Golden-Crowned Sparrow, Zonotrichia Atricapilla

Day 210: Walking out to Rainey Creek, I nearly always spot some bird I haven't yet photographed successfully, and I wind up standing there trying to catch the elusive little buggers between branches in the hopes of identifying them when I get home. I've seen dozens of Chickadees here, scores of Warblers, and I've spent substantial amounts of time offering myself up as mosquito bait only to come away with nothing to show for my pains. It doesn't stop me from returning, not hardly! The walk to Rainey Creek is delightful if you go in the right season, but avoid June at all costs!

Today, a fluttering in the branches again caught my eye, and it turned out to be the activity of half a dozen Golden-Crowned Sparrows, a bird whose most distinguishing field characteristic eliminates the need to observe any other. The bright yellow crown which gives this species its common name sets it apart from any other bird in the region. However, young Golden-Crowned Sparrows can be mistaken for White-Crowned until the yellow feathers emerge.

While this image is not a classic field-guide pose showing the full body morphology, there is no mistaking Mr. Golden-Crowned's golden crown! Now, if I could just get those darn Warblers to hold still long enough to zoom in!

Periwinkle Check

Day 209: Periwinkle...or Vinca minor, if you prefer...sprouts in odd places in my yard, leftovers from years ago when I envisioned mounds of it galloping along at the base of my rail fence. As is so often the case with my gardening, the plants simply refused to establish where I wanted them, and proceeded to send out runners underground. I'll blame my lack of success on the soil here. What of it there is between rocks is acidic and nutrient-poor.

There are other oddments in between the hawkweed and moss in my loosely-termed "lawn." Wild strawberries bloom in great patches of white, never bearing a berry. Primroses in yellow and purple are scattered in the carpet of questionable "grass." The Periwinkle always surprises me with its bright blue eyes staring up out of a section twenty feet from where I installed it originally. "How'd that get there?" I wonder, since it was so reluctant to bloom where it was planted.

Bath Day At Tropicana Cat Wash

Day 208: I couldn't believe the note on the fridge. Surely cats must have had at least one bath since late last August and I just forgot to write it down! The customary interval is every 6-8 weeks, maybe a little longer during the winter months and oftener in the summer. August? Really? In that case, they were long overdue.

The idea of washing cats generally draws comments from people along the lines of, "If I tried that, I wouldn't have a square inch of skin left," and that's probably right unless you'd broken your puss into the idea at an early age as I did Skunk and Tip. Skunk was a water-cat by nature. When she was a kitten, she'd jump in the shower with me and go sit on the drain, unperturbed by the rising tide. It was easier to bathe her in the kitchen sink, and thus a transition was made.

On the other hand, Tip was a normal kitty and one who viewed water as something only moderately less threatening than the vacuum cleaner. To acquaint him with the principle, I allowed him to keep his hands on my shoulder as I bent over the sink and washed his hindquarters. Every now and then, I'd make nose contact with him to assure him that everything was okay. Nose to nose and always speaking gently, I'd tell him he was a good boy. With each bath, I succeeded in gaining more of his confidence. Both cats are now entirely accustomed to this ritual to the point that I can step away from the sink to get a towel without fear of them leaping out.

You wash yourself. You wash your dog if you own one. Why should a cat have to endure a lifetime of grease and dust accumulating on their fur? My kitties' coats are as soft as bunny fur, and regular bathing helps prevent hairballs as well. Skunk and Tippy will assure you that a clean cat is a happy cat...at least once they're dry.

Color By The Door

Day 207: I can never get out the door at Watson's Nursery without at least one plant, so yesterday when my quest for a "Spoon-flower" Osteospermum drew a blank, I wandered over to see if they had tuberous Begonias out for sale. Each year, I buy one, rotating the color choice with my mood. On this occasion, the dark foliage and brilliant red of this Non-Stop variety took my fancy.

Once the weather has warmed, this beauty will be set out on the step of my front porch, there to welcome me home whenever I go out. Begonias are such rewarding and tolerant plants, I don't know why I don't buy three or four!

