Garden Colour

Day 230: Today, we are having garden colour because what else can you do in between phone calls to CenturyLink to see what the newest "estimated repair time" will be for restoration of internet service? You wander around in the yard taking pictures of flowers, common flowers like Columbine and Bleeding-hearts. And then you dig out some old wooden fence posts, plant some lettuce, pull some weeds, do some needlework, read a little, play with the kitty, feed birds, and engage in the most purple blasphemous words when aforesaid CenturyLink changes the time frame from 9:30 AM to 2:30 PM, from 2:30 PM to 7 PM, from 7 PM to 9:30 AM tomorrow, and when tomorrow has dawned, from 9:30 AM to 3:30 PM. "Our technicians are already working on it." And on Memorial Day weekend, of course they are! And my grandmother is a bicycle. Hello. I'm back. And as Eeyore once remarked, "At least it isn't raining."

Symphytum Officinale, Common Comfrey

Day 229: Let's get one thing straight right here at the onset. I don't give a flying ding-dong how useful Comfrey is as a medicinal herb. The fact is, Symphytum officinale is a mettlesome and persistent invasive, and the property next door to mine is full of it. I have been fighting its spread into my yard for over thirty years, but because the owner of the land does nothing to control it, it continues to spring up on my side of the fence. Unfortunately, the county does not mandate treatment of it. From a distance, it could be mistaken for our native "bluebell" Mertensia paniculata, but closer examination of or contact with the stems will quickly demonstrate otherwise. The fine, stiff hairs (inset) are very prickly and irritating to the skin as anyone who has tried to pull it will attest. It has a long taproot which must be dug out entirely to prevent the plant from coming back. I can only hope to keep my yard free of it. As for its likely incursion into adjacent properties, the other neighbour and the county are on their own.

Papermaking

Day 228: Sometimes all it takes is a gentle nudge to inspire me to drag out some craft I haven't done in years. A friend mentioned that she had seen a post from someone who was making "seed paper," so I went closet-mining and found my papermaking kit where it had migrated to the bottom of a stack of boxes of more frequently used items, almost causing me to lose interest in the project because it was so deeply buried. In fact, I closed the cupboard door on it once, but the idea persisted in nagging. "Do I really want to do this?" I asked myself, and shortly thereafter had all the equipment including a very large vat of water set up in my kitchen. I ran a bagful of paper through the shredder to make it easier to pulp and in a mere hour or so, I had several sheets and four rounds of pretty green paper drying under weight. I prefer to press the wet sheets rather than ironing them. Allowing them to dry naturally prevents the buckling known as "cockle and curl." Making the rounds was the first step in preparing for the final process of making seed paper. Why I want it to be circular is anyone's guess (perhaps to fit in flower pots), but I do not believe anyone produces a circular deckle commercially, so I made my own (two sizes) out of cheap wooden embroidery hoops and a bit of fiberglass window screen. This morning, I engaged in the second phase of the experiment: adding seeds to the paper. I used some celery seed from my spice shelf to test two methods: adding seed to the surface of a wet sheet, and mixing it directly in with the pulp before pouring. Both ways worked, but I believe I got better distribution by sprinkling the seeds on the wet paper. I will be saving seed from my garden as plants mature this summer to produce seed paper later in the year.

Surprise Calendula

Day 227: Between the back wall of my house and the detached garage, there is a strip of ground roughly 10 feet wide. A portion of the space is taken up by wood and concrete covers concealing an old well and a pit occupied by the captive-air tank which provides pressure to my domestic water supply. Weeds and tough grasses filled in the remainder when I moved in over thirty years ago, and after digging much of it out, I discovered that the underlying soil was too poor to support much of anything else. The plot became known as the Barren Wasteland, and I took it as a challenge to my horticultural skills. Much of what I planted there failed quickly, either not germinating or not returning the following year. I threw out packages of "wildflower mix," knowing that I'd have to weed out some of the invasives which the packages promised were "selected for your area," but I needn't have worried because for many years, the only success story was written in California Poppies, something I really didn't want to take over my yard. I dug, I weeded, I added modest soil amendments as the budget would allow (after all, I wasn't planning to grow vegetables in the plot), and I transplanted a few durable natives in the hopes that their chemistry would begin to convert the soil to something more plant-friendly. Likewise, I moved a few favourites in from the other flower beds and eventually, the Barren Wasteland began looking less barren. Today, you wouldn't recognize it as waste ground. Admittedly, it's shaggy and unkempt: a "cottage garden," if you will, with no organization, no structure, a testament to those survivors who now possess it with a determined grip, including a few surprise Calendulas which drifted in on a favourable wind and decided to settle there.

