Northern Flicker, Colaptes Auratus

Day 86: While walking through the snowy, dim stillness which is Longmire's wintertime Trail of the Shadows, a small movement drew my eye to the base of a tree and caused me to stop my walk until I could identify its source. It was no easy task, the light dimmed by overhanging cedar boughs, but when a few seconds later, a bit of brown-flecked "bark" moved again, it revealed itself to be a Northern Flicker, foraging in a cavity. Intent on its business, the bird plunged its head time and again into the hole, emerging after several probing thrusts with its beak to look 'round for potential predators. It must have felt I wasn't dangerous, because it allowed me to move closer until I had a clear view through the lens, although it continued to perform its safety checks between bouts of searching in the hollow until I moved on.

The bird we call "Northern Flicker" is a member of the woodpecker family. Colaptes auratus is further broken down into "Red-Shafted" and "Yellow-Shafted" members (western and eastern variants respectively). Our Red-Shafted Flicker males can be told from the females of the species by the bright red malar ("cheek") marking. In flight, these birds reveal reddish underwings and the distinctive "beat" which gives them the name "Flicker."

Young Pups

Day 85: "Mother of Thousands!" If you've ever grown one, you'll know all too well how the name was derived. Bryophyllum daigremontiana (aka Kalanchoe daigremontiana) propagates vegetatively, i.e., it forms "pups" along its leaf margins which, as they mature and grow roots, drop from the parent plant to take hold in any available soil. Unmonitored, all your African violets and the philodendron you exiled to the utility porch when it outgrew its allotted space in the living room will soon have little Mothers flocking at their bases like the birds gathered at St. Francis' legendary feet. Although this is a fun plant to grow, take precautions to keep it and its offspring away from the questing mouths of pets and children. All parts are poisonous.

Late last summer, I was on a work party with a group from REI and "Mother" came under discussion. One of the members of the group offered to send me some pups from her parent plant. Some time later, they arrived in a mangled, sodden envelope which looked like it had been run down by the postal steam-roller. She had shipped the pups wrapped in a wet paper towel, only loosely confined in a piece of plastic wrap! Many of them were smashed beyond any hope of redemption, but I gathered approximately two dozen from the carnage and put them in a pot. Every one survived.

A week ago, I transplanted two to another pot, and almost immediately, one began making pups in response to having more room. I will eventually limit the number of Mothers in my household to two, and they will be kept far, far away from any other pots they might be disposed to colonize.

National Bird Day

Day 84: There's a lot of talk on the internet about today being "National Bird Day," but Googling for any official proclamation will have you swimming in a sea of confusion. Some say the US observes the occasion in May as originally specified by Charles Babcock in 1894; in fact, Wikipedia lists both dates, although it gives no background on the institution of January 5th as the holiday. Similar holidays occur in Canada and the UK, also on different dates. So what's the story? Personally, I'd like to see a holiday recognizing Nature supplant either Hallowe'en or Valentine's Day, both of which seem to promote tooth decay and commercialism, but I doubt I could raise the support for such a radical change. In any event, the point is moot: EVERY day is Bird Day at my house!

Been There, Done That

Day 83: The phenomenon first made itself known to me when I was about 45. I was engaged in a conversation about mountaineering with a couple of much younger friends and mentioned that I'd made six successful summits of Mount Rainier on five routes, only to see eyebrows go up in that inimitable, disbelieving arch which precedes the dismissive, "Oh, really? That's nice," phraseology which falls just short of calling the speaker a liar. Part of their skepticism could be blamed on my diminutive size, but the bulk of it lay with the silver threads which had begun to weave themselves into my raven-black hair. The older I got and the greyer I became, the more frequently my stories were met with suspicions of embellishment or outright doubt, and although that might have irritated another person, I found it amusing (if in a mildly aggravating way).

Last night, I had the slide projector out for another reason, and as I returned one slide to its catalogued slot in a plastic sleeve, it occurred to me to pull out a few others from my climbing files. Capturing them from the textured screen was a less than perfect process, but I did get better results than previous attempts with a scanner. All were taken on Mount Rainier: top left, on the crest of Disappointment Cleaver, 1988; bottom left, camp in the summit crater (ascent via Kautz Glacier), 1984; right, vertical ice climbing, Cowlitz Glacier, 1977. My last successful summit attempt on Mount Rainier was in 1990, and I continued climbing lesser peaks for another decade or so.

My Colouring Book

Day 82: If you had gone shopping for art supplies in any of the major hobby/craft stores this last week, you might have discovered cupboards as bare as Mother Hubbard's. Apparently, colouring books for adults were the rage for Christmas gift-giving, although I received mine as a "just because" gift several weeks earlier. Fortunately I already owned a full boxed set of 120 Prismacolor pencils and was therefore able to start as soon as holiday activities died down.

I wondered how I'd take to this pastime, having done no artwork worth mention since my days in the SCA when I served as one of our barony's scribes, and that with pens and inks. With the drawings already done for me, I was afraid I might get bored. However, I soon discovered that I could personalize the medium by adding shadings and interpretations to the illustrations. I had done several pages (starting at the beginning of the book, of course) before encountering this two-page spread. The pages mimic each other, but are not exact mirror images, and seemed to demand a spring/autumn rendition.

Prior to this, my winter days were often filled with working jigsaw puzzles, the same puzzles every year since I have a closetful. I'd put them together and take them apart, with nothing to show for the hours spent bent over the table. With colouring, the results are more permanent. It's also quite relaxing, even meditative (something which can't be said for puzzles). But the work does not go quickly! It took four days to complete these two pages.

A Return To Simple Pleasures

Day 81: Last spring, the noisy family who had been my neighbours for the last five years moved away. I knew better than to expect an immediate response from the birds who had become skittish and elusive during their tenure. Too many generations had hatched, and the tendency toward nervousness had been reinstilled even in those adults who knew empirically that I was not to be feared. Gradually, the Dark-Eyed Juncos grew less timid and the Steller's Jays' boldness reasserted itself. The Ravens returned, and the Crows gathered by dozens on their feeding platform. Over the summer months, a regular schedule of daily rations brought fewer and fewer panicked flights when I would step out onto the porch, at least with the year-'round residents, but the migratory species were slower to adjust.

When the Porchies first showed up a few weeks ago, I couldn't even walk around the living room without sending them flying across the road. Opening the back door caused a mass exodus from feeder and bough alike. After having had their trust for so many years, the flighty behaviour created by my former neighbours upset me, but I still had hope. Evening Grosbeaks are friendly people once they get to know you, and I am happy to say that this morning I spent quite a while standing on the porch, camera in hand despite the cold temperatures, listening to the happy sounds of seeds cracking and throaty chirps. Porch Parrot Paradise has resumed business as usual, and black-oil seed is being lavished on the clientele.

Heralding A Good Year

Day 80: If I believed in omens and portents, I'd say 2016 was going to be a good year. It's off to a good start, anyway. Of course we're paying for the scenery by turning up our thermostats and buying new winter woollies, but for my nickel, I'd say it's worth it. The only problem is that I want to be Up There, and the snow is keeping me Down Here unless I'm working. I don't like to drive on icy roads, not even to get to a trailhead. All that aside, I do hope to get out snowshoeing this winter. The Mountain is calling, and I can never resist that for long.