Ohop Homestead

Day 206: As I understand it, the old house associated with the farm in the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property is on the Federal register as an historical building. There's not much left of it but the footprint, any wood having long since been removed or consumed by bugs. Made of granite which must surely have been brought in from another part of the state, the walls encompass a single-room floorplan about twelve feet square. If there had been a ceiling in the building at some time, it might have been low enough to make a person of my five-foot height bow their head.

It humbles me to think what the pioneer generations must have endured. Truly, these would be considered cramped quarters for a single occupant these days, and no doubt a large family was raised in this very building, lacking in amenities such as running water and possibly even a wintertime heat source. There is no evidence of a chimney or hearth in this enclosure, only bare and rocky ground. Yet knowing no other way of life, the people who lived here had great dreams of turning Ohop Valley into an agricultural triumph. They defeated themselves by straightening the meanders of the creek in an attempt to drain the wetland, only to find that the substrate was clayey and unworkable. Their venture failed for the most part.

Today, the meanders of Ohop Creek have been restored, the valley replanted with native shrubs and trees. It is well on its way to rediscovering itself as habitat for wildlife, as evidenced by the rich numbers of bird species I have observed here over the years. Ohop Valley's success lies not in farming, but in being a wetland, per its original job description.

Employees Only

Day 205: Of course I am joking when I say this trail is only for employees of Mount Rainier National Park, but its existence is not well-known. You almost have to be on foot to spot its starting point at the northeast corner of the bridge at Longmire; consequently only those of us who walk instead of drive to the other side are among the few who know it's there. It leads only half a mile or less up-valley beside the Nisqually River before terminating at the channel of an intermittent stream. I call it the "Lunch Trail" because I often patrol it in search of lichens, Calypso Orchids and precious solitude.

Having gone in pursuit of lichens on a particular knobby outcrop of rock above the trail, I found myself thwarted by a dome of snow, the colonies of Cladonia buried beneath its cap. Although the white stuff is melting rapidly in the Longmire compound, it's holding on in the sheltered forest. At the margins of winter, only the leaves of a few wildflowers are beginning to show. Such is the season here: nine months of winter, a few weeks of spring and fall at either end, and full-blown summer glory from mid-July to early September.

A Ray Of Sunshine

Day 204: Pacific Northwest forests can be very dark places especially when the overstory is tall and dense. At the edge of my property is one such band of woodland, though my portion of it only accounts for a depth of ten feet before you encounter the dilapidated barbed-wire fence which separates it from five acres of thick brush and towering evergreens. The understory in my little strip of woods is full of bedstraw (cleavers), yellow violets, false lily-of-the-valley and oxalis. While none of these is designated a "sun-fleck" species, they benefit from long periods when only slim rays of sun slip between the boughs overhead.

Among the litter of evergreen needles and twigs, dry grass and other withered vegetation, the oxalis' bright eyes open to the sun on those rare days when the sun shines, and nod closed when the clouds gather. Today, they welcomed the shafts of brilliant light, so ephemeral in the Pacific Northwestern spring.

Sulphur Creek

Day 203: The Cowlitz Wildlife nature trail along the south side of Swofford Pond is little-used and therefore is one of my favorite springtime walks. It can be muddy at times and nettles thickly line the sides of the path in many places, but the rewards of walking in this virtually unspoiled and intensely green area are worth the price of mucky boots and the small risk of brushing up against a stinging plant.

Sulphur Creek tumbles down a narrow gorge from a waterfall half a mile up-valley and not accessible by trail. A stalwart hiker with skill at navigating by map and compass can reach the falls with some expenditure of sweat as I have done on many occasions, but today I did not make the trek, content simply to walk along the lower forest trail in search of spring wildflowers and to view the creek from this vantage point near its mouth.

If one had to pick a single word to describe this environment of old cedars mixed with evergreens and big-leaf maples, of oxalis and ferns, of salmonberry and devil's-club, of moss and lichen, that word would be "green." Although not a rainforest by technical definition, the air is ever moist, even in the heat of summer. The hillside seeps water from its pores. The foliage breathes dampness. Beneath the understory, wetland plants emerge: yellow violets, bleeding-heart, skunk cabbage, cardamine. Near the lake shore, alder is the dominant tree species, rising well above grass which will stand chest-high by the end of the growing season. Everywhere you look, you are surrounded by the perpetual greenness, and you cannot help but feel the life of the Earth pulsing in the creek.

