It Slices! It Dices!

Day 169: The words of the TV commercial still ring in my ears: "It slices! It dices!" and although I didn't fall prey to the hype, my husband did, and on a notable Christmas morning close to fifty years ago, I became one of the myriad housewives who possessed a Veg-o-Matic. I remember feeling somewhat disappointed when I tore through the wrapping paper, but like several of Bruce's other peculiar gifts, the Veg-o-Matic proved its worth, slicing and dicing its way into an honoured position in my kitchen. I'm not big on food prep. If it broke, I might never again make scalloped potatoes. I suppose it's considered a "vintage" item nowadays, a term which could be applied equally to me. We're both a little stained and dented, not quite as sharp as we were in our salad years, but we still get the job done.

What were some of Bruce's other odd gifts? Well, two spring to mind because they're still standing me in good stead half a century later: 50 spools of sewing thread in every colour but pink, and a 5000-yard cone of common string. Believe it or not, that cone of string was one of the best gifts ever. I only have about a third of it left. Conservation measures have been put into effect.

All Factors Considered

Day 168: I'm ashamed to admit that I did very little bicycling last year, taking my exercise largely as a mix of hiking and kayaking (oh, and Morris dancing), so I resolved to remedy that sorry state of affairs this year and began today with a measly little seven-mile ride. I would have preferred riding a rail-trail to pedalling up the highway, but all factors considered, staying local was the better choice. First of all, it's been a year since I sat on a bicycle seat for any length of time. Second, Morris dancing and hiking use a different set of muscles than pushing pedals does. Third, I wasn't sure how my injured shoulder would take to leaning over the handlebars. Fourth...and the most important item in my decision-making process...the damn bike won't fit in the new car! Despite the fact that the car is wider, the dimensions are constricted in the arch behind the rear seats, and the trunk depth lacks about 3/4" inch for accommodating the handlebars. Looks like I'm going to have to invest in a cheap bike rack if I'm going to stick with the program.

Exhibit A

Day 167: By the time I'd made a dozen of the rosette motifs which form the wide border of this 9" doily, I had memorized the pattern and was having trouble motivating myself to complete one each day. Made with size 40 cotton, this needle-tatted lace will be one of my submissions to the Washington State Fair this year. Last year, I entered two weavings and a handkerchief edged with bobbin lace, and took one first prize and two second prizes. I'll be changing up the types of needlework this time around, at the very least subbing in tatting and hardanger, although I may also include one woven piece as my "signature" item. Last year was the first time I'd entered the Fair, and hindsight being so much sharper than foresight, I now regret not listening to my husband as he encouraged me to submit something, anything to demonstrate my skills. I'd walked through the exhibits, mentally comparing my work to those of the long-time competitors and figured that nothing I'd made would make it out of the starting gate. When I saw the award ribbons next to those first submissions, my first thought was of Bruce. I wish he could have shared in my delight. And just as a personal footnote here, it was Bruce's grandma who helped me perfect my tatting technique. I was thinking of her while I was making this doily, remembering how she used to put a mark on her finger with indelible ink as a guide for the length of her picots. I didn't go quite that far, although I used a gauge for the chains in this piece.

There's Always One

Day 166: There's always one. Every spring, I'll have at least one Towhee whose tailfeathers have gone missing all at once. Now whether this phenomenon is due to the natural moulting process (and feasibly, it could be) or to somebody waiting just a little too long to fly away from a stealthy predator is not something I can confirm with any conviction. Certainly, Towhees are not precisely the sharpest crayons in the box, but they are also predominantly ground-feeders, which leaves them more vulnerable to a hunter with a taste for fowl. In any event, I always wind up with at least one unfortunate and embarrassed Stubby and, forgive me, they always make me laugh.

Resilience

Day 165: My snowdrops had already formed buds when our mild winter turned suddenly cold and snowy a month ago, and soon found themselves buried beneath an 18" thick blanket of white. While I expected them to survive almost anything Nature could throw at them, I wasn't too sure if their resilience would carry them through the additional insult of having the driveway glacier shovelled onto their heads. I hadn't thought about it when Kevin and Daniel appeared unexpectedly in my yard to dig me out; I was too grateful to think about anything beyond being able to get to the grocery store before June. It wasn't until I went out to get the mail later that day that I saw where the driveway snow had gone, i.e., into the mostly-barren flower beds and over the tops of the budding snowdrops.