Chipping Sparrow, Spizella

Day 226: And here's another little stinker who should have showed up for Big Day, but declined: Chipping Sparrow (Spizella passerina). His facial characteristics distinguish him from similar chestnut-hatted Brewer's and Clay-coloured Sparrows, most notably the black line which crosses the eye. The loral stripe can be difficult to observe (i.e., the portion of the line between the eye and the beak), particularly in young birds, but it is absent in the other two species. Except during breeding season when they consume insects, their diet consists primarily of small seeds like those found on grasses and weeds, but they will also take black-oil sunflower seed from feeders if smaller seed is unavailable. This one was having a heyday with the dandelions alongside my driveway.

Wild Ginger, Asarum Caudatum

Day 225: Wild Ginger is one of my favourite native plants, and a few years ago, I was delighted to discover a substantial population on the undeveloped property immediately adjacent to mine. I successfully transplanted a couple to a similar habitat in my yard, and they are beginning to spread. However, they're not yet in bloom, so I hopped the fence to find an open flower which, I'm sure you'll agree, has a very interesting shape. The long filaments at the tips of the petals are recognized in the plant's Latin name, Asarum caudatum. "Caudatum" means "having a tail." One unvarying question crops up whenever I mention the English name: "Is it edible?" I try to be patient with the people who ask, but I find it extremely annoying. We are adults here, not babies. Why should we want to put everything in our mouths? Can we not appreciate something for its beauty, for its rarity, for its uniqueness without wanting to turn it into food? Perhaps we're not so far removed from primitive Homo as we like to imagine ourselves.

Rhipsalidopsis

Day 224: Commercial growers seem to have settled on "Rhipsalidopsis gaertneri" as the specific epithet for this cactus, although the taxonomic community would now argue for genus Schlumbergera, having abandoned both "Hatiora," "Rhipsalis" and "Epiphyllum" as obsolete. As far as I'm concerned, I've given up trying to keep track of its nomenclatural leaps. I bought it as Rhipsalidopsis, and I'm going to stick with that since it gives me a way to distinguish Rhip from Hattie when I address them with admiration of their blossoms. Not all of my plants are distinguished in this manner. The Hoya collection contains other individuals besides Fitch and Bella, but perhaps that is because those plants have been the two which bloom regularly for me. Knob and Saturday are also members of my indoor garden, sitting among nameless companions. In any event, Rhip is a star among my troupe of performers, its bright red flowers bright and often abundant when they appear in spring. It is also called "Spring Cactus" or "Easter Cactus," although mine usually misses Easter by a good month or more. Its season coincides closely with Hattie's, sometimes overlapping, sometimes following to share or replace Hattie on the mantelshelf, a place of honour reserved for the bloomers in my home.

The Cart, The Horse

Day 223: Sometimes the relative positions of the proverbial Cart and Horse are not easily within our control. I bought an Instant Pot and my initial experiment involved making jasmine rice, a task apparently beyond the skills of the Aroma rice cooker for some reason, and I was so pleased with the results from the IP that I decided to move to a significantly higher level of Pot use: yogurt. I happened to have some Greek yogurt in the fridge to use as a starter, and after reviewing dozens of YouTube videos (most of which prided themselves on being "no-boil" methods requiring ultra-pasteurized milk), I elected to use a "boil" method similar to that in the instructions for my old yogurt-maker. The process was very simple: bring standard whole milk to 180 degrees on "sauté," cool it to 110, add the starter culture and let the Pot do the rest. Eight hours from the time I set the IP to "Yogurt," I had...yes, yogurt. It seemed a bit loose, and in any event, I wanted Greek-style yogurt, so I poured it into a jelly bag and put it in the fridge overnight. In the morning, I had...yogurt cream cheese! Two hours probably would have been sufficient to leave it the consistency of Greek yogurt. Nine hours produced a bagful of the most delicious yogurt cheese imaginable (and salt-free!). This was the Cart, coming well before the Horse of bagels which I just harnessed and brought out of the oven stable. Little backwards there, but in the end, a very tasty lunch, and I can tell you this: I will never buy commercial cream cheese again.