Some day soon, I'll make the climb to the falls again. It's something I do at least once a year, just to touch base with the heart and soul of this splendid corner of natural beauty.

Stewardship

Day 202: Happy Mother's Day! What's that you say? No, I did not misspeak myself. Today is Earth Day, the day we celebrate the great Mother of us all, and I could think of no better way to honor her than by doing a patrol of my Site Steward's beat along Ohop Creek in the Nisqually Land Trust's property.

In the line of duty as a Site Steward, I police litter from the lands, search out invasive species and remove them or report them for removal, make observations of wildlife and native plants, and engage in nature-mapping with my camera. I make contact with locals who stop by, and explain to them why and how we are working to restore this area to its natural state. Today was particularly rewarding for me since I was able to document photographically the presence of Yellowthroats, an elusive bird which has never before come in range of my lens. The photos I took are far from field-guide quality, but they allowed me to make a 100% positive identification of this member of the Warbler family.

This area has been planted with at least a dozen species of native shrub/tree, and the saplings's trunks will be guarded by protective plastic sleeves for several years until the plants are established. Behind me and just in front of the evergreen horizon, you will see trees I helped plant over twenty years ago. As the Earth is my Mother, those trees are my children and my legacy.

Dicentra Gone Slightly Mad

Day 201: Anyone who has been around me for any length of time knows that I hate pink, although I will excuse certain shades of it in flowers (not that I'd deliberately plant any of them in my yard).

Last summer, our phone company buried their lines along the road here. In order to do so, they had to cut back the brush along the verge, and in doing so, opened up several areas to sunlight which had previously been in dark shade. Yesterday, I noticed that both Trilliums and Dicentra (Bleeding Hearts) had sprung up where they had not previously been seen. I wonder how long the bulbs and roots had lain there, waiting for a ray of light? It's been at least 20 years that I can personally account.

Both species are fragile and difficult to transplant, so I will simply enjoy them where they are.

NPS Litter Team, Earth Day 2013

Day 200: In anticipation of Earth Day (Monday, April 22), Mount Rainier National Park sent out a team comprised of volunteers, paid employees and their family members to complete a litter patrol covering two miles of SR 706, the main access to the Park. In three hours, the group of twelve collected eleven bags of trash as part of their contract with the Washington State Department of Transportation's "Adopt-a-Highway" program. I had the honor of supervising this great crew, and couldn't have asked for a cheerier and efficient lot. Thank you so much, gang, for helping keep the Road to Paradise clean and tidy!

Comparative Anatomy

Day 199: As I watched the Hoya carnosa's blossom develop, I failed to notice until a few days ago that Hoya bella was also coming into bloom. In this photo, you can observe the differences in the inflorescence of each species. The common and well-known H. carnosa is on the left, its large, elongated oval leaves directly behind it. H. bella is on the right, smaller pointed leaves in the foreground and to the right. Both plants have the typically thick, star-shaped flowers which give rise to the generic common name of "wax plant," but as you can see, they are rather different in form. H. carnosa's blunt-tipped flowers may sometimes be more white than pink, depending on how much sunlight the plant receives. H. bella's little stars are always white.

Mine!

Day 198: The seagulls in "Finding Nemo" have nothing on this guy! He gets very cross when you try to take his Angry Birds gummy candies away from him!

As I confess my Angry Birds addiction to more and more of my acquaintances, I discover that many of them also enjoy the game, and even like this black bird best. He's the one who gets the least press, though. Excluded from any package of fridge magnets I have yet to see, omitted from the array of Easter candies, at least he appeared as a stuffie which, in a moment of impulse, I purchased. For the record, he is the only Angry Birds stuffie I own, although other bits of merchandise are sifting into my collection a little at a time. That said, the gummies were a gift from Kevin, who got me started on this silly, wacky, goofy game. And guess what? He's in there, in grape flavour! Gonna be hard to eat those...

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Garden Pest

Day 196: Violas (aka Johnny-jump-ups) really ought to be classified as an invasive species as far as I'm concerned. Pretty and bright when they're blooming in the spring, as soon as the weather warms up, they turn brown and leave your garden looking like you've forgotten to remove last autumn's debris. They reseed prodigiously, and sprout clandestinely, oftentimes hiding beneath the leaves of other plants until their flowers give them away.

