Hypoxylon Fuscum

Day 110: When I first encountered Hypoxylon fuscum, I mistook it for a slime mold, an understandable error when you consider its appearance. However, it is fungal, specifically a saprobic "decomposer" which feeds on decaying wood. Its preference for Corylus as a substrate led to the common name of "Hazel Woodwart," but it can affect other hardwoods, and in this instance was growing on Red Alder (Alnus rubra). Its fruiting bodies form clumps which, when fully mature, resemble black raspberries in both size and configuration, but may be white or tan when young. Individual stromata are 2-5 mm. in diameter and 0.5-2 mm in height.

Let's step into the other room for a moment to talk about words. As with most scientific disciplines, botany has its own vocabulary which breaks into even smaller subsets with each specialty. Technical terms can be daunting ("stromata," "saprobic"), but the heavy use of Latin is a stumbling block many people find it difficult to surmount. As I have mentioned before, it becomes easier when you can relate a Latin name to an English word, so let's break "Hypoxylon fuscum" into its component parts.

First of all, there is "hypo-." It means "under" or "beneath." You know what a "hypodermic" does. It puts a medicine under ("hypo-") your skin ("-dermic," from "dermis," i.e., "skin"). "Xylon" also provides an English word, although it's botanical: the xylem layer of a tree contributes to wood formation, "xylon" meaning "wood." As for "fuscum," the root word brings us "obfuscate" which, while it may not be in your everyday vocabulary, you know means to cloud or obscure an issue. "Fuscare" means "to darken," hence "fuscus" means "darkened" or "blackish." And now that we have all that sorted out, I'll leave you to think about what you've learned today.

Sarcoscypha Coccinea, Scarlet Elf Cup

Day 109: It doesn't take a lot of imagination to picture elves and faerie folk sipping their beverages of choice from the elegant goblets of Sarcoscypha coccinea, the "Scarlet Elf Cup" of our Pacific Northwest forests. Normally a late-season species, this specimen was one of two I found while on a hike day before yesterday, and was easily three times the size of the first one I'd spotted. S. coccinea is saprobic, i.e., it is a decomposer which feeds on organic material. It occurs on hardwood, sometimes so well-concealed and buried by other debris that the fungus may appear terrestrial. In this case, its substrate was undoubtedly Red Alder (Alnus rubra), the dominant tree species at this location. I have also found it in association with Bigleaf Maple (Acer macrophyllum). While some field guides list it as edible, the words "in a pinch" come quickly to mind. In a desperate situation, one might find that they took the edge off a ravenous hunger, but they would not be my choice for cream soup or a gravy to go over steak.

Icmadophila Ericetorum, Fairy Barf

Day 108: Let's talk about evolution for a moment, specifically the evolution of language. Language, like any other living organism, evolves over time. Not only do some strains die off, others mutate from their original form, while others spring up seemingly out of nowhere and spread with the rapidity of a virus. Here, I'll give you examples of each scenario.

Yclept. Go on, use it in a sentence. I dare ya. You'll find it in Chaucer, but it had gone extinct by Shakespeare's day. It means to call or to be called. "Oon was Cyrus yclept, and th'othir Galfridus." i.e., "One was called Cyrus, and the other Galfridus." Dead as a doornail, except when someone like me resurrects it for illustrative purposes.

Hippie. In the jazz/swing era, to be called a "hep cat" implied that you were stylish and cool and "with it," but around the time Elvis Presley began making the top of the charts, "hep" got "hip" and moved up a notch linguistically. Somewhat later, the "hippie" generation was born. Oh, and while we're at it, jazz can be "hot" and "cool" simultaneously. Go figure.

Barf. Prior to 1960, you might have upchucked, urped, heaved, etc., and even Shakespeare might have puked, but you never would have barfed if you had eaten a bad meal. "Barf" cropped up spontaneously, its lineage untraceable by serious etymologists who suggested that it was probably imitative of a sound as many other words are known to be, and before long, children everywhere were barfing like crazy. Ugly and crude, it spread quickly among those who were not vaccinated against linguistic disease.

