Canada Post

Day 79: We often tease our friends north of the border about how long it takes mail to be delivered by dogsled or carrier-beaver. Last year, a package I mailed to Ontario took over a month to arrive. This year, a box coming the opposite direction took over two weeks to show up on my doorstep. It was packed with assorted goodies including hand-turned lace-making bobbins and shells formerly inhabited by an invasive species of snail (thoroughly cleaned). Spread out together, I thought they made a lovely warm-toned still life. Thank you, Di!

Namesake Lichen

Day 78: Meet Evernia prunastri, namesake for the Christmas Faerie featured in yesterday's post. This exquisite lichen is notable for its soft, supple thallus, very pliable to the touch yet able to retain its graceful form without appearing limp. Its flexibility separates it from the Ramalinas when observed in the field. It is largely a West-coast species although a few have been catalogued from East-coast locations. Known also as "oak-moss," this lichen is used commercially in Europe as a fixative for perfumes. Its relative scarcity in the United States prevents its exploitation by the industry for reasons of cost-effectiveness.

Magic

Photo courtesy Kevin Bacher

Day 77: Everyone needs a little magic in their life. How else could it have come to pass that a person who asserts that she loves children best when accompanied by a hot, sweet chutney and side salad flew into a role as Evernia the Christmas Faerie? There certainly had to be a lot of magic at work to effect such a dramatic transformation. The young lady in this photo (daughter of a Park employee) approached hesitantly at first, skittered off as soon as the Faerie had given her a gift, but minutes later returned to remark in utter awe, "Your hair is WHITE!" The ice broken, her confidence increased and she engaged me in an animated conversation while other kids gathered behind her. Their faces were lost to me in myopic blur; in fact without my glasses, I could barely tell that my little friend's dress was blue and sparkled like the midnight sky. It is impossible to say which one of us felt the magic of this moment more strongly.

Techno-Baroque

Day 76: For as many years as I've been alone for Christmas, it has been my tradition to buy myself a present. Okay, I haven't always bought it in December, but when I made the purchase, it was designated "Christmas present to self" regardless of the month. This year, I decided to forgo the custom and instead made a substantial contribution to my favourite non-profit. On Christmas Day, I had dinner with my fishing buddy's family and somehow got roped into playing carols on an electronic keyboard. I faltered badly due to the fact that I haven't played in a long time, and it made me realize just how much I'd missed my old upright piano. I'd sold the beast a year or so ago to free up space in my living room, an idea which was great in theory but in practice, not as effective as I'd hoped.

Over the last several days, I've been looking at electronic keyboards on line. What I wanted and the cost I could justify were dreadfully out of alignment. Nor did I like the idea of making a purchase without actually playing the instrument, so today when I went in town, I hit one of the region's best-known music stores. I came out with exactly what I had wanted...no, even more than I had wanted!...for a very reasonable price thanks to a close-out sale. This model has more keys than many I've reviewed, plus it has pressure-sensitive volume and half-weighted keys which make it feel more like a real piano. As for what all those buttons are for, I'm sure I'll find out eventually. Right now, I'm enjoying the sound of techno-baroque on the most basic settings.

Little Things

Day 75: Sometimes little things pack the wallop. I've mentioned the "12 Days of Christmas" gift exchange I share with two east-coast friends. One #12 gift (Christmas morning) was a very small, light box from Mousie, aka Alison. My initial reaction of "What the...?" lasted no longer than it took to think it. Then I burst out laughing, surprised and deeply moved by the significance of a tiny metal pea pod holding three peas, symbols of three sisters-of-the-heart who, by some bizarre twist of fate, happened to have been born miles apart and to different parents. It took me a while to figure out where I wanted to put it so that it could remind me of my friends every day, and I finally settled on entrusting it to a rustic raven, a wood-carving which sits atop my desk with other representations of corvids. Raven is often represented carrying a star in his beak in classic Americana, perhaps a spin-off from the native peoples' legends which say he stole a piece of the sun to bring light and fire to the Earth. The love my "sisters" and I share certainly brightens my day and warms my heart!

