leaves. They were Morchella angusticeps, one of Spring's greatest treasures. Okay, maybe they aren't quite as prized as M. esculenta, but they run a very close second. Morels are an excellent species for neophytes to mushroom collecting because they are all edible. They fruit only in the spring, and are easy to identify by the deep, angular "pits" in the cap. I picked a dinner-sized selection of young caps, leaving older and immature specimens to propagate or grow into a second meal.

How do you prepare Morels? Soak them in water (salted or not) for ten to twenty minutes to remove any bugs that may be hiding in the folds, then cut them in half, removing the stems, and give them another short soak. Squeeze them firmly to remove excess water, then fry in butter with a little garlic powder. Add a splash of your favourite white wine when they are tender. Serve with salt and pepper to taste.

Porch Light

Day 204: I got it in my craw to make a trip to Watson's Nursery today in the hopes of finding a hardy fuschia to entertain the hummingbirds and as is so frequently the case, came out with more than I'd intended to buy. There aren't many stores where I have that problem: only nurseries and the occasional well-equipped tackle shop. Among my day's modest purchases at Watson's was a new "porch light," a brilliant yellow Non-Stop Begonia.

The color varies from year to year, but visitors to my home can always expect to see a tuberous begonia on the front porch step during the months of summer. These carefree plants are so rewarding! Give them morning sun and adequate water, and the blooms will simply burst with color. Some (such as the red one I grew last year and this yellow variety) have darker foliage. The male flowers are abundantly petalled, and the female (single) blooms should be pinched out to ensure heavier flowering. Tubers can be held over from year to year, but most gardeners grow them as annuals.

Yes, I did buy a hardy fuchsia. Dollar Princess (purple corolla, red sepals) is not currently in bloom, but you can expect her to appear in a subsequent chapter. And who knows what else may turn up in my garden this year? Watson's didn't have the tomatoes I wanted, so I'll be going back in a week or two. I'm sure something else not on the list will follow me home.

Sad Story

Day 203: I don't happen to know the legend depicted by this story pole, if indeed it tells a genuine tale, but the characters are prominent figures in local history. The base shows Coyote, a mischief-loving prankster who often matched wits with Raven who, although almost obscured by moss, surmounts Bear in the center. I can't immediately recall a legend which involves the three together, but I'm sure there must be a few. I do remember when the pole was freshly carved and newly painted, and being sad when we drove by one day years later and it was laying on its back as if waiting for the forest to reclaim its heart of cedar. I was glad when persons unknown stood it upright again and retouched the peeling paint, to have it reestablished as a landmark on the road to Mount Rainier, a mile or so outside the Nisqually gate. I did not notice the moss encroaching until one sunny morning it caught my eye and I remarked in passing, "Dang, that shapeshifter Raven's gone and got himself a green bill. I see you, Raven. You're not fooling me! You're not a Grosbeak." But Raven never shed his disguise. In fact, it kinda grew on him until his whole head was green.

As is the case with many creative works, this tale wanted external support. The characters, although strong, could not stand without a hefty plotline to back them up. Hmmmm...I think I just came to the moral of the story while on that last quest for metaphor. That's Raven for you: leading you to your own conclusions.

My Favorite People

Day 202: My favorite people are back, and I've just laid in another 40-pound bag of black-oil sunflower seed to meet the demand. They know they've got a good thing going here, because I would go hungry before I'd neglect my Porch Parrots.

Coccothraustes vespertinus is a robin-sized bird which some say looks like a Goldfinch on steroids. The male is brilliant yellow with white wing bars, black primaries and tail. A yellow "eyebrow" marks a dark head with a blaze of color, but in the breeding months, nothing is as striking as the massive bill which changes from greyish to chartreuse. Female Evening Grosbeaks are marked similarly, but their overall body color is a green-tinged grey. Their call is a single, plaintive note inflected on the end: "CHURP?" sometimes burred slightly as if said with a Scottish accent.

