Pesky-But-Nice Scotch Broom

That pesky, pesky scotch broom, it's so pervasive, and abundant, and downright invasive. Here is a clue as to why this is so: if you direct your attention to "Exhibit A", above, you will notice that this small sample of scotch broom (Cytisus scoparius) branch is literally covered in flowers. There are probably more than a hundred blossoms on this one little piece.

Each of those flowers forms a seed pod, which, given the general characteristics of plants in the Fabaceae (Pea) family, contains approximately 6-10 seeds. After the seed pods mature, they dry out with the cessation of the rain. On a hot summer day, if you listen carefully to a hedge of scotch broom, you can hear a crackling that sounds curiously like a grass fire. The pods burst apart, throwing the seeds away from the plant. In this small sample in the photo, if there really are a hundred flowers, this little tiny branch will make 600-1,000 seeds!

This may have something to do with why our property was about 40% covered in scotch broom when we bought it! We are now nearly 10 years into managing this invasive plant on our place, and are clear it will be an ongoing project throughout the rest of our lives.

Fortunately for us, there are a few redeeming qualities of the yellow scourge. For one, the plant fixes nitrogen, which is a great boon for our wind-deposited soil. If you don't mind all those seeds spewing forth, it makes a great windbreak, and this time of year, it's like sunshine on a gray and cloudy day. And I have also discovered that it makes a decent yellow dye for my yarn project, Lost Coast Yarn. Scotch broom is closely related to French broom, a traditional yellow dye plant. It doesn't take much material to create  a good yellow. Though I won't be harvesting enough to make a dent in the crazy quantity of broom all over our land, I am clipping the most flowery branches to dry and to use as dyestuff. Here's to turning our waste-products into resources! Cheers!

Stinging Nettle Pesto

Tonight's dinner: Cabbage noodles with stinging nettle pesto, miner's lettuce salad with lemon-mustard viniagrette, and grilled grass-fed local beef with lime garlic rub...mmmmm.

About a year and a half ago, I embarked on a new food journey. I wasn't happy with my health or weight, and someone recommended the blog of Maria Emmerich, called Keto Adapted. I did some reading, and was very intrigued with her perspective, and the results her clients claimed. So I dove in, headlong.

The basic idea is to eat a high fat, moderate protein, and low-carb diet, and this is supposed to put your body in nutritional ketosis, a state where your body burns fat for energy instead of carbs. Maria's blog is full of delicious and delightful dishes, as well as keto-adapted takes on standards, such as stroganoff, or granola. It has totally changed the way I eat, and in general, I feel a lot better than I did when I began, and I lost about 15 pounds to boot. I've since then also explored the Paleo philosophy, and found a lot of really interesting reading about how humans are meant to eat and live.

Recently, my daughter Ella has become fascinated with natural history and indigenous living traditions. She is curious about edible plants and mushrooms, and interested in how to build her own bow, wants to hunt animals with snares, make fire with a hand drill, and build debris huts and live in the woods with only a knife and a pot. Drew and I are so thrilled with this development, because we are both very interested in the same skills, and have each, on our own terms, spent time in our lives studying the natural world.

Last year, Drew carved a trail through our unique and unusual swamp, that lies down the hill from the yurt. Before then, this area was impenetrable. Now, there's a quite pleasant little walk one can take, even with the kids. Yesterday, Drew and Ella did some woods clean up on part of this walk, and created the beginnings of a little wilderness camp, where Ella is planning to carry out her survivalist experience. Today, she wanted to go back down there to work on fire drills, and also harvest wild edibles. I'm always into that idea.

We collected cattails tubers and stems from the marsh (Typha latifolia), though I'm actually quite inexperienced in how to make use of this plant. We then collected a large bunch of stinging nettles (Urtica dioica), and some miner's lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata) to use in our dinner. I also collected some chickweed (Stellaria media) because I wanted Ella to know the plant. While we were doing our walkabout, we managed to sneak up on some deer, who didn't notice us for a while, until our little dog dashed across the meadow!

Once home, I steamed the nettles to prepare my nettle pesto, and cleaned the miner's lettuce and added some sliced avocado for a salad. I cooked up some home-grown cabbage "noodles" for my low carb noodle portion (Drew and the kids had regular noodles), made some dressing, and we grilled some grass-fed T-bone steak that was grown across the creek on our neighbor's land. Now that's "paleo".

Stinging Nettle Pesto Recipe
~ 4 cups, loosely packed, nettle leaves, steamed
2 cloves garlic
2 cups walnuts
generous salt
olive oil

Mill the walnuts, garlic, and salt in the food processor until the walnuts form almost a paste. Add the steamed nettles, and pulse until well mixed. Add olive oil to create your desired pesto consistency. Add to the pasta of your choice and enjoy.

