Icmadophila Ericetorum, Spray-Paint Lichen

Day 110: Invariably when the subject of lichens arises, someone will take me to task for my pronunciation of the word. Y'see, I say "litch-en" to rhyme with "itchin'" rather than "like-en," which to me is something done with careless abandon on Facebook. Webster's Third New International Dictionary (my bible) supports my usage, although admittedly it adds "chiefly British" by way of justification. It's not the only word in my vocabulary which has been influenced by proximity to Canada, but it is probably the most deeply entrenched. I've recently started countering the teasing with a riposte: "Quitcherbitchin' and call it 'litchen.'" Of course if you prefer, you could always stammer your way through the Latin names of these fascinating life forms instead. Let's start off with Icmadophila ericetorum, aka "spray-paint lichen" or "candy lichen."

Think Spring!

Day 109: Spring is coming! Of course to date we haven't had much winter in the Pacific Northwest other than a cold snap which lasted a few days in early December but here, pussywillows are a January item. The earliest varieties seem to be the cultivated types: big catkins borne close together on fat, stiff stems. The smaller wild ones won't show up until later, and they are growing increasingly hard to find. For many years, I've hunted them down, picking just a few twigs to put in a vase in honor of Spring's return. Occasionally, the slips root in water, but until a few years ago, my transplanting efforts failed. That said, I was finally successful with one of the fat-catkin varieties and planted it at the corner of my garage. For a while, it looked like I might lose it to the deer and elk, so I wrapped the lower branches with harsh plastic netting to deter them. I am happy to say that the tree is now about ten feet tall and the varmints are leaving it alone.

Nature's Lace

Day 108: A few walks ago, I noticed a connector trail to Mashel Falls forking off just past the western bridge of Eatonville's new Bud Blancher Trail. I'd started up it, but soon discovered that it was too muddy for sport shoes, so retreated and put it on my "later" list. Today I returned, this time wearing hiking boots, and it was a good thing I did. The mud was slick and ankle-deep in places. After having passed through several particularly slippery sections, I started thinking about what it would be like on the return trip, and consequently changed my plans, opting to make a longer loop hike rather than risk falling in the slop.

Halfway up, another spur branched off at an intersection I recognized as the trail to the falls. Having been there before, I knew that it is always a muddy mess even under optimal summer conditions. Considering what I'd come through already, good sense dictated foregoing a trip to the falls. In any event, I'd been there, done that, and wasn't particularly impressed. There had also been a bit of a fib in the weather forecast, and what should have been sunny and fiftyish was foggy and hovering near forty. My proposed four-mile hike had doubled in distance, and I was wishing I'd worn one more layer. I returned via the 1000 Road, connecting with the Bud Blancher Trail at the far west end. As luck would have it, I was almost back to the car when the persistent fog lifted, allowing me only about half a mile under sun.

Foothills Trail Walk

Day 107: The town of Orting lies in the path of prediction: sooner or later, Mount Rainier is going to turn loose a lahar which inundates the valley. When it will happen is anyone's guess, but as the climate grows warmer and warmer, the likelihood of the event increases. However, given a sixty-degree January day, who could pass up the opportunity to walk or ride the Foothills Trail? I elected to go by foot from downtown to the wetland interpretive site 4.5 miles east in the full knowledge that I could never outrun a mudflow if the Mountain chose to send one down the Carbon River. It's not that I am in denial of the hazard; it has not happened in my lifetime, so I'm playing the odds. That it could happen is never far from my mind, but that it would happen "on my shift" is a chance I'm willing to take. Like the residents of this valley, I just don't believe it will be today.

Stars

Day 106: Once or twice a year when my Hoya bella's trailing branches grow long enough that the cats can chew on them, I give the plant a radical "haircut," taking the stems back to about eighteen inches. I always put several slips in water to pass along to friends who want a durable and reliable houseplant. I've had a few people tell me that they've lost theirs through neglect, but considering my own forgetfulness with respect to watering, theirs must have been quite severe. This plant grows like a weed, surviving almost any stress except over-watering, and rewards its owner with lavish cascades of star-shaped waxy blossoms on a 6-10 week timetable. The flowers are lightly fragrant and may be borne at any node along the stems. Unlike other Hoyas, it does not form spurs, but drops its blossoms at the end of the blooming period.