These beautiful migrants have long memories and an unerring sense of direction. Once they have marked your feeders on their mental maps, you'll find it hard to keep up with their appetites without taking out a mortgage on your home.

The Squeal

Day 201: You may have heard it said that pigs are the perfect animal because you can use "everything but the squeal." Well, here's the good news: the squeal has horticultural value.

Pigsqueak (Bergenia sp.) is so named because its thick, leathery leaves and thumb-sized stems squeal like a prize porker when you pick or bend them (albeit a very small one). The sound is the botanical counterpart to fingernails on a chalkboard, gentled only by its organic nature; softer than the complaint of a cat whose tail has been stepped on, not quite as strident as a three-year old child in a tantrum.

So why do I have Pigsqueak in my garden? It came with the property. It grows in the ten-foot width of the lovingly-termed "Barren Wasteland" between the north side of the garage and the south wall of the house, one of the few things which thrive there. Pink or not, I am grateful for the spot of color it provides and despite my sentiments regarding its hue, it is permitted to remain. I'm not one to look a gift pig in the mouth.

Happy Easter!

Day 200: I can safely date the Ukrainian-style pysanky (Easter eggs) shown in this photo as at least 25 years old based on where I was living at the time I created them. It was a craft phase I passed through, the focus of my attention for a year or so and then laid aside for other pursuits: been there, done that. It was a time-consuming passion, the dyeing process often taking as much as eight hours for a single chicken egg.

Work is done on whole eggs. Hot wax is first applied to any portion of the pattern which the artist wants to remain white, using a tool called a kistka. The egg is then submerged in the next lightest dye (let's use yellow as an example). When the desired shade has been reached, the egg is removed from the dye and dried before the next coat of wax is applied to the parts of the pattern which are to remain yellow. Dyeing proceeds in this manner until the egg is entirely coated with wax but for the portions of the pattern which are to be the darkest color.

Once the final dye bath is complete, the egg (still whole) is heated gently in a candle flame and wiped clean of wax. This can be a tricky step! Too much heat may cause the egg to explode. After the wax is removed, a light coat of varnish is applied to protect the dyes.

Some artists leave their pysanky forever whole. Even varnished, the "insides" dry out with time. I preferred to blow out the yolk and white after several coats of varnish had been applied (a period of two or three days). The egg would be pierced at each end, the yolk broken and stirred with a long wire, and then using a bulb designed specifically for pysanky-making, I would expel the "insides" into a bowl to be discarded. Again, this was a very tricky operation. The slightest unseen crack in the egg would burst under pressure and hours of work would be lost.

Many of the designs seen on pysanky have special meanings, and legend tells us that love is spread throughout the world whenever a pysanky is given. That's something you won't find in a chocolate creme egg. Happy Easter!

By Any Other Name...

Day 199: Outside my window and just as the sky begins to lighten, I hear the sound of Ma Nature's alarm clock: "Cheery-up, cheery-up, cheery-up, TWEET!" repeated with the insistence of a dripping faucet. It's those robins again, the "early birds" of legend, better than roosters for announcing that a new day is about to begin. I'm ahead of their game, already out of bed and going about my morning routine, an inveterate early riser. I think better in the mornings, and today, I'm thinking about who gets those goofy robins out of bed. Why, it's Wakerobin, of course!

Better known in the Pacific Northwest as Trillium (Trillium ovatum), this much-loved member of the lily family also goes by the common name of Wakerobin, an appellation which surely came about because of the coincidence of its appearance with the first spring songs of our old friend, the American Robin. If you see Trilliums, listen for the first robins of the season; if you hear a robin, start looking for Trilliums in the forest, but do not pick them and do not try to transplant them to your garden! For all its abundance, the Trillium is an exceptionally delicate plant and individuals can easily be destroyed by a careless footfall.

