Happy New Year!
I feel that is always good to ring in the new year with the dark-eyed junco. They have a gentle spirit and are often at the entrance to welcome you to the arboretum. May we all be more gentle with each other and with nature as we journey together into 2024. May your time in nature be peaceful and rejuvenating. I look forward to seeing you out there.
During the second day of winter, there was a brief period of sunshine and warmth in the afternoon. I was down by the river sitting on a log soaking up some rays and my surroundings. To my surprise, a butterfly came fluttering over and flew around me. It also decided to perch on a log and take in the warmth of the sun’s rays.
I looked it up and decided that it was a California Tortoiseshell butterfly. On Art Shapiro’s Butterfly Site, Dr. Art Shapiro, professor of Evolution and Ecology at the University of California, Davis, states: “The ‘Tortie’ overwinters as an adult and can sometimes be seen sunning itself in midwinter on mild days.” Hooray!
Where was it waiting for this warm and sunny afternoon on the second day of winter? It must find fascinating places to shelter from the cold and rain.
It was a reminder to me to be open to the unexpected, or maybe it’s better said that I need to go out into nature without expectations.
Reference
Nymphalis Californica | Art Shapiro’s Butterfly Site. https://butterfly.ucdavis.edu/butterfly/nymphalis/californica. Accessed 29 Dec. 2023.
Plant debris from the high water flowing across the gravel bar wraps around willow branches growing along the river’s edge creating these beautiful bouquets. They eloquently capture the fluidity of the water and the torrential spirit of the river’s rain-swollen stream.
We had some steady rain about a week ago. The river was swollen and swirling with mud and debris. There was enough water to flow over an old gravel bar that is covered with a thin layer of soil. Along the edge of the gravel bar there are willows, old fallen trees, blackberries, cottonwoods, etc. Heaps of debris get caught on this vegetation and create these beautiful nests or dam-like formations. They are mostly constructed of stalks of grass and sticks. All of the small, light matter settles out on top of them as the water recedes. As I poked around, I found all kinds of fascinating objects and took a heap of photos to show you. I spent hours out there looking. I felt that I was constantly finding new and interesting shapes, colors and patterns. It was as if a ship full of treasures had crashed upstream and all of the riches had washed ashore.
The decaying leaves are
thick and red.
The rain soaks through them
enriching the marrow
of the earth.
The river is swirling
and muddy
and full of elemental silt.
The rushing water
pushes and pulls
against the river’s hips,
its menstrual flow
bringing life.
Someday my body will reenter
the stream as the rain falls
from the sky.
Dissolving my memories
and unlocking my emotions,
reabsorbing into the moss.
My visit to a patch of moss was most certainly an adventure in a miniature world. As I peered into this small-scale landscape, I found many interesting life forms.
On the tip of a cluster of leaves, I found a small snail. Without magnification, it looked like a small piece of dirt.
Small mushrooms grew throughout the patch and appeared like tiny, illuminated lanterns.
Peeling back a bed of moss revealed a small spider eating a red mite.
The webbing of a tiny piece of fishnet lichen looked like it could ensnare a giant.
I held out my sketch pad next to the trunk of a tree and lightly brushed my hand over a patch of moss. Many creatures too small to identify landed on the paper and began crawling around.
Farther down on the tree, I saw a granddaddy long legs looking for food. It was cool to watch as it moved across the top of the moss and sank its body into the canopy to look inside.
This is only a small glimpse of the amount of life and diversity in a bed of moss. It is fascinating to think about all of the life unfolding in front of me that I am so unaware of.
The rain-saturated reefs of mosses and lichens growing throughout the arboretum soften my eyes and quiet my mind. The ruby-crowned kinglet scribbles a path through the canopy. Its body bounces from limb to limb in a ricochet of darting straight lines and cursive swoops. Overstuffed with joy, a stitch loosens across the top of its head slightly opening a seam. I catch a glimpse of a flare, a brilliance, an illumination. Unravel the threads and let the coins spill out of your purse. Reveal your hidden treasure, a sleeping ember waiting to catch a breath of air and ignite your ruby crown!
