Category Archives: Winter

Weekly Roundup – January 18th

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Photo Credit: Eli Nixon https://www.flickr.com/photos/really_still_photography

Photo Credit: Eli Nixon

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
–Martin Luther King, Jr.

I’m off to a very slow start in the new year, but the news keeps on coming! I will try this for a week or two:  a roundup of stories and photos,  most nature-related, some as follow-up my prior posts.

It was hard to miss this story– 2014 was the warmest year on record according to both NASA and NOAA.

In northern New Mexico we had a couple of cold, foggy days early in the week along with two or three of inches of snow helping, I hope, our new piñon trees put down roots.  But according to this article in the Santa Fe New Mexican the long term outlook for the Southwest’s piñon forests is dire.  As temperatures continue to warm the prediction is that we will experience longer droughts and the loss of our trees along with wildlife, like the squawking jays at our backyard feeder, that depend upon them for sustenance and cover.

The other big news in our region was this press release from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) about changes to the management of the Mexican gray wolf recovery program.

Some of it was good news.  The wolves, a subspecies of the gray wolf (Canis lupus), got their own separate listing as an endangered subspecies (Canis lupus baileyi) which will allow them to receive continued protection under the law even if the gray wolf is delisted.  The bad news is that the lobos will not be allowed to roam and  establish territory north of Interstate 40 in areas like the Grand Canyon where prime habitat exists for them to live and hunt.  This editorial  favoring more robust protection of the wolves, as I do, was published at azcentral.com  and covers more of the pros and cons of the new rule.

In California a few days into Tommy Caldwell  and Kevin Jorgeson’s barehanded climb of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, their story was covered on NBC Nightly News, capturing the world’s imagination.  I thought about them each day and was thrilled to hear that they succeeded.  Here is the New York Times article about their adventure.  And for another take on it, this poem published at PoetryFoundation.org.

And finally, how lovely is this soaring golden eagle captured on camera by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

Have a good week!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A New Year’s Resolution

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Photo Credit: abejorro34 via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: abejorro34 via Compfight cc

One resolution in two parts.

Go outside.

Pay attention.

It’s simple, but I have to remind myself.

Even if it’s only the short walk to the mailbox.  Stop and listen–that sharp “peek peek” whistle–is that the ladder-backed woodpecker that was hanging off the seed cylinder this morning? I know him by sight, zebra-striped back and red crown, but not by voice.  No sign of him to confirm.

Before coming inside I stoop to look at tracks in the remnants of last week’s snow–two short and two long, A field guide confirms they are the tracks–front feet behind the back–of the rabbit who keeps a low profile in the scrub beyond the patio, showing only an occasional glimpse of the top of his ears or the flash of his white tail.

It’s a start.

 

 

 

 

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Reflections on the Death of a Tree

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Pinyon Tree 1901-2014 Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Pinus edulis 1901-2014
Photo Credit: P. Nixon

The forest stands at the door, a lone man in a light
green shirt. An owl sits in his hat, confessing
simple hymns that are scarfed into clouds.  The man
holds a small box of baby birds and insects covered
in leaves. The pathway he took to town
is a small umbrella of gems:  bloodroot and hickory,
trillium and oak, an avalanche of wise eyes sighing,
the constant monologue of hummingbird wings.
Stiff from walking such a distance through autumn’s
altar, his many limbs are twisted. He salutes me,
then gently stomps muddy feet on the doorstep.

From The Forest Man by Lauren Camp*

It wasn’t disease or drought that killed the old piñon tree last summer.

Dave and I tried to save it. An arborist took a core sample and counted the rings—113. In the end, to resolve a long-running dispute, we let it go. I didn’t watch the bulldozer knock it down.

The contractor brought in two trees from up north to replace the old pine and planted them a few feet away from the new driveway.

The transplants with no history of this place remind me of us twenty years ago.  It was a cold January afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, but one long look at the mountains in the distance and a deep breath of the pine-scented air convinced us. It has taken time, but we’ve made this quiet little corner of New Mexico home.