Great Backyard Bird Count Results

Over the weekend, I submitted three bird lists to the Great BackYard Bird Count. You sign up, and then do a minimum of 15 minutes of birding at an area of your choosing, and report the results. This is a worldwide event, and ordinary birders are all submitting data, in the interest of tracking bird presence and absence in a wide range of habitats. Here's a list of birds we found at our place on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday:

• American Robin
• Scrub Jay
• Red-shafted Flicker (Northern Flicker)
• Dark-eyed Junco
• California Towhee
• Black Phoebe
• Red-shouldered Hawk
• Stellar's Jay
• Song Sparrow
• Western Meadowlark
• White-crowned Sparrow
• Golden-crowned Sparrow
• Turkey Vulture
• Raven
• Mourning Dove
• Anna's Hummingbird
• Ruby-crowned Kinglet
• California Quail
• Marsh Wren
• Yellow-rumped Warbler
• European Starling
• Red-tail Hawk
• Downy Woodpecker
• Varied Thrush

I also saw a rabbit and a western gray squirrel.

On my Mill Creek hike with Ella, we saw or heard:

• Pacific Wren
• Chestnut-backed chickadee
• Ruby-crowned kinglet
• Red-shafted Flicker
• Hermit Thrush
• Pileated Woodpecker
• Red-breasted Nuthatch
• Varied Thrush
• Raven

I believe you can view the GBBC data at the website, Great Backyard Bird Count. Check it out! You can explore results for any geographical area, though I find the Humboldt results to be most interesting.

A Little Nature Walk

Today, Ella and I took part in the Great Back Yard Count, a bird-counting event that gathers bird data from all over the world for the same four days. We had a lot of fun on our all-day-long hike in Mill Creek Forest, and looking for birds in our yard. But before I even knew about this event, I went birding for the first time in forever yesterday, because my daughter was playing with a friend, and my son is away for the weekend with dad (yay DAD!). Here's what I wrote about my little walk:

Dropped right into owl eyes/deer ears meditation, immediately became very sensitive and seeing birds far away. First critter: red-shafted flicker at the top of a tree by the yurt, calling, another answers across the creek.

Moving on, moving slowly. Thought something moved in brush near spring trail. Couldn't decide which way to go, was called to marsh trail instead. Saw a bird dive at the entrance. Approached quietly. Noticed flying insects all over willow tree. Closer look revealed many small flies drinking nectar from new willow catkin flowers. A few varieties of flies. Who knew flies pollinated willows? Entered marsh trail. Pause. Sparrows in blackberry thicket by entrance, the one I saw before. Wait and observe. After a few minutes of stillness, they showed themselves to me, complaining: white-crowned sparrow. A pair. Waiting.

Suddenly, I see something. I turn slowly to look closer, a rabbit! Darting back and forth, as if it can't decide what to do! And then it dashes across the path ahead of me, down into the stinging nettle. Soon after, Poblano (my little dog) comes along sniffing excitedly. That rabbit gave him the slip! Smile and wait. Ahhh, this must be who is browsing on the marsh plants...many of them are clipped off, leaving a simple stem with no leaf.

I notice several cattail heads have their fluff all pulled apart (bird nest fluff?) Hear sparrow song up top, unknown species. Move a little farther in, and pause and wait. More sparrows. Watching a blackberry thicket. Wow, there's a bird moving in there, turn my head slowly, it's preening, maybe it doesn't see me, it looks sleepy, like it might just close its eyes and doze off. I am 4 feet away. It's some kind of wren! Maybe the marsh wren? I've never seen this bird before.

Moving on, I sit down for a few minutes. Pause. Up again. Notice 1 or 2 squirrel nests (?) in tall creek alders, and maybe a bird nest near to them, something flatter with lots of sticks in treetops. Walk a little further and pause. Wait. Minutes of stillness. A woodpecker. I had heard drumming. This little guy (or girl) downy woodpecker fed in mid-treetops, not too concerned about me. I take a good look in the binos. Then I move ahead, a good view down toward the creek to a flat with good cover for ground birds. Waited. Several minutes. Heard two unfamiliar birds companion calling. Finally got a look, not sure who? Ground feeder, hopping like a towhee, but not a towhee, a sparrow? Maybe hermit thrush? Around now, varied thrush also wanted to see what was up, so perched up higher to see me, then flew away toward the wolf tree.