Little Mac

Day 222: Just as the buds were swelling last year, some varmint came along and nipped the top off little Mac, my "pet" Corallorhiza maculata, bringing her season to an untimely end. However, this year, she's sending up two stems, and I've put a low cage of chicken wire around her which should deter deer, if not slugs. I suspect last year's culprit was a deer or elk because the tip was cropped off about eight inches from ground level and in any event, slugs are something I don't see often in my yard (curious, that, but I won't complain). The Corallorhizas are mycoheterotrophic, i.e., they rely on a fungal partner to convert soil nutrients into a form the plant can utilize. Here, I want to add that there is again a raging debate about whether this is true mycoheterotrophy or a parasitic relationship in which the fungus gains nothing from its partner. One school of thought insists that it is parasitism, but to my way of thinking, it only looks like parasitism because we haven't figured out what the fungus is getting out of the deal. Since some Corallorhizas are very particular about which fungal partner they will accept, logic tells me that the relationship is agreeable going both ways or it would not persist. Despite our inability to determine what benefit the fungus derives, it doesn't necessarily follow that it derives nothing. That kind of closed-minded attitude in science leads down a dead-end road.

American Goldfinch, Spinus Tristis

Day 221: This male American Goldfinch (Spinus tristis) capped off Global Big Day in the early evening of May 14, although I had already recorded the female of the species at the feeder. I had been worried that he wouldn't show up to be a spot of colour in my collage, but he obligingly perched in the contorted filbert for his portrait. Formerly known as Carduelis tristis, American Goldfinch holds the honour of being the state bird for Washington as well as for Iowa and New Jersey. Goldfinch pairs nest later in the summer than most other birds, and line their nests with fluff from dandelions, thistles and asters, the seeds of which also supply much of their natural food. At the feeder, they are said to prefer sunflower seed and nyger, but in my observations, they won't give nyger a second glance if sunflower seed is available. As a sidebar here, I introduced an invasive weed (Ambrosia artemisifolia) to my yard from a bag of nyger, so I no longer use it. In any event, I was glad to see Mr. Goldfinch at the close of Big Day, and for the record, I have now observed two visitors who did not show up for the event: Northern Flicker and Yellowthroat. I guess they didn't get the memo.

Happy Hattie

Day 220: Longevity is not something a person normally considers when bringing a houseplant into their home. We may remember that the last orchid we purchased at great detriment to our grocery budget survived less than a month, or that the Maranta ("Prayer Plant") turned leggy after half a year, and that all attempts to prune it back into the compact shape which had attracted us in the first place failed miserably. We may recall grocery-store African violets with brown and soggy stems, a Ficus holding onto its last few leaves in a dark corner of the dining room, withered begonias, jade trees gone silvery with Botrytis mildew. Overall, when getting a houseplant, we don't expect it to live forever. In fact, we generally accept that its lifespan is less than that of a cat or dog, and we're fine with that. But every now and then, there is a notable exception to the rule. My Hatiora was started from a slip between 40 and 50 years ago. It has had a few rough patches to get through, but it is still in a four-inch pot, and still rewarding me with its beautiful flowers. It has endured underwatering, sunburning and chills with very little complaint other than the occasional dropped tip. And whether its correct taxonomy places it in Rhipsalidopsis or Hatiora has ceased to concern me. What matters is that Hattie (as I call her) appears to be happy under my care.

Let This Be A Lesson

Day 219: Let this be a lesson to you...or in my case, a reminder of something I had forgotten from fifty years ago: flour matters. A month or so ago, I inadvertently ran out of flour. When I pulled out what should have been a new bag, it turned out to be sugar instead. Suffice to say that this put me in a panic because it was almost Bread Day, and there wasn't enough in the countertop canister for a loaf. I checked my grocery store on line and was surprised to see that they were out of Gold Medal, the only brand of bread flour I've used in half a century. I looked at two other stores. They were also out, so I went back to my usual store and ordered their house brand. When Bread Day arrived, I used a combination of what was left in the canister and the new flour, and thought that my loaf was a little slow to rise. The next time I made bread, the slow rise was undeniable. A subsequent loaf was also slow to rise and the texture was dense...like my head, which hadn't made the obvious connection yet. Instead, I assumed my sourdough start had lost some of its potency, so I strengthened it over a period of several days with feedings. When I made the sponge for my next loaf, it behaved properly in the early stages, but again, the loaf was reluctant and heavy. By now, I had gone through most of the five-pound bag of house-brand flour and was on the verge of buying another one because I was again having trouble locating Gold Medal bread flour at any of the stores near me. At some point in my search, the little lightbulb in my brain came on. It was the flour's fault! I persisted in my search for Gold Medal until I found it, bought the few bags the store had in stock, and made a perfect loaf after consigning the remainder of the house brand to cookies.