Snug As A Bug

Day 74: I can think of better places to take a long winter's nap than glued to the side of my house, but when a biological urge as strong as this is upon one of Nature's creatures, it cannot be suppressed. Given the markings and the distinctive shape of the chrysalis, I am going to assume that this is Pieris marginalis until someone corrects me. Margined Whites are common in my yard. Some old-school lepidopterists will refer to them as Pieris napi, but marginalis is now considered a distinct species. The older terminology tends to slip between my lips more often than not, force of habit from having learned them from an out-of-date field guide. Note the dark spot and obvious veination in the wing, as well as the "belly-band" thread securing the chrysalis to the wall. Just how did the butterfly manage that, anyway?

Merry Christmas!

Day 73: Merry Christmas and Season's Greetings from the residents of Lichenopolis! However you celebrate the holidays, our best wishes will follow you into the coming year.

Christmas Wreath

Day 72: The debate about whether or not feeding wild birds is a good idea is a hot one with good arguments on both sides. However, in fifty-plus years of doing so, I have not made any observations which would incline me to stop: no die-offs, no lack of resistance to disease, no dependency on human handouts. Although I feed regularly, if for some reason I am absent for a week, my clientele shifts to other food sources and it sometimes takes them a day or two to discover that I've returned and am again delivering breakfast. I provide a wide range of seeds, nectar and fats and consequently have upwards of two dozen species coming to the table. But there is another argument for feeding which you won't hear voiced very often: that the practice is innate to human behaviour, and that imposing a restriction on it is unnatural and contradictory to our psyche. I wouldn't be surprised to find evidence of bird-feeding among the earliest humans; orts tossed outside the sheltering cave undoubtedly drew proto-corvids to the door. Man has always been fascinated by the creatures who do what he cannot: fly, and therefore elude him.

However, like humans, birds need to eat the right kind of foods. Bread, except as an occasional offering, is difficult for the avian digestive system to process and unless it is homemade or "organic," contains all sorts of things no living being should ingest. Put out black-oil sunflower seed for larger birds, a mix of small seed for those with smaller beaks. Add suet blocks for the woodpecker family who need a higher ratio of fats. If you have hummingbirds in winter, refresh the nectar jar often to prevent the growth of mold. Don't forget the "little people" this Christmas!

Hit The Woad, Mac

Day 71: Och, an' it was wi' great stealth an' cunnin' thot I trackit the wee savage beastie to its lair an' there did discoover na jist the ane, but its kith an' cousin alike. Three haggis! Three did I take wi' nought but a wee dirk an' strength o' arm. Fellow Scotsman Maureen McLean put claim upon a carcase, but the remainin' twa (adult and bairn) repose in the coolness o' the freezer to await Hogmanay and Rabbie Burns' natal day respectively. I canna pipe them in, so I give ye an Ode to Woad for the occasion (NOT original!):

What's the use of wearing braces?
Spats and hats and boots with laces?
Vests and pants you buy in places
Down on Brompton Road?

What's the use of shirts of cotton?
Studs that always get forgotten?
These affairs are simply rotten,
Better far is woad.

Woad's the stuff to clothe men.
Woad to scare your foemen.
Boil it to a brilliant hue
And rub it on your back and your abdomen.

Ancient Britons never hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Necks or knees or where you sit on.
Tailors you be blowed!!

Romans came across the Channel
All wrapped up in tin and flannel
Half a pint of woad per man'll
Clothe us more than these.

Saxons used to waste their stitches
Building beds for bugs in britches
We have woad to clothe us which is
Not a nest for fleas

Romans keep your armours.
Saxons your pyjamas.
Hairy coats were meant for goats,
Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas.

Tramp up Snowdon with your woad on,
Never mind if you get rained or snowed on
Never need a button sewed on.
Go it Ancient Bs!!

How I Spent My Solstice Vacation

Day 70: While I was deciding how I wanted to celebrate Solstice this year, I received an invitation from the Nisqually Land Trust to join a work-party on that day. What better way to spend the occasion than in service to the Earth? My "annual leave" from Park duties parallels Kevin's since I ride up with him, so I had the day free. The project was touted as an "ivy-pull." English ivy is a major problem on many of our properties, but an earlier work party had cut it from the trees at this location (note the dead vines on the big cottonwood on the left), and our task involved removal of new shoots. Sounds fairly easy, right? It might have been, but for a heavy understory of five-foot high Snowberry concealing our quarry. You could never have guessed that six of us were hard at work within a 200-foot diameter circle. In fact, it was so dense that I couldn't see my work-mates even when they were only twenty feet away. The two hidden "Waldos" in this image were working near the river where I had the clearest vantage point to document volunteer attendance for the event.

