The Coming Year

Day 79: Come what may, a ranger must always present a smile to the public, be courteous even when there is need to be firm, be welcoming and warm. We are the face of the parks we represent, and it is our duty to be good hosts to those who visit us. We must try to maintain our public image even in our private lives.

2017 was a rough year, but I tried my best to bring you science in an easily digestible (or at least entertaining) way. I know I strayed from the path a few times, removing my metaphorical hat for a few minutes to become "just Crow," and I thank you for your indulgence of those moments. I hope to continue inspiring you intellectually, and to introduce you to facets of nature you might otherwise not have seen or noticed. If you follow me on Facebook or Flickr, it is my hope that you will leave a comment now and then if my writings have struck a chord with you, because without feedback, it is easy to think I'm talking to a blank wall.

Whatever 2018 holds for us, may the wonders of Nature inspire you and carry you through the dark times I fear are ahead. Let's all try to keep smiling.

Sew Many Things

Day 78: As newly-appointed Kit Mistress for Sound & Fury Morris, my job is to see to it that members are properly outfitted with the custom costume items they can't buy off the shelves. In particular, this means that I need to have on hand baldrics (bandoliers) and armbands for new members. With Wassail coming up on January 6 and three new people in the side, I have been stitching up a storm the last few days! I'm still short a few bits and bobs, notably our signature logo patches which are at the center crosses of the baldrics (front and back), but fortunately Wassail is largely a celebration which takes place in the homes of other Morris dancers. Only one public performance is on the roster, so hopefully the lack of full regalia will be forgiven.

As Gifts Go...

Day 77: Roughly forty-five years ago, my husband gave me a gift which caused my face to fall and my eyebrows to raise, bewildered at the logic of his selection. I mean, what earthly purpose could one person have for a five-pound cone of string, described on its label as being something to the tune of ten miles...MILES!...in length. Here, almost half a century later, I have come to regard this most unusual of presents as one of the most useful I have ever received. I've whittled it down to just over a pound, bits of it going to tie plants to stakes, serve as stitch markers in my knitting, truss a turkey, hang pictures, bind parcels, secure the Christmas tree against attacks by parrots and cats, lay out planting lines in the garden, bundle herbs and lavender for drying...the list goes on and on. It has even doubled for carpet warp in weaving. Not a time goes by when I snip off a few inches that I don't think, "I'm going to run myself out of string some day" with a silent nod of thanks to Bruce's thoughtfulness. Its utility has even surpassed that of a box of sewing thread he once gave me, approximately 100 spools of every colour sold except pink shades. For decades, I never bought a spool of thread, confident that I had something to match any fabric I might purchase. The thread is gone now, as is Bruce, but a pound of string remains. Which of us will outlast the other?

Weaving Mechanics

Day 76: I realize some of you are having trouble following the specialized terminology inherent with weaving, so I've put together a handy-dandy guide to the mechanics of a loom and how the warp is slung. I realize now that I should have lettered it from right to left because that's the direction warping proceeds, but I think we can work with this.

As you saw in yesterday's post, the first part of the process is stretching the warp. Here, we are picking up the method with the warp wound onto the warp beam (J). This consists of a large roller on which is mounted a canvas "apron." The apron serves to keep the warp threads from stacking up on themselves as the roller is turned. As the warp is wound beyond the apron, posterboard or some other separator is used to cushion the threads. (H) shows the warp on the roller.

The warp comes from the roller and may pass through a raddle (I) mounted on the back beam. This optional device divides the warp threads into bundles and helps keep the tension even. A loose warp thread can cause all sorts of problems in the cloth! From the raddle, the warp threads come forward horizontally (G) and each passes through a heddle in a specific order. This is what determines the pattern of the weave. The heddles are held in harnesses (D), frames which are raised in sequence by means of treadles. At (E), the loose warp is hanging at the front of the heddles, ready for the next step; at (C), the warp is through the heddles and reed (A).