Well, the glacier has finally retreated after a week of summer (our foretaste of things to come), and even the shadier spots against my neighbour's woods show no lingering patches of ice. Nighttime temps have again dipped into the 20s, but there they are, happy as Larry, little snowdrops demonstrating that delicacy doesn't necessarily preclude strength in adversity.

Share The Road

Day 164: Several subspecies of Common Garter Snake (Thamnophis sirtalis) can be found in western Washington, but they are extremely difficult to differentiate in the field, even by experienced herpetologists. None is considered poisonous, although if your cat or dog eats one, it will most likely throw it right back up. Like other reptiles, these innocuous snakes are cold-blooded and may often be found sunning themselves to raise their body temperature. A warm snake is a faster snake, better able to capture prey like mice and frogs. All too frequently, Mr. Garter's choice of tanning salon has unfortunate consequences. They demonstrate a particular fondness for warm gravel or asphalt, i.e., the middle of the road, a factor which moves them along to food chain to feed scavenging birds and mammals. Fortunately for this little fellow, he'd picked a relatively untravelled road in Pack Forest to take advantage of the same warm spring sun which had also drawn me out of my den.

The Usual Suspects

Day 163: My starting point isn't shown on this map, being some miles off to the left, but the coloured pins indicate locations where I spotted the Usual Suspects in my invasive-plant patrol of the 1300, 1330 and 2500 Rds., areas which I had not previously covered. The species are common: English Holly (Ilex aquifolium, of particular concern to Pack management), Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea) and Tansy Ragwort (Senecio jacobaea). Invasive though they may be, the state requires control of only one of them (Tansy), and that because of its potential to kill livestock and therefore, its economic impact. It's always about the money. Always.

Let me explain a little about the classification of "noxious weeds" (read, "invasive plants"). Washington state classifies them in three categories: A, B and C. Class A plants are recent invaders. They haven't been here long enough to be a major problem, but they have the potential. Class A noxious weeds must, by law, be controlled by property owners. Likewise, Class B invasives by law require control, but they are species which are already prevalent in some portions of the state. The guiding methodology in this case is to work toward eradication while limiting their spread to other unaffected locales.

Now we come to Class C noxious weeds like Digitalis and English Holly. They are quite widespread and very common. Control of these species drops from state jurisdiction to that of individual counties. Control may or may not be required. Most counties opt for a program of education, i.e., offering land owners the opportunity to learn more about the harmful effects of these plants on the overall ecology. Yeah, right. We all see how well that's working, don't we? Even Pack Forest (part of the University of Washington's forestry program) has been disinclined to take appropriate steps to eliminate these weeds.

The war against Class C invasives can be won, although it may seem like trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon. For example, if every person in the state removed one dozen Himalayan Blackberry plants, it wouldn't make a dent in the overall view. Still, organizations like the Nisqually Land Trust have been quite successful in clearing Himalayan Blackberry from many of their properties with the help of volunteers. While Pack Forest has focused on ridding their sustainable-forestry plots of English Holly, they're allowing Tansy and Digitalis to spread unchecked along roadsides and in clearcuts. Their lack of environmental responsibility makes me angry. I'd expected better of my neighbours.

An Unusual Sighting

Day 162: Documentation. It's all about documentation. Okay, it's not the best photo because it was shot at an angle through double-pane glass, but it captures distinctive features which indicate that this bird is the product of intergrading, i.e., a genetic crossover between Western and Eastern races of Northern Flicker. The yellow underside of the tailfeathers could possibly be ascribed to colour variation in either subspecies; however, the red patch at the nape of the neck is only found in male Yellow-Shafted Flicker, but Yellow-Shafted (Colaptes auratus auratus) should have a black malar (cheek). Red malars are a characteristic of Red-Shafted (Colaptes auratus cafer).

Moving-In Day

Day 161: Prime real estate moves fast! It's only been a week since Pussywillow Cottage and the House of Chirp became available, and already new tenants are moving in. This year's occupants are again Tree Swallows (Tachycineta bicolor), distinguished easily from Violet-Greens by the lack of white above the eye.