This brings us to Icmadophila ericetorum. When I first heard the common name for this lichen ("fairy barf"), I rejected it completely. Very few lichens have "official" common names, but since I. ericetorum was recognized as a species well before 1960, I felt that the term must have been someone's bad joke. However, "fairy barf" has come to be accepted as the number-one choice when it is listed in lichen field guides. Although I still think the humour in calling it by the phrase is puerile, we're stuck with it. It's easier to say than "Icmadophila ericetorum," although that may be the only point in its favour.

Written By A Lichen

Day 107: What do you suppose has inspired Graphis scripta to leave its unique graffiti on the alder trees along my favourite trail in the Cowlitz Wildlife Area near Mossyrock Dam? Truly the Banksy of the lichen population, these elegant, raised markings are in fact the reproductive structures of the crustose species. They are called lirellae, and if you look closely, you will see that they are split longitudinally, as if scripta's pencil held two adjacent leads. The thallus (body) of the lichen is a thin, greyish-white crust which frequently coats the bark of Red Alder (Alnus rubra) to the extent that the natural colour which gives the tree its name is no longer visible. But science aside, what is scripta writing about? What is it illustrating? I see a little chick just below and slightly left of center, as well as the initial E canted in italics near the lower left edge. You could get lost trying to decipher scripta's code!

A Couple Of Cute Chicks

Day 106: Some of you may have been wondering why, given all the other needlecrafts I do, that I have never mentioned counted cross-stitch. The truth is that I used to do a lot of it, and by "a lot," I mean acres of canvas and miles of thread. Lots. As in "tons," perhaps quite literally. My favourite source for patterns was a magazine which is still published today, but bears very little resemblance to its earlier self. As the changeover to "pink and fluffy" occurred along with a greater emphasis on crafts as opposed to needlearts, I dropped my subscription. Eventually, my interest waned as well, and cross-stitch went on the shelf, only to be trotted out when I needed a gift for someone.

Now it must be said that blackwork doesn't qualify as cross-stitch although some stitches are the same in both techniques. However, there is only room in a home for a limited number of blackwork pieces, and I have my two favourites on the wall of the living room. Still, the urge to create something with needle and floss has been nagging me these last few weeks, and these two cute chicks kept popping into my mental vision. I've stitched this pattern at least half a dozen times as the design at the top of a sampler, and seem to recall that I even made one for myself at one point, framed in dark red broadcloth, but where it is now is a mystery. In any event, I'll have to think of an appropriate verse if it's to hang in my kitchen per the plan.

Fitch's Copper Stars

Day 105: Each time Hoya fitchii (affectionately known as "Fitch") has bloomed, its clusters of coppery stars have been more lush and more numerous. This time, there are enough flowers that I can detect the scent: lily-like, with an overtone of cinnamon. Fitch produces blossoms several times throughout the year as an "intermittent" bloomer, as opposed to a number of other Hoyas which flower in particular seasons. Each species has its cycle, and that information is generally provided by the grower if you are purchasing commercially-raised plants. It's up to you to give your Hoyas the exposure and temperature range they require for flowering, and that may not be as easy as it sounds despite the fact that they are nearly foolproof as houseplants. Fitch is obviously quite happy in a north window, and prefers watering only when his potting soil has become quite dry. When the pot becomes light to lift, I take it down from the hanger, flush the dirt with water until it runs out the drainage holes, and allow it to stop dripping before returning it to the saucer.

Burns Night Supper

Day 104: I am proud of my Scottish heritage despite the fact that it came by way of "the wrong side of the blanket." I have never been quite sure whether it was my grandfather's mother or his grandmother who caught the attention of a McLeod, nor do I know if she was willing or taken by force. In any event, my grandfather went to Scotland to try to solve the mystery of his lineage, and if he did so, it was not related to my mother other than to assure her that she had McLeods of Lewis in her background. Our tartan is often referred to as "the loud McLeod" with variations of the spelling of the family name. I keep with the traditions of my upbringing, and while I would have preferred haggis to Scotch pie for my Burns Night supper, my moral compass will no longer allow me to shop with the butcher who supplied the meat. Scotch pie is made with lamb (if not with organ meats) and I season mine with mace, bay and mixed herbs. The pies are topped with a cornstarch gravy made from lamb drippings and beef broth, and the crusts are a light hot-water pastry. My recipe makes four individual servings. The pies are even better on the reheat, but Scot that I am, the Glen Livet goes back in the cupboard until Burns Night 2023.