Solstice Greetings

Day 69: A Happy Solstice to you, my readers! Although holly poses no problem to find, mistletoe is quite another story. I have yet to observe it growing in the wild, and thus must make do with a sprig I created from plastic modelling clay. That said, three species do occur in the Pacific Northwest. Phoradendron flavenscens (Oak Mistletoe) grows primarily in the Willamette Valley (Oregon). Western Dwarf Mistletoe (Arceuthobium campylopodium) occurs on a variety of conifers, and Douglas' Dwarf Mistletoe is parasitic on Douglas fir (but only infrequently on the west side of the Cascades). It's possible that I have seen it without realizing it; it causes abnormal and irregular growth in its host, and may appear at a distance to look like massed fir needles and twigs. Arceuthobium campylopodium is known to occur in Mount Rainier National Park, specifically in the vicinity of White River. Ah! A project! Let me make this Solstice resolution: to find and photograph Dwarf Mistletoe during the coming year.

Something's Fishy Here

Day 68: "Sisters of the heart." That is how a Mouse, a Finch and a Crow describe the relationship which developed out of our common interest in geocaching, starting...oh, my! Has it been over a decade ago? We "met" in a chat forum, saw each other through various emotional crises and joys, and finally got together in several personal meet-ups despite the fact that two of us live on opposite coasts and the third is in New York.

I'm not sure when or how the tradition began, but each year, each of us sends the other two twelve numbered gifts, to be opened sequentially leading up to the finale on Christmas morning. We call it "the Twelve Days of Christmas," although it's on the wrong side of the holiday in the strict interpretation. There are no rules; gifts can be as goofy, lovely, inexpensive, lavish as the giver deems appropriate, but there always seem to be a few which bring a chuckle. Case in point: goldfish in a bag glycerine soap bar. The bag is going to have to deteriorate with age before I actually put it to use because it makes me laugh out loud every time I see it in the soap dish. I can't wait to see the reaction I get from the first guest to use my bathroom.

Nostalgia

Day 67: I tell the story almost every year of how the bubble-light tree of my childhood deteriorated to the extent that my mother decided to throw it out, and how I pled with her to keep it, and how some twenty years later, I stripped it, rewired it and reconstructed it from the ground up. No part of the original tree remained but for the metal armature which held the light sockets and the base. I suppose I could have built a whole new tree more easily than executing the task I'd set for myself, but a new tree would not have carried the memories so strongly associated with the old one.

My father passed away when I was quite young, but I recall how each year when the Bubble Tree was set up on the table, he and I would talk about what made it work. I don't think we had the science entirely right, but whenever a light burned out, we almost always conducted a post-mortem of the mechanism. I was convinced that it was a chemical reaction; my dad insisted that it was physics, and to that end, we tried to determine the composition of the plug of glass-like material which lay in the bottom of each bubble tube. Was it a chemical compound as I suspected? Or was it simply a piece of frosted glass which regulated the release of bubbles as the liquid boiled under heat? Even today, I don't know for sure.

In any event, my remade Bubble Tree takes a place of honour in my home during the holidays, its spirit unchanged by the passage of time despite the ravages upon its physical being. The memories it holds are priceless, even if they are mine alone.

The New Kid

Day 66: We do not have Cardinals in Washington. That said, I love them and my friends know it, so many years ago, one of them sent me an adult male. Or so I thought. Female Cardinals are brownish. In fact, a novice birder might mistake a female for a Cedar Waxwing. However, I was in for a surprise. After several years of caring for the adult "male," I entered the nest box one Christmas and was startled to discover a fully-feathered fledgling (also male). I named the youngster "Pik-pik" and took to referring to the adult as "Mom" despite physical evidence to the contrary. Pik-pik and Mom have returned every subsequent Christmas and roost among the holly on my mantel.