A few quick facts about Tree Swallows: the nest is built by the female, although both members of the pair bring nesting material to the box. During nest-building, the males can often be heard giving a liquid, gurgling call to announce their presence. The outer portion of the nest is comprised of dried grasses and moss; the interior is lined with soft feathers, preferably white, although in my personal experience, I've also seen stiff blue Steller's Jay and black Crow wing feathers used in the exterior construction. The clutch usually consists of 4-6 eggs (white), although rarely, two females may share a large box, taking shifts for incubation and brooding duties. Incubation is 13-16 days. The young hatchlings are fed by both parents. The "kids" are ready to take their first flight at 16-24 days from hatching and may be fed on the wing for a few days after fledging. This year's babies may be next year's renters, or their parents may return to the family home to raise a new brood.

Beautiful Snow Queens

Day 160: I first encountered Snow Queens (Synthyris reniformis) in Pack Forest half a dozen years ago, and every year since, I've made a point to visit the same site as soon as I think they might have emerged. They flower in the early season, although their blooming period is fairly long and it's possible you'll find them in shady, cool spots later in the year. I've even seen them as late as August when conditions are ideal. While their colour can vary from white to a rich lavender, their most striking feature is a pair of purple anthers which peek out from the frame of petals, rather outsized for the diminutive blossoms. This little plant is easy to miss, the flower spike standing only a few inches above ground-level, kidney-shaped leaves tinged with red; so easy to miss, I might add, that on the way back to the car, I was surprised to find another patch of them less than a mile from the trailhead. I'd walked right past them in the morning.

Long Walk For The View

Day 159: Okay, there was a shorter way to reach this spot, but I prefer to park where there's some security against a car break-in. Consequently, I began my day's adventure at Pack Forest's "campus" (the complex of buildings which houses offices, equipment sheds, a greenhouse, a small convention hall, etc.). And to be honest about it, I was really only planning to do the five-mile loop of the 1000 Rd., but then I thought I might be able to find some Snow Queens (add a mile detour), and then when I got back to Kirkland Pass and started down Butterfly Alley, I really didn't feel like I'd put in a good day's walk. The 1300 Rd. looked tempting. I'd only been up it once, and that, at least a decade ago. Okay, I can make the trip do double-duty by making an invasive-plant patrol out of an extended trek.

Pack Forest's best view of Mount Rainier is out a spur road (the 1330), just beyond three cell phone towers which are visible from Eatonville. It's also just about as far from campus parking as it's possible to get on an east-west axis. When did I ever let a little thing like that stop me? It's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other one, right? Well, there was a little backtrack involved when I forgot to waypoint a nasty infestation of English holly (something Pack particularly wants us to hunt down), but I eventually got to the cell towers and the view. Now what? Do I go down the short way and continue back to the campus on the remaining stretch of the 1000 loop, or do I take my chances with the 1300 Rd., hoping that it will come out where I think it does? At that point, I said to self with appropriate harshness and reproach, "You shoulda brought the bloody MAP!" Well, yes, but I hadn't been planning to make a major expedition out of the project when I'd left the car.

Turns out the 1300 was quite a bit longer than I'd expected because it joined up with the 2500 for a couple of miles. By the time I'd connected to the 2000 Rd., my dogs were barking. I don't usually get sore feet, but the weather was unseasonably warm (read, "too damn hot to be hiking") and I'd worn the Gore-tex boots which don't breathe nearly as well as the promotional materials would have you believe. With wool socks added to the equation, my footsies were overheating. At the junction with the 2000 Rd., I resigned myself to the consequences of having three miles left to go to get back to the car and, to add insult to injury, I was retracing the steps I'd taken to check on the Snow Queens. By the end of the day, I'd put in twelve miles, climbed at least two more hills than I'd intended, and had 15 instances of invasives to report, a process which ate an hour of my evening. Y'know, I really feel like I deserved that bowl of ice cream I stopped for on the way home.

C For Ceiling

Day 158: "C for ceiling, G for ground." That's the mnemonic my mother taught me to help me remember where the base of a stala-C-tite or a stala-G-mite was rooted. There are variations to this simple memory aid, but it's surprising the number of people who refer to either formation as a "stalactite" regardless of its roots.