Chestnut-backed Chickadee, Poecile Rufescens

Day 218: For years, I was jealous of photographers who captured images of chickadees sitting on peoples' hands, perching on a camera lens, taking seeds daintily from someone's fingers. For that matter, I was jealous of people who could get close to chickadees anywhere, let alone make personal contact. I had chickadees galore in the shrubbery opposite my home, on the other side of the road, but none ever seemed to venture into my yard. I planted bushes and trees to provide better habitat for them, and my efforts were finally rewarded a few years ago when the first Chestnut-backed Chickadees showed up, two of them, and as it turned out, they were a pair. My yard population grew. Then one day, I spotted a Black-capped Chickadee in the contorted filbert. I was overjoyed. After a close approach by one of the Chessies, I decided to hold Chickadee Training to see if I could get one to accept seed from my hand. It happened quicker than I had any right to expect, and soon I had them arguing over who got to sit in my palm, who had to remain on my wrist, and who got to go down inside the canful of seeds under my arm to eat in leisure. But being a scientist, I couldn't help but notice one important thing: the birds who were most comfortable with me were almost all Chessies. The Black-capped 'dees would fly in as if they were going to land on my outstretched hand, but almost invariably decided to retreat to the safety of the filbert. Some would occasionally perch on the feeder beside me, but on the rare times one of them would perch on my palm, the contact lasted only a few seconds. On the flip side, the Chessies would let me walk around while carrying them, and sometimes I'd have to hoist one out of the can if I wanted to go back inside. This raises a question I will probably never be able to answer: Why is one species shy and the other friendly? What pressures could have resulted in such different behaviours in two very similar birds?

Red-breasted Nuthatch, Sitta Canadensis

Day 217: Nut (Red-breasted Nuthatch, Sitta canadensis) surprised me by being one of the earliest birds to show up on Global Big Day. He's usually rather shy and only puts in brief appearances, but in this case, he hung around (quite literally) on the suet feeder for minutes at a time. However, he was inclined to present the typical view of the species more often than not (kindly refer to the lower image), and was not being at all obliging with a portrait pose. During the day, he returned repeatedly, even when I was sitting out in the yard, so eventually I was able to capture an image which portrayed his field markings.

These delightful little creatures are cavity-nesters, and have the peculiar habit of collecting globs of conifer resin to smear around the periphery of their entryway. They have been observed to use bits of tree bark to spread the "spackle," but the purpose of this is unclear. Some think it is to deter larger predatory birds. Others suggest that it serves to prevent insects from entering the nest. Like Chickadees (for which they are sometimes mistaken), they may carry a particularly tough seed to a branch where they can insert it in a crack to be held while the bird pecks it open.

As a footnote to Nut's obliging personal appearance on Big Day, who should show up three days late to the party? The Northern Flicker was at the suet feeder yesterday.

Band-tailed Pigeon, Patagioenas Fasciata

Day 216: If I could, I would say a favourable word about Band-tailed Pigeons (Patagioenas fasciata, syn. Columba fasciata). I would gladly praise their redeeming merits if they had any, but the fact of the matter is that they are my least favourite bird, even surpassing Starlings and Red-winged Blackbirds on the annoyance scale. They are gluttons, cleaning out my bird feeders if my vigilance relaxes for more than three minutes. At this time of year, I spend a sizeable portion of my day rushing at the window, arms flapping, screaming, "Get out of here, you (redacted) pigeons!" This acts only to shift them over onto the power line, so I go out to the kitchen, slide back the door, clap my hands loudly four or five times, sending them off into the trees. By the time I've returned to my chair, two or three of them will invariably be back. They are the largest of North American pigeons, and in my opinion, certainly the most obnoxious.

It's Behind Me, Isn't It?

Day 215: Don't turn around! Don't look! It's behind you! As he felt as the feeder rise like a teeter-totter when a significant weight landed on the far end, this Goldfinch must have thought the monster was catching up to him fast. I've often described Evening Grosbeaks as resembling a much larger version of a Goldfinch, but having the two birds side by side in proximity really points up the size difference. When you can only observe one bird, it is difficult to say, "That one's about the size of a sparrow" or "Big as a Steller's Jay, that one!" In trying to determine whether you're seeing a Raven as opposed to a Crow without the two side by side, an estimate of size is a poor tool because objects at a distance are almost impossible to judge. You need to learn the other identifying features. In the case of Goldfinch vs. Grosbeak, that's fairly easy. The Goldfinch is brighter yellow with very little darker shading on the neck and back. During mating season, Grosbeaks' heavier bills turn chartreuse, and a Goldfinch's dainty beak is pinkish.