I successfully eradicated clover from my garden, laboured for years to remove the persistent Oriental poppies which tried to crush out all other forms of life. New generations of unwanted marigolds and lobelia were easily eliminated, but not so the resolute violas. They will not rest until they have achieved world domination, these happy-faced invaders, of that I am most firmly confident.

Hirsute

Day 195: Last year, I threw some mixed poppy seeds out into the garden, not really knowing what to expect. Could have been Iceland, could have been Shirley...the only thing I knew was that they weren't the big Oriental poppies I rank among the most persistent of weeds. Ever try to root Oriental poppies out of your flower bed? I wanted mine somewhere else because they hung over the sidewalk and were so huge, I had to navigate around them. It took at least half a dozen years before I'd eradicated the last of them, save for one I relocated to the back yard where it can grow with abandon. But all that aside, I like Shirley poppies and Iceland poppies and those other delicate, papery-petalled small varieties, but after I tossed the seed packets away, I promptly forgot what types I'd sowed.

Nothing came up last summer and I assumed the seeds had been eaten by the birds who seem to like to follow right along behind me when I plant. Well, apparently they missed a couple. Won't be long now before the species mystery is solved!

Hoya Carnosa, Textural

Day 194: In addition to my Hoya bella ("miniature Hoya"), I have two other varieties of "Wax Plant." One is a rare type (H. lauterbachii), a very fussy bloomer which I have not yet brought successfully into flower. The other is the houseplant with which most people are familiar, Hoya carnosa.

Mine spent the first year of its residency in the south-facing kitchen window, pulled back a bit from the hot afternoon sun. When it failed to flower, I moved it to the east living room window to hang next to Hoya bella. As you can see, it is much happier in its new environment. The pale pink, star-shaped blossoms are quite fragrant when fully open.

White-Crowned Sparrow, Zonotrichia Leucophrys

Day 193: Let's throw away the Latin and the descriptive common name and call this little fellow a Go-Faster Sparrow. He certainly has the racing stripes, and zips around the feeders as if to say, "Move over, you Juncos! I'm coming through!" The species is seasonal in my yard as are several other varieties of Sparrow, but one of the more common summer residents. Wait a minute..."summer?" Well, not this morning. I think the snow took us all by surprise.

Tailored For A Pirate

Day 192: As official biographer of pirate captain Morgan Corbye, my passage on the Winged Adventure is not without price. My duties are various and many, for every soul aboard the handsome barque must pull their share of the load. I cannot claim to be a seaman, although I have endured watches in the crow's nest on lookout, the pitching and rolling of the ship more than my stomach could reasonably abide, and I have gone down on my prayer-bones to holystone the decks with the meanest of the lads. I have sat out hours on a coil of rope, arms burning under the sun, fingers engaged in fraying a baggy-wrinkle, that peculiar device which keeps the rigging from chafing. It was my skill at the latter which brought the Captain to ask if I was adept at sewing. Thus it fell out that I became ship's tailor, and though mending of the sails is delegated to more expert hands, I have learned to use a sailmaker's palm to drive a needle through the canvas, repairing breeches and outerwear at need.

That said, among the booty garnered in a recent raid, the Captain discovered several bolts of white muslin, and one evening in her cabin, draped the fabric about her body as I looked on in astonishment. One does not equate Morgan Corbye with the dressmaker's salon. Her posturing was that of the bride-to-be as she brought the soft folds against her breast. "I be thinkin' I wants a smock o' this," she said, "wi' fancywork." Taking up the several yards she had reeled off, she wrapped them untidily around the remainder and threw it without warning into my arms. "Ye're off spud duty fer a fortnight. Get crackin'."

Having taken her measure that same night, the "fancywork" is nearing completion and my respite from potato peeling will be at its end when the garment is assembled. The Captain is keeping close watch on my progress to ensure that I do not prolong this pleasant duty unnecessarily.

Barred

Day 191: Woe to any who enter here! They go down into the depths, never again to see the light.