Now either I need to go back to school for a biology refresher or the field guides need to revise their descriptions because last night, another fledgling appeared in my little family of "males." Clearly, something is going on here which I do not understand, but I most certainly welcome it. You can never have enough Cardinals.

Temari

Day 65: Mind your spelling, here! We're talking about Japanese thread balls (temari), not thicker soy sauce (tamari). This art was originally developed in China, but was taken up in Japan at least 1000 years ago. In the traditional style, the ball is made entirely of thread, coarser in the center and finest on the exterior. Oftentimes the last layers are wound with very fine silk. Modern practitioners (at least lazy ones like me) start with a felt-covered styrofoam core and use materials such as #12 perle cotton and sewing thread.

Once the initial colour layer has been laid on, the ball is marked out with pins in equal divisions (in this case, 16), and then the decorative threads are wound according to a pattern. Many different designs can be achieved using the same division, but care must be taken to keep the segments precisely equal both in pinning and while wrapping. Occasionally, a final layer may be stitched in place, such as has been done here with the gold cross-hatch encasing the horizontal band.

This design ("Chrysanthemum") is one of my favourites. I haven't made temari in years and although I've given many as gifts, I've only retained a few for the Christmas tree.

Dry Snow Vs. Wet Snow

Day 64: Western Washington seldom receives well-defined crystalline snow at the lower altitudes (i.e., below 3000' or so). We get amorphous blobs of slush, aka "wet snow." On the other hand, "dry snow" is the rule in Eastern Washington, where there is less atmospheric moisture and colder temperatures. An opportunity to photograph real, honest-to-goodness snowflakes is rare indeed!

Yesterday, just as I was preparing to leave for the Park's Christmas party, a fine, dry snow began falling. In between putting loads in the car, I knelt down in the driveway. Yes, there were flakes on the moss...beautiful little pointy flakes just like those in my 1914 edition of "Water Wonders Every Child Should Know." Did I have time to set up a "snowflake studio" to take pictures? Not a chance! By the time I got home from the party, it was dark and there was half an inch on the ground, not conditions conducive to searching out the perfect flake.

This morning, the question arose: had any of them survived intact? In the interest of science, I put on several layers of woollies, added an additional macro filter (2x) to my camera on top of the 4x I usually use, grabbed a square ofd brown velvet, a foam kneeler, a poky-needle from my microscope supplies and my trusty "tripod," aka the three-volume boxed set, "The Audubon Society Master Guide to Birding." Hey, my lab's on a tight budget, all right?

I soon discovered that it was going to be impossible to identify a single snowflake where they had accumulated in number, so I made a hands-and-knees patrol of the shingle where the snow line met ground protected by trees. Over a run of approximately 70 feet, I attempted to sample several dozen individual flakes, only to have them shatter as soon as I tried to lift them free. In this composite photo, the one on the right was as closest to a "perfect flake" as I could find.

Tippy Tippy

Day 63: It started as a tummy-tickle. Tip loves to be tickled on his tummy, and all it takes to start him purring is for me to slip a hand underneath. If he's on my lap, he wiggles until he's on his back and then sprawls in the classic "I trust you implicitly" pose, limp as a wet dishrag. In this particular instance, I was sitting on the footstool because he'd taken possession of the chair. We touched noses for a few minutes while I scratched behind his ears, and then I laid my face against his side and did my poor human imitation of a purr. As I did so, he started to roll over and following the cue, I began tickling his tummy. Once he was fully on his back, I buried my face in the soft, white fur and "purred" even louder and longer. He extended his hind legs and pushed against the arm of the chair, forcing his head and shoulders into the other corner until he was resting in the position you see here. Is that a contented cat, or what?

You'd Better Watch Out

Day 62: In 2015, Santa Claus decided that Mount Rainier National Park was just too far from civilization for him to visit. There was no cell coverage, no internet...how could he check his emails or connect with Mrs. Claus back home at the North Pole? He sent his regrets to our Superintendent along with a formal revocation of his government contract. Park officials were beside themselves. They'd survived sequestration, knowing that it couldn't last forever, but the absence of Santa threatened to undermine the spirit of the season to much greater effect. What could they do?