Separating The Sheep From The Goats

Day 105: While it's actually quite easy to distinguish Evernia prunastri (top) from Hypogymnia inactiva (bottom) using only field characteristics, many lichens require reagent testing to achieve an accurate identification. Since some of the reagents commonly used have a shelf life of mere minutes, the amateur lichenologist is at something of a disadvantage. We often resort to placing "sp." ("species") at the end of the scientific name (as in "Hypogymnia sp.") when we are unable to test our specimens or narrow an identification down by location or substrate. That's "close enough for government work" when you don't have laboratory faciilities available.

Chieftain Of The Pudding Race

Day 104 honors Robert Burns whose 256th birthday Scots everywhere celebrate today. I give you a translation of the great man's own words regarding the eminent haggis.

Address to a Haggis

Fair and full is your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, they stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
'The grace!' hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like the heads of thistles.

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her (i.e., Scotland) a Haggis

Under The Double Eagle

Day 103: On my way in town today, I thought I'd take a short walk (3-mile round trip) out to the second bridge on the Bud Blancher Trail in Eatonville. At the turn-around point, I heard the familiar keening cry of a Bald Eagle and looked up to see two perched in a tree and a third circling nearby. All three were intently surveying the Little Mashel River until they happened to notice me. You can't really appreciate the size of these majestic birds properly until you come under the same scrutiny as a potential salmon breakfast. While I may not be exactly bite-sized (close!), when those yellow eyes were trained on me, I felt rather small indeed!

The Noble Haggis

Day 102: 'Tis a wee dilemma I'll be havin' here: whether to celebrate Burns Night as my Scottish kin are sitting down to table tomorrow, or wait until the following day when the calendar rolls around to January 25 on this side of the globe. It is a problem which confronts me every year, this international disagreement of clocks. Scotland is eight hours ahead of the Pacific Northwest. I had not done the calculations until now, and have just discovered that a compromise can be reached. At 3 PM January 25 Pacific Time, it will be 11PM January 25 in the country of my maternal forebears. I think that calls for an early dinner.

Common Freckle Pelt, Peltigera Aphthosa

Day 101: Nothing excites me more than finding and identifying something I haven't previously catalogued. It doesn't have to be a rare species, although that's certainly a bonus. It just needs to be new to me. As many times as I've walked around Longmire Campground, I have failed to notice the abundance of this "pelt" lichen until today when the brilliant green thallus drew my attention during a rather wet lunchtime patrol. Later on my walk, I discovered several colonies in fruit, the large mahogany-brown apothecia sticking up like little flags. The scattered cephalodia (greyish-black dots which contain cyanobacteria) are what give this lichen its common name, Freckle Pelt. It is one of four species which host a green algal photobiont, the photosynthetic component of a lichen. In Peltigera aphthosa, this component turns brown when dry or when exposed to sunlight, undoubtedly the reason I overlooked it until now.

Olympics From Pack Peak

Day 100: I thought I would share with my readers another photo taken from the highest point in Pack Forest looking west. It is seldom that I get as clear a view of the Olympic Mountains as I had yesterday, and although the peaks still don't stand out sharply above the fog blanketing Puget Sound, it is still obvious that the snow depth is substantially less than it would normally be in mid-winter. Mount Rainier and the Cascade Range to the east are also experiencing diminished snow depth for the season.

Highest Point In Pack Forest

Day 99: With my eye set on the summit of the peak known only as "Pack" on the map, I was less than five minutes out of the parking lot when I found myself faced with a big orange sign stating that the south loop of the 1000 Road was closed for logging operations. I didn't want to chance sneaking past it to try to get to the Hugo Peak trail, leaving only one other option: take the north loop and add an extra mile each direction, i.e., a ten-mile round trip instead of eight if I also completed the 2000 Road loop like I'd intended. Pack Forest is a maze of roads, the 1000 and 2000 being the two main lines, meeting at Kirkland Pass to form a figure-8. Motorized travel is prohibited to the public on all of Pack Forest's roads, but when a road closure is posted, it also applies to foot, bicycle and horse traffic.

Fortunately, the north 1000 Road was open to Kirkland Pass where another sign warned walkers not to proceed. At this point, I realized that I might have been able to take the Hugo Peak Trail after all, but since I'd already come one extra mile, I decided to complete the 2000 loop and go back down the way I'd come. Hugo Peak is a popular destination, but the view of Eatonville, once unobstructed, is now limited to a narrow window in maturing evergreens. The peak of Pack affords a much better vista which on clear days may include the Olympic Mountains to the west. Today, they were visible but hazy, with clouds mounting behind them along the coast.