Gardening Day

Day 198: I don't enjoy weeding. I don't think anyone does (not really), but those of us who garden, however lackadaisically, have convinced ourselves that crawling around on our knees and grubbing in the dirt is somehow fun.

The weeds have been calling to me for the better part of a month now, and weather was largely responsible for keeping me from the task; weather and, as honesty compels me to admit, other outdoor activites when the sun broke through the clouds. Warmer days or not, the ground is cold still, and long roots are reluctant to release their hold on chilly, compacted soil. The aeration team has only just begun to rise and writhe, and by the time their job is nearly done, their numbers will have increased sufficiently that I will have no scruples about inviting a small contingent out to fish for perch. Right now, their labour in the flower beds is far too valuable to sacrifice them to the hook. A few self-seeding annuals are struggling to emerge through the shield of moss which invariably spreads over the soil during the idle season, and inevitably, I pull a few things I didn't mean to pull in the process of scraping down to dirt.

Today was a preliminary attack on my foes, the weeds. I took out their generals and commanders, and reduced the first wave of their army. But it is a battle I am destined to fight again and again, for their recuperative powers are phenomenal. Like the Phoenix of legend, they will rise as vigorously as before. I'll be back out there next week, grubbing in the dirt again, my complaints tempered by some misplaced sense of enjoyment which tells me I like to garden.

Satyr Comma, Polygonia Satyrus

Day 197: Of the Polygonia species found in the Pacific Northwest, the Satyr Comma (P. satyrus) can be distinguished in the dorsal view from its very similar relative, the Green Comma (P. faunus) by the lack of yellow or yellow-green spots inside the margin of the hind wing. That said, the Commas are named for a small whitish figure which appears on the underside (ventral view) of the hind wing. In P. satyrus, this strongly resembles the comma of punctuation, a "head" with a "tail." In P. faunus, the marking is more L-shaped and angular. Both species fall into the category of "big orange butterfly," a safe simplication which makes them no less enjoyable in the field.

Identifying Mount Rainier's Violets

Day 196: I thought I'd share with you a little piece of interpretive material I put together yesterday. Enjoy!

"Oh, I know that one. It's a violet." Ah, but Mount Rainier National Park hosts quite a number of different species of Violas and they can be very difficult to tell apart unless you know what identifying features separate them.

First of all is COLOR. Contrary to the name, many of our violets are actually yellow, but we have pale purple ones as well. The next identifying feature to check is leaf shape. Does it look like a heart? Is it round or pointed? The leaf margin (edge) will tell you a lot. Is it smooth or serrated? Or is it deeply incised and composed of separate leaflets? Once you've determined these things, narrowing down an identification gets a little stickier.

For the sake of this discussion, I plucked a specimen of Viola glabella (Stream Violet) from my own yard so that we could examine some of the finer points of separation. All of these observations can be made without picking a flower (which, of course, is not allowed in the Park!). It is helpful to carry a small magnifier with you for closer examination.

Some of our Violas have fine, dark lines on one or more of their petals. Some have petals which are pointed rather than rounded. Some have tiny little furry "beards" similar to those found on iris falls (you'll have to put that magnifier to work to observe them). Some have a structure called a "spur" on the reverse side of the lower petal. This spur may take the form of a pouch-like sac or a slender "tail" like you would see on a domestic Nasturtium, but much smaller. All of these points help us determine the true identity of those little yellow faces smiling up at us from the streambanks and beside the trails.

