Steller's Fledgling

Day 248: All around me, new little people are discovering the world. From Merry (currently asleep in my lap after a large THIRD breakfast) to the baby juncoes and short-winged, short-tailed Grosbeaks I have to sidestep when I go outside, they are learning lessons, exploring, testing boundaries, curious about anything and everything they see. This Steller's Jay (Cyanocitta stelleri) is newly fledged. How can I tell? His colouration isn't well-developed for one thing, and his facial markings haven't come in yet, but more to the point, his gape (the fleshy "hinge" of his beak) is still pinkish. The pink or light-coloured gape exhibited by many young birds helps the parents find them in the dark confines of the nest. It turns dark within a few days of fledging.

Golden Chain

Day 247: The Golden Chain Tree is in bloom. This was one of the items on my priority list when I bought my home over thirty years ago, but I had trouble finding one I felt I could afford. Most of what was available came in huge pots, so large that I knew I couldn't get one into my car or, more importantly, get it back out again and to the spot where I wanted to plant it. Then one day as I was nosing around in one of my favourite garden stores, I came across a weeping variety at a reasonable price. Big pot or not, the tree just fit in the back of my car with the branches filling the passenger seat and only slightly bent down against the front windshield. It was something of a challenge to heft the pot out the rear hatch and roll it into place. My father had insisted that if you bought a $5 tree, you should put it in a "$50 hole" to ensure its survival, so I set to digging and filling, using store-bought garden soil to bed it in. Daddy's wisdom paid off. It's still not very tall, but it blooms reliably, and the weeping habit enhances the effect of the golden chains of pea-shaped flowers which give this Laburnum its common name.

Nature Photography Day

Day 246: It seems like every day has some special significance attached to it now, perhaps with a dozen or more occasions being recognized. I do try to remember Towel Day and International Talk Like a Pirate Day, but I always miss things like World Cat Day, National Coffee Day, etc. Apparently all it takes to have a special "national" day is to register it with the "National Day Calendar." Seems kinda stupid to me to have a "National Foam Party Day" (also today), but there ya go. Why not? Or equally, why? I stumbled across the fact (a term I use loosely in this context) that today is Nature Photography Day. Now that's a concept I can get behind! And since my time is now almost exclusively devoted to making sure one special kitten is comfortable in his forever home, I escaped out the back door while he was napping, snapped a picture of the first blooming thing I saw in my yard, and managed to get back inside the house before he discovered I was gone. Although I didn't register it as a national day, Happy Honeysuckle!

Rhododendron

Day 245: No landscaping in Washington is complete without the addition of a Rhododendron. It's our State Flower! The most recognizable native variety resembles those sold commercially in that it makes large clusters of pinkish-white to pink flowers and has the large leaves familiar to gardeners. It is often called Pacific Rhododendron or (ironically) California Rhododendron. Its scientific name, Rhododendron macrophyllum, means "Rhododendron with large leaves" (d'uh!). However, at least four other Rhododendrons occur in the state. R. albiflorum looks like a blueberry bush, and bears its greenish-white flowers singly or in small clusters; R. groenlandicum and R. columbianum are small and shrubby, and carry heads of little white flowers above leathery leaves; R. menziesii is somewhat taller and more woody, and its flowers are bell-shaped like those of huckleberries. None of these four jumps out at the observer to say, "I am a Rhododendron." That distinction lies with our iconic State Flower which can grow up to eighteen feet tall and measure nearly as broad.

Master Meriadoc's Official Portrait

Day 244: I have yet to meet a cat who doesn't dislike the soul-stealer, and Merry is no exception. He posed for his official portrait somewhat reluctantly, and I had to do a fair bit of processing to bring him out of the shadows because I didn't dare use the flash. This is one smart young gentleman. He has already trained me in the matter of plastic spring toys. They belong in the kitchen where they can be batted about on the linoleum, not in the living room where the carpet interferes with their movement. If I throw one across the rug, he takes it in his mouth, trots like a prize stallion out into the kitchen and then begins playing with it. On the flip side, he seems to know that if I point directly at him when he's thinking about jumping up on the bathroom counter from the toilet seat, I mean "that's not a kitty place." There is a lot of give-and-take in raising a kitten and in training a mama, and the largest factor in success is patience, lots of patience. And that I have. Who else do you know who has wild birds (six species and counting) eat from their hand?

Fig Progress

Day 243: Several of the figs have increased in size by double or more since a week ago today. Yes, I do think I will have fresh figs to enjoy later on this year, unless a squirrel or raccoon finds them (and I haven't seen either varmint in some time). Desert King is a green fig, and at full size, a single fruit would fit snugly in a standard coffee mug. Juicy and sweet when picked sun-warm from the tree, they are absolutely delicious. The tree can be kept pruned back to a height which makes it easy to harvest. Mine is currently about 5' high, and I plan to let it grow another foot or so.

