Thief In The Night

Day 138: One of the drawbacks to having multiple bird feeders (or any bird feeders at all) is that they tend to draw other types of unwelcome wildlife to the yard. Last year, I relocated well over a dozen squirrels and disposed of two Bushy-Tailed Woodrats, but the largest of the thieves won't fit in my only Havahart trap. Over the years, I've seen several families of raccoons as well as frequent solos. Sometimes one will sit just outside the kitchen's sliding glass door to engage in a hissing/yowling match with Skunk, who takes considerable offense at their presence. Tip just runs back and forth from the door to the living room window, trying to get the best view. Between cats protesting the invaders and Rocky shoving my garbage can and recycling bin around as he tried to figure out a way to get inside, I didn't get much sleep last night. That said, this is the first time I've managed to get a decent picture of one of the varmints, and as I stood there with the kitchen door open just far enough to stick the camera outside, it advanced toward the house until only a few yards away. I slammed the door shut with a bang, but even that only startled the 'coon momentarily. It moved as far as the fence, checked out the ground below the crow board, and then shambled off toward Clyde's house. Raccoons are just one of many reasons my cats are not allowed outdoors. A raccoon can easily kill a full-grown cat.

Parrot Tree

Day 137: First, they sent the scouting party and then, after having ascertained that the food source was reliable and replenished daily, the flock booked the Inn of the Contorted Filbert for an indeterminate stay. Guests who return every year, the Porch Parrots...Evening Grosbeaks...are, to put it simply, the most enjoyable gluttons at my feeders. They favour black-oil sunflower seed, and should I happen to let the supply run down, they'll perch on the shepherd's hooks closest to the window and let me know about it with impatient "CHURP!" demands. I've given up keeping a tally of the hundreds of pounds of seed they consume every year, but it's more than 10 fifty-pound bags between April and August, never mind the shoulder seasons. I've been meeting their nutritional requirements for over forty years, first at my home on a SW Washington prairie and now here. The flock I left behind when I moved from the prairie took up with another neighbour who has continued the tradition. My winter flock usually numbers 10-50 (15 in the tree as I write this), but in the summertime, the census more than doubles and adds in the Black-Headed Grosbeaks as well. My yard is always a chorus of happy bird voices, and what better thanks could there be?

Mr. Redwing

Day 136: Although winter isn't generally considered the best time of year for birding, you'd have no problem checking off a dozen or more species on any given day from the comfort of my living room. The Red-winged Blackbirds always stop through on their way to Mineral Lake, although they seem to have arrived a bit earlier than usual this year, and in greater numbers. In a few weeks, I should see their cousins, the Brewers, whose yellow eyes invariably send me scampering for the field guide before I remember who they are. Nesting Red-wings can be extremely territorial even toward humans, to the extent that a few years ago, a sign by a small pond in an industrial park warned visitors to "Beware Aggressive Black Bird." Air strikes were apparently fairly common in the parking lot.

Stranded Knitting

Day 135: This is what happens when Crow is housebound: pink knitting. I'm going slightly stir-crazy, and I have to get rid of the leftovers from the pussy hats...I have to! I don't want to see them when I dive into the stash. Even so, this has been good practice in the technique of stranded knitting which, when all is said and done, is almost as pretty on the back as it is on the front. However, there's only so much pink I can take at a time. Even though I wasn't looking at my reflection in a mirror when I head-tested the hat on the left for fit, I could feel my gorge rising at the very thought. Seriously, I charge $2 more per pair of socks if somebody wants pink. I need green, people. I need trees and lichens and the smell of the forest and my boots pounding a trail. Lemme out of here before I go totally nuts!

A Little Confused

Day 134: Although Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius) is said to be a year-'round resident here, they generally appear here in April or May. Consequently, I was surprised to see this guy at the feeder, munching down seeds instead of the usual diet of insects and fruit. Like the Black-Capped Chickadee, he seems to be a solo, as was the single American Robin who cropped up a few days ago. This tells me I'd better keep my eyes open for other isolated occurrences as the seasons progress. I may have a "big year" in my own back yard!

The call of the Varied Thrush is a long whistle, followed a few seconds later by another whistle on a different pitch, and accounts for one of the questions I'm most frequently asked by visitors to the Park: "Do you know what bird makes this sound?" Some of the human imitations are quite good, but even a poor rendition is easily identifiable as Varied Thrush. Once you have heard it and have had the bird identified, you'll never forget those haunting, paired notes. These birds prefer cool, moist evergreen forests such as those found in Mount Rainier National Park, and although the species is still listed as "common" in the Pacific Northwest, its habitat is shrinking due to logging outside of protected areas.