Now the warp threads must pass through the reed (A) which is held in the beater bar (B). The beater bar is the portion of the loom which beats the weft threads into place. It is operated by the weaver's free hand, the other being occupied with the shuttle. From the reed, the warp is then brought over the breast beam (not shown) and tied to the front apron. As weaving progresses, the finished fabric is wound onto the cloth beam (F), a roller similar to that at the back of the loom.

There are other methods of sleying a loom (the term used for this whole procedure), and will vary according to the weaver's preference and the type of loom being employed. Mine is a four-foot, four-harness rising-shed loom, i.e., the treadles cause the harnesses to rise rather than sink. I also have a three-foot, four-harness table loom which is operated with jacks (hand levers) rather than treadles. Since my shoulder reconstruction, I have found the jack loom difficult to use. That said, the rhythm of weaving is almost meditative, and once I'm in the swing of passing the shuttle back and forth, I can relax into it, knowing that the hard work of threading is behind me.

Warp Solo

Day 75: The rose-path scarf/table runner is off the loom, although I still have the fringes to tie, so today I started warping for another throw-rug project. I measured the warp yesterday, left it on the board to stretch overnight, and this afternoon, I mounted it preparatory to winding it onto the back beam. This is the part where I always wish for an assistant. It was so much easier when my husband was around to handle the chain, shaking out any tangles which might have been created in the process of transferring it. The job of the assistant is to maintain uniform tension on the warp as the weaver winds it onto the warp beam, a task better suited to an octopus. When done solo, the challenge is even greater. "Uniform tension," I say to myself. "What have I got six or eight of around here?" I've used an assortment of things over the years, but today all I had on hand were six bottles of Gatorade. Since only about a foot of warp can be wound before the weights hit the front beam, this requires being able to move the weights down the length of warp easily. I am tempted here to use that well-known "double positive" which becomes a negative: Yeah, right. Two hours later, I was done with the full twelve feet, although the ends still have to be drawn through the heddles and the reed before I can begin weaving.

Experimenting On A Monkey

Day 74: What does it take for a recipe to be considered "original?" Certainly it requires more than changing the order in which ingredients are assembled, but when you substitute one item for another, the line starts to blur. When you go all out as I did this morning when I failed to find exactly what I wanted for an upcoming event, borrowing a measure of flour from one source, taking a dollop of sweetening from another, altering proportions, adjusting times and including a few secrets from my personal larder, it is tempting to say that the newly-created recipe merits the distinction of being called "original."

I've been hunting for a good Monkey Bread Pull-Apart loaf for years. I was not satisfied with the raised versions I found in professional cookbooks, and I steered widely away from the quick-and-dirty internet versions which all seemed to be based in biscuit dough. I wanted a raised, lightly sweet single loaf which could be equally good with or without fruit and/or nuts. As a long-time breadmaker, I finally realized the solution was at my fingertips: build my own. I settled into the serious lab work this morning, and if I do say so myself, the resultant Monkey came through the experiment with flying colours.

Season's Greetings

Day 73: Regardless of what "season" you celebrate, the residents of Lichenopolis (Crow, Skunk and Tippy) wish you all the best. We are enjoying snow on the ground and not-too-cold temps this Christmas morning, and will be joined by a friend for dinner this evening. Happy Christmas, all!

Snow For Christmas

Day 72: Random musings, here. I am staying home for Christmas this year, fixing myself a turkey and stuffing, snuggling down with the cats, sharing gift-giving with my sisters-of-the-heart, and in a way, it feels more "Christmas-y" than it's felt in years. This sense is augmented by the fact that there is snow on the ground and more falling at this very moment, maybe not a Currier and Ives scene yet, but at least Bing Crosby wouldn't be disappointed. I think I'm "lichen" being home alone, watching the little birds flit in and out of the feeders, listening to their happy chatter. I'm warm, there are bright lights on the tree, and the spirit of Love announced itself with a firm bite on the back of my arm to let me know I should put aside the quilting to provide Skunk with access to a comfortable lap. She's an old lady. It takes her ten minutes to figure out how to arrange her bones. Maybe I took a lesson from her: find a soft spot and make the most of it. Cats are wise people, wiser far than humans.