From among the snow-covered Peltigeras, Cladonias and Lobarias at Longmire, a tiny figure emerged and offered her services. Thus Evernia, Queen of Lichens, found herself appearing as the Christmas Faerie at the annual holiday party, bearing gifts for the children of Park employees. Her magic must have been of the right sort because she was asked to return again this year.

Longmire In Winter

Day 61: There was no heat in our office when Kevin and I got to work this morning. Other offices in the Administration Building were warm and toasty, but ours was uncomfortably cold and stayed that way until lunchtime. I decided it was better to freeze outside than inside, and went for a walk around the Trail of the Shadows. This view of Eagle Peak across Longmire Meadow is one of my favourites. Tiny Travertine Mound hotspring (snow-free area, lower right) burbles and bubbles even in the coldest temperatures.

The blue sky was a momentary novelty. Even as I wound my way around the three-quarter mile trail, pale grey snow-clouds were creeping up from the west. Still, slender rays of sun touched laden branches and caused them to release their burdens precipitously, and at least once, I found myself enveloped in the cold pins-and-needles of spindrift, driven on icy gusts generated in its fall. Thus baptised, I returned to the office with snow-matted pantlegs and a silvery "powdered-sugar" dusting over my remaining person, grateful that the radiator had repented of its uncooperative nature.

Reinventing The Honeycomb

Day 60: Every winter, there comes a point when I say, "What in the world am I going to do for a blog post today?" As much as I'd like your daily feed to be one which educates and informs and is related to nature, it's not always possible for me to find subject matter when the weather dictates staying inside. In fact, it's sometimes even difficult to find things to keep myself entertained, let alone my demanding (~cough~) readership. But desperation is often a good motivator, and at least insofar as keeping my hands employed, I've found a project. Not content with making a boring old granny-square afghan to use up tag ends of yarn, I decided to create my own "honeycomb" pattern.

Bees are masters of architecture. The six-sided cells of a honeybee's comb make efficient use of space even while providing structural integrity many other shapes lack. Geometrically speaking, the honeycomb pattern requires less material to create a lattice within a given space. A similar structure occurs when soap bubbles intersect, if not as uniformly laid out. Drawing on our precious pollinators' lesson in efficiency, it took me half an hour to develop a pattern I liked. Maybe I was inspired by my grandmother's repetition of Isaac Watts' poem during my childhood:

How doth the little busy bee   
  Improve each shining hour,   
And gather honey all the day   
  From every opening flower.   

How skilfully she builds her cell;           
  How neat she spreads her wax,   
And labors hard to store it well   
  With the sweet food she makes.   

In works of labor or of skill,   
  I would be busy too;           
For Satan finds some mischief still   
  For idle hands to do.   

In books, or work, or healthful play,   
  Let my first years be passed;   
That I may give for every day           
  Some good account at last.

Dragon-Scale Fingerless Gloves

Day 59: During a recent training session in the Park, the woman sitting next to me kept her hands occupied by crocheting. I was intrigued by the overlapping scale pattern on the fingerless gloves she was making. Although I made them on slightly heavier yarn than the pattern suggests, they would be very quick to turn out even in a fingering weight.

It's interesting that presenters normally pass out "fidget" items during training. It seems to me that the practice would be counter-productive. In fact, I could not concentrate on what our instructors were saying if I was engrossed in the colouring-book pages we each were given. I did manage to construct a daisy out of pipe-cleaners, but I still felt that my full attention was not where it should have been during that ten-minute space of time. I've always thought I was pretty good at multi-tasking, but the experience showed me otherwise.

Lighting The Solstice Shrub

Day 58: When you live alone, it's tempting to dispense with decorating for the holidays. It's a lot of work, especially when you don't expect to have more than two or three drop-in guests (if that!). But traditions are an important part of the human psyche, and even though I don't celebrate "Christmas" in its religious sense, I do mark the Solstice and rejoice in the slow lengthening of daylight hours. For me, the holiday is one of Light, harking back to the first word my infant tongue pronounced: not "mama," not "dada," but "light," clearly and succinctly, and in reference to the full moon.

That said, I can no longer go at decorating full-tilt; I have to take it in stages. Today, I put up the Solstice Shrub (artificial...I refuse to support the killing of trees whether they have been raised for slaughter or not), and strung the lights. I may get a few ornaments on it before bedtime, but the bulk of them will be installed tomorrow.