No, this is not the Winged Adventure's brig, nor has Morgan Corbye found herself on the wrong side of the bars in some colonial prison. This is a storeroom now, but it was once the jail at Longmire. It is in the basement of the Administration Building where I work, and until today, I didn't know it existed. I'd gone hunting for furnace ductwork and cobwebs or a broom closet, or some place equally forbidding and photographically irresistible. I did not expect to find a dungeon beneath my sunny workspace, faint light sifting into the cell. It was worth a trip back up the stairs to borrow a tripod. Oh, but the potential for a story lurks in these shadows, and I suspect that at some point in the not-too-distant future, a certain pirate captain may find herself temporarily housed in these lavish accommodations. Rumour has it that she's planning another raid...

Don't Shoot!

Day 190: So there I was, out for a nice walk in the rain in Pack Forest, just minding my own business and staying out of prohibited areas, when suddenly a tank burst through the scotch broom and brought its gun to bear right between my eyes...

And if you believe that, I'll sell you the flock of sheep I have pastured out in Golden Gate Park. You might be just a little too gullible for your own good.

I was indeed out for a walk in the rain in Pack Forest, minding my own business and staying out of prohibited areas, but the "tank" is an industrial-sized disc harrow, and its "gun" is a shaft, presumably one which connects it to a piece of hauling equipment. It's been sitting in the same spot for at least ten years, and the scotch broom has grown up through its metal framework. I've looked at it dozens of times, but never saw the photo opportunity until today. Guess that makes getting wet worthwhile.

Large-Flowered Blue-Eyed Mary, Collinsia Grandiflora

Day 189: "Giant" Blue-Eyed Mary (aka Large-Flowered Blue-Eyed Mary, or Collinsia grandiflora) bears a larger blossom than many of its cousins, although these specimens stood barely four inches tall where they were growing in a burned-over and reseeded area of Charles L. Pack Experimental Forest. Although when you look at her face, Blue-Eyed Mary would give you the impression that she has only four petals, there is in fact another folded petal between the lower two. The stamens are concealed within its enclosure. From top to bottom, this tiny flower measures only about half an inch, but the vibrant blue stands out dramatically against the green of grass.

Rufous Twofer

Day 188: Hummer Season is in full swing! The little varmints are sucking down the nectar as fast as I can make it, often hovering in line three or four deep even though I have two feeders out. There are more males this year than last, and the fellow with the beautiful cheek patches is extremely territorial. He came close to driving a young, dark male in through the open window while I was taking pictures!

Selasphorus rufus is one of the smallest hummingbird species in the United States. It has a wingspan of approximately 4.5 inches, measures only 3.75 inches long and weighs in at a whopping 3.5 grams. It has been said that a hummingbird's vocabulary consists 90% of swear-words. The names these little beauties call each other would make a sailor blush!

Classic Americana - Chickenscratch

Day 187: If any form of needlework can be said to be American in origin, it is chickenscratch embroidery. Also known as Amish, gingham or snowflake embroidery, this variation of cross-stitch dates to the time of the original 13 Colonies. Although the method of stitching is the same as is found in blackwork, its application to gingham check is an American innovation.

The stitches are simple: running stitch, backstitch and Smyrna cross (a cross-stitch with a second cross laid at 45 degrees to the first, frequently secured in the center by a third smaller cross in the same orientation as the first). Interesting color patterns emerge where the floss either matches the check or contrasts it. Many needleworkers combine chickenscratch with Teneriffe embroidery, a type of needle-weaving (not to be confused with Teneriffe lace), and some erroneously use the term "Teneriffe" to include chickenscratch.

If you're bored with cross-stitch, why not try this quick and easy variation? A yard or yard and a half of 45" fabric can quickly be turned into an apron for that special cook on your Christmas list.

Common Horsetail, Equisetum Arvense

Day 186: Common Horsetail prefers wet areas in which to grow. You'll find it in ditches, on streambanks, surrounding ponds and similar areas, and it can be quite pretty in its native habitat. However, if it establishes in your garden, it is almost impossible to eradicate. Over a dozen varieties of Equisetum are found in western Washington.