The rain train has been rolling through town and bringing lots of warmth and moisture to the valley. While walking around in the fairly balmy weather, especially for December, I noticed seeds on the grass stalks were sprouting. The seed heads reminded me of miniature grass thatched roofs. I wondered if people were originally inspired, on some level perhaps, to build huts based on seeing this. The more I looked at it, the seed head segmented into tiny huts with grass sprouting out reminded me of a fuzzy caterpillar. Nearby on a fallen, decaying tree was a patch of fungus. I imagined my grass caterpillars spinning a cocoon and metamorphosing into these radiant, banded creatures. Nature is an inexhaustible source of wonder, inspiration, and imagination. I hope to see you out there.
Poison oak grows throughout most of the ecosystem at Mt. Pisgah Arboretum. The other day I watched a spotted towhee eating the berries. I was curious to see if it was listed in their diet on All About Birds by The Cornell Lab. Check out what they listed: “In the breeding season, Spotted Towhees eat mainly insects including ground beetles, weevils, ladybugs, darkling beetles, click beetles, wood-boring beetles, crickets, grasshoppers, caterpillars, moths, bees, and wasps. Other leaf-litter arthropods such as millipedes, sowbugs, and spiders are taken as well. They also eat acorns, berries, and seeds including buckwheat, thistle, raspberry, blackberry, poison oak, sumac, nightshade, chickweed, and crops such as oats, wheat, corn, and cherries. In fall and winter, these plant foods make up the majority of their diet.” It is amazing to realize the varied diet of some birds.
Most of the time the spotted towhee will be on the ground foraging. It will do this little backward shuffle with both feet to clear away debris on the ground. This will uncover/flush insects or reveal seeds underneath. Watching a towhee forage, I am fascinated by the amount of food that it finds on the ground. Most of it is gobbled up before I can see what it was or it is too small. It’s also fascinating to realize just how much time they have to spend looking for food. Especially at this time of year, most of my birdwatching is observing birds forage for food. If you want to have birds in your yard like the spotted towhee, it is necessary to grow native plants and leave the leaf litter and other plant debris on the ground to create a habitat for them to forage. Happy birding!
I recently read Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book Gathering Moss. It is a fascinating tale of the life of mosses and it sent me out into the world with a new awareness.
In the photo, there is a cushy bed of moss. In this species, thin red stalks growing out have green capsules on the end that contain spores. These structures are known as the sporophytes and are the result of sexual reproduction. When the spores mature, they will be released, hopefully finding a suitable place to land and grow.
Here’s a small, general overview which I mostly gleaned from the book, but I also watched several videos and perused some articles on the internet. After finishing the book, I decided to go back and start rereading it from the beginning. I also need to invest in a magnifying lens because the world of mosses is miniature.
Depending on the species, mosses can either have separate male and female on leafy shoots or they can have both the male and female on the same shoot on different stems. The sexual organ is usually at the tip, hidden in a cluster of leaves. The female structure is called the archegonium and the male structure is called the antheridium. For the sperm to reach the egg, it needs to be transported through water. That can be accomplished by several ways. The water collected between the leaves of the moss can act as an avenue for the sperm to swim to fertilize the egg. Rain splashing onto the antheridium can carry the sperm in droplets of water. Also, droplets of water containing sperm can cling to tiny creatures living in mosses and as they move around, they can aid in transporting the sperm to the egg.
Robin mentions in her book that she has seen birds eating the sporophytes. I captured a couple of photos of a junco hopping around on a limb, and it appears to be foraging on them.
The cottonwood leaves are golden.
They shimmer against an infinite blue
like reflections of the sun’s rays across
the surface of the river.
They brush against each other in the wind
echoing the music of last night’s rainsong.
They are starting to fall.
Their bodies are forming a patchwork
of yellows and browns on the ground.
The calls of jays resound
through the landscape
like a clamoring of sewing machines
stitching the leaves together.
A pattern that could never be duplicated.
Foamy clouds blow in from the ocean
and drift by momentarily
blocking the lazy warmth of the sun.