Winter Transplants

Day 57: Several of my readers in different venues have expressed concern over our recent planting of Douglas fir saplings despite wintry conditions. Let me allay your fears! First of all, Dougs are cold-climate trees. Second, they're husbanding their growth energy at this time of year, and not putting effort into sprouting either new roots or needles. They're dormant, having a good long rest before spring. In fact, they are in a nearly ideal phase for transplanting. Care must be taken when transporting the seedlings, though, and to that end, their roots are wrapped in wet burlap to keep them moist, and they're left in heavy canvas totes until the holes have been prepared.

Despite our recent run of temps in the mid-20s, the ground is only frozen down an inch or so below the surface. When planting a bare-root Doug seedling, a narrow hole is dug, ideally at least as deep as the roots are long so that they aren't bent when the tree is put in place. The sapling is then dangled in the hole and the soil is packed around the roots to eliminate air pockets. Thus compacted, the soil acts as insulation against freezing. Their further care is consigned to Mother Nature, who at this time of year is more than generous with precipitation in some form or another. Don't worry! She's looking out for them.

Christmas Cookies

Day 56: Given that I was otherwise engaged the last two days, I did not start my Christmas baking on St. Nicholas Day as I normally do. However, at the crack of dawn this morning (slightly before, if the truth be told), I had spritz in the oven. Cookie Monster that I am, these will now become my default lunch until they're gone, perhaps alternating with Russian tea cakes ("pecan sandies"). The holidays are not complete without both sweet dainties, and if nutrition suffers a bit in favour of indulgence...well, it hasn't killed me yet.

Last year, I invested in a new trigger-style cookie press (Oxo) and I couldn't be happier with it. There is much less waste than there was with my old Super Shooter, and the cookies are much more uniform. Just to show that old dogs can learn new tricks, I took to heart a hint from the Oxo recipe booklet and now chill my cookie sheets beforehand. I was surprised to see how much more readily the dough adheres to the metal. The new press makes it so easy that it's a wonder I've managed to refrain from making spritz more often!

Planting Season

Day 55: The last several Nisqually Land Trust events have seen me absent from the ranks of scotch-broom pullers and tree-planters through the unfortunate circumstance of an irritated nerve in my right leg. On my doctor's advice, I have been wrapping it in a pressure bandage which after a few days seems to relieve the pain, but a day or two out of it, and I'm right back to square one. Consequently, he's taken me off shovel detail on the premise that over-shovelling was probably how I got into this predicament. After all, I did dig up most of my yard last spring, and I'm not as young as I used to be. That said, it has upset me that I haven't been able to participate in work parties at my former level, so Charly (pictured here) suggested that I could do duty as official photographer. Thus I could be found on this 25° morning atop Ohop Bluff with five other stalwart souls, having lugged a pair of shovels down a mile of trail while the stronger members of the planting team carted planters' packs filled with bare-root Doug fir seedlings. While they put 100 of them in the ground, I took pictures and ran around sticking pink flags beside each one to mark them for the later addition of protective plastic sleeves. I am grateful to Charly for having found a small job I could do in addition to my photographic work.

Hashtag - I Love My Job

Day 54: I see it a lot on Facebook: "#ilovemyjob." Okay, it's usually my supervisor and good friend Kevin who hashtags photos from work like that, but y'know, it couldn't be truer for either of us. Sure, there are those days when the database is acting up or the computer won't recognize my security card, days when everything we need seems to have gone missing out of the storeroom, times when we get a run of applicants hoping to stay on unemployment by telling us they want to be a campground host but that they can only work three hours per week. There are Headbanger Days and Swearword Days and I-Wish-I'd-Stayed-Home Days, but even when the going gets rough, all we have to do is step outside for a few minutes to be reminded of how good we have it.

