Rain and the Moon before Yule

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again.
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
–Abraham Cowley

Santa Fe Rain Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Santa Fe Rain
Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Rain fell all day yesterday, a rarity in New Mexico. Overnight the sky cleared and when I woke  an almost-full moon was hanging low in the west in the pink light of morning.

The day was bright, fresh-scrubbed, chilly. A blanket of clouds nestled in front of the Jemez Mountains, but never moved any closer. To the north the Sangre de Cristos were dusted with a new layer of snow.

On one of the shortest days of the year,  this evening’s full long night moon  rose in the east at sunset and will  keep us company until it dips below the horizon at sunrise.

 

The Birds of Winter

It’s birdwatching season.

Northern Cardinal Photo Credit: A. Nixon

Northern Cardinal
Photo Credit: A. Nixon

Last week I stocked up on seed cylinders and suet cakes and bought a new de-icer for the bird bath.

The feeders and bath are just outside the back door in clear view of my desk. If you visit don’t be surprised to find that my attention is not turned toward the computer screen in front of me, but is instead focused on the view through my binoculars out into the pinyon trees.

Anne Schmauss’s column in this morning’s Santa Fe New Mexican talks about the mixed flocks of winter, birds hanging together to find food and to stay safe from predators. Chickadees, creepers, kinglets, woodpeckers, nuthatches, warblers.

What I am unlikely to see here in Santa Fe is one of the red beauties captured by my cousin Angela in her Tulsa backyard. When I asked the experts at my local bird store, Wild Birds Unlimited,  they said it had been years since they had heard of any being spotted in the area. Too high? Too dry? Too cold? They weren’t sure, but we just don’t have inviting habitat for the striking northern cardinal that All About Birds says is ” . . . perhaps responsible for getting more people to open up a field guide than any other bird”.

Happy bird watching! I’d love to hear about and see who is passing through your backyard this winter.

Giving Thanks

Theo Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Theo
Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Lots of folks will be up early this morning making sure the animals are taken care of–fed, watered, walked, loved–long before they sit down to their own Thanksgiving meals.

It has been a pleasure to meet a few of the New Mexico groups that work tirelessly to rescue and give homes to or find homes for abandoned, hurt, and neglected creatures.

Felines and Friends New Mexico
Rancho De Chihuahua
The Horse Shelter
Wildlife West Nature Park

Thank you!

Saving Toby

Uncle Eli and I had talked for months about visiting Rancho de Chihuahua, but the logistics were difficult. He lives in Colorado, my travel schedule is hectic, and the dog rescue in the mountains of northern New Mexico closes to visitors for the winter in mid-November.

So, it was with a certain amount of amazement on Saturday morning that I found myself in Chimayo sitting on the big comfy orange sofa, well-known from many a Facebook post, with a Chihuahua wearing a Christmas sweater perched on my lap.

Eli, his friend KW, and I had driven the thirty miles from Santa Fe after an early breakfast. We drove slowly through the rural community until we located the downward-sloping driveway with a red gate described in the directions. Joy, the founder of the rescue, came out to the car and filled us in on the protocol of meeting the dogs. Once inside the fenced yard a few of the resident canines escorted us into the sunny sitting room. We all took a few minutes to settle in.

Then, a door I hadn’t noticed was opened and a river of small dogs, mostly Chihuahuas streamed in. They flowed over the top of the coffee table and around both sides of it. All, it seemed, with one goal in mind: get on the sofa and check out the visitors. I don’t know for sure how many, but my best guess is twenty-something. The barking ended quickly. Friendly and polite, the dogs found places to lie down–on our laps, in the spaces between us, on the back of the sofa. The shy ones kept their distance, taking up positions around the room where they could watch and listen.

Joy sat on the floor and told us about Rancho de Chihuahua. She and her husband, Steven, relocated the rescue from Los Angeles to this farm in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains about seven years ago so they could help more dogs. They take in the old, the neglected, the sick.  Many will stay with them for life, but some are up for adoption, which is why we were visiting.

Photo Credit:  P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

A few days earlier a healthy Papillon-mix named Toby was abandoned at a local veterinary clinic. Instead of euthanizing the sweet-natured pup, the staff gave him a check up and Joy rescued him. She posted his story and photo on Facebook. After a flurry of emails and phone calls between Eli and Joy, Eli made plans to drive to New Mexico.

While KW and I took photos and tried  to learn names–Buddy, Clownfish, Harold, Fig–Eli and Toby met. They hit it off and all too soon it was time for us to leave.

With reluctance I said goodbye to Gabby, the tiny gray Chihuahua wearing a bright red sweater. She is old and frail,  but after spending half an hour with her I could find no better words to describe her than those used by Steven in the title of his book about the joys and sorrows of rescuing dogs. She was “a small furry prayer” spreading goodwill with her calm, sweet presence.

Eli called Sunday. Toby was settling in, playing with a brand new squeak toy. The two had already gone for their first walk in the park across the street from Eli’s house.