The Undarling Starling

Day 133: Despite his cute coat of neat "knit stitches" (the non-breeding phase colouration), the European Starling is no one's darling. Sturnus vulgaris was introduced to North America some time in the late 1800s and now outcompetes other birds ranging from swallows and bluebirds to larger species such as woodpeckers as well, taking over their nesting cavities and forcing them out of their territories. Starlings generally congregate in flocks which may consist of hundreds or thousands. Nest-building is begun by the males but is completed by the female. Nesting material may include bits of greenery and flowers placed by the male as an attractant; upon accepting him as a mate, the female removes the fresh bits, leaving only grasses, twigs and other pieces of dry material in the nest cup. Prolific, Starlings can raise up to three broods of 4-5 chicks per year. Oddly, the advance of agriculture has led to a decline in the number of Starlings present in Europe, although they are still a long way from being listed as a "species of concern" in their homeland.

Currier And Ives Morning

Day 132: For those of my readers who are unfamiliar with Currier and Ives, they were partners in a printmaking firm which specialized in hand-tinted lithographs, many of which were of snow scenes similar to that which appears out my kitchen door this morning. In addition to being hung as wall art, their designs have been used on Christmas cards, china and assorted other media and are familiar to many even though the names of the artists are not. Unspoiled snow always puts me in mind of them, and with eight inches of new snow...new, I said...having fallen overnight, I'm going to need to put on my tallest boots to cut a swath out to the bird feeders. I try to avoid leaving paths through the larger part of the yard, and since I have nowhere to go (I laid in groceries yesterday), I will decline my neighbour's offer of a plowed driveway.

Snow Jays

Day 131: Steller's Jay is absolutely stellar when ornamenting a snow-covered branch! They are also a reliable visitor to my feeders, and are here year-'round. That said, they are not the only jays who come calling. Occasionally, a few Grey Jays drift down from the upper elevations during the winter, and for the last couple of years, a Scrub Jay has shown up during the summer months. All members of the family of corvids, they may not be quite as smart as crows and ravens, but they're still some of the sharpest crayons in the box...in this case, one marked "sapphire blue." The colour is a trick of physics (refraction of light from the cellular structure of keratin in their feathers). This bird is actually just one more LBJ, the "little brown job" of birder parlance.

Winter Residents

Day 130: One of my most reliable winter birds is good old Spotted Towhee, aka Rufous-Sided Towhee (Pipilo maculatus), but exactly how his name is pronounced is a subject of some conjecture. Webster's Third New International Dictionary offers several options. I can't seem to copy the schwa (upside-down e) to a post, so you will have to make do with my phonetic renditions. A schwa has the sound of the o in "collect", i.e., cuh-LECT. Webster first lists TUHW-ee. The next choice puts the emphasis on the final syllable: tuhw-EE. Last of all comes the pronunciation I hear most often (one which sets my nerves on edge as surely as fingernails on a chalkboard): TOE-hee. As I say it, it is more like the first option, but with a slightly stronger first syllable, TOO-wee. But nowhere can I find justification for another pronunciation, TAU-ee.

I don't care how,
Too or toe,
But toss out tau.
It just ain't so.

Red Umbrella In The Snow

Day 129: In the Pacific Northwest, if you carry an umbrella, it marks you as being from Somewhere Else (probably California), but a few years ago, I bought a cheap one specifically for a photo shoot. It hasn't been out of the closet since, deemed an ineffectual way to keep our particular breed of rain off you...you know, the kind of rain which comes down sideways and penetrates to the bone within a minute or two of starting, the kind of rain which arrives on Tuesday and doesn't leave for at least two weeks. True Pacific Northwesterners live in the full-body protection of Goretex.

So, unfamiliar with umbrellas as a species, I finally found the little button you push to open the beast. Whoosh! Up she went! I took the photo, and then while still outside in the cold, I started trying to figure out how to return it to the "closed" configuration. Much swearing ensued as I trapped pieces of my jacket in it, and had it refuse to lock into place because I'd passed some invisible point which re-engaged the "open" mechanism. As I got colder and colder (remember, I'm just recovering from pneumonia), I decided the prudent thing would be to take it indoors and work on it there. Even so, it took me almost twenty minutes to figure out how to clamp it between my knees so I could get all the little points back in the handle.

Snow Globe

Day 128: An overnight snowfall of five inches kinda caught all of us a little off-balance, including the Odd Onion who here perches precariously on the tip of a steel fencepost. I like snow. I like snowshoeing. The problem is that having a good snowfall at house elevation keeps me from driving to the Park where the snow is deep enough for a good snowshoe walk. That said, if this keeps up, I may need to put them on to get out to the mailbox!