Fables And Feathered Friends

Day 98: The Russian language has always fascinated me. I suppose part of its appeal lies in the Cyrillic alphabet's unusual characters, several of which look like Roman letters but have different pronunciations. Over the years, I have made several attempts to learn the language, but with no way to practice with another person, I've only come to the point of being able to limp through reading simple children's stories silently to myself and singing a few folk songs. That said, in the process of building up a small library, I also accumulated a nice collection of trinkets and china made in the old USSR, as well as an electric samovar which had to be rewired for US current.

Birds are a recurrent theme in many Russian stories, most notably the Firebird, a magical creature somewhat similar to the Phoenix, but smaller birds also play roles in many tales. They may be messengers, magical or otherwise, interacting with humans, or they may simply be anthropomorphized characters who join with other talking animals in the traditional style of the fable to accomplish a task or teach a moral lesson.

Birds are popular in design and decor, and as toys such as the key-operated wind-ups shown here. The three smaller birds in the photo shuffle along on their feet, pecking the ground as they move. The larger one's tail and wings flutter, and its head turns from side to side as the beak opens and closes.

Jewelled City

Day 97: As I was leaving a young friend's birthday celebration last night under hard rain, I was taken by the sparkle and shimmer of Eatonville's city lights as they were magnified and distorted in the droplets on my windshield. I am not often out after dark, so although this may seem commonplace to many of my readers, it was a visual treat for me, the colours glittering like so many jewels laid on velvet.

Rainy-Day Guests

Day 96: Winter is somber anywhere, but especially so in the Pacific Northwe't where dreary grey skies mute every hint of color. It is a time when black-and-white photography can be put to good advantage by virtue of allowing us to focus on detail rather than the palette. Where greens and browns muddy in the eye, monochrome separates subtle differences in light and shadow, bringing out features we might otherwise overlook. I have a particular fondness for the treatment called "platinum," a digital recreation of a process used in the late 1800s and early 1900s, having a slightly warm color cast in the mid-range. I've used it here to highlight one of the many guests who came to my feeders on this stormy day. The birds seem to know bad weather is moving in.

Proverbial Square Pegs

Day 95: You shouldn't try to fit a square peg into a round hole, and apparently it's no easier to drive a square nail into a log. These relics of a bygone era were my big find today while walking the Bud Blancher Trail. The log had been rolled into place to distinguish a private road from the trail where otherwise the two would have appeared to be one and the same. Several other logs were also used in creating the border, but this was the only one adorned by metalwork. I love finding old bits like this! Unfortunately, these will undoubtedly be prised out by antique hunters as soon as they're spotted. I prefer to do my "collecting" with the camera.

Tremella Mesenterica

Day 94: While all fungi enjoy moist, cool conditions, the "jellies" are particularly adapted to prosper during the months of winter. Specimens of Tremella mesenterica are easy to spot due to their color, and often form large colonies on rotting wood. Commonly called "Witches' Butter," these orange blobs have leathery exteriors and gelatinous centers. Although some jellies are edible, T. mesenterica is tasteless and undesirable.

Bud Blancher Cladonias

Day 93: Whenever I walk a new trail, I am always alert for wildflowers, birds, fungi and lichens. Occasionally, I am rewarded with something I've not seen before, but for the most part, my only discoveries will be common species. While walking the Bud Blancher trail yesterday, I was delighted to find one short section (about a tenth of a mile) where Cladonia macilenta was in abundant evidence. That said, I had to wonder if the density will be reduced now that the trail is open to the light. I will be monitoring the progress of these colonies and taking photographs at various times to document their development.

Sky Watch

Day 92: You might think that astronomy was an odd hobby for someone in the Pacific Northwest to want to take up, but with the approach of Comet Lovejoy, my desire for a good telescope was renewed. However, for the last two weeks, I've found myself wishing for a giant fan to blow the clouds away, and I was beginning to fear that any occasion for viewing the comet would be doomed by overcast conditions. I was watching the weather report closely, but NOAA seemed to have a very different definition for "partly cloudy" than what was happening in my sky. My fears were turning to despair until yesterday when I finally saw blue. However, by late afternoon, clouds had reappeared.