Big Day Collage

Day 214: First, a disclaimer. These images represent some (but not all) of the 25 species observed from my yard on Global Big Day. All but one of the photos (Anna's Hummer, female) was taken over the two-day period of May 13-14, but each represents a species/sex observed on my Big Day. I knew I'd be busy birding, but even so, I processed over 400 pictures yesterday. The quality is poor in some of these (notably the Raven, taken at 95x zoom and the Violet-green Swallow, taken at 75x zoom), and I would have liked a better representation of the male Red-winged Blackbird, but the males know to fly off when they see me. I'll be posting larger versions of some of the better photos over the next week or so.

There were some notable absences on Big Day. The Varied Thrush declined to put in an appearance, as did the Golden-crowned Sparrow. Song Sparrow didn't show, nor did Northern Flicker. I haven't seen a Red-breasted Sapsucker yet this year, and didn't expect one. Species seen but not photographed include Canada Goose (heard, unmistakably, in numbers) and Black-capped Chickadee, who persisted in hiding deep within the branches of the contorted filbert to eat his seeds. The male Goldfinch presented himself last of all, capping off a pretty darn good backyard Big Day.

Identification key (left to right, top to bottom):
Row 1: Anna's Hummingbirds (male and female), Chestnut-backed Chickadee, Dark-eyed Junco, Rufous Hummingbirds (male and female)
Row 2: American Robin, Purple Finch, Evening Grosbeaks (male and female), Mourning Dove, Band-tailed Pigeon
Row 3: Northwestern Crows, Spotted Towhee, American Goldfinch (male and female), Red-breasted Nuthatch, Common Raven
Row 4: Pine Siskin, Steller's Jay, Black-headed Grosbeaks (male and female), White-crowned Sparrow, European Starling
Row 5: Brown-headed Cowbirds (male and female), Tree Swallow, Violet-green Swallow, Red-winged Blackbirds (male and female)

Global Big Day

Day 213: You don't need to travel to have a Big Day! It's only 7:30 AM and already I've counted 16 species in my yard. The weather is abominable (another reason for enjoying a Big Day from the comfort of my home). I doubt I'll see anything rare from my perch in the living room or from my back porch, but I can still enjoy a Big Day. So far, my biggest thrill was that the Red-Breasted Nuthatch showed up for breakfast, and I've ticked off both our local chickadees. Some of the more common birds have yet to put in an appearance. The Rufous Hummingbirds arrived with the dismal dawn, but the Anna's hummers (male, above) aren't out of bed yet. I'm getting as many photos as I can. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious birding to do, and I'll post the results tomorrow.

Black-headed Grosbeak, Pheucticus Melanocephalus

Day 212: Collectively and colloquially (at least in the argot spoken in my yard), they're Parrots. Not Porch Parrots, just Parrots. "Porch Parrot" is a phrase reserved for Evening Grosbeaks, and if you've been following along for any time, you will have heard the story of how they earned their nickname several times. Nevertheless, the beaks alone are enough to stipulate that Black-headed Grosbeaks (Pheucticus melanocephalus) are also Parrots, but I have never assigned them a further distinction. Yard Parrots, maybe? That seems too bland for such a striking bird. They are seasonal here, as were the Porch Parrots in the dim beginnings, although now a few of the latter stick around all year, recognizing that there's a good thing going in terms of a reliable diet of black-oil sunflower seed even when three feet of snow covers the ground. The Black-heads haven't figured that out yet, but they have learned the trick of coming to the window to glare at me when the feeder goes empty. Even if I'm involved in needlework or on the computer, I can feel that stare on the back of my neck, and yes, I respond accordingly. Currently, the vast majority of birds at my feeders are Evening Grosbeaks and Black-headed Grosbeaks, with a liberal sprinkling of Pine Siskins, Goldfinches and assorted sparrows for spice. But there are others, and tomorrow is Global Big Day. I probably won't have to leave my living room to get a count of at least twenty species.