Leftovers

Day 127: Sometimes you need to be a little creative in order to use up leftover yarn, and for me, PINK was a special challenge. I had purchased a space-dyed yarn called "Gumdrop," hoping to get more than one hat out of the skein. Unfortunately, I came up short for the second one by just under half an ounce. The yarn had a different finish and feel than those in my current scrap afghan, so I was reluctant to use it even though it was unlikely anyone would notice. I remembered I had leftovers from the "pussy hat" project, and decided to do some stranded knitting with both pinks and the ombre. I made the rib in dark pink (the colour I had the least of), and then experimented with a couple of different ideas for the body. I finally settled on a 2/3 stitch diagonal. After 30 rows, I'll break off the colour work and resume in dark pink or possibly bands of dark and light, depending on how far the remaining yardage will allow me to go.

Happy As A Rock On Gravel

Day 126: It's nice when you have a friend who is solid as a rock to cheer you up if you're feeling down. I seldom see faces or shapes in nature, so it's been rather amazing for me to have found two noteworthy ones in three days. Rock caught my eye at the Bud Blancher trailhead only two days after I posted the lichen love-note hearts. Is Ma acknowledging my appreciation of her handcrafts? You'd be justified in thinking so. At any rate, Rock is a happy fellow, that's for certain. And y'know, in my tapestry of friends, there are a number of rocks both large and small. Perhaps their personalities aren't as obvious as my "buddy" here, but they are definitely distinct individuals whose acquaintance I have been privileged to make.

Joppa Flats Hats 25-42

Day 125: I mailed off another box containing hats #25-42 to Joppa Flats Education Center yesterday: six ladybug cloches, six bees, two Fair Isle (two-colour) and four other stocking caps of assorted fibers and weights. Joppa sells them for $25 apiece, so for a few hours of my time and a relatively minor expenditure for yarn above and beyond what has been given to me by friends for the project, I will have contributed over $1000 to their bird-banding program. Y'know, that makes me feel very proud. It would have been totally out of the question for me to donate that amount in cash, and yet I've been able to support their good work in a way which was also very enjoyable for me. With summer coming (yes, it really is!), I will be suspending hat production until they tell me they need more, but I suspect that in particular, the ladybugs are going to sell like hotcakes regardless of the season. Maybe I'd better knit a few more to get ahead of the game.

Lichen Love Letter

Day 124: A friend once asked me if I felt my deep love for Nature was in any way returned. I gave him an unequivocal reply: "Yes, absolutely!" and then went on to explain that one can't apply human values to the exchange when in a relationship with a non-human partner. When I am gifted with something like finding a rare plant or watching ravens perform aerial acrobatics where my eyes are the only ones to see them, I perceive these things as rewards. Some are more obvious than others, and some approach a human-like parity; others are subtle and only apparent to someone who is more intimately connected. Some defy quantifying because they cross the lines. Case in point, finding a heart-shaped specimen of Buellia (erubescens?) on the day before Valentine's Day. When your Mother spends years on hand-crafting a present for you, there's no denying that a lot of love went into its creation.

Evidence Of Sapsucker Activity

Day 123: "Rap-rap-rap!" Our local Red-Breasted Sapsuckers have a reputation for making holes in trees, a practice which frequently causes branches or even trunks to break. Their name is derived from the fact that the bird drills in order to drink the sugary sap which seeps from the wounds it has inflicted on the tree, but although they do lap up this sweet treat, they use the ooze to attract the insects which are the major source of protein in their diet. The Sapsucker will create a line of neatly spaced wells and retire from its work, returning some time later to feast on the bugs which have been drawn to the exudate. The jury is still out on whether Sapsuckers prefer trees which are already infested with insects and therefore failing, or whether they contribute to the demise of healthy trees.

Joppa Flats Hat 40

Day 122: This marks the 40th hat I have created for Mass Audubon's Joppa Flats Education Center. I haven't posted many of the rest because...well, because my readers have seen the basic styles (stocking cap, ladybug and bee), but this one is something special. It is the first full piece I've made in the "woven knitting" style where no float longer than two stitches is carried on the reverse of the work. I practiced with a swatch until I could manage fairly even tension with two strands held in my left hand, Continental-style. Being Fair Isle, the work needed minor blocking, something you don't really worry about when you're knitting k2, p2 rib. I could still use more practice in managing the strands, but overall, I'm pleased with the way it turned out. I completed the Fair Isle section on a second hat this morning. Joppa box number 3 will be on its way as soon as hats 41 and 42 are in it, and then I can get to a pair of socks to fill a paying order. Gotta sell something every now and then so I can feed my yarn habit!