Master Meriadoc

Day 242: I promise not to submerge my readers in kitty photos, but I do beg your indulgence for a few. This was a major change in my life, losing Tippy so suddenly, and now my hours are dedicated to Master Meriadoc as he adjusts to his new household. We slept unexpectedly well last night, although having a cat in the "hammock" of blankets between your knees makes changing position quite a production. Merry went right to bed at lights-out, and slept in that cradle until 2:30 when he decided I needed to wake up and play. We did chase-the-fingers for half an hour (gently) and then he was happy to go back to sleep, this time curled up beside my head, and holding hands with me. It did him a world of good, because when we got up, he went immediately into Zoomie Hellcat mode and didn't slow up for five hours. When he did crash, he dropped like a rock in the chair. I picked him up, put him in my lap, and that's where we've been for the last hour or so. He is a bundle of energy, and I swear he can leap sideways without his feet ever touching the floor. What surprises me most is how well he's adjusted to his new environment, i.e., without any real break-in period at all. It is obvious that he was given a lot of love in his former home, because he is very human-oriented, following me everywhere, yowling when I'm out of sight, tangling himself in my ankles, sitting on my foot, leaping into my lap regardless of where I'm sitting. And purr? He has a motor that would do a rock crusher proud, for all that he only weighs two pounds eleven ounces.

Klingon

Day 241: UPDATE: His name is Meriadoc, Merry for short. And he's claimed the chair for his own (see below).

I am not going to have a moment's peace! For one thing, he doesn't want to let me out of his sight. For another, he's a genuine cling-on when he does settle down. He's 10 weeks old today, a Russian Blue/Manx cross with a little stubby tail and as much bounce as a truckload of frogs. And he's cranky about being confined to the bathroom for a while until he adjusts. I haven't picked out a name yet, although I have several possibilities (something Klingon maybe, in honour of his behaviour). Of course we still have some vet visits ahead of us to have a workup done, to continue his vaccines, to have him neutered. These are the drawbacks to adopting from a family as opposed to from a shelter, but when I saw his picture on Craigslist, I fell in love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go play with the baby.

Sack o' Strips

Day 240: I'm weaving rag rugs again after finally getting over two dozen t-shirts washed and cut into one-inch strips. I wanted to do them all so that I would have the broadest selection of colours to draw from, and I realized I was going to have to find a better way of randomizing them than jumbling them all up together on the floor and then stuffing them into a 5-gallon bucket. I hit upon the idea of tossing them into the dryer, and it worked beautifully except for the fact that they're rather tangled up on themselves. That said, I always stretch each strip before I weave it. Pulling them free from the snake's-nest accomplishes that part of the job quite well. Each rug takes about a pound and a quarter when the strips are cut this size. I haven't weighed the bag, but I've already got one completed rug on the roller, and I've barely made a dent in the supply.

Geum Macrophyllum

Day 239: Although common along roadsides and in ditches, Geum macrophyllum (Large-leaved Avens) is not a weed in the sense of "introduced species." It is native to the Pacific Northwest and can be found from sea level to the subalpine zone in locations where there is sufficient moisture. Its leaves and stems are somewhat prickly to the touch, and can grow to heights of over two feet. Its achenes (fruits which do not open to release the seed) are hooked at the tips, which allows them to cling to animal fur and hikers' socks when dry and ready to fall from the plant. Although its flowers resemble those of buttercups, the species are unrelated.

Pink Thing On The Bald

Day 238: About half a mile in, the Rimrocks trail begins a short, slow climb which opens out into a bald covering roughly 1200 square feet. The soil is thin, bedrock showing through in several places, and yet it supports a small plant I've seen nowhere else. One of yesterday's goals was to see if "the pink thing on the bald" was in bloom. Pink thing? I was scraping my memory for the name. As I came up the incline and a pink haze of four-inch tall flower stalks came into view, I said aloud, "Plectritis? Hmmm...now why did that word spring to mind? Plectritis? I'm not sure that's right, but why am I thinking it?" I took the requisite pictures for a Penny Perspective, and then kept going, muttering "Plectritis?" to myself every now and then until I had reached my chosen turn-around a mile further on. The climb to the top of the bald is steeper coming back the other way, although still very short, and as I mounted it, the words "Plectritis congesta" fell from my lips. Even so, I still wasn't convinced that the Latin applied to this particular plant, but when I got home, it was a simple matter to verify that my aging memory was indeed intact by checking my blog. It's been three years since I had to pull those words out of my mental database. Known commonly as Sea-blush, what's this species doing so far inland?

