Earplug

Day 79: Yeah, that little bastard, right there. I was sitting in my chair, puzzling out a word game on my Kindle and Tippy, resting on my lap, was intent on something overhead. I looked up to be sure it wasn't a spider, heard something ping off the hot lightbulb in the floor lamp, felt something strike the side of my face and then, before I even had a chance to raise my hand, it bounced into my ear. Thoroughly discombobulated by the turn of events, the affronted housefly dove for safety into the nearest hole where it was trapped by hundreds of tiny hairs angled in toward the depths of my ear canal. Unable to back up, the fly scrabbled deeper, beating its wings and buzzing to rival your best 36" Stihl chainsaw. By the time I managed to get out of the chair to run screaming and cursing to the bathroom, the fly had become hopelessly ensnared. I tried to flush it out, which only incensed it further, so more buzzing and burrowing ensued, and by the time I had succeeded in drowning it, it was in too deeply to reach with my botany tweezers (never mind that you should never stick anything in your ear except your elbow). At that stage in the game, there was nothing for it but to call my doctor who, as luck would have it, was still in the office although it was near closing time. He knew I had an hour's drive to get there, but still told me to come right down.

In the office, they tried to flush out the grisly remains of my drowned passenger. It wasn't budging. Doctor was on the verge of sending me to an ENT specialist on emergency status, but said he was willing to try to remove it himself with the warning that, "...since it's right up against your eardrum, this is going to hurt...a lot." He wasn't kidding. As I gripped the edges of the examining table and shouted helpful comments like, "Bloody hell! Oh, ow, goddamn!" he dug for the culprit and finally dislodged it. Upon being shown the evidence of his skill, I said, "Put that son-of-a-bitch in this test tube. It's gonna be famous on Facebook tomorrow." And there you have it, my earplug removed. Doctor's parting words, designed to inspire great faith in medical professionals, were, "I can't believe I got that out of there without damaging your eardrum." And I am done...DONE, do you hear me?...with holiday disasters. No more. I quit. I'm going to bed on November 30 next year, and I am not going to get up until January 2.

Mossyrock Dam From Dunn Cemetery

Day 78: I'm of two minds about geocaching, and largely, the side of me which disapproves of "licensed littering" wins out. I no longer place caches and pulled all of my old ones, not wanting to leave a legacy of metal and plastic containers in the woods. However, I do still enjoy the search, although I no longer feel compelled to find every single one within any given radius of my home. There are a few nearby which I know I'll never get, simply because I have too much respect for my car to take it on logging roads. These days, I usually wait until more than one new cache pops up in an area before I'll make a foray. Such was the case yesterday when I went out to find three. One of them took me to a spot I didn't know existed: Dunn Cemetery, a small county cemetery overlooking Riffe Lake from west of Mossyrock Dam. Below the dam, the Cowlitz River continues its meander toward an eventual junction with the mighty Columbia, miles below yet another reservoir (Mayfield Lake) at Mayfield. Hydro power is produced by both dams as well as another further upstream at Lake Scanewa. "Dammed if you do, dammed if you don't" might well be the lament of the salmon which used to have a strong native run in these waters. Nowadays, farmed fish are the rule.

A Melanelia Among Usneas

Day 77: I am not sufficiently well-versed in distinguishing one Melanelia from another in the field to say positively that this is Melanelia fuliginosa (Shiny Camouflage Lichen), but it is either that or Melanelia/Melanelixia subaurifera. I lean toward M. fuliginosa because it was decidedly "shiny" compared to other species I have observed. In any event, it is one of only a few lichens which exhibit this particular brown colouration, and in either case, it may be tinged with orange or be somewhat closer to "Army green." It will be closely attached to its substrate, generally deciduous or coniferous tree bark, but also occasionally on acidic rock. Microscopic examination would reveal branched cylindrical isidia, but then I didn't bring a sample home. 'Sokay, I know where it lives.