While I was observing this, a western grey squirrel came along, traveling upstream in the trees. Downy woodpecker moved out of the way, then went back to feeding. Spent some time @ the wolf tree. Up hill to lower meadow. Startled more sparrows, and quail sentinel warned everyone before I emerged. I startled this covey last week during the storm on my dusk walk through the same location). I stopped and waited and hoped for a return to baseline, but a towhee dives out of a bush near me and flies away in a worry. Other birds too. On my way up the hill, another wren! 2 in one day!

Also, raven, turkey vulture, song sparrow, robin, stellar's jay, and red-tail hawk call. Deer tracks.

It's amazing how if you arrive in calmness, and settle and wait, in stillness, the forest comes back to life quickly, and amazing things happen. That was the single most amazing nature walk I've ever taken, by the sheer number of small successes, and the rewards of patience paying off.

Bee Swarm

Last weekend, I was walking past the west side of our house with Ella, when I heard a curious sound...which I will illustrate with a quote from Winnie the Pooh:

"Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think. First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something. You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing noise, somebody's making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you're a bee." From Pooh's Bedtime Book by A.A. Milne.

And when I adjusted my gaze upwards, I saw a whole pile of bees clumped on the rafter of the house. Two clumps, actually.

When one is not prepared to have bees of their own, as we are not at the moment, a person in my shoes needs to call Ben, who is very enthusiastic about his bee project right now. He said he'd come over shortly and try to catch the swarm, because he wanted to replace a hive that died over the winter. But by the time he got here, the swarm clump had shrunk, suggesting that they had already chosen our house as their post-swarm location. Which is what we confirmed. They had moved into a chance cavity at the edge of our roof. Darn.

So now we're not sure what to do. We're going to try to vacuum them out with a shop-vac. Short of that, we may need to close them up and allow them to die, as we can't have bees living in the roof. Just our latest homestead adventure...

Mountain Lion Visit

Tonight while I was cooking dinner, Drew came inside and asked if I could leave for a minute. "Hmmm, sure for a few minutes."
"I found something you have to see. I won't say what it is, but bring the camera."

I know both of us well enough to know that when we say such things, we've usually found some odd, natural history curiosity, for which either of us will drop everything to explore. We walked out of the yurt and headed south along the loop road, and then Drew led us down an abandoned road toward the place where we were going to put a second yurt. As we descended into the tree tunnel, I could immediately see what it was.

No way. I have lived here for more than three years, and I have spent many years before that looking, and I have maybe only seen definitive big cat evidence once, until today. It is unmistakable. The dead animal, covered with leaves and twigs and dirt, surrounded by raked grass. A look-alike to the small offerings our pet-cats leave in a patch of unmonitored sand, but oh-so-much-larger. Freakishly larger. Frighteningly larger.

Acer, our dog, has been barking more than usual into the bushes, and now we know why. Also, our neighbors have not only seen another lion kill right near their house, but they actually saw the critter itself. So I suppose we should be aware and on the lookout. I don't think I'll be sending Ella out to play in the yard by herself anytime soon.

It's curious to contemplate why there is a cat around now. Late winter hunger? Is it a momma with kittens? Drew also saw another recently dead deer across the creek, though he suspects a coyote kill. Maybe they have pups now, too, so there is extra pressure for food? I once thought there were lions around several years ago, based on the way Acer behaved on a walk home from our neighbor's home across the creek, but it was fleeting, and until now there hasn't been any action aside from coyotes. Though I admit to feeling some fear, I also try to look at it as an opportunity for learning and increased awareness.

Polarity

Nearly Summer Solstice Mattole


Winter Mattole, at ~11,000 Cubic Feet per Second

On my way to the beach early one morning last summer on a solo seaweed collecting mission, the river was looking misty and beautiful and I couldn't resist stopping to photograph the summer solstice dawn flow. I had no idea that I would stop to photograph it again, at the other edge of its range, in full-bodied, raging, muddy winter flow. But as I toured around town shooting images of flooding, high water, and other winter scenes, I instantly remembered the summer image, and wanted to do a rephoto for this blog.

Here are two faces of the same beast. Though the summer image is not anywhere near the lowest the river becomes in October, before the first raindrops fall. When the river is that small, it is difficult to imagine the fullness of bankfull, the trees bobbing in the center of the channel, the little rapids, strainers, and the sounds. The nights before we left on our trip, we were suddenly aware of the sound of rushing water all over the landscape. This as a contrast to the sound of wind, or the sound of silence, or the sound of birdsong, the sounds of summer.