Kidney Corner

Day 103: When lichen aficionados talk about getting new kidneys, they probably aren't referring to a medical procedure. I got new Kidneys (Nephroma helveticum) during a short hike yesterday, and really hit the jackpot. The first ones to catch my eye were embedded in the mud of the trail, so obviously out of their proper arboreal habitat that I decided to do a wider survey. Within a foot or so, I found a pencil-sized twig bearing a substantial grouping, and even as I was photographing those, I noticed a second twig covered with a dense colony. As I knelt on the ground, I spotted several more, all on small debris which had been brought down from the canopy into the small opening provided by the trail. Way above my head somewhere, there was a kidney goldmine forever beyond my reach, but Nature had donated so many that I immediately dubbed the spot "Kidney Corner" and put it on my mental map. Need a Kidney? I know where to go.

Hair Ice

Day 102: Hair ice (aka haareis or frost-beard) occurs only under certain conditions, all of which I felt sure were present this morning, and I was not disappointed. This unusual and beautiful ice formation is most likely to be found in northern broadleaf forests. Although temperature and humidity play major roles in its development, the most crucial element is a fungus called Exidiopsis effusa which provides the "scaffold" on which the ice crystals form. The fungus' role is not completely understood, but it has been suggested that it may provide a natural antifreeze which stabilizes the formation of ice crystals. The ice "hairs" form at the openings of medullary rays (a cellular structure formed in active cambium, perpendicular to the growth rings of the plant) and may attain lengths up to eight inches.

Mill-it!

Day 101: It's been a while since I found out that Bob's Red Mill produced a millet flour, and I have to admit I've gotten a little spoiled by having it at my fingertips, ready-made. I used to buy millet in bulk, and although I sometimes used the whole seed in crackers, my primary use for it is as flour, notably substituting it for a portion of the bread flour called for in my favourite sourdough loaf. With Bob's Red Mill in easy reach, the last of my whole seed migrated to the back of the refrigerator freezer and only came to the forefront in response to a sub-vocal question about the contents of the container. "Oh!" said I. "I should grind that and use it up." Thus you see today's project: turning four cups of whole millet into flour. It should only take an hour or so, allowing time for the grain mill to cool down between batches.

Stropharia

Day 100: Stropharia ambigua: the Stropharia about which no one is quite decided as to its edibility. The very Latin tells me all I need to know, because I recall clearly the reason that a local mycological society called their annual get-together and feast the "Survivors' Banquet." Thank you, I intend to be a survivor. Therefore, I don't eat anything even remotely questionable. Mushrooms are not something to mess around with. Many of the poisonous species contain toxins which accumulate in the liver and kidneys, with symptoms which may not appear for years. Mushroom poisoning is not limited to Homo sap. either, and mycotoxins may also be present in organ meats of ruminant species including cattle and deer, if perhaps not in sufficient quantity to cause damage to secondary consumers like humans.

Platismatia Herrei

Day 99: Although I have read nothing to support it, I think of Platismatia herrei (Tattered Rag Lichen) as a canopy species based on personal observation. I generally find it after wind or snow storms when material is brought down from the overstory, as was the case here. If you had asked me if P. herrei occurred on my property, I'd have said no until this morning when, on a routine patrol for "blog shots," I found a bit of it under Big Doug, the enormous Douglas-fir in the northwest corner of my yard. Whether it fell from Big Doug or the smaller Pseudotsuga which stands next to him, I can't say, but I suspect they may both harbour the lichen, tangled as they are in each others' evergreen arms. Who knows? Maybe they even have Kidneys (Nephroma helveticum) up there in their crowns. Now that would be a pleasant surprise!