Elbe's Best Tourist Attraction

Day 71: I don't recall exactly when someone painted Pence out of this sign just off State Highway 7 in Elbe, but it was some time last summer. Apparently unsatisfied with an incomplete job, that person (presumably the same one) returned just last week and sprayed out the T using the same paint. It seems that a fair percentage of der Führer's supporters have as little regard for the law as he does; Washington state law states that all election signs must be removed within 10 days following the election, yet I could list at least half a dozen similar violations. For now, though, this seems to be Elbe's best tourist attraction, train rides notwithstanding.

Dee-Dee Documentation

Day 70: It's still not the "field guide" shot I want, but Solstice brought an opportunity to capture several views of my pesky little 'dee-dee friend. As far as I can tell, only one is coming to the feeder, dashing in to grab a few seeds and then returning to the deep interior of the contorted filbert to eat them. That said, the bird is becoming less leery of me and of the light (what pitiful light there is) glinting off the camera lens. It often remains hidden in the filbert, chattering "Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" at me while I'm in the yard. If I'm patient, I can usually spot it among the branches, but it seldom perches in the open. I was lucky to get this shot!

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.

Tie-Tack Sparrow

Day 68: I call 'em "tie-tack sparrows." Song Sparrow (Melospiza melodia) is easy to identify because his brown stripes converge in the center of his breast to make a dark spot, i.e., his "tie-tack." These little fellows are common here year-'round, but tend to be especially abundant during the winter months. His song is a lovely cascade of trills, but more commonly heard at this time of year, the call is a short, single syllable. It varies in pitch when the bird is alarmed, rising in tone and becoming harsher. Song Sparrows can be seen across the US, but novice birders should be aware that there is quite a bit of colour variation regionally. Look for the tie-tack to confirm the identity.

Not A "Steller" Hair Day

Day 67: I figured as long as I was standing at the open window trying to capture that elusive little stinker Chickadee, I might as well make use of the time to snap some pictures of the usual crowd. It's been wet, and the poor Steller's Jays all look like drowned rats. "Y'know, I just can't keep my crest nice in this humidity!" Steller-fellers, Spotted Towhees, Juncoes and Song Sparrows make up the bulk of the visitors to my feeders right now, and that Chickadee keeps eluding me. He's bold enough to stay in the contorted filbert while I'm outside, mocking me with his "-dee-dee-dee," but as soon as I raise the camera, he's off like a shot.

The Gift Of Bread

Day 66: For as long as I've been baking bread (and that's almost half a century), I have given loaves as gifts for numerous occasions, but during the Christmas season, my oven goes into overdrive and for about a week, I make bread daily and deliver it to nearby friends. As part of the tradition, each loaf is wrapped in a cotton towel as part of the gift. The style of towel varies from year to year, sometimes terry, sometimes birdseye, but generally, I choose a plain white fabric. This year's "pain du jour" is sourdough with a slashed crust liberally painted with butter. Is there a person alive who does not appreciate fresh bread?

Lettuce Lung

Day 65: Excerpts from a letter to Arnie:

"That sound you hear is me beating my head on the wall.

"Bruce McCune's new books are making me painfully aware that there is absolutely NO hope of making a positive field identification of any but the most common lichens in the Park, and that probably 30-60% of our herbarium specimens are misidentified.

"In trying to ID a crustose species, I read what he had to say about Placopsis gelida, a species growing adjacent to the specimen in question. As far as I can tell, the only herbarium specimens of Placopsis taken from the Park have all been identified as gelida, but according to McCune, that's probably wrong. P. gelida is "a more northern species, rare s. of Canada." He further goes on to state that the only way to tell it apart from P. lambii is through TLC (thin-layer chromatography). (Right...now you know what I want for Christmas next year...)

"Other species require complex chemical tests to determine the presence of various lichen substances...I don't have the skills or the facility even if I did have the reagents, and I doubt the Park's little lab is adequate to the task either.

"It looks more and more like field work will just give you a 'best guess' and maybe get your specimen in the right genus (or maybe not). Otherwise, we're just bumbling along here and really can't tell what we have in the Park. Crow is feeling very frustrated right now, and about ready to go back to the 'Oh, look! Isn't that pretty!' level of research."