After walking nine miles, I ate dinner and treated myself to a hot bath and a cup of decaffeinated tea. What happened next was as certain as death and taxes: I sat down in my chair and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was almost bedime. The desire to crawl under the covers was strong, but I felt I really needed to check sky conditions, so I stepped outside in my nightie and looked up to see Orion, big as life, and the Pleiades as well. Those were just the pointers I needed to find Lovejoy! But I couldn't detect it with my naked eye, nor could I find it with binoculars. I was sure I was looking in the right spot, so I went back into the house, pulled on jeans and a fleece jacket, and carted a card table and the telescope out into the back yard. In an exceptional display of foresight, I had re-sighted the LED star-finder that afternoon after fiddling it out of whack by turning the wrong knobs when trying to turn it on. I pointed the LED at the target location and put my eye to the eyepiece. It was only necessary to pan a little bit before a fuzzy blob of light entered my field of view. I centered the comet in the 'scope and carefully changed eyepieces for a higher magnification which allowed me to distinguish the nucleus, if only faintly. I did not move up to the Barlow doubler because the comet nearly filled the field (it would have made a fuzzy object bigger but fuzzier). Needless to say, I was ecstatic with my "discovery," and now I'm anxious for the next astronomical event. After all, Lovejoy was a surprise to everyone.

Eagle Day

Day 91: With something close to spring-like weather today, I opted to take a nine-mile walk on the Foothills Trail in lieu of a shorter local walk and second session on the exercise bike. Thick fog lay over Orting at the start of my hike, but dissipated over the first hour to reveal beautiful blue skies. As I approached the landmark I call the Warbler Bridge, I noticed two Bald Eagles perched in a tall cottonwood. Eagles are a fairly common sight along most western Washington rivers, but over my last several walks along the Carbon, they have seemed substantially more abundant than usual. Common or not, they are still a spectacular sight, and this fellow appeared to be taking advantage of the sun to warm his wings. The second bird was perched just below and to the left of him. I snapped several photos before continuing on to my turn-around point at the South Prairie Wetland interpretive area, but the eagles didn't budge an inch in the time I was gone. I was glad they were still there. I got better photos on the second shooting.

Weaver's Web

Day 90: Any time a fiber artist uses a new yarn or thread, there are bound to be surprises in the way it performs. Occasionally, this means rethinking the entire project, but sometimes unexpected results can lead to a better finished product than envisioned. Such was the case when I began weaving today with Bernat's "Blanket," a bulky chenille-type yarn. I had threaded the loom in a traditional birdseye, expecting the black warp to appear as a subtle pattern; instead, the fluffy chenille completely concealed it, packing densely into a soft but sturdy cloth as the weft was beaten into place. Since the birdseye pattern was not apparent, I reverted to a simple tabby weave. Backed with a non-skid material, these rugs will be durable and attractive. That said, I think this cloth would also make an excellent upholstery fabric.

Half-Warped

Day 89: Between participating in the Park's winter fitness challenge and trying to keep up with daily tasks and obligations, personal time is at a premium. Today, I managed to get the warping of the loom halfway finished.

Here you see the warp wound onto the back beam and the 288 ends threaded through the heddles. Next up, I will mount the reed in the beater bar (disassembled to facilitate the threading process) and will bring each end through a single dent (slot). When that task is finished, the warp will be tied to the cloth beam and I will be ready to start weaving (hopefully tomorrow).

Rugs In The Raw

Day 88: With my last project fresh off the loom, I was anxious to get started on another one, but when I dove into my weaving supplies, I discovered that I was short on cotton warp by about half. I contacted my supplier to order more, and was delightfully surprised when they shipped it to me with two-day delivery at no extra cost. One craftsperson to another, I'm sure they understood my desire to get started right away.

Setting up a loom to weave is a multi-phase endeavour, beginning with selecting a pattern and determining the number of ends (threads) and length of warp required. When you are making small projects, it is more economic to warp for several items at once, otherwise there is too much wastage. I decided I wanted to make five rugs approximately 22" x 30", so I measured off six yards of warp per 288 ends to be sleyed at 12 dents per inch. Once the warp was measured out, I removed it from the warping board and "chained" it over my hands to prevent tangles. The next step will be mounting it on the loom. Small bundles of warp will be weighted so they can be evenly wound onto the back beam, and when that is done, each end will be brought first through the eye of a heddle and then through a slot in the reed. The heddles must be threaded in the sequence specified by the draw-down (pattern) in order to create a design. I will be using traditional birdseye in this case. Once threaded through heddles and reed, the warp bundles will be tied to the cloth beam and the actual weaving may be begun.