Froggy Friend

Day 196: The ditch beside the public parking area at Charles L. Pack Experimental Forest was simply alive with the sounds of ribbeting, and if I had been asked to make an indentification by visual observation alone, I would have failed miserably. However, the voices were unmistakably those of the Pacific Chorus Frog (Pseudacris regilla), the Pacific Northwest's version of the "spring peeper." The most skilled woodsman could not sneak up on these frogs unnoticed. Despite stepping gently and trying to keep varying intervals between my footfalls, I only succeeded in getting within ten feet of the water before dozens of bumps leapt from a log on the shore to the safety offered by a blanket of Water Starwort. That said, the memories of these delightful creatures are short and I am patient. I waited, standing stock-still, until partial faces began appearing above the green mat. One here, two there, my froggy friends showed themselves until thirty or more pairs of eyes emerged, sometimes one frog atop another. I would have waited for the population to return to their former perch, but the weather had drawn out an abundance of hikers as well who, in a flurry of feet and loud chatter to their companions about the constructs of Man, frightened the performers from the venue before they could return to the stage.

Almost Goosed Again

Day 194: While making my first foray into Sundew Cove yesterday, I very nearly got goosed again for not being attentive to my surroundings. It's amazing how well these enormous birds blend into the landscape. Only as I drifted up against one of the logs which supports the Sundew population did I notice Mother Goose on the nest about fifteen feet away. She did not threaten me, but I looked around warily to see if I could spot her mate as I propelled myself away. She did not raise her head from under her wing while I was photographing her. Later in the day, I returned to Sundew Cove and observed from a safe distance that she was still on the nest and had her head up, and appeared more alert to intruders than during our earlier encounter. I did not observe her mate.

Pirates Of Sundew Cove

Day 193: Ye'd best no' be thinkin' o' prowlin' a'ter th' treasure o' Lake St. Clair. 'Tis under th' eye o' a certain pirate cap'n an' she was out checkin' on it jist t'day.

If there was ever any doubt in the mind of the locals that I mean business about protecting the Sundews which inhabit this lake, it was dispelled today when I h'isted out the colors and made a patrol of all their hangouts. I found a couple of geocaches while I was at it, stopped and talked to my pal Jim from last year, but my main purpose today was to make a survey of the Sundew population and locate Sundew Island if it had gone adrift again. As luck would have it, the island (a few old timbers lashed together as a raft or part of an old dock) was right where I had last seen it. The Sundews, however, are still hibernating.

Job Done

Day 192: What one job does the Crow despise more than any other? What does she try to postpone until it becomes imperative? What would create in her a desire to lay asphalt or to take a flame thrower to Mother Nature's beauty? There's a hint in this picture, a pretty big one. Have you got it yet? Look at the nice squared-off ends on all those grass blades. Yeah, I mowed. And because it was the first mow of the year (and hopefully only one of four or five), I am celebrating the completion of the job with the only beerish thing I ever drink: Moose Drool brown ale.

Before you get the wrong idea, a six-pack of Moose Drool generally sees me through a year. I couldn't remember how many I had left from last year's purchase, so I bought more this morning. When I put it away, I discovered I still had three in the fridge. I suppose it goes without saying that I'm not a big fan of beer, but Moose Drool goes down smoothly, and a whole bottle is guaranteed to set my eyes off on a stroll across the bridge of my nose to see what's on the other side. One thing's for sure...they won't find any of those yellow lawn daisies now!

Chokecherry Contre Jour

Day 191: Bitter Cherry (Prunus emarginata, locally known as "Chokecherry" and also called Oregon Cherry) is endemic to western North America and is closely related to the true Chokecherry (Prunus virginiana) found over the rest of the US. The fruits are dark reddish-purple and are bitter to the human palate, as the name suggests. They are a valuable source of food for many bird species, including Grosbeaks and Cedar Waxwings.

Out And About In A Boat

Day 190: Yesterday just wasn't a good day to go out in the kayak again. The forecast of "mostly sunny" didn't become an actuality until rather late in the day, and it never did really warm up. Today seemed to be starting out in the same manner, but once the sun got a toehold in the cloud cover, it successfully pushed the door open. I'd had a feeling that was going to be the case, so I'd put the kayak on the car and was just biding my time in anticipation of going out on the Tanager's first serious fishing expedition. Oh, I'd dabbled a bit last fall with no particular expectation of success, but today I meant business. I intended to catch at least one trout for dinner.