The Old Dog

Day 121: Here's living proof that old dogs can learn new tricks if they have the proper motivation. Several days ago, I was browsing YouTube for something knitting-related and stumbled across several tutorials for "woven knitting," a system of preventing the floats common in working Fair Isle. Fair Isle has never been a favourite with me because of the constant need to untangle strands of yarn from skeins or bobbins, and I've always worked it two-handed in a combination of Continental/English (American) styles. I wasn't sure if "woven knitting" would prevent that, so I watched several of the videos until I chanced upon one which was pure Continental. I took a break from making hats for Joppa Flats in order to practice the technique, and when I was finally comfortable with manipulating two strands at the same time on two fingers of my left hand, I drafted a pattern and settled into making a Fair Isle hat. This method permits you to catch every other stitch without creating a yarn nightmare of the strands, and it works up almost as quickly as straight Continental. I think this old dog deserves a treat!

Elegant Mousetrap

Day 120: A semi-surprise Valentine's gift from one of my two sisters-of-the-heart arrived in yesterday's mail, "semi" because my other sister-of-the-heart accidentally let the cat...mouse...out of the bag because hers arrived a day earlier. That said, although I knew the package contained L. A. Burdick's wonderfully delicious chocolate mice, I did not know they had been confined in wooden box wrapped with a red ribbon and sealed with a wax imprint. Talk about building a better mousetrap! This eminently elegant device had captured nine, three each of three different species. All are feather-light ganache at their hearts, flavoured either with orange juice, port wine or espresso/kirsch. The sister who inadvertently revealed the surprise goes by the nickname of Goldfinch. And for the gift itself, I thank the other sister...Mousie! (Hmmmm...wonder if anybody makes chocolate crows?)

Best U.S. Gov't.

Day 119: I need a new set of keys, one in keeping with current events, i.e., keys which are engraved with the words "Worst U.S. Gov't. Do not duplicate."

Anyone with half a brain knows that procrastination only makes matters worse, so why not work on the budget before it becomes a critical issue? Why doesn't Congress do the damn job we-the-taxpayers are paying them to do? They expect us to have our work done on time and our bills paid. Why can't we expect the same of them?

Okay, the shutdown was done and undone while I slept, which if you think about it, is a rather stupid way to conduct business. That said, it disturbed my sleep even though I don't draw a wage. The headaches simply back up in my email as we wait for somebody to turn the lights back on, and then I'm pressured with how to get my work done in a timely manner. I'm not asking for the "Best U.S. Gov't." I'm just asking for one with a little functionality, one which doesn't screw up my life and the lives of my friends.

Tree Shells

Day 118: "We smells tree shells by the tree core." I'm not going to hazard a guess as to the identity of these blush-pink beauties. I was simply taken by the elegance of their spiralling form. They have gills and no stipes, and the largest was approximately an inch laterally. The length was somewhat more, but it was hard to tell where one left off and another one began. They were growing on a live Doug fir on the Trail of the Shadows in Longmire.

Walking around Trail of the Shadows, I realize I am not as fully recovered from the January plague as I thought. My co-workers even commented that I didn't seem to be my usual perky self. I was glad to be back at my desk, glad to get out for that brief walk in the forest. Spring is coming, and there are rare plants to find. I need to get back on my game, and there's nothing quite like the beauty of Nature to inspire me.

Why They Call It Devil's-Club

Day 117: Some of my readers may not be familiar with this plant. You're the lucky ones. It's Devil's-Club, Oplopanax horridus. The stalks grow up to 10 feet in height and every square inch is covered in hard needle-like thorns. Likewise, the veins on the undersides of the leaves are heavily armed. One careless encounter, one quick grab to stabilize yourself is all it takes to demonstrate the reason for its common name. Pacific Northwesterners dread it more than nettles, blackberries or wild roses. In late summer, a panicle of red berries rises above the foliage, a fruit which is enjoyed immensely by bears. Lucky bear! His coat is too thick for the thorns to pierce, unlike your good Goretex jacket or your heavy trail pants.

Black Hellebore

Day 116: Friends who have known me for any length of time know that I have a passion for "black" flowering plants, i.e., black tulips, black pansies, black iris, etc. None of these is actually pitch-black, black as night, black as a London coal-hole, but rather some shade of purple, and some darker than others. "Black" hellebore is one of the lighter ones, but you can't deny that it is strikingly sumptuous, especially since it frequently holds its blooms over a blanket of snow. Also known as "Lenten Rose," it flowers in late winter and early spring. Its leaves are dark green and palmate, their edges serrated, and at least on my plant, the flowers arise from the center of the clustered stems. This year, mine is particularly lush, but the stalks which bear them are fairly short. Fortunately, one of them had turned its face upward to display the center detail.