Ramalina Farinacea, Sorediate Margins

Day 76: Lichen terminology can be very confusing even for botanists because certain structures have no counterpart in the physiology of vascular plants. My readers will have heard me use the term "soredia/soredium" for a specific type of vegetative propagule generated by some lichens, and they may also recall having read the word "soralia." Soralia are where soredia are produced. They manifest as small patches where the lichen cortex ("skin") has cracked or broken down. The emerging soredia often have a granular appearance and lack any cortex; soredia are one of the parent lichen's means of reproducing. In the inset, you can see the soralia/soredia along the margins of this fine specimen of Ramalina farinacea from Ohop Valley. Many lichens have more than one reproductive strategy to ensure their survival as species. Some are capable of reproducing both sexually and asexually. On the whole, lichens are atonishingly successful in the natural scheme. They were here long before humankind, and unless we pollute them out of existence, they will endure long after evidence of our brief passage has faded from the surface of the Earth.

Restoration

Day 75: The restoration work you see here along the margins of a small backwater of Ohop Creek may be recent, but it was thirty years ago, give or take a few weeks, that I worked on my first live-staking project in Ohop Valley. Today, I am a Site Steward for the area, making forays now and then to clean up litter (of which there seems to be a limitless and constantly replenishing supply), to check on the status of plants, to report wildlife and human activity, to monitor invasives and remove them when possible (obviously, the War Against Reed-Canary Grass is one which cannot be won by the hands of Man alone). Thirty years, and still the valley gives the appearance of a new planting. Yes, I can see changes from thirty years ago, but the real effects of restoration may take a century or more to make themselves visible to the inexperienced eye. I look at these young Red Osier Dogwoods and think, "That's Warbler habitat which wasn't there ten years ago." I see the clear water, and my mind runs to the Great Blue Heron who is doing his part to eliminate the invasive Bullfrogs. I see young willows and twinberry, their fruit and bark food sources for birds and mammals, and off over in the distance, I see taller Red Alders. "Those are my kids!" I might say to you proudly, if you were standing beside me. They're thirty years old now, and survived being thrust as bare twigs into wet soil by my own hands. I see my legacy to the Earth rising tall and green on the horizon, and I say to myself, "Well, I tried."

Wheels Within Wheels

Day 74: The wheels have been turning a bit more slowly these last two weeks while I've been dealing with tooth issues, but now my engine has begun to rev up and a bit more progress is being made. I'm finding that I'm going to need to ration quilting time in order to have anything left for the Feathers & Fur Quilting Tour to do when they arrive (date still undetermined), although if it came right down to it, I have another quilt partially done which I could quite easily pop back on the frame. As for spinning, even once the Cinnamon Twist is finished and I take up turning it into a sweater, I still have grey Gotland, more white Corriedale, black Shetland and a huge bag of silvery-tan, long-staple Romney fleece to keep my fingers busy. For those of you who are curious, my wheel is a Louet S15, bought before they began manufacturing models with a balanced flywheel (hole in the big wheel). I do not regret my choice. The slight difference in balance has not been an issue (it's easy to learn to compensate with the treadle), and it allowed me to paint a Tree of Life design on the face. The Tree of Life has been incorporated into each of my homes in the last 50 years in some form or another and always contains at least one bird among a welter of botanical diversity. Some of the figures have personal significance; others are simply drawn from fantasy.

The Important Things

Day 73: Some few of you may know me well enough to know that I have been a loner most of my life. Perhaps that comes as a surprise to others of you, but it's true. As a child, I was known by my peers from an early point as "the Professor," and the nickname was not meant kindly. I developed only one close friendship with anyone, and that friendship endures even today. Marilyn was almost as geeky as I was, but her social skills were greater (which is to say she had some, which I did not). Even as an adult, I did not fit in, and was quite content to remain apart. It wasn't until I started working in the Park for the second time that I began to form relationships with other people, quite possibly because we were meeting on a literal "common ground." A little further down the line, I started Morris dancing, and that brought a whole new assortment of friends and acquaintances. Okay, rangers and Morris dancers are both a bit peculiar, but at least I felt I'd found places where I wasn't a complete outsider. Still, the recent outpouring of help and support from members of both groups came as a complete surprise to me. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by a family of unrelated people, adding a new definition to a word which had previously applied only to the feathered or furred critters who have been my companions over the years. If I now appear to be at a loss for words, it's because I am. I simply don't know how to express how much it means to have friends. You've had them for years; it's "old hat" to you. For me, it is a novel and humbling experience, coming as it does in this late stage of my life. Thank you for the best Christmas gift of all.