The other contrast here is the green leaves of summer versus the bare, craggy branches of the alders on the banks, wearing their catkin necklaces. The green of summer is pervasive, and therefore unnoticed, but the colors in winter stand out boldly, against the backdrop of browns, grays, and greens. Willow branches are bright red. Alder catkins are yellow, usnea lichen is white-green, and looks like splashes of sunlight, even when the sun is hiding behind clouds. All this reminds me of a quote Drew often cites:

"A warm man can never understand a cold man". Not sure on the origins of this sentiment, but I regularly feel this at the zenith of the seasons, where I lose all sense of the bipolar reality of living close to the seasons. Tonight, far from home, I am contemplating these two, alternating and opposite faces of this thread weaving our landscape together.

6.5 Earthquake Rocks the Yurt

Candy Store in Downtown Ferndale with a Broken Window

Late this afternoon, we were reminded about why our geographic neighborhood is considered one of the most seismically active areas in the United States. A 6.5 magnitude earthquake shook our larger Northcoast region at 4:27 PM. Drew and Ella, along with Shin and Zoe, had just returned to the yurt after a swamp walk. They were in varied states of entry, inside the yurt, in the mudroom with shoes off, in the mudroom with shoes on, and outside, when shaking started.

When earthquakes happen, there's a moment of pause, when one first realizes what's happening, followed by a pause to assess: should I sit tight, or vacate the building? Well, this quake shook, and then shook a little harder, then shook even more. It quickly became clear that we should leave. Hanging items were swinging, glass was rattling, and a few things were falling off shelves. I picked Ella up, and left the house, accidentally bumping her head on the doorknob on our way out.

Once we got outside, the tan oak and bay trees, and garden shrubs were shaking as though giant gophers were gnawing their roots. It looked strangely windy, and I could feel the earth rolling and jiggling like jelly underfoot. A first for me! Ella got pretty scared, mostly because I was reacting a little too strongly (and the bump on her head).

It seems those up north have lost power, and there are many broken storefront windows, but all in all, no injuries or major damage. We continue to feel the aftershocks, so much smaller as they are. 2.8's and 3.5's and so on. I think we're all hoping the big one was the main event and not a foreshock to something much larger. Fortunately, this may be our average 10 year event, which is actually 8 years overdue.

The Secret Life of Meadow Voles

Today was a beautiful day, high popcorn clouds heralding a coming storm, but mostly sunny and a little warmer. After Ella came home from school, I suggested we go on an "adventure" to see if we could find anything interesting. Sometimes Ella is a little hard to enroll in such an undertaking, but today, it didn't take too much influence.

When she stepped out and noticed the clouds, she insisted we bring an umbrella because "I think it's gonna start to rain soon". I obliged, and we set off down the driveway. I offered that we might head out into the grass, and see what we could find. So we ambled freely for a while, following Ella's whims. We sat for a bit by an old scotch broom plant, where Ella peeled old straw stalks to chew on, like Drew does. Then she was drawn to an area she called a pond, which is really just a depression in our land.

When we arrived there, we found several areas of blond, lying-down grass. They made a nice, soft, comfy carpet of grass, and we laid down and remarked that it was kind of like a bed. Then I began digging down to the dirt, because sometimes, in this way, you can find a whole, tiny universe you weren't aware of before: insects, tiny mushrooms, miniature plants. I parted grass here and there, and found an animal runway, and there were droppings in it. Hmmmm....let's follow this and see where it....ACK! I found a mouse carcass. All that remained were its incisors, its spine, and its tail. Well, now I was really intrigued. Who killed the mouse and ate it in such a fashion? Why was it in this runway? Was it the original inhabitant? Or did it just end up there, deposited by the eater? Or had it died of natural causes, and decomposed? So many questions!

Now that my curiosity was piqued, I began uncovering a vast network of tunnels all throughout the grass. Just like our streets, there were crossroads, where the paths lead off in several directions. I found a hole, with some grass and broom branches sticking out. And I also found some cut grass lying in the pathway.

On researching, I find that I am likely uncovering the runs of the Meadow Vole, a grass eating rodent. So that answers that question, but not the wondering about whether the carcass was a vole, a mouse, and in either case, how did it die and who ate it? I had thought there was a carnivorous small mammal that might eat mice, but I'm not finding reference to it. Maybe it's not a mouse but a vole? Maybe I won't ever know...such is the mystery of natural history.

The Silence of the Birds

Each summer, the day when the birds stop singing comes too quickly for my taste. It's not that they stop entirely. I am still hearing the swallows at this moment, amid the roar of the concrete trucks (pouring our walls), and I did hear a spotted towhee yesterday morning. It's just that I feel a little sad when the luxurious and rich orchestra of morning bird dawn chorus becomes a lonely, quiet solo.