Xiao Long Bao

Day 98: Yesterday, a much-anticipated large box arrived on my doorstep in a light dry-ice mist: soup dumplings, "Chinese street food" per the label, a gift from my sister-of-the-heart Mousie. All plans for what I was originally intending to eat for dinner went out the window. I simply had to try these right off the mark! And nothing would do but that they should be presented for my dining pleasure in the proper setting, so I climbed up on a chair and pulled my Chinese tableware down from the highest shelf. To prepare the flash-frozen xiao long bao, I lined my aluminum steamer rack with parchment paper and arranged five dumplings with appropriate space between them. After the water had reached the boiling point, I placed the rack inside the pan and steamed them for 11 minutes as directed. Now because a soup dumpling has the soup on the inside, they're a little tricky to eat. You don't just pop one in your mouth, because the soup is quite hot. One method is to open the dumpling with chopsticks. The alternative way is to bite off the top of the cute little twist. In either case, the soup can then be slurped out or poured out into the spoon or a bowl (I did the latter), and then the dumpling itself can be consumed in one or two bites. They were absolutely delicious! Although I don't aspire to making xiao long bao myself, other bao recipes are easier to make from scratch, and at some point in the near future, I'll be giving that a try.

Pluck It

Day 97: When it comes right down to the mechanics, a harpsichord is a much more complicated piece of equipment than its descendant, the piano. For one thing, the strings are plucked, as opposed to being struck. When a key is depressed, its jack is raised in much the same fashion as the jacks on a loom raise the harnesses, and a small projection called a plectrum ticks the string, causing it to sound. When the key is released, the jack drops back into its resting position and the sound is dampened. In other words, if you want a whole note to sound throughout an entire measure, your finger must remain on the key while your other fingers play the remaining notes. In this, the method for playing a harpsichord is similar to that used in playing an organ. My harpsichord is double-voiced, which is to say that each key can cause two strings to be plucked at once ("can," not "must"). I also have the option to lightly damp either voice for a softer tone. It is also rather a pain in the neck to tune, but I've written about that before in all its gruesome detail.

Walker Valley Material

Day 96: More years have passed than I care to count since I dug these specimens out of a hard-rock quarry in northern Washington. They are a few of the better examples of the material which my husband and I collected from Walker Valley. I am given to understand that the site is still open, but my days of swinging a sledge and prying open cracks are long past, and I still bear a few scars inflicted by flying shards and slivers of dark basaltic matrix. Amethyst and citrine as well as clear quartz crystals were the rewards we sought, my husband hoping for facet-quality pieces (we found a few) while I pursued plates for a mineral display. The calcite roses were a surprise to us both. We had not heard that they were present. To me, they were a greater prize than the quartz, having survived truly brutal extraction methods. Although rockhounding at this level is beyond my reach now, the fascination with minerals remains. Like most kids regardless of their chronological age, I still come home from outings with my pockets full of rocks.

Heralds Of Spring

Day 95: Spring is still around a pretty sharp corner at this point, but the snowdrops will be ready to greet it with open arms. I even noticed a few daffodil "toots" poking up through the detritus of last year's garden. It is time to open the seed catalogs, time to dream of vegs and flowers, time to check the supply of pots and soil, and to have all in readiness for planting. This generation, the computer generation, misses out on one of the most delightful springtime occupations: leafing through page after page of unimaginably perfect produce and lush, vivid mats of coloured blooms. It's just not the same, clicking link after link on a computer screen. I have to wonder if seed sales are down because it's such a tedious process. We called them "wish books," those catalogs which soon became dog-eared with repeated perusal. They let us compare, review, reference, and all with only a quick turn of a piece of flimsy paper. There was no waiting for the images to load. They were right there, right before your eyes: tomatoes in Technicolor, ranks of radishes, lavish lettuces and a fantasy of floral beauty one could almost smell. Mine invariably found a place on the kitchen table where I could enjoy them with my meals, dreaming of fresh corn and red-ripe strawberries. Yes, it's time to start looking ahead, and I can tell you this: the companies which will get my business are those which still send me printed material which, in a pinch, I could compost or use as mulch.