The Longmire ice stalactites have fallen thick and fast under this recent spell of summery weather. The roof "glacier" has retreated into non-existence from the Administration Building porch and the deadly sharp icicles have dropped from the eaves to collect in piles of brittle jackstraws at the foundation. I haven't heard any reports of visitors being impaled, but the obliviously curious may just have been the lucky sort.

It's a little weird here at home, stepping out the back door into 70 degrees to find snow still lingering in the shady spots of the yard. Up against the woods, it's still several inches deep, confusing the current invasion by Robins who expected to find bugs in the freshly turned soil of spring molehills. That said, it won't last long. Next up is a round of rain, something we hope is confined to the lowlands lest it inspires a flood of melt from the masses of snow in the high country.

It's So Yew!

Day 157: It's so Yew! Taxus brevifolia, that is. This native shrub, known commonly as either Pacific Yew or Western Yew is dioecious in nature, which is to say that any given plant is either male or female. Pollen is produced by males; berries and seeds by females. Although the berries and seeds are poisonous, Pacific Yew is best known as the original source for the anti-cancer drug taxol. However, due to the relative scarcity of the tree, taxol is now produced synthetically. The needles somewhat resemble those of Western Hemlock, but the characteristic red heartwood gives Yew away. It can be seen where bits of the grey bark have been shed. Berries are red and round. Seed dispersal is performed primarily by birds, but Yew is also known to propagate by taking root where branches touch the ground (self-layering).

Now Available For Occupancy

Day 156: I have had a lot on my plate lately, and hanging up the swallow houses had entirely slipped my mind even though I'd cleaned them thoroughly when I took them down last fall: simple task, five minutes max, and something I normally do around March 1. Yesterday morning (St. Patrick's Day), I happened to be looking out the kitchen window just as a prospective renter swooped up under the eaves, a few days early for either Violet Greens or Tree Swallows to my yard. He/she did a double-take, made a second dismayed pass, puzzled by the absence of familiar accommodations. Realizing that I'd neglected my little avian friends' needs, I darted out the door to remedy the issue. Pussywillow Cottage and the House of Chirp are now available for occupancy!

Different Day, Different Duties

Day 155: They probably don't do it these days, but when I was in high school, we were given aptitude and placement tests to help determine what elective courses we should take to ensure our future employability. The results weren't as gender-keyed as you might have expected in that era, and mine were returned with the conclusion that I was best suited to either of two professional roles: florist (which at the time I thought was way off base) or forest ranger. Much later in life, I was subjected to similar testing with the result that my "perfect job" was determined to be that of lighthouse keeper (probably due to my preference for solitude), but that's another story. "Forest ranger" was spot on; "florist" should have read "botanist," but women were not encouraged into positions in the scientific field in the 1960s.

I always remember those tests when it comes time for the Nisqually Land Trust's annual fund-raiser auction. Besides hauling boxes of donations and setting items out on the tables, my primary duty is to arrange the floral centerpieces for the dining hall. I fell into the task quite naturally after the first year when the arrangments were composed by committee; now the job is mine alone. One of the staff purchases whatever bouquets they can find (Trader Joe's, Fred Meyer, Safeway) and delivers them to me in buckets. My mission is to create art from chaos: 28 vases with a pleasant balance of form and colour based on the materials at hand. It usually takes about two hours, and then I'm free to help with other set-up tasks.

Additionally this year, I donated two handwoven items to the silent auction: a silky rayon scarf with a patterned weave, and the "test" blanket I made before creating Arnie's retirement gift. At the very least, the two items will bring in $150 for the Land Trust.

A Kodiak Moment

Day 154: Workplace environment here. Shortly after lunch, I left the office and headed out toward the campground, but before I'd reached the first corner in the road, I found myself in the position of playing "chicken" with one of the Kodiaks and a plow. You can't pass up a photo op like this, so I snapped a few quick shots before stepping to the side. At the bridge (visible through the trees on the left), the packed snow turned icy and I noticed with some dismay that one of my shoe chains had popped off. Figuring it had been eaten by the Kodiak, turned into tiny bits of rubber and metal and spewed across the snowscape, I continued on with mincing steps down the cleared portions of the road. I lost the other shoe chain somewhere in the campground during the postholing trek mentioned yesterday. I'm sure I'll be able to find it in the spring; the one I thought I'd lost to the Kodiak turned up in the office. It had come off before I'd even left the building.