The Joppa Flats Chorale

Day 64: The Joppa Flats Chorale is all kitted out in their new hats, ready to sing "Whence Comes This Rush of Wings Afar" and "Noel of Small Birds" (the latter written by me). The Bird Gang normally gets to come out of storage for an annual portrait, so it seemed fitting to invite the larger members to model the dozen hats I've created to be sold in the Joppa Flats Education Center's gift shop. This program is supported by volunteer knitters, and all proceeds go to benefit Joppa's bird-banding station. It was a way I could contribute to them without stressing my personal budget; "sweat-equity," if you will, if only the finger muscles get exercised. Joppa's team does good work. I had the privilege of visiting the center when I was visiting a friend in New Hampshire several years ago and was immediately impressed by their work with young people. I suspect quite a few future scientists will have found their beginnings at Joppa, and that, dear readers, is something to sing...or Crow about!

Needs TLC

Day 63: Backspace, readjust. Bruce McCune's marvelous books have sent me back a couple of steps, and now I need to unlearn what I thought was Placopsis gelida. This bull's-eye lichen is most likely Placopsis lambii instead. Gelida is a more northern species, although given the 2800' elevation location where this specimen occurs, it could be either. McCune recommends TLC to make the distinction, i.e., Thin-Layer Chromatography. In the absence of access to TLC, he further recommends classifying any morphologically identical examples as Placopsis lambii, the identification which is most likely to be correct.

Y'know, lichenology has gotten a whole lot more complicated with the advent of technology. The same issues are occuring with the classification of vascular plants. Arnie and I were just talking about this earlier in the week. He is of the mind that classification by morphological similarities makes field identification much easier, and he's correct. However, just because a plant looks like another plant, it doesn't follow that they are necessarily related (or conversely, two plants with very different appearances may in fact be connected genetically). I argued that the new taxonomy creates a better understanding of the plants in question even though it's confusing, but then Arnie pointed out that much of the genetic research is only being done on specific sections of the total DNA profile. A different lab looking at a different section might make a different determination for the relationship with other species. There are times when I just want to throw my hands in the air and go back to calling things what I learned them as originally, a left-brain/right-brain argument which in the end, the right brain usually wins. After all, I'm a scientist.

Sue's Gift

Day 62: She handed me a box, "...because you do so much for science and the Park." Inside I discovered the newly-released two-volume set of Bruce McCune's "Microlichens of the Pacific Northwest," which pretty much rendered me speechless. The Park hired a term "veg person" a few months ago, and Arnie insisted that I needed to meet her. We hit it off immediately and fell to making plans regarding sites of interest in the pursuit of a particularly rare little fungus next summer. On common ground, we talked about plants and maps and adventures, past and projected, and some time later, Sue wrote to me and asked if I'd seen McCune's new books. I had not, and after pricing them, I wasn't quite sure I could afford to give myself a second Christmas present. Then I received a follow-up email from Sue, saying she'd ordered them for me as a gift. Yesterday, she delivered them to me with those words, "...because you do so much for science and the Park," echoing something Arnie had told her when he was arranging our meet-up. I said, "I hope he didn't put me up as an expert, because I'm not. I'm learning right alongside you, Sue," and then I added, "and these books are fantastic! They're really going to be helpful with the vocabulary because they're so visual!" It's hard to picture something accurately in your mind when you only have a verbal description. What exactly does "granular" mean when it's held up against "farinaceous?" McCune's photos make the distinction clear. Suffice to say, I have my reading cut out for me, and Sue's wonderful gift will help me do more "for science and the Park."

Peltigera Britannica

Day 61: Peltigera britannica is easy to distinguish because its "freckles" (cephalodia) can be scraped off easily with a fingernail when the lichen is fresh. In fact, the ease with which they detach has led to occasional misidentification when they were not readily apparent. There are a number of species of Peltigera in the Pacific Northwest forests; P. britannica is fairly common.