I guess it is truly the turning of the seasons. It means the singers have found their mates and have hunkered down to hatch some eggs. They're now in a lovely family way. I suppose I should feel happy for them. And now we can try to hear the juveniles drive their bird parents crazy with constant requests for feeding, like their human, teenaged counterparts. It means we are moving closer to tomato harvest time, and this year, closer to a roof being on our new house. But wistful I remain, over the loss of beauty in the early morning. I look forward to it each year, and it always seems to fly by too fast. Especially the end of the merry, melodic black-headed grosbeak soliloquies. *sigh*

To tomatoes!

Mill Creek Forest

It's a funny phenomenon, that you don't necessarily do the interesting things there are to do around your home until out-of-town guests come to visit. A few days ago, we decided on a walk into Mill Creek Forest, thinking it would be a short walk, and do-able for Ella. But when you take a hike with the Lillie-Schneider clan, I forgot that you must be prepared for anything. We began climbing up out of the creek, up the near vertical slopes, up into the old-growth Douglas-fir forest. It really is spectacular. There is so little forest that looks like it, large, well-spaced trees, with the fern and spindly tan oak understory.

It was a satisfying hike, in that I got to nerd out on taking photos, with another fellow photo nerd, my dear friend Kira, who is a rock star fashion photographer in Paris. She had lenses that would fit my camera, and I got to play with a true macro lens for the first time. Meanwhile, Ella was barging ahead with Kai and Karl, leading our whole entourage. None of us could believe how far she walked, nor how enthusiastically she was doing it. Who needs a nap?

All was well, until the end of the day when Kira walked through a yellow jacket nest, and she got stung several times. Once she was done with that, a wasp decided she needed to be stung too! Insult to injury! The burning and stinging led to a mandatory stop at the Drury swimming hole, for an end of hike dip. Ahhhhhh. Hope you enjoy the photos.

Toad in a Hole

The other day, I was walking back from the house to the yurt and noticed a small black hole in the driveway. I've seen it before, though I've typically only had a subconscious recognition of it. Well, I decided to try to collapse it a little bit, assuming it was a gopher tunnel. I began kicking at it, and lo and behold, a western toad hopped across the opening underneath, such that I could see it, for only a split second!

And then it dawned on me, "Hey! That's a toad in a hole!"

Bird Happenings

Yesterday, Ella and I were working in the garden, and heard a ruckus of hawk calls in the forest right next to the garden fence. The calls were coming closer, but the hawk was remaining just out of view behind the trees. It stopped right near us, still out of sight. There was more than one bird, at least two, maybe three. We waited quietly to see if we could SEE them, but they flew away before we caught a glimpse.

Today, while I was again working in the garden, I heard it once more, and had visual confirmation of at least three individual hawks. They were flying fast, up and down the riparian corridor, just below the treetop line. I believe it is a pair or single parent teaching juveniles to hunt. I had limited time without Ella, so I didn't want to go get my binoculars, but I finally succumbed to the temptation just before I left. I was assuming they were Sharp-Shinned Hawks, or Cooper's Hawks, with their tree hunting strategy, and though I hadn't seen them very clearly, I had noticed a striped tail. By the time I was standing with the binos, the hawks were down canyon by the old oaks, below my line of sight. I decided to take my binoculars with me, in hopes of getting a better view.

I have also been hearing woodpecker drumming down in the creek lately, and I have been wondering which woodpecker is working on drilling holes. As I dropped down the hill, I heard a very loud drum, and saw the birds flitting around the large, old willow along the creek. I got a good look at at least four of them, seemingly arguing over territorial issues.

By the time I arrived at the neighbors, I now had two bird questions. Jeremy is a skilled birder, having spent at least one summer doing bird surveys as a biologist, and his 7-year-old daughter has begun collecting her "life list". Maple brought me her Peterson's Guide (and her lens cleaner for my binoculars), and I first looked up the woodpeckers. At this moment, I remembered the difficulty in distinguishing the Downy (Picoides pubescens) vs. the Hairy Woodpecker (Picoides villosus), which have the same markings, except for the fact that one has a larger bill, and one is larger in overall size than the other. Without this knowledge in my mind while observing, I don't think I can say which bird I was looking at!

The hawk proved equally difficult, as the mind has a tendency to fill in blanks inaccurately once you are looking twenty paintings in a bird guide showing the underneath plumage of soaring birds. As Jeremy and Deva were inquiring about details, I realized how quickly I make assumptions when dealing with the birds. Their line of questioning was getting at the general classification, buteo or accipiter for example, (an important distinction!), whereas I went right to thinking it was a particular bird. None of the pictures suited my memory.