Kidneys!

Day 153: Although everyone was remarking on "Pi Day" yesterday (3.14), Kevin informed me on our way to work that it was also World Kidney Day. Therefore, it was probably no surprise to him when, after finishing up with new volunteer applicants for the day, I announced that I was going on a kidney hunt in the campground. An upper-canopy lichen (in Longmire, anyway), I've found kidneys in only two locations when they were brought down by winter storms. The first (beside the access road) was easy to attain, but I failed to find the prize. The second site proved to be more challenging. With little hope of success (but determined to try), I set off toward the center of the campground, breaking through the crust of three to four feet of snow with every step. At first, I only went in to ankle-depth, but beyond the picnic shelter, the snow was softer and more often than not, I sank above my knees. I thought of my climbing years and the phrase which motivated me to many different summers, "just keep putting one foot in front of the other; another adjuration, "you're not going to get there by looking at it," every time my eyes went to the plowed portion of the road. It took me the better part of an hour to traverse the length of a football field, but no kidneys made themselves known. Back at the Community Building at long last, I set off toward my office disappointed with my efforts, but as I passed the spot where I'd found my first specimen of Nephroma helveticum, a small brown cluster caught my eye. Yep, kidneys, right where I'd first looked. Did I miss them on the first pass, or did they fall from the canopy in the intervening hour? I'll never know. But I do know this: postholing is one of the best ways to remind yourself that the only way to get through a bad patch is to just put your head down and keep plodding. Thanks, Kid...ney.

Lichens And Morris Dancers

Day 152: You'd think it would be pretty hard to make a connection between lichens and Morris dancers in a single post, but here you have it. Sound & Fury observes a winter holiday tradition we call "the Mistletoe Faerie." You probably have something similar in your workplace. Some time before Christmas, names are drawn for a gift exchange, no person to know exactly who their representative from the Mistletoe Fey is until Twelfth Night (or the nearest practice date) when the gifts are delivered. Several factors caused me to miss six weeks of practice, including the critical gift exchange. When I returned this past Monday, my Mistletoe Faerie delivered her gift. I'd forgotten about the plea I'd put out on Facebook for Daphnie Stone's "aide memoire" to the Usneas of the area and was surprised and overjoyed when I unwrapped it. Yesterday, I gave it a field test. I needed a walk and decided to take an overgrown side trail of Nisqually-Mashel State Park, an Usnea-rich area if ever there was one. Field guide in hand, I was able to put a name to a species which has puzzled me in the past. Usnea flavocardia is identified by its fibril, pinched at the base like the tip of a cigar, as well as the presence of little red dots on the thallus. Thank you, Mistletoe Faerie, and thank you, Mistletoe Fey for...well, you know, that other thing.

My Skunky-Girl

Day 151: She came to me at roughly six weeks old, blue-eyed, tail hairless as a rat's, and scrappy as a few ounces of kitten could possibly be, having defended herself against two cat-killing dachshunds. She had nearly lost a paw in the set-to, but under my care, it healed nicely. She was a funny little thing. I called her a "water-cat." When I showered, she would often get in the tub, take up a position on the drain, perfectly content as the tide rose around her. I took advantage of the fact and introduced her to a regularly-conducted bath protocol, so her fur was always as soft as a bunny's. She also liked to pat the water in her drinking bowl or stand with one hand in it, requiring me to make accommodations for the spills by setting it in a larger bowl. She enjoyed drinking from the bathtub faucet, and before I learned to leave a water dish for her on the tub drain, she'd "sing in the shower" with a voice guaranteed to peel paint to let me know she needed the water to be turned on. When she was a tiny babycat (that's one word, "babycat"), she would crawl under the covers with me, nestle in the crook of my arm, massaging my chest with her front paws until she got sleepy. Then she'd worm her way down to my feet, remaining there for most of the night. In her younger days, we'd play the Stare Game, in which she would lurk behind a piece of furniture, one eye showing, and I would take a position on the floor where I could stare at her through the legs of a chair or around a corner. We'd sit that way for a minute which seemed to expand time, and then slowly and deliberately, I would blink. As if on cue, she'd rush me, galloping across the floor at full speed. Her favourite toys were three stuffies: a little squirrel (we went through several over the early years), a skunk roughly the same size, and a larger wolf. Wolfie was for kneading, and she would spend long minutes working her paws into his soft padding.