Weaving itself is a repetitive and rhythmic action. The shuttle flies back and forth as the weaver's feet dance on the treadles which raise and lower the heddles in their harnesses. The clatter of the loom is a soothing sound, metal heddles rustling, wood clapping against wood, the shuttle whisking through the opened shed of fibers. It is easy to get lost in the harmonies of weaving, easy to lose sight of time and cares. The loom is an instrument, and the weaver a musician, playing a score of cloth into existence beneath gifted hands. These are not rugs I weave; they are the songs of fibers set in motion by the magical loom.

Beaver Pond

Day 87: I took an extended lunch in order to walk beyond the Park's back gate and out to Skate Creek Road today, slipping and sliding on ice in some places and slogging in mud in others, glad of an occasion when I could visit the Beaver Pond in wintry conditions. I've spent many a happy summer hour here, tormenting a modest population of native cutthroat trout in between untangling my backcast from the branches of the alders, but never before when snow blanketed its setting. I knew it had to be beautiful; it is a gem in June, its colors changing like a tanzanite, reflecting the greens of grass and tree at one angle and an azure sky from another. In the hues of winter's palette, it could be no less, but winter posed a problem for access. Skate Creek Road, which goes only from Ashford to Packwood, cannot justify a budget for plowing (or, for that matter, general maintenance), and is closed when the snow flies. The Park road is a spur angling off it, and on the wrong side of a locked gate. Access, therefore, is by foot, and from the Administration Building at Longmire, it is a little over two and a half miles to the pond. In deeper snow, that distance would be too much to tackle on a lunch break. Today, however, was slow. I finished my assignments early and was granted leave to be away from my desk longer than usual. Thus I wound up here, sharing a new season with an old friend. Just a wink of blue sky appears as a reflection of past summers, an acknowledgement of our history together.

Snoozy Suzy

Day 85: I once saw a cartoon of two cats sprawled on a couch, in which one says to the other, "I don't know how I can get by on just seventeen and a half hours sleep," and Skunk and Tip are both prime examples of the truth of that assertion. They spend most daylight hours sacked out, and a fair portion of the night as well. If you're a cat owner, you know what I mean: they spend 90 percent their time sleeping, with the occasional wake-break for eating or using the litter box. Cats are professional loafers, no doubt about it.

So here I am, on the third day of a three-month physical fitness challenge which is demanding about three hours a day of aerobic exercise to achieve my goal, and a question which has puzzled me for some time has arisen once again. How, I want to know, does a cat who does nothing but loaf maintain the muscle tone necessary to leap to the top of a counter or chair? What cardiovascular secret is there in a cat's physique which allows it to race like fury around the house for half an hour without getting even marginally short of breath? All you weekend warriors out there...you know how they're always warning you about jackrabbit starts? A cat can go from total inactivity to the equivalent of running a marathon without even a fifteen-second warmup and never risks tearing a muscle or falling over with cramps.

Snoozy Suzy here (Skunk) stays in shape by being lazy. Why doesn't it work that way for me? 

Pelt Rhizines

Day 85: While the discussion of pelt lichens is still fresh in my readers' minds, I thought another view of Membranous Dog-Lichen might be appreciated. If you thought their top sides were strange, this is what you would see if you turned one over. These threadlike structures are called rhizines, and they serve as roots to attach the lichen to wood or rock. Like any other root, the rhizines allow the organism to draw nutrients from the substrate.

Don't forget to stick a magnifier in your pocket the next time you go out for a nature walk! You never know what you might find.

Peltigera Membranacea, Membranous Dog-Lichen

Day 84: A member of the family of Peltigeras, Membranous Dog-Lichen is cousin to a number of species commonly found in the wet forests of the Pacific Northwest. All are characterized with apothecia which, to this observer at least, resemble distorted fingernails. These are the fruiting bodies of a lichen, generating spores when the organism reaches maturity. If you were to turn over the olive-brown "leaves" (technically, the foliose thallus), you would find their backs covered with thread-like "teeth" called rhizines. Closer investigation with a magnifying lens would reveal a velvety covering (tomentosum) on the upper surface of the thallus. The woolliness of the tomentosum can be used to distinguish Peltigera membranacea from Peltigera canina in the field (P. canina's is fuzzier). Membranous Dog-Lichen is one of the most common Peltigeras in northwestern forests.