Occupied

Day 211: The swallows were a week or more late in arriving this spring, and only a few days later, we were hit with an unseasonable snowfall which laid six inches on the ground. Cold temperatures and light snow persisted for over a week. The swallows disappeared, perhaps rethinking their summer vacation plans, and I did not see another one until last week. It checked out the rental options from a respectable difference, leading me to the conclusion that this was not one of my former tenants or one of their offspring, but someone new who was unfamiliar with the territory. The houses are visible from my kitchen window, allowing me to keep a fairly close eye on them for activity, and a couple of days later, a chickadee was seen investigating Pussywillow Cottage at the far end of the garage. Next, I spotted a swallow in the doorway of the House of Chirp. The lease has been signed! Now the big question is whether or not this couple will have time to raise a brood in between our current cold snap and the first heat wave of the year. Tree Swallows like the current occupants incubate their eggs for 13-16 days. The young require another 16-24 days before they are ready to leave the nest.

Pita Pockets

Day 210: The pandemic has left people with a lot more time on their hands, and many of us have turned to new hobbies or picked up old ones again for the first time in many years. I can only do needlework for a limited number of hours per day, so I've reverted to cooking as an alternate. I've always enjoyed baking, but not so much preparing meals. Friends have often heard me say that if it takes more than one pan and five minutes prep time, I'm not going to bother making it. The exception to that rule is ethnic dishes. I like the challenge presented by trying to recreate some of my restaurant favourites, as you will no doubt recall from earlier posts about cooking Chinese. That said, my favourite sandwich is gyros, and let's settle one thing right here at the outset: the word "gyros" is singular, and it is pronounced YEE-ros. It means "to turn" and gives us the English words "gyrate," "gyroscope" and others, but note that the hard G is an Anglicization. I repeat, the word for the rotisseried meat is "gyros," said YEE-ros, and don't argue with me. It has also come to mean the whole sandwich as popularized by Greek-American restaurants.

This week has had a decidedly Greek flavour. I made spanakopita a few days ago to have something to eat while the gyros was/were in preparation. Then I made a baked version of the meat and tzadziki sauce, both of which needed to rest in the fridge for at least 12 hours. But key to the whole meal was pita, the pocket bread which makes the sandwich. I hadn't made pita in twenty years, and hoped I hadn't lost my touch. I use a recipe in Bernard Clayton's "Complete Book of Breads," but not the one listed under "pita" in the index. Rather, I use the "Arab Bread" version which is baked in a very hot (500 degree) oven. The bread takes roughly 2 1/2 hours from start to finish. The secret is in rolling them out with sufficient flour to keep the dough from sticking to the board or the pin. If it sticks rather than stretching, the characteristic air pocket will not develop properly. If you prefer your pita with a little browning, you can cook them on a griddle or in a cast-iron skillet if you like. Mine puffed to perfection in the oven.

Pin-headed, I Mean Brown-headed Cowbird

Day 209: It is uncharitable of me, I know, but I cannot look at cowbirds without remarking on how pin-headed they are compared to other birds. Contrasted with a parrot, for example, who is possessed of a brain able to manage tasks of higher learning (vocal, mechanical, etc.), a cowbird is easy to dismiss as a creature capable of survival skills and not much more. Yet the cowbirds' ability to mimic sounds is astonishing. I have personally heard them ringing telephones and honking horns, but one other vocal feat sticks the strongest in my mind. I was living in rural Thurston County at the time, surrounded by neighbours who had livestock of various sorts. I had gone out in the yard early one morning and was assailed by a whinny close by. My first assumption was that the cattle rancher whose pasture abutted ours had got himself a horse, but then I realized that the sound had come from above me, about sixty feet up one of the Doug-firs towering over our garage. It came again, that whinny, and again, somewhat higher pitched than a horse voice ("horse," not "hoarse"). After watching the tree for a while, I saw a Brown-headed Cowbird (Molothrus ater) fly out from among the branches. The whinnying stopped until the bird had returned to its nesting site, where it again took up the imitation. Over the years I lived there, there were many other occasions when I heard a horse up a tree. Apparently the sound was easy to reproduce, even for a pin-head.

Pentaglottis Sempervirens, Green Alkanet

Day 208: Tiny bright blue flowers always command my attention when I am looking for invasives. There are a lot of species with similar blooms, and people generally dismiss them as "forget-me-nots," not understanding that they could be from different genera. Most fall under Myosotis, the true forget-me-not often cultivated as a garden plant despite being considered invasive. Then there are Hackelia and Lappula, both "stickseeds," both native, but thoroughly obnoxious as their common name might suggest. There is also Brunnera, another garden plant which is easier to control than Myosotis and touted as a substitute for it. And then there is Pentaglottis sempervirens (above, also known as Green Alkanet or Evergreen Bugloss), with its prickly stems and lush foliage which forms large clumps. It is a member of the Borage family, and is also invasive. I was not happy when I found it in a small park in Eatonville. All of the above produce flowers which are pink upon opening, and which mature to a bright, attractive blue. The flowers of each are followed by tiny burr-like nutlets which attach to socks and animal hair with a vengeance. This mechanism facilitates the plants' spread, and is another example of why it is important to "de-seed" your clothing before leaving an area where the plants occur. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," as the saying goes.