Joy Nicholson and Steven Kotler run Rancho de Chihuahua in Chimayo, New Mexico. I highly recommend Steven’s book A Small Furry Prayer: dog rescue and the meaning of life, which is how Eli and I came to learn about their rescue work.

 

 

The Leonids

One of my favorite things about November is the Leonid meteor shower.  It happens each year when Earth crosses the path of Comet Tempel-Tuggle.  That means shooting stars. Sometimes thousands of them, although this year’s prediction is for a much more modest ten to fifteen per hour.

 Photo Credit: ikewinski via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: ikewinski via Compfight cc

The best time to see the meteors will be on Monday after midnight.  It will be cold–the forecast for Santa Fe is in the high teens, but it’s supposed to be clear and even the moon is cooperating.  Beautiful and full a couple of weeks ago, it’s now waning and by Monday night will be a crescent, putting out very little interfering light.

Everything you need to know about watching the meteor shower is in Deborah Byrd’s EarthSky.org post.  She recommends finding a dark place away from lights, lying back, and watching the sky for at least an hour.

Waiting for that first meteor to streak across the sky is the perfect time to look for one of my favorite constellations, Cassiopeia.  First, locate the Big Dipper and then use the two pointer stars in the cup to find Polaris, the bright north star.   Beyond Polaris is a group of five bright stars named for the Ethiopian queen of Greek mythology.  The grouping doesn’t look much like a queen or even her throne, as some claim, but much more like an M (or, a W in the summer when it is on the other side of the sky).

As much as I love stargazing I’ll still have to gear myself up for such a late night on a Monday.  Before the sun drops behind the Jemez Mountains I’ll position the chaise lounges on the portal for the best view of the sky and outfit them with blankets and pillows.  At midnight I’ll make mugs of hot chocolate just before Dave and I turn off all of the lights and go outside.  It will be cold, but I know from past experience that Byrd is right, “. . . even one bright meteor can make your night”.

Return of the Sandhill Cranes

Much head turning and bobbing as the Sandhills converse, exchange greetings, leaping upward, even doing a little of their pair-bonding dance.  Then one by one they follow the sentinel Crane, and they open their great wings to lift them aloft in the clear dawn air of a New Mexico winter sky.
Alice Lindsay Price

 Photo Credit: sunrisesoup via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: sunrisesoup via Compfight cc

Each November Sandhill cranes descend on the Bosque del Apache, a wildlife refuge in south-central New Mexico.  Thousands of them–it’s a noisy gathering.

Many migrate from Grays Lake in southeastern Idaho.  The lake, really a large shallow marsh covered with bulrush and cattail, is where the huge birds (four-feet tall with six-foot wingspans) mate, nest, and raise their young.  It’s a 700-mile trip to the Bosque (forest), situated on the Rio Grande, where they spend most of the winter.

Not far behind the Sandhills are the birders, many of whom probably travel farther than the cranes.  They come armed with binoculars, telephoto lenses, and tripods hoping to get the perfect shot.  In her book, Cranes: The Noblest Flyers, Alice Lindsay Price describes the thrill of seeing the flock take flight at daybreak on a cold winter morning.

Next week is the annual Festival of the Cranes, a six-day event filled with crane behavior seminars, wildlife photography workshops, and birding hikes.  The cranes will stay on after the festival, many until February when they begin their journey north with a stopover in Colorado’s San Luis Valley for a few weeks before returning to Idaho.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to get to Bosque del Apache while the Sandhill cranes are in residence, so will have to make do with this moment in nature from last week’s CBS Sunday Morning show.

 

 

A Visit to Wildlife West Nature Park

Most of our rescued wildlife were either orphaned, injured or illegally raised as pets.
–Wildlife West Nature Park

 

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Barbie was perched high up in her tree. I stood admiring her quill coat, waiting for her to turn around, to show me her face.  Like many of the animals at Wildlife West she was rescued after an accident, her mother hit by a car in west Texas. Passers-by saved the baby porcupine and took her to a local rehabilitation center. At eight-weeks of age she was moved to this New Mexico zoo which is dedicated to giving permanent homes to rescued, native wildlife.

Thursday morning I was one of the first visitors to arrive at Wildlife West. I chatted with the zoo’s founder and director Roger Alink for a few minutes before I set off on the path to see the animals.

Once I figured out that Barbie wasn’t budging, I  continued on around to the Mexican gray wolf habitat overlook.  Within moments one of the two females (sisters) appeared from behind the stand of junipers. She trotted back and forth over the well-worn trails.

The day was warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky.  Ravens soared overhead, their raspy squawks a counterpoint the ever-present rumble of semi-trucks moving east to west and back again on Interstate 40. The second wolf appeared, made a reconnaissance of her territory, gnawed on what looked like a fresh bone, and then curled up for a nap in the shade of an evergreen while her sister continued her watchful patrol.