It

Day 83: It's in the house! The Park's Winter Fitness Challenge begins tomorrow, and while I've made it abundantly clear that I have no intention of trying for the Iron Ranger title again this year, I still intend to kick a lot of much younger behinds with my mileage total.

Since this is the fifth year of the challenge, a lot of fives have crept into the rules. The Proclaimers' "500 Miles" was chosen for the theme music (and incidentally was my personal "power song" last year), and teams of five are expected to complete the equivalent of walking the Scottish National Trail, a 537-mile route which runs from Kirk Yetholm to Cape Wrath (as close to a 500-mile trail as the committee could find, tying in nicely with the nationality of the vocal group). Of course, there is also the additional challenge to "walk 500 more" as specified in the Proclaimers' lyrics. I've joined a team, but nevertheless have set a personal goal of 500 miles with an eye toward that "500 more," something I should be able to achieve if I put in the aerobic equivalent of walking 10-15 miles every day. Last year, I was doing 15-20 miles per day, so barring drenching weather and if I can find a better pad for the seat of the exercise bike, that distance should be a piece of cake. I figure I'll walk five or six of it, and then ride 13-minute miles for the remainder. Remember, the mileage is the aerobic equivalent of walking one mile, not actual "road" miles. That translates to numbers of minutes at specific resistance on the bike.

I'm not exactly looking forward to long walks in the rain, but the benefits to be derived here are enormous. When the hiking season came around last summer, I was already in such good shape that I strode up hills without a gasp, hills which the previous year would have left me puffing. You know what they say: No pain, no gain. That's the philosophy which has kept me fit for almost 70 years, and makes it possible for me to trounce those young bucks and does despite my age.

Jay Joy

Day 82: I hear a lot of people complain, "Oh, those Steller's Jays! They're so noisy!" and in fact their call is often referred to as "scolding." However, these corvids are also mimics, and can do a very good imitation of a Red-tailed Hawk's "keeeeer!", a talent which often secures the best spots at the feeders for them. However, as the little boy who cried "Wolf!" learned, with familiarity comes complacency, "Yeah, that's just ol' Blue again, trying to frighten us away." Inevitably, the penalty is sometimes exacted when a real hawk is in the neighborhood and a hapless junco or sparrow fails to check the source of the sound. That said, when the Jays put up a fuss, it generally means we should all stop what we're doing and look around us. There may be a good reason they're giving a general alert.

January Porch Parrots

Day 81: A mob of porch parrots showed up a few days ago, cleaned the feeders and left as swiftly as they had arrived. I didn't see them again until this morning when a flock of a dozen, both males and females, appeared within seconds of the time I laid out the seed. They have my feeders marked on their maps, but January visits from these beautiful birds are scarce, and always bring me great pleasure.

"Porch parrot?" I hear you asking. Blame my late husband. He dubbed them "parrots" for their huge beaks, and when Mt. St. Helens blew in 1980, hundreds of them were shifted off their normal flyway and into our yard. When the windowboxes filled with them, the "porch" part of the nickname was a logical extension. Technically, they're Evening Grosbeaks (Coccothraustes vespertinus), a robin-sized bird which some say resembles a Goldfinch on steroids. During mating season, that big beak turns a vivid chartreuse green, making them even more colorful. Their call is a somewhat petulant, inquiring "Churp?" and a sound I recognize as my cue to lay in a few hundred pounds of black-oil sunflower seed to keep them happy during the spring and summer. This bird is a male. The females are greyish-green.

Trying New Foods

Day 80: "Life is too short not to try new foods." That's a motto you'll often hear me repeat, and it's one I try to live by. In fact, it's what got me started eating lutefisk about fifteen years ago, and all expectations to the contrary, I enjoyed it. My fishing buddy is Norwegian, and I'd trust him with my life. When he challenged me with lutefisk, I knew he wouldn't take me somewhere I didn't want to go.

Every year since that first encounter, I have joined the family for one or more traditional Norwegian dinners of lutefisk, lefse, cream gravy and mashed potatoes per year. If we do not get together earlier in the year for this event, it always occurs on New Year's Day. I look forward to it with great relish, and always stuff myself until my buttons nearly pop. My friends cringe: "Lutefisk? Ewwwwwwww!" but if you can get past the appearance (translucent) and the texture (somewhat gelatinous), the taste of buttery rich cod will flood your taste buds.

Come on, people! Be daring and break away from the boredom of meat and potatoes and green beans. Try something different! Next up: haggis for Robert Burns' birthday!