Happy As A Wet Lichen

Day 24: You've heard the phrase, "mad as a wet hen." How about "happy as a wet lichen?" Lichens have a variety of strategies for gathering moisture, and can survive for protracted periods of dry weather by being able to maximize what little is available as dew and in the form of humidity. Many lichens have rough or scaly cortices which increase their surface area substantially. Others like Lettuce Lung (Lobaria pulmonaria) have dimpled foliage in which water pools and is subsequently absorbed into their tissues. Had you seen this specimen in late summer, you would have thought it was dead. The lobes were brown and so crisp that they could easily be crumbled between probing fingers. However, once the autumn rains began, this lichen quickly came back to life and greenness.

Frost Art

Day 65: "Wintry mix, patchy fog, snow." That's what my forecast looks like for the next week, with the possibility of rain mixed with snow for solstice. In any event, Jack Frost has been busy lately, with some areas of the yard not thawing at any point in the day. I bring the hummingbird feeders in at night, and even before first light, the Anna's have emerged from torpor and have begun looking for breakfast. Again and again, I am astounded by those tiny creatures' capacity to withstand temperatures which would throw a human into hypothermia in very short order. When stood up against a hummingbird or mosses and ferns, the human animal seems so very fragile and vulnerable, and certainly not the superior beings we imagine ourselves to be, or at least not in a biological sense. Our perspective is skewed by our ability to use tools, and yet if we look at the situation objectively, it is tool use which is bringing us to the brink of extinction. Perhaps the hummingbirds and ferns will survive us.

Hopping-parrot

Day 147: Meet my newest friend/charge, Hopping-parrot. If you've been following along, you'll understand the "-parrot" portion of his name, but "Hopping" might make you wonder. As it happens, Hopping-parrot has a gamy wing. He can't fly, but he is an expert hopper. He's been with me about three weeks now and I do believe the wing (presumably broken) is growing stronger. He seems to be able to flex it a bit more, even flap it a little, although it's obvious that he doesn't trust it to carry him from the tree to the feeder. He forages on the ground, retreating to the safety of the tree in between meals with a rapid succession of hops which takes him there, and then from branch to branch with clear knowledge of the best routes through the tangled branches. I have observed his behaviour for twenty or thirty minutes several times, watching him exercise the survival strategy which has brought him this far. I have to marvel: where does he go at night to be safe? Does he nestle down in the heart of the winding trunks, out of the reach of raccoons or other predators? Do I see a glint of greater-than-average intelligence in that beady black eye? He must be cleverer than most. He talks to me when I put out seed, although he is not bold enough to approach me...not like the daring, darling chickadee who landed twice on the camera while I was capturing this portrait.

Update 3/13: He flies! I've seen him make it twice from the tree to the feeder (the actual feeder, not to the ground below it), and a couple of times a foot or so between branches. He still prefers hopping, but the wing is obviously on the mend!