Amelanchier Alnifolia, Serviceberry

Day 207: Identification of Serviceberry has been simplified by a reduction in the number of accepted variety names with most now lumped under Amelanchier alnifolia. There was no need for me to push through the reed-canary grass to get close enough to count stamens, and although I didn't have that information at the time, the thought of ticks was sufficient to prevent me from doing so. There is a limit to what I'm willing to sacrifice in the name of science, and while I am perfectly at ease with getting muddy, filthy, prickled and poked, I draw the line at exposing myself to ticks, and Pack Forest is full of them. That said, it's also full of Serviceberry which, in my opinion, is one of our most lovely native shrubs. The Latin "alnifolia" refers to the leaves which some feel resemble a scaled-down version of Red Alder (Alnus rubra). The lumping of varieties also means that there is no longer the necessity for assessing the amount of serration along the leaf margins. In the argot of Hitchcock, "Controversial, intergrading and unconvincing taxa within A. alnifolia, often based on continuum of pubescence variations or ped. infl. and petal length" excuses me from making a closer examination. So there.

Siberian Miner's Lettuce, Claytonia Sibirica

Day 206: Siberian Miner's Lettuce (Claytonia sibirica) is native to the Pacific Northwest and can be found in the moist lowlands to the mid-elevations west of the Cascade crest. The leaf is fleshy and edible, and was consumed by early settlers as a tangy salad green, hence the common name. The term "edible" comes with a caution: consumption of large quantities over time can lead to development of kidney stones, owing to the presence of oxalic acid in the leaves, but browsing a few while hiking is not likely to cause future issues. In fact, the tart, puckery taste can be a good thirst-quencher or an unusual garnish laid atop a green salad. Miner's Lettuce (both C. sibirica and C. perfoliata) are present in abundance in western Washington.

Pellia Epiphylla, A Liverwort

Day 205: Every spring, at least one plant's identity will elude me as I'm walking through the forest, refreshing my memory as I go by addressing each species with its Latin binomial or, failing that, its common name. Some I've drilled so thoroughly into my brain that they no longer require deep digging with the Alphabet Tool ("A, B, C...c...ca, ce, ci, co, cu...ca...car...has something to do with heart...cardio...Cardamine!"), but others frustrate my best efforts to mine out the sequence of letters which will give me the necessary clue. Such was the case when I found a patch of liverwort on the Reservoir Trail in Pack Forest a few days ago. I could get no farther than "not Marchantia," and that only because the morphology of the specimen told me it was something else. In any event, it covered roughly three square feet of mud and rock in the most damp and dismal section of the trail, perfect habitat if you're a liverwort, and at least that much was obvious. Eventually, I was distracted from the alphabet by trying to keep upright in an exceptionally muddy stretch and then forgot about it until I got home.

Liverworts are less common than mosses, and although they share a number of features with them (reproduction by sporulation, for example), there are others which set them apart. Most contain oil bodies in the cells of their leaves, and mosses do not have this characteristic. In many species, these oil bodies can be seen with the naked eye or minor magnification. Liverworts may be either leafy or thalloid (as above); mosses are always leafy. Another less definitive difference is that there are numerous field guides available for mosses, and darn few for liverworts, and thus their identification becomes more difficult. Consider yourself fortunate if you can place a liverwort in its proper genus. For anything further, you may need professional help as I did when I first encountered this species (Pellia epiphylla).