At last, while I was crossing the first field behind their house on my way home, I caught sight of one of the hawks again, noisily calling about. I realized quickly how large it was, ruling out Cooper's and Sharp-Shinned Hawk. Looking through my binoculars, I could see the striped tail, mottled wings with a white bar running front to back of the wings, and, oh yes, I see a rusty red head. But as I explore my Sibley Guide, I still am not sure which hawk we are looking at. I will need to continue observing, looking for details I keep missing, like what color is the leading edge of the wing? I'll keep you posted.

Lastly, I heard a mystery bird while at the outhouse at dusk a few nights ago. It was reminiscent of a Varied Thrush, but it was different. Not sure what it was, but certainly curious to find out.

Rainy Winter-Spring

Favorite Native Food, Miner's Lettuce, So Fresh and Yummy


East Mill Creek Full of Water


Red Alder (Alnus rubra) with Drooping Catkins, Cones, and Emergent Leaves


Willow (Salix sp.) Flowers

On our travels home, the latest Pacific storm was brewing. As we wound around curves on Highway 299, silence would suddenly envelope the car, only to return as we rounded the next bend. It seems the bulging folds of earth would sometimes shelter us from the wind, and at other times offer no protection. By the time we arrived in Eureka, the pre-showers were spattering the windshield, and we used our umbrella to travel the half block on foot to our restaurant.

That night, as we snuggled under a down comforter and flannel sheets, the wind raged outside, whistling through the single-paned glass. Drew and I commented that we were glad we weren't in the yurt that night. The wind remained strongly southerly all day, extending flags out fully horizontal, and as is customary when we return from a long trip and have a lot of things to carry in from the car, it began seriously raining as we climbed the first ridge out of Ferndale along the Wildcat.

That wind and heavy rain continued to gust, and pulse, and pour all night long our first night home, christening us back into the full yurt experience. With bags under our eyes the following day, we awoke to blue sky cloudbursts, and the sound of rushing water. We visited our swollen creek after breakfast. The second night home was downpours, alternating with thunder and lightening, trading places with hail, and gusts of wind keeping us awake again. Today, more on and off showers, some sun. Such is spring in Petrolia. It rains and we all run for cover to huddle around the woodstove, and then the rain quits, and we realize we can rush outside to work on a garden bed, or plant some seed flats, or go look at the creek. Rainbows and bird song are part of the equation too. The meadowlarks have been singing their tinkling melody, and the hummingbirds are buzzing with courtship hums.

The garden and orchard are just beginning to come to life. I've still got a lot of edible goodies, like carrots, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, beets, fava beans, and greens, which I wasted no time making use of at my first opportunity. The plum tree, like all of them in Humboldt County, is in full bloom, while the peach is just tentatively peeking out its first pink blossoms. It seems the almonds bloomed while we were gone, because it's leaves are waking up already. Today, I planted my keeper onions and my first round of cabbage, and I began preparing a bed for shelling and snap peas. I also made my monster seed order, in which I even decided to try to grow my own tomatoes again.

Home At Last

The Family that Skis Together, Stays Together


The Weather was Great at Mt Bachelor


Bald Eagle at the High Desert Museum in Bend


Family Portrait, in the Shadow of Mt. Shasta

It's been a long five weeks of travel, and after that, there is nothing like seeing the tundra swans on their way north floating in flooded fields north of Klamath Lake, or flying through the Trinity River canyon with storm winds howling against the car, and eating a fabulous sushi meal at Kyoto in Eureka with Samuel, and visiting with Jenny in Blue Lake, and entering into early spring from the snowy, wintery mountains. We traded white icy snow for white plum petal snow, exploding all over the north coast. We traded those tundra swans for tens of thousands of Canada geese migrating through the green velvety fields of the Eel River Delta and along the Humboldt Bay. We traded icy roads for golden wild mustard, and coltsfoot, and when the storm that's raging outside tonight lets up for a minute, I can hear the frogs calling out their lullaby music, to sing us to sleep in the land of water.

There was a big storm while we were gone, at last the skies opened up, and brought our river up to 20,000 cfs, a respectable level. We're not yet to our average annual rainfall, but we're getting closer by the minute, with 5 inches predicted by Tuesday. What a return, truly, to some of the worst weather of the year. Our yurt walls are flapping, and the rain is pouring down, drumming on our heads incessantly, as we try to remember how to sleep beneath it. I am hearing unfamiliar thumping noises outside, hoping that nothing is getting damaged. We have been living in sensory deprivation, compared to this!

