A Chance Encounter

Day 60: Out toward the end of a county road, there is a tiny cemetery which has on its property line a female holly tree about fifteen feet tall. It has reliably supplied me with three or four twigs for decorating every year for the past six or seven Christmases. I made the pilgrimage yesterday on my way home from grocery shopping, and when I stepped out of the car, this peacock came pelting out of a nearby driveway heading straight toward me. One of my grandmothers had her arm broken by a goose, so I have a healthy respect for large birds and consequently began a retreat to the safety of my car. I didn't need to worry, though, because close on Mr. Peacock's heels came a Border Collie. The peacock angled off its attack trajectory and went on down the road, but the dog then took up station, lying down at my feet. It behaved as if it was waiting for a command, but of course I didn't know the words it had been trained to recognize, so I just said, "Well? Do you want to help? Come on!" It seemed to understand that once I reached the holly tree, I was in no further need of herding. Meanwhile, the peacock disappeared, presumably returning to its rightful home. You never know who or what you may run into at the end of a lonely county road.

Christmas 2023

Day 73: I think I have perfected the lyrics after several years of trying to get the last line of the chorus to scan properly.

The Holly and the Ivy,
Both as invasives curs'd,
Of all the shrubbery in our woods,
These two are just the worst.

Oh, the rising of the sap and
The spreading of the seeds!
A little bit of herbicide
Is all a person needs.

And a Merry Christmas to you and yours from your friendly neighbourhood naturalist and her small Tippy-child!

Mistletoe And Holly

Day 69: Happy Solstice! The mistletoe and holly are laid, the candles are lit, and...wait, what's that stuff on my garage roof? Snow! If you had gathered up every bit in my yard, you might have been able to fill a teacup, but snow on Solstice is even better than a white Christmas. Although I'm not as fond of the stuff as I was when I was a child, I still love snow, with the proviso that it does not linger on the ground when I have places to go and people to see, and allows me to enjoy it from the snug warmth of my home. Snow is fine if I can go to it; if it comes to me, it should have the politeness to give fair warning and refrain from calling at an inconvenient time or overstaying its welcome. A dab on the Solstice is genteel; a foot, unless it comes when I have nothing better to do than admire it, can only be considered a vulgarity not to be borne.

Glad Solstice

Day 69: A glad Solstice to you all, dear readers! I very nearly didn't have holly for this festive occasion. My customary bush had been picked bare by earlier visitors, and my second choice only had one twig with berries, the leaves badly bug-eaten. Defeated at both locations, I began searching. You wouldn't think it would be that hard. After all, holly is considered an invasive here, and I often find bushes growing miles from trailheads, planted there by birds. However, the rain was coming down in buckets and I was reluctant to walk even the half mile to a third known option. Fortunately, I found a small bush along a quiet roadside where I pulled off, got out and jumped the ditch, clippers in hand. Five minutes later, I was back in the dry car with my Solstice Holly in hand.

The mistletoe is another story. I haven't seen it in stores for years, although a friend reports that some nurseries carry it (berries removed), so more than thirty years ago, I "grew" my own from Fimo sculpting clay. Like its natural counterpart, it's shed a few berries over time, but at least I don't have to worry about my kitties being poisoned if they were to eat them.

The Light returns to the Pacific Northwest with a dash of snow and crisp temperatures. Winter is only just begun, but the seeds of Spring are germinating under the lengthening days. On this day of renewal, I wish you all the best for the coming seasons.

Solstice Greetings

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

The New Kid

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

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

Solstice Greetings To All!

Day 69: Since the Solstice will occur at an hour when any right-minded person should be entertaining visions of sugarplums, I will take this opportunity to wish my friends and readers the joys of the day. In any event, the occasion has been ushered in with a fall of snow: winter has arrived a few hours early to the party, and by all estimates, will probably overstay its welcome. For now, however, I am delighted by the storybook scene outside my window, as visually traditional of the season as Currier and Ives. Let it snow! Here in my snug domain, I will dance the holly and the mistletoe. The Light is returning! Dark nights swiftly go!

Dance The Holly! Dance The Mistletoe!

Day 69: The Solstice finds the Pacific Northwest under a thick layer of dripping cloud, grey in the manner so typical of the area, yet those of us who are governed more by Nature than by the arbitrary structures of clock and calendar feel this turning in our bones. The Light is returning, a lengthening of daylight imperceptible at first, noticeable by those attuned to the change in a week or ten days, obvious to all by mid-January.

It is unsurprising that many mid-winter festivals incorporate illuminations into their observances, whether by candle, sparkling lights or a shining star atop the Christmas tree. For some, light is a metaphor (Christ as "the Light of the world"); for others, it is a physical thing (the flame in the darkness or the sun rising over a specific landmark). It is a theme which joins the hands of one faith with another and another, until all are standing in a great circle, linked by that one commonality. We are brought to unity by Light.

In peace and in harmony, turn your hearts to the Light.
Let it shine on you and within you; be its messenger.
Carry the Light to one and all, and live its beauty as your motto.
Celebrate the Solstice and the returning of the Light.