A Foot And A Half

Day 94: "The world needs more silly." Friends often hear me say that, so here's a fit of the sillies, Crow-style. A friend gave me some utterly delightful merino/nylon "washable-wool" fingering yarn for Christmas which I immediately assigned to become a new pair of socks. I started the first one about a week ago using the wrong pattern and didn't realize it until I had the cuff done. I ripped it out and started over with 12 additional stitches. By the end of the day, I had a new cuff. Socks are fairly quick and fun, so I've split the work into daily goals: cuff, heel and gusset, foot and toe, i.e., three days per sock. As you can tell, I have a foot and a half done (actually, a foot and two-thirds, but for the sake of preserving the visual pun, we'll leave it at this).

Huernia Procumbens

Day 93: Huernia procumbens (Pointed Star Lifesaver Plant) is proving to be a bit more difficult to bring into bloom than its showier cousin, H. zebrina. I suspect that my watering schedule is to blame because either too much or too little soil moisture can cause buds to drop before they are fully formed. The Huernias were formerly classified as stapeliads, but are now considered to be a distinct genus. Like true stapeliads, the flowers emit a smell akin to rotting meat, fortunately not noticeable when grown in the home. Accordingly, they attract small flies which are the plant's primary pollinators in nature. The second half of the Latin binomial refers to the trailing (procumbent) habit of the stems. Grown in a hanging basket, the stems of mine frequently have to be pruned back to prevent them from tangling in the Christmas cactuses on the shelf below. In the wild, these "trailers" often separate from the parent plant and readily root where they fall.

Good As Their Word

Day 92: Our little rural power company is as good as their word. They promised that they would be sending out crews to perform "more aggressive limbing" to help prevent future power outages this winter, and I was both happy and sad to see them working across the road this morning. While I appreciate their attempts to keep my electricity running, the birdies are not happy about losing the branches from which they can observe the feeders and my activity. That said, the "Crow Tree" has recently become a haven for Red-Winged Blackbirds, a species I consider almost as bad a pest as Starlings.Unhomed from their observation posts, the Blackbirds descended on the feeders as soon as the limbing crew left. I dispatched them with a loud clap of my hands, and watched them do a group double-take when they discovered their perches were missing. In the final telling, if I have power and a few less Blackbirds, I'll be happy.

It Wasn't Galileo

Day 91: The Galileo Thermometer wasn't invented by Galileo, despite what you may believe. He did, however, discover the principle which makes it work, i.e., that the density of a liquid changes as it heats up or cools down. Operation of the thermometer is based on the density of the liquid OUTSIDE the floating balls, which is usually ethanol or some other liquid which is more strongly affected by changes in temperature than the coloured water inside the bulbs. The weights attached to the bottoms of the balls are engraved with degrees, usually in 2-4 degree increments. Room temperature can be ascertained by reading the number on the highest ball and interpolating depending on where the second-highest is suspended. Yes, it's too warm in here. The wind is out of the north today, and that drives my heat pump crazy.

Dreamy And Creamy

Day 90: What with the holidays and all, it slipped my mind entirely that I had two spindles of Blue-Faced Leicester handspun waiting to be wet down to set the twist. I realized it only when I began spinning some dyed Corriedale and discovered that I only had three empty. I only have five to my name, which ensures that I won't get too far ahead of myself on single-ply, although sometimes I really wish I had a sixth one. Unfortunately, the model which fits my wheel hasn't been available for decades. In any event, because I will also be plying the Corriedale (I always ply my yarns), I needed to free up the spindles. For the last three days, I've had sheep in my shower. Now you might notice that this is a fairly fine yarn. In fact, it is a fingering weight at 87 yards/oz., and should be knit up on #2 needles.

The Medlar Project

Day 89: The principle is sound. The practice needs perfecting. I cooked the medlar jelly too long, and it set to the consistency of taffy. That said, further experimentation yielded a solution: add a little water to each jar, reheat in a pan of hot water as if de-crystallizing honey, and allow to cool. The jelly will reset because it contains no pectin other than what was in the fruit. Next year, I want to try adapting the recipe to use commercial pectin, but this year's medlar windfall produced four half-pints and four 4-ounce jars of very tasty garnet-coloured jelly. The flavour eludes description. There is a hint of lemony tartness, a slight similarity to persimmon, perhaps a pleasantly earthy overtone suspended in an exotic and aromatic honey. It tastes...well, it tastes like medlars, deliciously so. It would be excellent as a chutney with pork, as mint jelly goes with lamb. Despite the issue of the too-firm set, I would call the experiment a success. It just needs a bit of refining.