Captured At Last!

Day 115: Today marks the accomplishment of a goal it has taken me DECADES to achieve: I have finally gotten a "field-guide" shot of a Black-Capped Chickadee! Everybody else in the world has chickadees which feed out of their hands. Any I have encountered were more elusive than warblers! Dee-dee (just one!) has been coming to my feeders for at least a month now, gradually gaining the confidence to stay in the contorted filbert when I've gone out to add new seed. Sometimes, he'd let me walk past on my way to the mailbox, letting me know that he was there with a "dee-dee-dee" call. I'd speak to him as a way of assuring him that I wasn't a predator: "Oh, hi, Dee-dee! Did you see the peanut-butter suet I put out for you?" When I first saw him today, he was face-on toward me with a twig in the way of his lower body, but he allowed me to edge around until I was within ten feet of his perch, although he didn't voice his call as I got closer. I'd say we've come to an understanding, and I do hope he spreads the word.

Reed And Shuttles

Day 114: My collection of weaving accoutrements is growing, and now includes two antique rag bobbins, a gift from sister-of-my-heart Mousie. They belonged to her oldest friend's mother and grandmother, and I feel very privileged that she managed to convince the friend to part with them on my behalf. I have been wanting to do some rag-woven rugs, but had no shuttles large enough to hold more than just a few yards of prepared fabric. On the other hand, the 15-dent reed behind them is brand-new and will be used for finer pieces similar to the table runners I'm presently making. The runners are warped at 15 dents using a 4.5" high reed from my table loom. My floor loom takes a 5" reed, so I had to be inventive. I started off by padding the channel with foam and cardboard. I did a test run and the reed stayed in place. However, after working about a foot and a half of the actual cloth, the reed jumped out of its track and was left dangling by the warp! I reinstalled it with only a minor amount of profanity, but for additional security, I wired it in. As a stop-gap measure, it works, but I realized that since most of my weaving is done with 8/2 cotton, I really needed a 15-dent reed which was made to fit the loom. Old or new, a weaver needs the proper tools.

Relearning Curve

Day 113: My "relearning curve" has flatlined when it comes to this beautifully lush Usnea. Once known as Usnea dasopoga, it was frequently misspelled by amateurs and academics alike as "dasypoga," and was eventually renamed Usnea filipendula. Like many other things in botany, it has had a wealth of other synonyms attached to it over the years, but fairly recently, its name has reverted to the original. Do you think I can remember "Usnea dasopoga" when the need arises? Not hardly! I persist in calling it "filipendula," preferring the euphony of the word. The retired term is particularly descriptive; "filum" also gives us the English "filament,"and "pendulus" means "hanging." Indeed, Usnea fi...(dammit)...appears as a graceful mass of hanging threads, especially when hosted on its favourite medium, spruce. As for "dasopoga" or its misspelling, I can find no etymology, none whatsoever. It seems to be a nonsense word, the creation of a taxonomist who was too deeply in his cups, armed dangerously with a load of Scrabble tiles. Without roots to support it, "dasopoga" refuses to grow in my mental garden.

Infestation!

Day 112: "Ladybug, ladybug...The most commonly seen ladybugs (ladybird beetles) were introduced to the United States to control aphids. As cute as they may be, these red and black insects may outcompete native species in some areas." So reads the interpretive tag I am including with the ladybug hats bound for Mass Audubon Joppa Flats Education Center's gift shop. As you can see, they've taken over my front flower bed and are wreaking havoc with the junipers. Oh dear! Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home!

I can vouch for these critters as competitors. They very nearly won over the rights to my house about twenty years ago. For about two weeks, I kept finding them everywhere, but the capping climax was the morning I removed 38 of them from my shower! And did you know that some species bite? I learned that the hard way, too. But all that aside, there has never been a more adorable "bug" despite the fact that they need to be accompanied by warning labels.

Nailed It Squarely

Day 111: I think almost all photographers are intrigued by rusty bits. I certainly am, and I can't count the number of times I've photographed the square nails and spikes which adorn a couple of logs alongside the Bud Blancher Trail near the crossing of the Little Mashel. The shanks of the spikes are as big around as my thumb, and the bent nails are roughly six inches long. Why there are three of them so close together is anyone's guess. Maybe there was a heck of a hard knot in that pole and somebody was really determined, although I can't imagine anyone but Paul Bunyan having the strength to bend them like that. Who knows? Maybe they're left over from Paul's loggin' days. After all, he's a bit of Pacific Northwest history, no matter what Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin claim.