Last night, Christmas night, a few inches of snow fell, blanketing the trees and the earth beneath them.  The moisture will help the newcomers spread their roots and settle in.

*Many thanks to Lauren for allowing me to use an excerpt of her poem.  I recommend reading the entire poem  in About Place Journal where it was published in the spring of 2013.

 

 

 

Gina’s Chipmunk

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Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Chipmunks were a novelty when I was a kid. They don’t live in western Kansas, so we first got to know them on our family vacations to the Rockies.  The tiny ground squirrels with their racing stripes and bushy tails never failed to entertain, scampering around the campsite, eluding our efforts to catch them.

They are frequent visitors to our backyard in Santa Fe, drinking out of the birdbath and chasing each other around the yard looking for stray seeds.  But lately there seem to be more of them and I was amazed last week to find one sitting on a window bird feeder fifteen feet off the ground.

The feeder is filled with oiled sunflower seeds for the finches and chickadees, but the chipmunk has taken over, sitting on the tray and gorging while Gina, the cat, watches and I rap on the window.  It scares him off for a moment, but as soon as I turn my back he returns.

I suspect there are two of them–a tag team–launching themselves off the nearby portal (deck) to the narrow window ledge.  Yesterday they cleaned us out.

No sign of the chipmunk this morning, just a spotted towhee picking through the hulls.  When I refill the feeder later today, I’m going to move it to another window–beyond the leaping range, I hope, of the average chipmunk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Longest Night of the Year

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Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
–Emily Dickinson

Photo Credit: Larry1732 via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Larry1732 via Compfight cc

At 4:03 pm in the mountain standard time zone, where I live, the sun passed directly over the Tropic of Capricorn.  That was the moment when the North Pole was tilted furthest away from the sun, the winter solstice.

As I write this the last sunlight of the day brightens the clouds hanging low over the Jemez Mountains.  It’s a darker, quieter, slower time of year.  I try to pay closer attention to the details:  a  small drift of piñon pine cones scattered across the snow that fell last week, a cheery canyon towhee splashing in the heated birdbath.

I am always in a hurry to spot the first sign of spring, but here’s to taking a moment to appreciate the unique beauty of winter!

Sit Still and Pay Attention

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The Big Island was in a dark and sulky mood when Dave and I  visited Hawaii in early March.  Waves pounded the Kohala Coast and a mix of storm clouds and vog from Kilauea obscured the sun.  The warnings were dire.  Sneaker waves and riptides made it dangerous to get close to the water.

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

It didn’t matter much; we had work to do, but on our last day the sky cleared and we walked the shoreline access to Anaeho’omalu Bay.   We hurried past the lava ponds eager to reach the rocky beach,  hoping to see a turtle or two, but there were none to be found.

No one knows why for sure, but Hawaiian green turtles come on shore (unlike many other sea turtles) to bask in the sun.  It may be as simple as the pleasure of a warm nap without the threat of being eaten by a tiger shark.

A well-situated piece of driftwood convinced us to stop hunting for turtles and sit down.  Mesmerized by the sunlight on the water it took a moment to realize  I was looking at  one of the two-hundred pound reptiles.  Slow and awkward on land, the turtle or honu, as it is called in Hawaiian, was graceful in the water. bobbing in the waves, occasionally extending its leathery neck above the surface to take a breath of air.

I expected it to disappear quickly, to swim away, but the big turtles don’t move fast, only about a mile per hour.  Once they find a good place to eat the sea grass and algae that make up the bulk of their diet, they tend to stay put.

Photo Credit: mattk1979 via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: mattk1979 via Compfight cc

We sat and watched until the sun went down.

On the walk back we saw a handful of surfers legs astride their boards silhouetted against the darkening sky, hoping to catch one more big wave.

Tweet Sixteen

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Okay, so it’s kind of silly, but kind of fun too.  Today is the first day of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s March Migration Madness. Sixteen birds. Eight match-ups in this round. And, a really cool set of brackets, just like the basketball tournament.