The Grand Experiment

Day 88: The Grand Experiment is under way, and if it tastes half as good as it smells, I will be quite pleased. A windfall of medlars yielded eight cups of liquid after being simmered gently for an hour per batch. This "juice" was then frozen to await final processing into jelly. Review of several pectinless recipes on YouTube suggested roughly one cup of sugar per cup of liquid. For the record, I decided to use seven cups of sugar. Now the boiling begins. Once the jelly has reached the "set" point (to be determined by dropping a bit of it on a chilled plate), I will jar it up. I couldn't resist sampling the sweetened juice, and I'm sure it's going to validate the time involved in bletting the fruit in a corner of my kitchen.

One Tough Puzzle

Day 87: Being snowed in affords an excellent opportunity to work on jigsaw puzzles, and I do love tough ones! One of my sisters-of-the heart is a professional photographer, and created this 1000-piece puzzler's daydream/nightmare from one of her own images as a gift to me after I remarked on it. There is very little colour in the scene: a marcescent oak (more on that in a minute) and some vaguely green lichen, very little visual variation beyond sky, snow and the brighter trunks. Even so, when laid out on four cookie sheets for analysis, you'd have said that every piece was identical. What I did not notice at the time is that there is a Snowy Owl perched in one of the darker sections between the trunks. It did not provide a starting point, to say the least. The edge went together quickly, and the brown foliage of the oak was relatively easy to sort. However, from that point on, the challenge began. Even when I was down to the last twenty pieces, I was still having trouble fitting them in. For a 1000-piece puzzle to take me more than three days to complete is rare. This one took eight!

Now about that marcescent oak...in Patty's description of the scene, she explained the phenomenon whereby some deciduous trees (particularly oaks) hang onto their leaves instead of dropping them as most others do. She used the word "marcescence" which was new to me, and being able to add a new word to my vocabulary was a gift in and of itself. I thought I'd try it out on Arnie, since he and I swap obscure words from time to time. Neither Arnie nor his wife knew the word, nor did the third botanist visiting them. Obviously, we'll all be doing more reading on the subject.

Earthtones

Day 86: Humans have a profound capacity for self-delusion. We continually trip ourselves up with belief in permanence; that which is shall always be. We do not learn from abundant experience to the contrary. I'm sure some of you will remember when vinyl records disappeared from store shelves seemingly overnight, to be replaced by shiny silver CDs and devices on which to play them. That particular event took me entirely by surprise, having had no inkling that a changeover was in the works. That may have been one of the more dramatic lessons given in the schoolhouse of disappearing products because it happened so abruptly, unlike tube radios and televisions gradually giving way to advanced technology. However, the major changes in availability bother me less than the small ones. They seem less personal when they affect a larger segment of society. The small ones seem aimed at me personally, to wit, the recent discontinuance of my favourite sock yarn. I was blissfully unaware that it had occurred until I decided to pick out a colour for a new pair of tootsie-warmers. None of my usual suppliers carried it, nor any other yarn marketed under the same brand name. Frustrated and not a little perturbed, I soon discovered that the product I wanted is no longer being manufactured. I did not want to purchase a yarn with which I had never physically handled, so I retired to my chair in a fit of pique. No new socks for me! Or so I thought. On Christmas morning, I opened a gift which had been direct-shipped from an artisanal fiber-works, and there did my wondering eyes behold two skeins of soft superwash Merino fingering weight, hand-dyed in the most luscious autumn colours. Thank you, Di!

Bigfoot

Day 85: Don't tell me Bigfoot doesn't exist. I have evidence. Night before last, he entered my yard, dug a pit in the snow to ground level measuring a good 3 x 4 feet and a foot deep while scrabbling for sunflower seeds beneath the bird feeder. I followed his tracks to the garbage can where he was frustrated by the lid, at which point he left to visit the neighbour's more accessible refuse. That, my dear readers, is one whopping big raccoon. We do grow them big around here, but this is the largest track I have ever seen in my yard. My own hand would leave a mark only an inch or so larger from heel to fingertips.