Like many fishermen, I harbour the belief that you'll find the best fish in spots no one else cares to explore. With that in mind, I headed to the north end of the lake where I'd crossed swords with a goose earlier in the week. Goose was patrolling and had widened his boundaries, but I got past him without incident thanks to a pair of ducks who diverted his attention long enough to let me pass. Throwing out a blue Roostertail, I got a strike immediately from a scrawny six-inch fingerling. Another twenty minutes of casting failed to draw a single bite, so I trolled a Wedding Ring as I paddled back to the boat launch at the south end, but unsuccessfully. In this desperate time, I was compelled to resort to a desperate measure. I pulled a couple of jars of PowerBait out of the trunk of the car.

At this point, let me say that I don't like to fish with bait. I am first and foremost a fly-fisherman, but over the years of fishing with my buddy, I've used lures when possible, but in the course of events, when we were together, bait seemed to be the standard. That said, PowerBait wasn't working either. I was on the verge of calling it a "good paddle day" and going home, but I decided to tie on a black Roostertail for the trip back to the launch. I hadn't gone a hundred yards when I had a hard strike.

Hatchery fish aren't much fun. They lack the spunk of native fish who have had to scrabble for their existence. This one came fairly easily to the net. On any other day, I might have let it go, but in wanting to be "one with the beautiful spirit of the trout" a la Greg Brown's song "Fishing With Bill," my mouth was set for beer-battered trout filets. The batter is maturing even as we speak.

Selasphorus Rufus, Rufous Hummingbird

Day 189: Hummingbird season has just begun, but there are at least a dozen, the sexes equally represented, vying for positions at the feeder. I only have one station up at this point, but as word gets out, I'll need to put up at least two more. Species Rufous has marked my yard on the map, and each year, my clientele is growing.

The female Rufous Hummingbird (left) can be distinguished from the similarly sized Anna's Hummingbird by a blush of soft rust on her flanks and rusty band on the upper tail. The Rufous male has an iridescent red throat which in certain lighting conditions appears dark (as indeed it does in the photo on the right). Allen's (nearly identical) does not occur in the Pacific Northwest, but for those of you living in areas where the two species mingle (California, for example), look for narrow, almost thread-like outer tailfeathers on Allen's.The voices of both species are also similar, and according to one naturalist whose name I have forgotten, "consists of 90% swear-words." For a tiny little fellow, Rufous makes up for his size with his vocabulary!

Some folks can't get enough of Snowy Owls. Others fancy Bald Eagles or other raptors. Personally, I could watch Rufous Hummingbirds all day long and would never tire of listening to them cursing like sailors.

Crow In A Crannied Nook

Day 188: This shot could just have easily been titled "How I Spent My Lunch Break," i.e., taking a quick trot up Rampart Ridge, an elevation gain of 1200' over 1.7 miles. I ran into snow a few switchbacks above the spot where this photo was taken, but the trail was easy to discern. Pausing briefly at the viewpoint which overlooks Longmire, I then continued on to the top where, on a less cloudy day, a spectacular view of Mount Rainier waits for people who step through a narrow band of trees and onto an outcrop. Today, only a thin slice of the lower Mountain was in evidence. With lead-colored clouds moving in and my office work waiting, I retraced my steps instead of following the ridge to complete the 4.7 mile loop trip, and it was a good thing I did. Only one raindrop touched my face on the hike, but within minutes of the time I got back to the Administration Building, the truth of the weather forecast became "precipitously" evident.

Back On The Water

Day 187: The forecast was for 67° and light wind, so I put the 'yak rack back on the car this morning and discovered much to my delight that I'd skinnied up sufficiently to get in a pair of hand-me-down insulated waders. Summery temperature aside, the lakes are still quite cold and with no dock handy, wading out at least to knee-depth to get into the boat is pretty much mandatory. Even with the waders protecting me, my feet felt the chill, but once I was actively paddling, I was more than sufficiently warm.

