Fruit Of The Indian Plum

Day 251: Now more often referred to by the name of Osoberry, Oemleria cerasiformis will be listed in many field guides as "Indian Plum." I learned it that way, and since the "oso-" prefix means "bear" and an entirely different plant is called "Bearberry," I find it difficult to shift to the new common name. Again I will say it: this is why I prefer the Latin nomenclature. There can be no mistaking Oemleria for Arctostaphyllos. Yes, bears do enjoy these small "plums" when they can get them, and it's not uncommon to find bear scat liberally salted with the stones which resemble a cherry pit, but most likely the birds will beat them to the fruit. The native peoples of the area used the thin flesh in pemmican, and made tea of the leaves and bark. The wood rarely reaches a sufficient diameter to be of any major use, but is straight-grained and strong, and can be carved to make spoons, knitting needles and other small implements.

Great Horned Owl, Bubo Virginianus

Day 250: My botany partner Joe has sharp eyes, so when I noticed him staring at a large glob of moss in a distant maple in the deep shade of the Chehalis-Western Trail, I knew I wasn't seeing the whole picture. "Whatcha got?" I said. "I think it's a Great Horned Owl," he replied. As the only person of the four of us with any zoom capability, I brought my camera up for a better look. Owl's "horns" were obvious even in profile, and when it turned its head, I could see the distinctive feather pattern around the eyes. But Owl was having a little snooze, eyes closed. I took a series of twenty or so photos, and then we walked on. At the two-mile mark, 97-year old Bronka Sundstrom suggested we turn around before the rain moved in. As we again approached the owl's maple, we saw a crow harrassing the larger bird. Owl was now awake and watching the crow, although it wasn't particularly concerned about it. I sat down on the ground at the edge of the trail so that I could stabilize the camera on my knee, hoping that the owl would turn to face the lens. After several minutes with no luck, I tried hooting. Then I tried cawing. The owl wasn't impressed. Over to my left, Joe was fussing with his phone and eventually brought up a series of recordings of Great Horned Owl vocalizations. One, harsher than the others, carried to our subject and made it turn toward us briefly. In that moment, I snapped this photo which, with the magic of post-processing, I've been able to enhance sufficiently to record the sighting.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

Day 291: "Select a function or mode on your camera that you've never (or rarely) used and take a picture to demonstrate its purpose and/or usefulness." That was a bit of a challenge! I use most of the functions on my camera on a regular basis, so I parked my butt on a bench alongside the Chehalis-Western Trail and reviewed the various possibilities. When I came to "Color Swap," I said, "Hmmm..." and an idea was born. However, the trail offered very little in the line of colors I could exchange without using the red or blue of the bike. I had dark green fir trees and Scotch broom, and tan dry grass. Oh, and yellow Hawkweed, the plant so many people think is a species of dandelion. Yellow...maybe I could turn the asphalt yellow.

I selected a large area of asphalt to get an average of the shades of grey, and then zoomed in on a Hawkweed blossom for the exchange. The viewfinder flashed the projected swap alternately with the true-to-life scene which didn't really give me much opportunity to review how it would affect the peripheral colors. I snapped a preliminary shot and then zoomed in on the resultant image. It looked like it might just work! In post, I eliminated a slight color cast on the top of my bike bag and on the tire tread. I left the yellow on the chrome because it would be reflected from the "Yellow Brick Road."

Now you might wonder what use this could possibly be to anyone. Well, for one thing, it was fun, but a more practical application might be if a realtor wanted to show a client a house painted in a different color, swapping a sedate blue for a dingy tan, for example. I doubt I'll ever use it for anything so purely functional, though.

So why was I out on the bike today instead of in the kayak? I figured my arms were getting stronger at the expense of my legs, and today, it cooled down just enough to make a 30-mile bike ride a pleasant prospect. Unfortunately, the mower had trimmed all the wildflowers I'd hoped to photograph, leaving me very much tempted to do a color swap to turn magenta Fireweed into a rare blue-flowered variety.

A Bridge For Everyone

Day 13: Lost in their gossip, the two women were entirely oblivious to the Blue Heron standing boldly on the path not a dozen feet in front of them. Even more astonishing was the dog's apparent unconcern, his attention given solely to repeated territory-marking of the bridge's wooden posts. I had braked my bike some ways back, careful not to startle the bird into flight, but I needn't have worried. He turned his back to the walkers, spread his legs in a defiant posture, as if to say, "You're not going to shift me. I was here first." Nevertheless, he was the one who gave ground, walking placidly into the brush at the side of the trail, still unnoticed by the chatting ladies or the dog. I felt for a moment that I had been given a glimpse of a better world, one where all things in nature coexist in a harmonious balance.

Sunny Bunny

Day 286: Almost every time I go for a bike ride, I see bunnies, and after hearing a horror story from a bike technician about how he broke his collarbone when he smacked a bunny on his way to work one day, I live in mortal dread of one of the little critters running out in front of me. They can change direction on a dime, these little guys, and they make jack-rabbit starts (yeah, I know...bad joke). I'd had half a dozen running alongside me this morning before I spotted this guy, hiding in the dappled shade of a small cedar. Usually, they're too jumpy to get a decent picture, but I think he was convinced his camouflage was impeccable. He sat still as a stone and allowed me to go past him, no more than ten feet away. And there he sat, content to let me take his picture and go on my merry way. I hope he finished his breakfast before some other cyclist frightened him away.