Always an indoor kitty, her health was excellent until she turned 7 and contracted an ear infection. She was given medication which destroyed her eardrums and went deaf in a matter of days. I nursed her through what can only be described as a deep depression, but unbeknownst to me or her doctor, other damage had been done to her system and her health continued to decline. Yesterday (March 12), I made the hard decision and laid my beloved kitty-girl to rest here in the only home she ever knew, beneath my big Doug fir.

Oh, For Pity's Sake!

Day 150: Oh, for pity's sake! This is ridiculous! It's the middle of March. There's still a glacier in my yard. And now it's bloody snowing again! As if this wasn't already too much to be borne, here's the view from the Longmire Administration Building where I work. Mr. Groundhog, I'd like to see you in my office. Mr. Woolly-bear Caterpillar, you come along, too. We need to discuss your future with the Weather Service. Your performance has been somewhat below standard of late.

Thrush Feather Study

Day 149: Today's post is being brought to you by angry birds. No, not "Angry Birds" (capital letters, referring to the game), but enormously cranky, territorial, aggressive, maybe even downright vicious Varied Thrushes. I've been rather concerned for the Thrush population in my yard after finding evidence which seemed to point toward a predator with a particular taste for Thrush. I don't know why I didn't catch on sooner to the true reason I was finding little pockets of Thrush feathers in the snow. I've certainly seen them attack one another often enough. Today it dawned on me: preceding the actual aggressive run, one or both competitors goes breast-to-the-ground as insults are exchanged. "Your mama was a robin!" "Was not! You're a chicken...chicken-chicken-chicken!" Then the dash commences, one bird running to, the other (the smarter one, I suspect) running from. Sometimes the pause before the salute of swords lasts up to ten seconds, plenty of time for soft, warm breast feathers to freeze to the snow. Given the abundance of the resource, microscopy was a given, resulting in the interesting discovery that the downier sections near the shaft are marked with knot-like, dark nodes (lower right). This fluffy portion insulates the angry bird's chest against the icy snow.

Imported Nuisance

Day 148: Sturnus vulgaris, aka the Common Starling, European Starling or English Starling, was introduced to North America in the late 1800s. Some accounts (possibly apocryphal) attest that they were brought into the US in an attempt to populate the nation with every species of bird found in the writings of William Shakespeare; what we do know for certain is that the first successful releases were of roughly 60 birds in New York and another 35 in Oregon. Their numbers have now multiplied to the millions across the country, causing Sturnus vulgaris to be listed as an invasive species. While they were initially believed to be helpful in reducing insect infestations on crops, now they may be re-evaluated as contributing to the decline in insect populations where they occur.

That said, the little buggers are ... well, "pretty" is too benign a term for a pest, so let's call them "cute." During the breeding season, the coruscating sheen of their purple-black feathers is broken up by white flecks (more pronounced on females). Their legs are pink, their beaks yellow in mating season. They are accomplished mimics, although their usual chatter is noisy and tuneless, and they waddle when they walk. It's been difficult for me to get a good photo of one because here, they've learned that human presence in the person of one of my neighbours means a substantial, shotgun-effected reduction in their numbers, making them quite skittish and flighty at the sound of an opening door. I had a split second to make this "field guide" shot before the little lady took off for the high hills.

Sapsucker Art

Day 147: The holes in this tree's bark, looking ever so much like the uniform perforations between postage stamps, are not the product of insect infestation as one might initially assume. Observation over a period of time would reveal the culprit to be a Red-Breasted Sapsucker, a member of the woodpecker family. Often mistaken by novice birders as a "red-headed woodpecker," Sapsucker does indeed have a red head, with the colouration extending only a short way down the breast in the manner of a cowl. Contrary to the popular belief which gave rise to the birds' common name, Sapsuckers' primary diet consists of the insects which are attracted to the sap oozing from drilled trees. The birds drill, fly off, and return later to harvest the bugs which have been attracted to the sweet sap. Sapsucker holes are shallow, but when drilled into small-diameter limbs and trunks may result in injury and breakage of the affected tree. Not a problem here! This non-native English walnut is slated for removal from an area under ecological restoration to native habitat.