Last year, I purchased the kayak after Ohop Lake had a toxic algae advisory posted. It was not a full warning which would have necessitated a closure, but people were being told not to eat fish caught in the lake and were advised not to swim or wade. There were plenty of other places I could go without placing myself at risk, so I put Ohop on the list for later. Before leaving this morning, I checked to be sure the advisory had been removed and was pleased to see that only three lakes in the county currently are thought to contain toxic algae. Ohop was not among them.

Ohop is a pretty lake, approximately 2.5 miles long and probably less than half a mile wide at its widest point. It hosts planted trout, bass and a few other species and is open to fishing year-'round (barring toxic algae advisories). It also is home to Canada Geese, as is any body of water in the Pacific Northwest, and this is nesting season.

Down in the far (north) end of the lake, I was following a Kingfisher who was skillfully staying out of reach of my lens by flying to a new perch as soon as I turned the camera on. With my eye on that elusive bird, I drifted too close to a pair of Canada Geese, the female sitting on the nest and the male guarding her about six feet away. I don't know if he mistook the movement of the paddle for a wing, but something provoked him to launch an attack. He extended his neck, put his head on the water with his beak open and began paddling toward me at high speed, obviously incensed. I tried to move out of range, but couldn't navigate fast enough to please him, so he flew up out of the water and straight toward me. I raised the paddle and fended him off, his enormous body only inches from the blade. He flew up and over me and landed about fifteen feet away on the opposite side of the kayak, whereupon he launched a second attack in the same manner. The second time, he again missed the paddle by inches, overshooting and continuing his flight back to the nest. He landed on the water and seemed to be going to go back to the female, but as soon as my back was to him, he set off on a third assault, again with his neck at full extension and his lower beak scraping water. For all the world, that goose looked like an engorged water moccasin closing on a swimmer! Once again, he flew up when he got within ten feet of me and barely cleared the paddle I was using to defend myself. But this time, he had apparently assured himself that he had successfully repelled the trespasser (as indeed he had!), and he returned to the female's side. One of my grandmothers had her arm broken by a domestic goose when it struck her with its wing. I know to stay clear of them, but in this case, I didn't see the pair until it was too late.

Thus, the Tanager's first voyage for 2014 became a bit more of an adventure than I'd bargained for, but ended with no harm done to any of the participants. After seeing the successes other people were having with the trout, I beached the boat at the parking area in the hopes that I'd left a fishing pole in the trunk of the car. Nope, I'd put it away for winter, but it's in the car now and we have good weather coming again toward the end of the week.

Electron Power Plant

Day 186: Set at the terminus of a dead-end road, you will find a beautiful view of the Electron Hydroelectric Plant. Don't assume that there is a town called Electron, despite what the road sign might lead you to believe. Electron consists of two houses, a pretty little postage-stamp park with an interpretive sign and (appropriately) two picnic tables. It is habitation of convenience, presumably for caretakers or managers of the plant's operations. The plant itself is a period piece, its architecture worth the detour off Orville Road East.

From the interpretive sign: "Constructed in 1903-04, by the Stone and Webster Engineering Corporation of Boston, the Electron plant was the first hydroelectric project in Pierce County and one of the first 'high head' plants in the United States. The plant is unique also in that a 10.1 mile wooden flume carries glacial waters diverted from the Puyallup River - waters whose origin lies high on the western flank of Mt. Rainier. Atop the flume runs a maintenance track for equipment, dubbed 'The Crookedest Railroad'. From a reservoir and intake structure high on the hill above the powerhouse, the water begins its 872-foot vertical drop to the waterwheels. After traveling through huge pipes called 'penstocks', the water energizes impulse-type waterwheels connected to each of the four generators. The plant and flume are the result of the labor of hundreds of men and horses. On Tuesday, April 12, 1904, the plant began its operation, generating power to streetcars and street lights in Tacoma and Seattle, and powering the lines of the 'interurban' electric railway that connected the two growing cities. Much of the original powerhouse and equipment were destroyed in a large slide in November, 1936. Two units were operating again in 1937, and restoration was completed on December 13, 1941."