So here we are: the summer seasonals are gone, the winter seasonals haven't arrived. The first good snow of the year has fallen, and Longmire is silent as a tomb, deliciously. You can almost hear the trees breathing, and Raven's coarse quork precipitates a fall of snowy pancakes which beat muffled thuds on the frozen drum of the ground. But for a hint of Park-Service brown on milled wood and the shameless boldness of a fire hydrant, the landscape could have been captured in black and white with nothing lost in translation. It is a restful view, one which demands no more effort from the eye than it is willing to give; take it all in at a glance, or take in the subtleties of hue and form. It's up to you. Me? #ilovemyjob.

Hardy

Day 53: I don't think hardy fuchsias are supposed to be blooming when the snow flies, but three of my five varieties (Genii, above, Dollar Princess and Army Nurse) apparently didn't get the memo and are doing their best to bring holiday colour to the garden. All three plants have been in their present locations for a couple of years, i.e., they're firmly established. Riccartonii is hanging onto its leaves, but has no blossoms currently, and Erecta (the most cold-sensitive member of the family) has gone to sleep for the winter.

Many people find these woody plants sprangly and unattractive when they outgrow their allotted space, but I think they more than adequately make up for their shortcomings by attracting hummingbirds to the yard. Because they flower on old wood as well as new, they can be pruned back if desired, although few people ever bother. Next year, I plan to add several more along the fenceline, either new plants or ones I've divided. Gotta keep those hummers happy!

Hypogymnia Physodes

Day 52: My fence is home to quite a variety of lichens, and calling to mind the cobbler's kids and their bare feet, I have to admit that I've never troubled myself to identify many of them. Generically, they're "fencepost lichens" in a hypothetical field guide to Crow's yard, a category which includes Usneas, Cladonias and Evernia, distinguished only by their attachment to cedar rails. I've never taken samples, never looked at potential identifying features until recently when I was prompted to do so by finding several of these small rosettes growing on the side of my house. Anything which can survive on a substrate of plastic is worthy of further study, so today I nicked a lobe and brought it indoors for examination. Thinking I had a fairly good idea where it belonged, I attempted to fit it into a family, but square peg that it was, it refused to go in the round hole. I don't know what compelled me to scrape at the dark underside with my thumbnail, but when I did so, it came away freely, revealing a white medullary ceiling. What? Waitaminit...it's a Hypogymnia! From the moment of that epiphany, the rest of the pieces fell neatly into place: Hypogymnia physodes, "one of the most common tree lichens in the north." Tree lichen, eh? Mine have a taste for vinyl siding.

Huernia Procumbens

Day 51: Huernia procumbens has developed its first "pointed star" (the common name attributed to the species), and I am wondering what factors contributed to its deviating from the form shown in the catalog. As a "lifesaver plant," it should exhibit a raised red ring surrounding its center, similar to that found in Huernia zebrina. Could the lack of development be due to the fact that it was transplanted only a month or so ago? No buds were showing at that time. As noted a few days ago, the mature bud was long and pointed, quite different from that of zebrina. If the "lifesaver" had grown normally, would the bud shape have been more like that of its cousin? I will be interested to see how subsequent flowers develop.

Longmire Fisher Release

Day 50: Today, Mount Rainier National Park saw the reintroduction of ten Pacific fishers into the wild at Longmire. The fisher is a member of the weasel family, and as such, contributes to the natural control of populations of small rodents. It was believed to have been extirpated from Washington many years ago as a result of fur-trapping. This on-going project includes releases in three National Parks in the state. It is a cooperation between many different wildlife management agencies and tribal groups, most of which were represented among the 100+ attendees present at the event. It was the first such release in the Park and was not open to the public, but the media were invited. If you're local, you will probably see coverage on television news or in the paper. You, my faithful readers, get a behind-the-scenes look at the day. Look at that little guy go!

Cladonia Gracilis, Smooth Cladonia

Day 49: Although at least two other Cladonia species are making cameo appearances in this image, the star of the show is Cladonia gracilis ssp., Smooth Cladonia. The unbroken cortex ("skin") of the podetia is particularly diagnostic when attempting to separate this lichen from similar species in the field. The branched habit and specimen location strongly suggest subspecies turbinata, but I am reluctant to commit to that because no tests for lichen substances were performed. Had I remembered before 24 hours had elapsed that I had dropped an unprotected specimen in the pocket of my field bag, I might have been able to be more specific.

All right, I heard that. Which one of you laughed at the absent-minded professor?