Therapeutic Plant Hunt

Day 237: By our very nature, human beings tend to dwell in their grief, and I am no exception. The full impact of losing Tippy hit me yesterday in late afternoon, and I said as much to a few select friends who almost all responded in the same way: You need to get out in the woods. I knew they were right, so today I went out on a therapeutic plant hunt, hoping that a little-known and seldom used trail would yield at least one of the species I've seen there and nowhere else. My first goal was Sanicula crassicaulis var. crassicaulis, and I am finally able to show it to you as a Penny Perspective, clusters of tiny yellow flowers gathered together in a space smaller than Lincoln's head. I first observed the foliage several years ago, and when I couldn't identify it, shipped the photos off to two botanist friends who helped me out. One of them said, "You must go back when it's in bloom." I had no idea what to expect (on-line images make it look much larger!) and was delightfully surprised to see its delicate inflorescences. It promptly went on my mental list of "favourite plants." Before I left this morning, I checked my records. Yes, I'd seen it in bloom in early June. Today's specimens were largely already in the seed-forming stage, although I was able to find a few with flowers. And, focused as I was on botany, some of the pain of the last few days lifted. Thank you, my friends, for kicking my butt out into the woods.

Occasion For Hope

Day 236: Even a small thing can bring hope if you allow it. My fig tree has previously failed to bring its fruit to maturity, but this year's figs are already larger than ever before, and there are more of them, quite a few more. Several are the size of the end of my thumb, surprising because our weather has been fairly cold (especially at night) and wetter than usual, and figs are warmth-lovers as a general rule. Desert King (my variety) is one of the better producers for the Pacific Northwest climate, and the friend who gave me my start has a tree twenty feet tall which fills most of her front yard and bears a heavy crop every year, so many that she begs friends to take them off her hands. I will be content if I get even a few to enjoy fresh off the tree, and it looks like this year, that might actually happen.

My Good Little Boy

Day 235: My love, my good little Boy, Tickle-Monster, Spaghetti Monster, it was a long, long way to Tipperary, but when I brought you to share my life, you gave me so much love. When you got into mischief, it was funny: shredding an entire roll of toilet paper, pulling spaghetti out of the cupboard and playing with the spilled jackstraws. You demanded your tickles, urging me to chase you into your tunnel where you'd roll over and bunny-kick my hand while I tickled your tummy. And the "Gotcha game"...never a claw, never a bite as we roughhoused. And you wanted your hugs, arms around my neck, wanted to be tipped over in my lap and held against my chest, purring, purring, purring. You let me do those "wicked things" to kitties without objection, like baths and toothbrushing, trusting me completely because you loved me so much. My little Boy, my Tippy, my love!

From the East, the direction of the Mountain and of the rising sun
Comes strength.
From the South, the direction of the Earth
Comes stability.
From the West, the direction of the sea and of the setting sun
Comes harmony.
From the North, the direction of the wind and of the aurora borealis
Comes the Current of Life.

Tippy's Post

Day 234: Update: There were complications. My little love Tippy is no longer with us.

 We are not out of the woods yet because he has to be anaesthetized for the procedure (a dodgy proposition, given that he has a Grade 4 heart murmur), but at least we know what the problem is. Tippy is in the hospital with a UTI and concurrent urinary blockage, and will remain there at least overnight, possibly until Friday. I'll spare everyone the details, but he had a very rough weekend, and I could not find an emergency vet to take him to unless I went to one almost two hours away with a long list of Google reviews complaining that although they gave good treatment, their prices were three to four times what any non-emergency vet would charge. I made an appointment with Tippy's regular doctor for this morning, and was there when they opened the doors. While they did x-rays and an ultrasound to determine if there were stones or a mass (neither was present), I sat in the car and waited. When his doctor called me in several hours later, she said, "The good news is that we found the type of crystals we expected." He'll stay in the hospital until they get him drained out and rehydrated, and then he'll be on antibiotics for a while, with several follow-up visits. And that's all I know at this point, but at least it's encouraging.

Planned Chaos

Day 233: Posts for the next few days may be limited or non-existent. We are currently navigating a particularly rough patch, and I would prefer not to go into detail at this time.

This is planned chaos. The mix of wools was listed as "botanicals," so how could I resist? I love greens. I took each single colour, split it into 64 sections, and recombined them in colour order but not necessarily with the same amount of each shade. I spun 16 sequences on each of two bobbins (a quarter of the wool), stepping the colour order up by one for the second bobbin so that when I plied the two bobbins together, the colours changed in combination every few inches. From the original bag of wool, the end result was two skeins of Green Chaos, destined to make some truly fun socks.

Oriental Poppy

Day 232: I could have captioned this post "Throwing in the Towel," although I did eventually manage to weed all of the Oriental Poppies out of my primary flower bed. That said, I wasn't ready to eliminate them entirely. They just needed to go somewhere else to make space for plants whose appeal lingered after their flowers had faded. Y'see, Oriental Poppies have foliage rather reminiscent of thistles, at least to those not botanically inclined. They are not thorny, no, but they are rather bristly to the touch. My father enjoyed his vegetable garden enormously, and decided to extend himself into my mother's flower beds. He diligently pulled out all the "thistles" he could find, being the helpful sort, but my mother was not pleased with his efforts. So good was he at his work that he accomplished in one season what it took me years to achieve here: total eradication of Oriental Poppies in the perennial beds. Today, mine live in the Barren Wasteland, another success story from the place where few things can be successfully grown. However, I dead-head the "salt and pepper shakers" before they dry, lest I find "thistles" in places they are not welcome.