You'll have to forgive the brevity of this post. I've been having all sorts of issues with the new laptop and an incompatibility issue with CenturyLink's in-house version of Norton AntiVirus and Windows updates. I've spent at least three unproductive hours on the phone with various representatives, and although the problem seems to be resolved at the moment, I have no idea how long the fix will last. As I've said many times before, if I disappear, it won't be my fault. And at this point, the problems of being on line have almost convinced me to pull the plug.

Weaving Rose Path

Day 60: The weaver's talent is put to the test before the cloth is begun. The warp is measured first, then gathered in a chain or some other fashion to keep it from tangling, and then it is mounted on the back or front beam, depending on the weaver's preference. I like to wind it onto the back beam, and in doing so, I space the threads out over the approximate width of the projected cloth by running them through a set of dividers known as a raddle. From the raddle, each strand is taken through a heddle (a metal or string upright held in the harnesses), and this must be done in careful order depending on what pattern I've chosen to weave. My loom has four harnesses. To weave Rose Path following this particular threading, the strands of warp pass through heddles held in harnesses 1, 2, 3, 4, 3, 2, 1, 4, repeated across the width. This is the most critical part of the manufacture of the cloth. A mistake will become apparent as soon as the weaving is begun. After the warp is strung through the heddles, it passes through yet another separator known as the reed. This device is mounted in the beater bar. Then the strands are tied to the front apron and weaving may commence.

The actual weaving is repetitive. The sheds (separations of the warp through which the shuttle passes) are raised by means of  four foot pedals (one per harness). The treadling sequence for this particular pattern is 1,4; 1,2; 2,3; 3,4; 2,3; 1,2; 1,4; 3,4. A good treadling rhythm is similar to hiking up the trail, i.e., step, step, step, step. The shuttle is passed left to right, right to left, back and forth, back and forth. The sound of the heddles in the harnesses is also soothing, a sussurating timbre I can only equate to that of a polite rattlesnake shaking its tail to let you know you know that the sunny rocks on this slope are already taken: "Please don't step to the right. This is my spot and I'm comfortable here." In other words, the work is done. Now just relax and weave!

12 Dents Per Inch

Day 59: So long ago now that I can't recall when it was, an internet acquaintance who was giving up weaving sent me a boxful of spooled thread remnants. I put them away, thinking that some day I'd incorporate them into a project, but I always seemed to favour buying new threads instead. Then my best weaving supply store closed its doors suddenly and I found myself without a source. Although I have some large cones still in my stash, I took this as a message from the weaving gods: "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." Yesterday, I decided to warp a new project at 12 dents per inch. I usually like to weave at least three items from any one warping, but in this case, I was simply hoping there would be enough thread for two scarves. Halfway into measuring the warp, I realized I was going to fall short. I pulled the thread off the warping board and started over. In doing so, I created a major mess despite my best efforts to prevent it. This silky rayon thread was unpredictably self-attracted, leaving me to waste the better part of two hours undoing tangles. Getting it on the loom offered a few issues as well, but those bridges have been crossed and I am now ready to tie it to the front apron, one step away from making the first throw on somebody's 2018 Christmas gift.

Cocoabean

Day 58: "When Memory lives, Spirit endures." It is a phrase I often include in notes of sympathy when a friend has lost a loved one, and although I am not religious and do not believe in a soul as such, "spirit" is another concept entirely. "Spirit" is how we are perceived and remembered by others, whether we are alive or dead. It is the essence of who we are and how we relate to the rest of the world. It is more apparent to us in other humans and in our pets, but all things have "spirit," right down to the rocks and soil beneath our feet; it is our mental record of them.

One dear spirit passed through my life all too briefly, and although his memory is still strong in my mind more than a decade after his passing, I strengthen it each Christmas when I place his ornament on the tree: first, and in a place of prominence. I miss you, Cocoabean, love of my life.

