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.