Calypso Corner

Day 204: I wasn't thinking about Calypso orchids when I set out for a hike in Pack Forest yesterday. The plan was to follow the Bud Blancher Trail from Eatonville, then take the Falls Trail and a short section of the 1070 until connecting with the 1000 Rd. Following the 1000 Rd. would take me through the stretch I call "Butterfly Alley" where I hoped to pick up some material for these posts. Second to that was an invasives patrol, to which purpose I had included my GPS and field notebook in my pack. The Falls Trail was muddy and slick, and a warning sign had been placed at the spur to the lower falls saying that the trail was closed due to potential slides, but I hadn't intended to visit the falls and went on by without investigating. The hard-packed dirt roads of Pack Forest were dry as expected, but even with the way being rather warm and sunny, the only butterflies I saw were Cabbage Whites. About halfway up to Kirkland Pass, I said to myself, "Why don't I go out the 2000 to see if there are any Calypsos? It'll only add about half a mile to my hike." Oh, how dim memory is sometimes! It was closer to three-quarters of a mile from the intersection at Kirkland Pass to Calypso Corner, but I'd committed myself to the project, having no butterflies for backup. The Calypsos and I had a nice visit, and I returned via the sloggy, boggy, muddy and messy Reservoir Trail (much muddier than the Falls Trail had been) for a total of 8.5 miles and a notebook full of invasives to report.

Rufous Hummingbirds

Day 203: For much of the thirty years I've lived in this location, the only hummingbirds I ever saw were Rufous. A few years ago, I spotted what I believed to be an Anna's female, and subsequent birds confirmed the identification readily. Then last year, I had some odd "Anna's," and when they didn't quite match the field guide descriptions, I began reading everything I could find on possible hybrids of Anna's x Costa's. I discovered that in the last ten years or so, Costa's has been expanding its range northward, and that yes, they do interbreed with Anna's, and the cross had been observed in southwest Washington. Then I got the surprise of my life when one day I looked out at the feeder and saw a male which was unquestionably Costa's. The purple crown and gorget were distinctly different from anything I'd seen previously. I wasn't quick enough with the camera, but I'm ready for him now if he comes back! The Anna's stick around all winter, but in summer, the population of Rufous swells until the distribution is about 50/50. Rufous is more territorial than Anna's, but the Anna's aren't giving any ground. I hope Costa's can find a comfortable niche.

Match-making

Day 202: It's time for me to play match-maker for the Akebia vines again. Experience has taught me that the purple male flowers do not produce viable pollen, so the cross must be made between white males and purple females if there is to be a crop of fruit, and even though the two vines are now intertwined to some degree, the downward-facing flowers will undoubtedly always require some pollination assistance on my part. To that end, I was up the ladder with an artist's round sable paintbrush a few days ago, tickling pollen from the anthers of mature white flowers and transferring it to the stigmata (receptive tips) of the purple ones. In the close-up photo, you can see where the pollen has adhered to the sticky substance of the receptive stigmata. In theory (and usually in practice), each one of these will develop a fruit roughly four inches long and about an inch and a quarter in diameter. They're not the easiest things in the world to eat, but I have developed a liking for the mildly sweet taste of the pulp. That said, I have been unable to find any recipes which use it, so I eat it straight from the pod.

A Different Breed Of Tat

Day 201: I have to admit that when I purchased Hye-oon Lee's two-volume set, "Lovely Tatting," I thought I might have come up against a challenge I couldn't meet. I knew before I bought them that the patterns were written for shuttle tatters, and that I would want to convert them to needle-tatting which is my preferred method, but I didn't expect any difficulty there. Nor did I find it. However, the designs were so intricate and were such a very "different breed of tat" with many long chains and Josephine knots that I put the books on the shelf wondering if I would ever open them with a mind to actually doing the work. There is a lot of measuring here to keep the chains equal in length, so in addition to the tiny crochet hook on the chatelaine I wear when tatting, I must keep a plastic gauge handy, marked with tape showing the length of the chains in any particular row. At the end of each chain, I measure and adjust before making the ring which follows it. In this pattern, Josephine knots (the blue "bumps" at the middles of the chains) are made every other row, and require a second needle. I still have three rows to complete before this doily is done, but I have fallen in love with the author's non-traditional designs. In between work sessions, I delight in looking at the photographs in her books, many of which were taken in the Paradise area of Mount Rainier National Park!

Adenium Plum Beauty

Day 200: With no internet, no land line, no cell service, I spent a quiet day making occasional forays out into the yard to feed Beaks and putter in the flower beds and garden. Sometimes it's nice to have down-time, even if it's not by choice. The brightest spot in today's activities was taken by "Plum Beauty," a grafted Adenium which spends most of its time looking like two tall sticks topped by a few leathery leaves, but when it decides to put on a show, it pulls out all the stops. The flowers (only one at present) are fully two and a half inches across, a rich purple-red on the outer margins, marked with hot pink surrounding a deep yellow center. I have two other Adeniums in my collection, but "Plum Beauty" is the showiest and the most reliable. It's nice to have something reliable. My internet and phone service certainly aren't.