Handwoven Rugs

Day 57: This project is no longer looming over me! I started weaving these rugs about a year ago (maybe a little longer) and although I'd sleyed them with the intention of using a traditional bird's-eye weave, it quickly became apparent that the chenille yarn I'd chosen for the weft was too fluffy to allow the warp threads to show. I said a few choice words, picked back the first few throws and resigned myself to the monotony of tabby, i.e., treadles 1,3 and 2, 4 as steadily as if I'd been hiking up a hill. Bored, I only worked on them sporadically and the top of the loom became a repository for quilt parts, other sewing projects and fabric photo backdrops. Every now and then, I'd clear it off and do 25 or 50 throws, "Nope, I'm bored with this. I'm out of here."

A few days ago, I was organizing things in my craft room and was putting away some remnants, and the mood came upon me to weave. I raced through the third rug and began working on the fourth and last one. This morning, I finished up and pulled the cloth from the heddles. I still have to tie fringes, but there you have it: done! And the warp for my next project is laid out and waiting to be measured.

Bird Wreath

Day 56: It's official! The season has begun at the Crow's Nest. I made spritz on St. Nicholas Day, and yesterday I put up the Bird Wreath and the other assorted house decorations. The tree will go up this weekend if I can figure out where to put it. That said, I observe Christmas as a tradition of a festive nature, not a religious one. There are vestiges of my father's Catholic upbringing in it, e.g., the observance of St. Nicholas Day, but mostly it is to me a time to be closer to friends (human and otherwise) and to recognize them with a few special kindnesses above those of the rest of the year. Birds, boughs and lights are the symbols of my Yuletide, a season which begins on December 6 (St. Nicholas Day) and ends on Hogmanay (January 1). The core of the period is shared by the twin stars of Solstice and Christmas, each with its own set of traditions unique to me personally. Perforce, some have had to be revised over the years, so if anyone knows where I can get some real mistletoe to go with the Solstice holly, please let me know!

Clavaria Vermicularis

Day 55: I have been haunting one particular corner of the woods since the first rains arrived in October, hoping to see the ghostly white fingers of Clavaria vermicularis poking up through the step-moss. It wasn't a long walk to the site by any means, so I'd check every week or so and had just about given up hope, thinking that perhaps they wouldn't occur after this year's dry summer. I stopped again yesterday, and there they were, all three of them with another broken one six feet off to one side. This species is fairly common in Pacific Northwest forests and is slightly larger than its cousin C. acuta. Vermicularis grows in groupings, as opposed to acuta's tendency to demonstrate isolated clubs. If you're wondering how a non-gilled fungus like Clavaria reproduces, these critters have basidiocarps (microscopic spore-producing structures) on their top third.

Joppa Flats Hats

Day 54: I like to call this the "Flats Hats Project" (a little word-play, though some of you may not understand the reference to the NPS "flat hat" without this word of explanation). Last week, I learned that the Mass Audubon Joppa Flats Education Center ("Mass" for Massachusetts) has had volunteer knitters working for them for the last several years, producing warm-fuzzies for sale in the Center's gift shop. I had visited Joppa Flats when I was staying with a friend in New Hampshire and was very impressed with their interpretive programs, especially those geared to young people. It occurred to me that this was an opportunity for me to contribute without significant financial burden. I immediately picked up needles and yarn and started working. In the past week, I've turned out five hats and have just started a sixth. When I have 10-12 done, I will mail them off. All proceeds go to support Mass Audubon's bird-banding station.

In these tortured political times, I am driven to do more for the environmental causes which are so close to my heart. While National Parks are obviously suffering under the current administration, smaller conservancies are being hard-hit as their funding organizations are shut down or reduced. Although I don't know that Joppa Flats has been affected, the Nisqually Land Trust certainly has. These smaller environmental groups may be our only hope. Please, if you can, find a way to give them support, even if you knit it.

Black-Capped Elusive

Day 53: It's still not the "field guide" photo I'd like it to be, but yesterday I managed to capture this image of the Black-Capped Elusive who has been visiting my feeders for the last couple of days. I am so envious of people who have flocks of gregarious chickadees which seem to be more than willing to sit on their hands. Here, they are flighty and jumpy, and just as you locate one in your viewfinder (mind you, in a tree fifty yards away), by the time your finger has clicked the shutter, your target is gone. I've been trying to sneak a shot through my less-than-spotless living room window glass, but the little bugger takes off if I move the camera even slightly. This photo was taken from my back porch...well, more or less. I was hiding in the kitchen with nothing but the lens sticking out the door. That said, at least I have documentation of Poecile atricapillus in the contorted filbert.