Today it’s the barn swallow (Hirundo rustica) versus the tree swallow (Tachycineta bicolor).

Photo Credit: JayMilesPhotography via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: JayMilesPhotography via Compfight cc

 

Photo Credit: Kelly Colgan Azar via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Kelly Colgan Azar via Compfight cc

I’m rooting for the barn swallow–the home team.  Some of the blue and rust colored birds spend the summer in New Mexico and raise their young here; tree swallows just pass through on their migration.

A few years ago I spotted my first barn swallows at a rest area on the west side of  I25, south of the Colorado border.  They had built their mud nests in the corners of the covered porch, or portal, of the little stucco-covered building.  The adults were flitting back and forth between the field and nest, catching insects on the fly to feed the hungry baby birds.  The travelers and swallows scarcely seemed to notice each other.

Tomorrow’s match-up: the yellow warbler versus the rusty blackbird.

 

The Great Egret of Delano

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Picture these long legs . . .

Photo Credit: SivamDesign via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: SivamDesign via Compfight cc

Stalking bugs here. . .

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

If not for the flat tire, I would not have seen him . . .

Rain finally came to California last week.  What was just a drizzle when Dave and I landed on Wednesday night in Los Angeles turned into a downpour by the time we passed through the northernmost suburbs of LA on our way to Delano.

Even on a dark, wet night the four lanes of Interstate 5 were busy:  semi trucks stayed to the right, straining to haul heavy loads over the Tehachapi Mountains while nimble sedans and sport utility vehicles raced each other to the summit of Tejon Pass.

I twirled the knob on the radio dial looking . . . Thunk.   Flap, flap, flap . . . Then the slow motion effort to cross all of those lanes of traffic hoping to coordinate our arrival in the far right lane with an exit.  We just missed it, but got far enough off the road to avoid getting splashed.

Next, the drill:  rain slicker and galoshes donned; suitcases thrown into the back seat; tire iron, jack, and spare unloaded.  I rifled through my suitcase and found not one, but two flashlights. Clutching an umbrella in one hand and the light for Dave in the other, the irony didn’t escape me. Just two weeks ago  I wrote about a rainy February night on another California highway,  changing a flat tire.  Twenty-eight years later the only thing missing was the whiskey.

We eased back out into the traffic and  gingerly made our way up to the 4100 foot apex of the pass on the tiny spare, before we descended through Grapevine Canyon and into the south end of the San Joaquin Valley, breathing a sigh of relief when we finally saw the lights of Bakersfield, our stop for the night.

The next morning  the air was clear, smog washed away, a break between storms.  We hoped it would last long enough  to travel north to Delano and then back south into the heart of LA before heading east into San Bernardino County and finally south to Chula Vista just north of the Mexican Border–almost 400 miles.  But first we needed a new tire.

Dave spotted the great egret (Ardea alba) on a pile of rubble as we pulled into the parking lot of Pacific Tire just off California Highway 99.  Fumbling with my camera, I missed my chance to get a shot, but the big bird hadn’t gone far, just over to the highway embankment looking for breakfast.

The crew changing the tire expressed no surprise at seeing a woman in a skirt and heels focusing a pair of binoculars on  . . . what?  Something just out of their line of sight, they turned their attention back to the job at hand.

By the time the egret moved too far south for me to continue to watch him,  the new tire had been mounted.  We were ready to go.

 

 

 

What’s in a Name–Update on the 2012 Bluestem Pups

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Huckleberry, Little Wild, Keeper, Clover.  Four wolf pups were born to the Bluestem Pack in 2012.  When they were a few months old they were captured and outfitted with radio collars by the field team and were assigned official studbook numbers:  male (m)1275, female (f)1289, m1277, and f1280.

Photo Credit: fiskfisk via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: fiskfisk via Compfight cc

Last year Lobos of the Southwest held its first annual pup naming contest for kids, kindergarten through eighth grade, and fifteen* wolf pups, including the four in the Bluestem pack, got names.  By now these two-year-old pups would be almost grown so I decided to check up on them.