I hadn't been to Electron in years and I don't know why I went there today. Maybe I just needed to recharge my batteries.

Build-Your-Own Kaleidoscope

Day 185: Kaleidoscopes are fun, and it's even more enjoyable to build one yourself. I'm sure there are other kits on the market, but mine was purchased from Edmund Scientifics several years ago and came with simple, illustrated instructions for assembly. However, it contained only a very small selection of little colored plastic bits. Not having any glass chips, I decided to add to it from my stockpile of beads. Even as thick as some of the material is, what passes for daylight in the Pacific Northwest is quite sufficient for a decent display. The best feature of this kit is that only a few parts are glued together. Any time you want to change out the "light show," it's as easy as opening a jar.

Train To Shanghai

Day 184: My mother used to say that if there were two ways of doing something, she would invariably try the hard way first. I seem to have inherited the gene.

In addition to my regular photography, I "play" in a few photo groups on line. One of our assignments for this month was to create a black-and-white movie poster in the style used in the 1940-1950 era, so not having any other model, I dragged out a wig and the theatrical makeup and got myself all kitted up to fit the period. Then and only then did I think about what to wear. I managed to get out of my tight-necked t-shirt without ruining the makeup, but the wig had to come off temporarily. Then, naked from the waist up, I started searching for a particular mediaeval costume which had wide fur trim around the hem, thinking to drape it around my shoulders like a stole. After twenty minutes, I gave up the hunt for faux mink. In a last desperate move, I settled on a velour bathrobe which at least had a collar consistent with the style of the era.

You might think I'd have set the camera up beforehand, but no, that's not in keeping with the Hard Way Approach. In costume and trying to preserve the Garboesque hair style, I was wiping acrylic hair out of my mouth and eyes with one hand while dragging furniture around the living room with the other to create a space where I could use the drapes as a backdrop. Well before I'd processed the image and made the poster, the bedtime hour slipped past me unnoticed. Ah, how we must suffer for our Art!

Rewarding Myself

Day 183: I have rewarded myself in an entirely appropriate way for having reached my personal goal of 1500 miles in the Winter Fitness Challenge: I signed on for a year's membership in the Park's fitness centers. The Tahoma Woods facility shown here is somewhat smaller than the one at Longmire and has fewer "upper body" machines, so I will probably be doing sessions in both locations. Today, I divided my time between the elliptical and the exercise bike with breaks for a few repetitions on the weight trainers. I found the exercise bike to be immensely more comfortable and quiet than the one I own. I did half an hour of "hill climb" (pre-programmed resistance) in addition to a more personalized and somewhat more strenuous custom setting. The weights are where I really need to focus my attention now, but with one repaired shoulder, I'll be taking it easy until I've built up sufficient strength.

Red Crossbill, Loxia Curvirostra

Day 182: It's easy to see how the Crossbill got its name, at least until you qualify it by putting "Red" in front of it. Male Red Crossbills (Loxia curvirostra) don't develop their full color until they're at least a year old. Young males could better be described as orange. The female of the species is a drab green, and young birds are marked with brownish flecks on the breast and sides. The Crossbill's unusual beak permits the bird to pry apart the cones of Douglas fir and other evergreens, the seeds of which are the staple of its diet in the Pacific Northwest. This fellow missed the memo. He was hard at work on the steps of the National Park Inn at Longmire!

Arranging For Spring

Day 181: What's more cheery than a bouquet of daffodils? I don't often cut flowers, because they last so much longer in the garden, but this nominal sacrifice won't be missed from the dozens ready to burst into bloom. Happy Springtime, people! Break out the potting soil and the Jiffy-7s, buy some seeds and start planting!