'Dee In The Tree

Day 84: The season of Elf on a Shelf is done and dusted. Now we have 'Dee in a Tree. Imagine, if you will, that you are a hawk circling overhead in the hopes of finding a quick breakfast. Your eyesight is particularly keen and your perception of colour far exceeds that of humans. Do you think you'd spot the 'dee in the tree, garbed as he is in hues which imitate not only light and shadow, but the warm brown of catkins and bark? The Dee in the Tree is a master of disguise. He's also a master of concealment. Perched in the tangle of the contorted filbert, from above he would appear as one more blob of snow caught in the branches. Should a perceptive hawk discern his camouflage, he can always retreat into the deeper maze of branches for protection. Our little Chickadee friend is cautious nevertheless, only making quick forays to the feeder, returning to the sanctuary of twigs to dine at his leisure. Today, the hawk will go wanting unless a foolish mouse goes out snowshoeing at a time when all wise rodents should be in their dens.

Nut

Day 83: Something of an oddity at my house, Nut always surprises me when he shows up, and even moreso when he does it in winter. I've been seeing Red-breasted Nuthatches more often since the Chickadees began coming to the feeders a few years ago, but never more than two or three at a time. This acrobatic visitor seems to be a solo, and he much prefers suet to seed, although he'll accept the latter in a pinch. He doesn't mind sharing with the Juncos or the 'Dee-dees, but his tolerance for Siskins is rather low. It must be mentioned here that for their size, Siskins can be quite intimidating when they stand up to larger birds. Even the Varied Thrush gives them a wide berth, not wanting to be pecked with those needle-sharp little beaks. Red-breasted Nuthatches (Sitta canadensis) are known to associate with Chickadees and sometimes loot their nests for feathers with which to pad their own constructions. They also are known to hang out with Kinglets, as do Chickadee species.

Slime Molds On OPB

Day 82: Roughly a year and a half ago, I was approached through the Park by a a filmographer from Oregon Public Broadcasting who wanted to know if I would be interested in helping him create a documentary on slime molds. Of course I said yes, but covid threw a monkey wrench in the works and it wasn't until May this last year that we were able to start planning for a field trip. I was worried that we wouldn't be able to find any. They aren't exactly predictable. As it turned out, the date the film crew picked couldn't have been better. We found at least six species, and they were pleased with the material they'd gathered for the documentary. They told me then that it probably wouldn't air until after the first of the year, possibly not until spring. Well, the video was released today. You can watch it on their channel on You Tube: Slime Molds Are Gorgeous

C For Ceiling

Day 81: There are a number of different versions of the mnemonic for "stalactite" versus "stalagmite." I learned it as "C for ceiling, G for ground," i.e., "stalaCtite" as opposed to "stalaGmite." Did you know that there is a related term for the structure created when the two of them meet? Oh, you could call them "pillars" or "columns" and be equally correct, but I much prefer the less frequently used word "stalagnate." I have examples of all three, rendered in sparkling ice, on the various corners of my house. It is a less-than-optimum condition, and unless I had taken up a vigil outdoors overnight, unpreventable. The best I can do at this point is knock them free and hope that the gutters and downspouts are up to the task ahead of them. Temperatures have crept above 32 degrees, and snow level is predicted to rise to 3500 feet mid-week. Is a flood next on the list of PNW weather events? Time will tell.

Love And Kisses

Day 80: What better way to start the new year off right than with new weaving projects! At some point in November, I set myself a goal to finish everything on my various looms before New Year's Day. Surprising even to me, I took the last piece off on Christmas, leaving every loom in the house empty, and that was a situation not to be endured for long. I warped the inkle and and started weaving another variation on sheep (grey on green this time), but the bonker loom was nagging me. I wanted to make a "little hearts" band to try out a slightly different method for winding the warp. I set it up yesterday, wove a foot or so before bedtime, and was interested to see that the design on the reverse was as attractive as the face of the band. Hearts on the front, Xs and Os on the back...what could I call it besides "Love and Kisses?" May you also get off to a fresh start in 2022!