Huckleberry (m1275), named by kindergartner Macabe W. for the berries that grow where the wolves live, is still running with the Bluestem Pack.  If he stays with them through this year’s pup season (pups are born in April or May), he will likely be recruited to babysit once they are old enough for their mother, the alpha female, to go out hunting.  It’s relatively rare to be able to see and identify a specific wolf, but in this post from last fall I included a video of Huckleberry that was taken by  Arizona Game and Fish.

Little Wild (f1289) was given her name by three first graders, Emily M, Keeley C. and Emily B.  Sadly, Little Wild died  in August last year during a routine capture operation similar to the one above.

Keeper (m1277) was named by Turner B., a third grader who included a drawing of a serious-looking wolf with this explanation,  “. . . I think the pup’s name should be “Keeper” because it’s important to KEEP these wolves alive.”  Last fall Keeper had started traveling separately from the pack.  In December he was found dead from a gunshot wound, killed illegally.

Clover (f1280) was named by Gypsie G., a fourth grader, who named the wolf for good luck.  Late last year Clover started traveling with alpha male (AM)1038, formerly part of the Hawks Nest Pack. The two are now considered a pack.

All of the winning entries from last year’s contest can be seen here along with Turner’s picture.

In the recent count of Mexican wolves, seventeen pups born in  2013 were identified (six of them to the Bluestem Pack).  Once again, Lobos of the Southwest  is having a naming contest and will be accepting entries through March 14th.  The entry form and information about the contest can be found here.

The winning names will be announced sometime in the spring–a great way to celebrate the sixteenth anniversary of the Mexican wolves being reintroduced to the wild!

*Capturing wolves is tricky so it isn’t too surprising that five more pups were caught after the conclusion of the contest.  Their names came from the runners-up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Memories of Monterey

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It was a Thursday, and it was one of those days in Monterey when the air is washed and polished like a lens, so that you can see the houses in Santa Cruz twenty miles across the bay and you can see the redwood trees on a mountain above Watsonville.  The stone point at Fremont’s Peak, clear the other side of Salinas, stands up nobly against the east.  The sunshine had a goldy look and red geraniums burned the air around them.  The delphiniums were like little openings in the sky. From Sweet Thursday by John Steinback

Photo Credit: betta design via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: betta design via Compfight cc

It’s February in northern New Mexico.  The trees are bare and with the exception of a recently installed “forever” lawn in front of an office building on Paseo de Peralta, there isn’t a blade of green grass in sight.  Nothing is blooming.  It’s been unusually warm, but it doesn’t feel right to wish for an early spring when we desperately need snow.

So instead, I am rereading Sweet Thursday.  I can picture the rocky coastline along Monterey Bay, cypress trees yawning east, where Doc in his rubber boots, wooden pail in hand, is collecting samples from the tide pools.  When he returns to Cannery Row, Mack and the gang will be waiting, hoping to bum a dollar or two for beer.

I was in Monterey in February once. In pouring rain we drove down from San Francisco and had a flat.  Dave changed the tire on the side of a dark road.  A stranger watched and shared his umbrella and bottle of whiskey.  I think it was a Thursday.

By Saturday, the day of the wedding that we had come for, the air was clear and bracing and smelled clean and briny.  Wearing a scarlet dress I posed with the bride for a photo on the emerald lawn outside the chapel, our satin heels sinking into the damp dirt. It was a magical place where sea otters played in the bay and geraniums bloomed in the middle of winter.

I look back across the years and miles, longing to return, but I know it wouldn’t be the same.  California is suffering from a drought as bad or worse than New Mexico’s.  The forecast in Monterey today is for a high of sixty-five, cloudy with no chance of rain.

Downstairs by the French doors I have three big clay pots on wheels, planted with geraniums.  Too long indoors, the leaves are leggy, large and pale, pressing towards the glass, reaching for the sun.  Today I will give them a drink of water, but it will be weeks before the last threat of frost of has passed and I can roll them outside.