First Day Of Skunk Cabbage

Day 146: Happy First Day of Skunk Cabbage to all my readers! Okay, it's a rather sad offering, but considering the fact that in two hours, four inches of new snow fell in my yard (and it's still coming down as I write this), I'll take whatever I can get. Some of you may recall that the First Day of Skunk Cabbage is one of the important dates on my personal calendar. It's a moveable feast for obvious reasons, but seldom has it occurred quite this early. Since it is dependent on the timing of my own first observation of Lysichiton americanus, a lot of different factors come into play. If it hadn't been that I had an appoinment for a hair cut this morning, it could well have occurred next week instead. I braved the snow to venture into Flatland and, since I was already out, decided to check my Nisqually Land Trust beat. The compulsive litterer had been at it again, leaving me at least one full pickup-load of construction debris. Feeling rather downhearted by the find, I started home via a different route, and was passing alongside a debris-filled ditch when a wink of yellow caught the tail of my eye. A quarter of a mile later, I found a wide spot in which to reverse direction safely. Yes! There were my beloved Skunks, putting in their first appearance of the year. The sight of them turned my mood around. Spring is here, snow or no.

The White Lion Of March

Day 145: March has come in like the proverbial lion, although a rare albino form of the beast. Six inches of white deposited itself in my yard yesterday, topping off the eight-inch rock-hard glacier purporting to be lawn and garden. March snows in the Pacific Northwest should be light and brief, a dusting melting off by mid-afternoon, never more than an inch, never persisting for days on end. Weird weather, you say. Yes, if you look at the short term, but harder winters and heavier snowfalls are symptomatic of a deeper issue: climate change.

Now I hear you sputtering, "But...but...but they say we're having global warming! I'm freezing my buns off here, and I can't see out for snowdrifts against my window!" Yes, that's right. The two things go hand in hand.

In simple terms (and the issue is really much more complex), our summers are getting hotter and drier. Hot, dry conditions drive moisture into the atmosphere, with evaporation occurring not just from bodies of water, but from anything with water content (leaves, evergreen needles, even human skin). It remains there until the annual weather patterns shift, at which time it comes back to Earth in force as precipitation, i.e., flood-producing rains, heavy snowfalls. The net result, mapped over a period of decades (as opposed to days, weeks or months), indicates the climatological trend.

Weather or climate? The average American's knowledge of science seems to be limited to the one question they asked as children: where do babies come from? Unfortunately, it seems like many of them still believe they're brought by the stork. Trying to explain climate change/global warming to someone who can't tell you the difference between an amphibian and a reptile is as futile as talking genetics to a Creationist. The brain cells simply aren't there to address.

Taxonomy

Day 144: Anyone who enjoys observing the natural world undoubtedly has at least one field guide on their bookshelf. Some of us maintain a substantial library of them for cross-referencing because information will vary from book to book, some including more detail about habitat or identifying features than others. However, depending on the age of your field guide, you may discover radical variations in the scientific names of species. Why?

The science of naming is called "taxonomy." Its purpose is to provide a roadmap to the hierarchy of any particular species, i.e., to those species which are related to it. More often than not, the species name is in some way descriptive in translation; for example, rotundifolia means round-leaved (rotundi- = round, folium = leaf). Genus names are not as easy to interpret, but they are assigned following certain nomenclatural codes. Even so, they are not carved in stone.

The advent of DNA analysis has stirred the taxonomic pot, particularly in the fields of botany and ornithology. Some species which were formerly thought to belong to one genus have been shown to be related to an entirely different one. In keeping with this new information, species' taxonomy may need to be altered to reflect its true lineage. In the last decade, we have seen a sharp uptick in revised nomenclature, particularly for plant and bird species. If, like me, you enjoy throwing the Latin around, don't rely on your 1960 edition field guide for the correct scientific name. Even those shown in 2018 volumes can be suspect.

Lichenized!