At this stage of its life cycle, it resembles some type of strange mutant asparagus, and the young shoots are edible but not recommended due to the plant's high silica content. As it matures, it will send out hair-like sub-branches at each node along the stem. At full growth, it looks like a giant green bottle brush! In fact, Horsetails can be used as scrubbers for your pots and pans.

Kitty Dreams

Day 185: Skunk came to me as a four-week old spitfire who had been born somewhere outdoors and adopted by a barn cat into her slightly older litter. Even at that age, she was a scrapper. When dogs attacked the kittens, she turned on them tooth and nail and came away alive, but with one paw nearly severed at the wrist by a bite. With such a history behind her, she was understandably suspicious and defensive, and for two years, resisted sitting on my lap. Then one day, she came and sat beside my chair as if to say, "Well? Aren't you going to pick me up?" I did so, and was surprised when she curled up happily and went to sleep. Since then, she has become much more tractable, often insinuating herself under my needlework or pushing my book aside to demand a cuddle. Twelve years later, I have a loving "lap cat" whose affection for me is much appreciated.

The Captain's Regret

Day 184: In the privacy of her cabin, Captain Morgan Corbye permitted the consternation she had masked from the crew to cloud her face as she dashed rum into a flagon and sat down to table to consider where her plans had gone awry. An outline which had seemed to point toward a simple and successful raid had turned into a narrow escape, leaving one deckhand seriously injured and others with various minor wounds. Although as pirates to whom danger to life and limb was something to be considered as a matter of course, the Winged Adventure's crew had suffered their share of personal injuries, it was the first time that Captain Corbye felt she had a traitor in their midst. There had been but one opportunity for a breach of ship's confidence, and that was when a small party of men had gone ashore for provisions, among them one apprentice to the trade. With a solitary unproven man in the midst of a crew of twenty who had ever stood by her, little space was left in the Captain's mind for judgment against any but Orum Longstreet. "Aye, an' I 'ad me suspicions when I brung that slick-tongued liar on board. Curse me for lettin' too much slack in th' lines o' me wits an' lettin' th' sod win me trust wi' a tale o' 'is grandfer 'avin' been a pirate. Press-ganged, more like."

Your historian had been ordered below that I should not witness with my own eyes the punishment of Mr. Longstreet, but it is to be remembered that for all her consideration to those unfortunates who suffer for one reason or another under government oppression, Morgan Corbye is first and foremost a pirate. Although she metes out her disciplines rarely, when the need is felt for firmness, she turns to the task with determination. After the bo'sun had extracted full confession under twenty of his best, the captain relieved him of the cat and laid a final three stripes on Longstreet's raddled back. Three days later, he was marooned with scant provisions and a pistol with a single shot, and by the Articles, his personal goods were distributed among the remaining crew, the lion's share afforded to the deckhand languishing in sick bay with a sword cut which would cost him the use of his left arm. Of Orum Longstreet, your chronicler knows nothing more.

The Claw

Day 183: Scale can be very deceptive, especially when you're viewing on object which is some distance away. Admittedly, I'm barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds, but I could sit quite comfortably (if somewhat nervously) inside this excavator's maw. As buckets go, this one is fairly small, one of the fun toys the boys in our Park's maintenance department use. I wonder if I could ever talk them into letting me drive it?

Oh, Sweet Spring!

Day 182: I don't think I've ever had a year when the double daffodils didn't precede the singles by a week or more, followed by the narcissi in another week or ten days. What a surprise it was this morning to discover that everything has opened at once! Oh, that's not to infer that all of the buds have burst. No, there are plenty more to come, especially narcissi. Even the grape hyacinths joined the party! Happy Spring!

Red-Winged Blackbird, Agelaius Phoeniceus

Day 181: Sexual dimorphism is fairly common in birds, and it provides one of the greatest challenges to the beginning birdwatcher. It is quite evident in Red-Winged Blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus), the male's characteristics giving rise to the common name while the female is neither black nor red-winged, and can easily be mistaken for a sparrow. So what's a budding ornithologist to do? Observe the birds' behaviour and learn to identify their song!

Blackbirds show a marked preference for cattail bogs and can often be found clutching plant stems near the head. Cattails provide both a food source and nesting material for the species. The call of these birds is also quite readily distinguished by its liquid, musical quality.