This was my second visit to Wildlife West and both times I made the 65-mile trip from Santa Fe to see the wolves*.  It’s the best place I have found to get a look at the endangered animals in a natural setting which has the added benefit of being located in close proximity to their historical habitat.  Unlike the other animals at the park human interaction with the wolves is purposely minimized–they are part of the species survival plan, bred and raised for potential release into the wild.

On my way back to the entrance I stopped by to see Koshari, the black bear.  I had been fascinated by the opportunity to get an up close at him on my first visit, sacked out on his back under the viewing window, swatting flies with his huge paws.  This time he was nowhere to be seen.  The only sign that he had been around recently was little pile of half-eaten apples and baby carrots.  Roger told me the bear was slowing down for the winter season, eating less, napping more–he was probably dreaming in his den.

Wile E. Coyote By: P. Nixon

Wile E. Coyote
By: P. Nixon

My last stop was to see Wile E. the playful and sociable two-year-old coyote.  As a pup she was illegally captured and raised as a pet before she was rescued.  No sign of her, I made a soft clicking sound and waited, but nothing.   I turned for one last look as I was walking away and there she was–stretched out on the low height stucco wall, acting like she had always been there.  Not wanting to spook her, I  walked back slowly, keeping my distance, admiring her slim face and big ears.  She was napping in the sun when I finally left.

 

*In addition to the two female Mexican gray wolves, Wildlife West has three males.  The five are all siblings, but are kept separate from one another.  The males are on the other side of the overlook, but are harder, at least in my experience, to see.

Return from NYC

It’s no wonder Santa Fe seems so quiet after spending several days in New York City.  A million and a half people jostle for space on the island of Manhattan while two million of us spread out across the state of New Mexico. This week I have noticed every sound–the caw of a passing raven, the wind in the pinyon trees.

Amelia White Park Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Amelia White Park
Photo Credit: P. Nixon

While I was gone the last of the summer visitors moved on and autumn moved in. The cottonwoods on Alameda Street  turned gold, but the flowers didn’t completely given up–a stand of yellow hollyhocks is still blooming on Armenta Street.

Tuesday Dave and I went to the farmers’ market to look for apples. Most years I turn them into pies for the holidays, but after a week away from the kitchen I was not yet ready to wrangle with a rolling pin.

 Photo Credit: shoothead via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: shoothead via Compfight cc

I decided, instead, to make applesauce. We tasted samples  and poked around a box of seconds, filling a paper bag with golden supremes and honey crisps.  The simple recipe* called for baking the apples and didn’t tax my jet-lagged brain.  Now, if only I had a latke from Russ and Daughters on Houston Street to go with the tart, cinnamon-laced sauce.

*I left out the thyme and lemon and added a tiny bit of brown sugar and a healthy dose of Vietnamese cinnamon.

 

 

 

The End of Tomato Season

Three deer chomped on the tomato plants and petunias just outside our back door while Dave and I stood watching.

 Photo Credit: ahisgett via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: ahisgett via Compfight cc

Truth is the tomatoes didn’t do well this year, probably because I didn’t plant my small garden until early July. Within a week we had a hard rain and hail that shredded the geraniums. It didn’t faze the tomato plants; they took off like Jack’s beanstalk. It reminded me of a piece of gardening lore I picked up as a kid–if the tomato plants stalled out in the heat of the summer, slap them with a flyswatter to get them going.

One of my plants sprawled; the other grew and grew until it was taller than I. A purple basil plant and my favorite lobelia withered in their shade. Both put out a profusion of flowers and then fruit, but most never ripened.

Last week we had a salad with six cherry tomatoes, my harvest for the year.

Torn between shooing the deer away or running to get my camera, I did neither. After eating their fill they sauntered off into the pines.

The Smell of Fall

 

 Photo Credit: J B Foster via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: J B Foster via Compfight cc


Autumn Fires
by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
 And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
 See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
 And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
 Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
 Fires in the fall!

Fall arrived Tuesday, the day I was making my way home from a  trip to California and Hawaii. When I left New Mexico, ten days earlier, morning glories still ranged up and down the coyote fence and hummingbirds flitted around the sugar-water filled feeder.

Over three thousand miles away on the Big Island’s west coast the air was heavy and still on one of the last days of summer. The palm trees were quiet, not a whisper of a trade wind. Even the Pacific seemed subdued. At the beach a long, pale pod from a kiawe tree fell at my feet.

 Photo Credit: Shawn McCready via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Shawn McCready via Compfight cc

Pecking in the grass, a kolea hunted for insects. Hawaiian school children keep an eye out for the arrival of the long-legged golden plovers, winter visitors from the Arctic–a sure sign of autumn in a place where signs of the changing seasons can seem subtle to visitors from the north.

Back in Santa Fe I know what to look for.  It’s still warm, almost hot, but the rabbitbrush has bloomed yellow and a canyon towhee scratches in the dirt looking for seeds. High up in the crown of a dark-green cottonwood I spot a patch of gold. And, in the evening air I catch a whiff of piñon smoke wafting from an adobe chimney.