I'm not sure what that means in the long term. Chickadees will not come where Pine Siskins are present, and I generally have Siskins at the feeder. The "dee-dees" live across the road in the brushy band of Ninebark, Chokecherry and Vine Maple behind my mailbox. If they've migrated to the yard, it may mean that the Siskins have moved out. There's no option which allows for both in the same territory.

Your December WTF Moment

Day 52: Yes, those are daffodils. In December. If ever there was a "WTF moment," it was yesterday when I noticed them in my garden, and therefore I uttered that precise and vulgar phrase spontaneously. As to why they might be so far ahead of schedule is impossible to speculate. It's not overly warm, and certainly the amount of daylight they've been receiving is only marginally more or less than that in any other December. Yet there they are, happy little heads poking through the ground in anticipation of spring. Kids, you're gonna beat the pussywillows this year, and that just ain't right!

Catch As Catch Can

Day 51: The penultimate leaf had fallen from the calendar, and I had gone north on a mission of some importance. As I was returning and solely upon a whim, I thought to make a survey of the old hunting grounds to see if by chance the haggis were running. Navigating there from an unfamiliar direction, I felt that I might have lost my way through the tangle of by-ways but kept on in my course as dictated by instinct. My sense of the place proved equal to the task, and soon I found myself at the lair of the beasts. I took myself with stealth into its heart and when I was deeply entrenched within, I gave forth the cry, "Haggis! Two p'und! Haggis! Haggis!" whereupon to my surprise and delight, a female of the species crept out from her cubby. I leapt upon her and bare-handed, wrestled her into my game bag and cinched it tight lest she gnaw herself to freedom before she could be properly caged. Upon arrival home, I placed her immediately in impound, there to be fattened for butchering, destined for the Hogmanay meal. Now for the neeps and tatties, an easy task for they are common and require no great skill to snare.

Miniature Universe

Day 50: A friend maintains that I notice tiny things because I'm "built closer to the ground." He may have a point, although I'm inclined to think that although I grew taller, I never grew UP. I remember as a child being completely enraptured by a universe of little tree-like structures (the haircap moss shown above), but I do not recall lichens among my childhood discoveries. I can't imagine that they weren't present in the woods behind our house, but likewise, I'm sure my attention would have been drawn to them if they were there. Something like the "fingernails" of Peltigera membranacea wouldn't have been an item I could have overlooked, nor the pale blue-green forked branches of Cladonia squamosa. Unless I was sick, there wasn't a day I didn't have my nose to the forest floor in observation of some life-form. Yet somehow, I missed lichens. My life might have taken a different path if I had been introduced to them earlier. Oh, if only we could start over!

Admirable Lichens

Day 49: As I despair of futures (those of my country, the globe and my own), I find some small comfort in setting a course by the compass of John Muir's words: "I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in." On the trail, my mind shuts off all conscious thoughts of anything but what is before my eyes and I exist only as a part of the nature surrounding me. I am "home" in a sense that no four walls can convey, however cozy. The atmosphere of soft colours and filtered light dispels the garish glare of frets and worries, the whisper of wind navigating through bare autumn branches drowns out the ugly voices of news and politics. My passage through the environment disturbs nothing more than is absolutely necessary. Time passes, but the metronome beat of the clock is meaningless. Here in truth, I am cousin to the lichens, sister to the stone, grounded and apart from the artificial reality with which we have surrounded ourselves. I find peace in the forest, among my kin.

But I cannot walk in the woods forever, as much as I would like to do. At some point, I must return to the grievously misnamed arena we call "civilization," and face again the horrors of bigotry, hate, environmental insensitivity and greed as fostered by that grand bastard, Donald Trump and his minions. Despair again takes my hand and says, "Come walk with me."