Day 143: Contrary to popular belief, most lichens do not damage the trees on which they live. The fact is, trees under stress from disease or climatological influences are more likely to provide physical niches in which lichens may grow. Organic material and dust particles collect in the cracks of damaged bark, and over time, become the medium in which lichens may take hold. The association between dying trees and the presence of lichens is clear, but the relationship is often misinterpreted. The lichens are misconstrued as the cause of the tree's declining health instead of being a symptom of it. Why, then, do some types of lichen grow on one type of tree and not on another? Lichens' preferences for certain types of tree are due to a number of different factors: acidity, persistence of light/shade, bark porosity, etc. When the species' requirements are met in the proper combination, lichenization will occur.

Two Waters

Day 142: Forget laughter as the best medicine. For me, the most potent restorative is Nature, or as I'm more likely to express it, "Out." When things weigh heavily on my mind or when the aches and pains of age begin to reflect in my disposition, I opt for a dose of Out. I've spent a lot of this week Out (albeit close to home). Don't let the sunny sky fool you. It's cold out there and rather breezy, so my ventures Out have been limited to the brief window of above-freezing temperatures from late morning and mid-afternoon. Out, I can shut off the internal dialog and simply BE, and while that doesn't change a thing, it makes it easier to bear when the world closes in on me again.

Today, I went Out to the confluence of little Ohop Creek and the Nisqually River. It was a short hike for me, a little over three miles total. Only one Pacific Wren and one Black-Capped Chickadee shared the walk with me. It was too early for Caddis-fly "periwinkles" in the creek, too early even for the grass to be greening, although one dandelion's yellow eye stared up at me as I strode by. Nodding inflorescences of Indian-plum showed only winks of white between their sepals, hinting at Spring but still too shy to make a statement. The river rambled on, its rush of conversation drowning the whisper of the creek, and before I'd learned their secrets, it was time to turn toward warmth and home.

Resilience

Day 141: Landscape heather (genus Erica) as is commonly seen in gardens is not too far removed genetically from that found in the alpine meadows (Phyllodoce) and in the highlands of Scotland (Calluna). Like its relatives, it is a resilient, yet vulnerable plant, able to withstand the relentless weight of winter's deep snow and the bitterest cold, yet one which dies beneath an idle, heedless foot-fall when in its full summer sap. It requires an acidic soil in order to thrive, and does not take well to pruning. Its flowers may be pink or white.

Harmful And Invasive Species

Day 140: Today, I have a little quiz for you. The first question is easy: What species has done more to harm its native habitat than any other? Yep, you got it: Homo sap, for whom I would like to propose new nomenclature, i.e. Homo insapiens, the "unwise man."

I'll need to give you a little background before posing the second question. An invasive species is one which creates negative impacts on the environment into which it has been introduced. This can take a number of forms. It may establish a monoculture, snuffing out native species, sometimes to the extent of extinction. Invasives may reduce biodiversity by out-competing native organisms for limited resources. Invasives may permanently alter habitats and ecosystems by disrupting the natural controls which previously maintained a balance between endemic populations. Invasives are usually fast breeders with strong adaptive characteristics. Invasives are frequently biogenic vectors for disease.

Now for Part Two of the quiz: Name a non-native species common to North America, South America and Australia which has proven destructive to endemic populations on all the points listed above. Did I hear anybody suggest those horribly harmful Western Europeans? Go to the head of the class.

A Day At The Office

Day 139: It all began with the Carpenters. No, not the singing Carpenters, you aging hippies. I'm talking about the crew in the Carpentry shop at Longmire. Somewhere in the dim reaches of long ago, the Carpenters decided to host a Thanksgiving turkey dinner for Park employees. Their clever idea was picked up by one of the other Divisions, then another, then another until each Park Division was hosting a "feed" of some sort at various points throughout the year. Interpretation holds their celebration around Valentine's Day, but this year and last, the theme was changed from hearts and cupids to Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras. It was after the party when I, stuffed full of pancakes, sausage and King Cake, walked around the complex at Longmire, hoping to settle the meal sufficiently that I'd be comfortable sitting at my desk for the remainder of the afternoon. Longmire is at its best in the depths of winter, a postcard National Park scene of gingerbread buildings and drippy sugar icing, peopled largely by bundled-up rangers with a few stalwart visitors thrown in for spice. It's a quiet time, with only the voices of the ravens and the knocking of woodpeckers clear and sharp above the muffled noises originating nearer the ground.That's my office, third from the right on the top floor. Those of you who check the webcam see the scene as it appears from the top window second from the left.