Looking forward to blogging more regularly again....and discovering all that's changed in the time in between. Keep posted.

Monterey Bay Aquarium

You may ask what the Monterey Bay Aquarium has to do with California Homesteading...absolutely nothing, except that we are on vacation from homesteading, and soaking up all the urban experiences we can while here in Santa Cruz and surrounds. Nothing preserves our sanity, nor enables our endless list of toiling for future comfort at home, nor cements our appreciation for our amazing Mattole Valley, than going on a trip to somewhere else.

On Sunday, we left recently arrived-in Santa Cruz for Monterey to visit Drew's family and take Ella to the LONG AWAITED aquarium. We have been visiting their website in preparation for weeks. She has asked about it daily during the entire 10 days before. After securing our guest passes, courtesy of Drew's dad and step-mom (THANK YOU!!), we drove on down and spent about an hour and a half relaxedly wandering through the exhibits, following Ella's lead and interest. We explored the life-size hanging whales, the jellyfish, the tunafish and pacific sunfish in the outer bay tank, spent a lot of time feeling starfish and such at the touchtanks, experienced what it might be like to be under a wave in the "Splash Zone", and peered into tiny tanks to search for itty-bitty fish. Ella thought all of it was great. And the one item she chose over all others in the gift shop: toy binoculars. Ah, a girl after her own mother's heart!

Afterwards, we visited a local chowder house with Dad, Ann, Katy, and Drew's uncle and aunt Mikey and Jane, and all enjoyed fried seafood delectables before exploring Wii Fitness back at the house (perhaps to negate the effects of beer batter and tartar sauce!) A great first day of vacation! Looking forward to more days...

Spring Already?

I took a long walk home yesterday, from my massage office, out along Chambers Road. There are already undeniable signs of spring cropping up all around. I heard a robin sing yesterday. I saw some pink cherry blossoms unfolded. The bay trees have scores of yellow blooms, just waiting for a sunny day to burst open. And I found the lance- and spade-shaped cotyledons of miner’s lettuce stretching above the fir-needled ground just before I reached my driveway. I even sampled a small taste. Mmmm, delicious!

But as much as I am delighted to see this collection of omens, I admit to a deeper sense of guilt and worry. It does seem a little early, doesn’t it? We only just passed the darkest hour of the year at solstice a few short weeks ago. My short-lived recollection of such seasonal markers seems to tell me that these things are occurring several weeks in advance of where I remember them last.

I tell myself that I have only been living on the south slope for less than three years. That the robins don’t leave, and just because I don’t hear them sing at my very house until February doesn’t mean they don’t sing earlier in other locations. That the expanse of warm daytime weather we had in November set the bay blossoms early. That we are still having nighttime frosts every time the sky is open to the stars. And yet, I am still uneasy. As a system’s thinker, I have a difficult time viewing the procession of blooms and the emergences of insects, and the arrival of birds outside of the context of appropriate timing for appropriate food supply. I know that variation happens from year to year and can affect outcomes for a particular poplulation. But we are potentially looking at an unprecedented shift of resources available for entire species. Entire species shifting their ranges north. And what of shifting weather patterns, driven by localized temperatures that make up larger gyrations of wind and rain?

It's unsettling to say the least, largely because I feel so powerless to do anything about it, in spite of having the sense of being able to register the changes. It reminds me of a poem by one of Drew's friends from college, Drew Dellinger. Here's an excerpt from it...

Heiroglyphic Stairway

"it's 3:23 in the morning
and I'm awake
because my great great grandchildren
won't let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in my dreams
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?

surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?

as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?

did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?

what did you do
once
you
knew?"

What have I done, now that I know? What have you done?

Western Gray Squirrel

The Woods Behind the Cabin

While at the cabin, I had the welcome opportunity to try out a sit spot in snow country. As a naturalist, the snow gets me over-excited, because animal tracks are so visible and follow-able in the snow! I snuck out one morning, attempting to move quietly in my nylon snow outfit, while breaking through the crunchy crust underfoot. Needless to say, I made a racket audible for a long distance, while making my way toward a sitting place.

I decided to choose a spot underneath a large black oak tree on a little rise, overlooking a snowy meadow. There were tracks leading through the meadow, and I had a feeling if I sat still long enough, I would see some sort of wildlife. So I sat down and got quiet, letting my mind wander and listening for critters.

I wasn’t there long before I heard a little skittering behind and above me. I sat still for a moment, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I slowly turned around, craning my neck to see who was there. Ah ha! A Western Gray Squirrel (Sciurus griseus), frozen in fear, staring right at me mid-movement. I averted my gaze in an attempt to help it feel a little more comfortable. It then protested at a medium volume, “chuck chuck chuck!”, which caused a small bird in a thicket to my left side to complain and alarm a little bit too: “Someone is in our home! Who is it?! What is their business?!”

After a few moments, however, the squirrel decided I wasn’t much of a threat, and proceeded to climb up the tree it was on and work on its project. I wasn’t sure what it was doing until it scampered down the trunk, holding a wad of bark, pine needles, and leaves in its mouth. I’ve never seen a squirrel do this before! It paused mid way down to readjust the bundle, to consolidate it and get a better grip, before running back up the tree and disappearing on the other side of the trunk. It was then I noticed a nest-looking object a little ways above where the squirrel had collected its treasure. Ah, I think I see, a nest in process, getting ready to bear the young of the year.

I’m guessing at this, anyway. We have a squirrel nest in the forest by the yurt, and it is MUCH larger than this bundle of twigs, leaves, moss, and bark I saw. I guess I will have to visit it again, and see if I can learn more about it.

Rainy Day Birds

This morning, I headed to my sit spot without Ella. She wanted to stay with Daddy and read books. So I pulled on my fleecies, donned rubber rain boots, and goretex rain hat, and headed down the hill. It's rather drippy today, what with the constant weeping leak of light rain falling from the sky since yesterday. One thing I noticed, however, is how distracting the raindrops falling through the leaves are: I kept thinking I was seeing birds out of the corner of my eye. You could all try this, to see what it's like...just soften your gaze while outdoors in the rain. Make it so you are using all of your peripheral vision. Then notice movement! Let me know if you try it.

After I sat there a while, I got bored, and remembered that the dog smelled like fish two nights ago, so I decided to walk the creek and see if I could find a salmon carcass. The creek is bigger than yesterday, and more brown. I had to walk on the flat above it because in places the water was deeper than the tops of my boots. I tromped through the blackberry and stinging nettle, finding little mushrooms, or little rivulets I didn't quite know about. Eventually, I left the creek to head home, no spawning salmon to speak of.

I walked back the way we normally travel from our neighbor's house. About half-way back, I heard the feeding flock of birds I heard two days ago with Ella. They are a rowdy little bunch. It's Hutton's vireos, chestnut-backed chickadees, and sometimes sparrows, and probably others at times. Instead of walking up on them and causing them to scatter, I stopped, and turned my body aside, to communicate my passivity. They fed for a while on coyote brush (It is preparing to flower, and there are little tiny seeds at the base), poison oak (maybe there are insects on it?), and other brush. They slowly made their way closer, until one little brave vireo soul flew to a California hazelnut branch just three or four feet from me! I got such a lovely look at it! It was a treat. The rest of the flock was arriving into the bay across the trail, and I also got a really clear look at a chestnut-backed chickadee, who kept flashing the white stripes on the back of its head as it darted between and around branches. They sure brightened my foggy, gray day.

Frogs and Skunk Cabbage and Wild Ginger

It feels so wonderful to have new momentum with the sit spot routine, an excuse to leave the house, whatever the weather, and to explore and learn about our back yard! Ella and I bundled up to brave the slow, weeping rain to visit our little log backrest in the dripping, moist, and mossy forest. Ella ventured to touch the mushrooms we found yesterday, again. We heard a small feeding flock of chickadees and maybe other birds pass overhead while we whispered to each other.

After only about 8 minutes, Ella said she wanted to go home, so I took her back, and asked Drew if he would watch Ella so I could go back out. I had a more adult sit, and I centered and grounded into the earth, said my thanksgiving address, and dropped into my awareness exercises. I began to notice some details about where I was sitting. I had thought the log against which I rested was on old, burned fir tree, but I realized it is a bay log. And the stump to my northwest is the bay stump from which it came! And there are not one, not two, but three wood rat nests within sight distance of the spot.

After a long collection of minutes, I decided to wander a little, to look at our northern spring. As I crept through the damp leaf litter and the overhanging sword ferns, I noticed the first leaf buds of the skunk cabbage emerging from the moist earth, and a quick look underneath the spade-shaped wild ginger leaves revealed its tightly curled flower buds. Ah, the very first evidence of spring approaching! Not sure if this is earlier than is should be, but hey.

And finally, I first noticed on Christmas Day the song of the tree frog, a joyful response to the wetness we are at last experiencing. And not a day later, I have begun to hear them here, in the swamp, and even right close to the yurt, I believe in the garden. I'll let you all know if I locate the little singer.