I am awakened by the cool, clean
sheets of air.
I want to bring you out here.
Launch you like a kite
and sail you high above the earth.
Watch you shimmer
golden against an infinite blue.
In a rush of wind, I will let go
and set you free.
I love looking at the blanket of leaves on the ground underneath the trees. The warm earth tones and the complexity of the pattern on the ground are as hypnotic as watching them shimmer in the wind on the tree.
Occasionally I’ll come across a huge cottonwood leaf on the ground. The one in the photo below is 8 inches tall (not including the stem) and 7 inches wide.
I wanted to bring some of my recent posts together and introduce a few more cast members.
In the light of the tilting earth, the wind sweeps in rain and cool air igniting the landscape in a warmth of colors and the plumage of fall spreads its wings in a dazzling display.
Newts dreamily saunter around in the mosaic of colors blanketing the forest floor, bathing in the moisture and the sweetness of decaying leaves.
Chipmunks scurry about highways of mossy logs and secret passageways through the tangled debris on the forest floor. In their bustling excursions, they find time to rest and soak up some rays that occasionally break through the clouds.
Mosses and lichens are awakened and restored by the rain. Their lush and bright spirits have come back to the forefront of my awareness.
It is easy to find yourself spending more time indoors this time of year, but there is so much to experience and explore! Bundle up, and I hope to see you out there.
While our deciduous friends are shedding their foliage and entering a season of rest, licorice ferns are awakening. Their vibrant green illuminates my spirit in winter’s waning light. Their fronds create beautiful patterns as they grow and overlap in a lush carpet on the ground or cascade down the side of a tree.
Ruby-crowned kinglets return to the valley to spend the winter. They acrobatically zip and zing through the bare branches celebrating life.
The rain creates mud where you can find footprints recording the comings and goings of animals.
It was a misty day, and it was like walking in the clouds. My world was enveloped in infinite infinitesimal droplets of water. The world was close and intimate. It opened and expanded when I saw a web illuminated by an astronomical amount of starlets of water. A spider spun from glass laid at the center of the galactic web like a constellation.
Last Saturday was warm and rainy, and I took a walk on the forested hillside of the arboretum. I wanted to be a little more sheltered from the wind and rain and to listen to the magical, orchestral sound of the rain falling through the canopy. As I paused on the trail soaking it up, I noticed, what appeared to be, small earthworms crawling around on a tree. They ranged in height on the tree from near the base up to about eight feet. They were all small and thin. I took this video to show you and also to let you hear the rain that was pouring down. Along the trail, I saw them on big-leaf maples, Douglas firs, and incense cedars. The ground underneath these big trees was fairly sheltered and had not become saturated with water, forcing the worms to the surface. Why were they crawling around on the trunks of these trees? There are so many mysteries to be encountered in nature every day.
In the light of the tilting earth, the wind sweeps in rain and cool air igniting the landscape in a warmth of colors and the plumage of fall spreads its wings in a dazzling display.
I found this small salamander crawling through some leaf litter. You can get a sense of its size from the rusty-orange fir needle tucked underneath its body. At first, I was struck by the flame of red-orange on its tail. As I knelt down to have a closer look, I was mesmerized by its colors and patterns. Its body was mottled copper and gold with blue speckles on the canvas of a black, moonless night sky. This terrestrial creature crawling through layers of decaying leaves was like a portal, a keyhole to the cosmos. It looked like I was peering into a gaseous cloud of stardust deep into the universe. To produce such a gentle creature, a miraculous journey of commingling elements and mystic forces came together over an incomprehensible vast expanse of time and space. Its body seemed so fragile, and it was a reminder that the balance of nature is delicate. We need to slow down and be better caretakers of the earth. I thought, “How much longer can Mother Earth sustain the weight of human progress?”
I was watching a small flock of juncos move across the landscape. They were down on the ground hopping and flitting about in the grass. Here and there one would pop up into this poison oak bush and eat some berries.
I love these little, winter flocks that gather at the arboretum. For me, they have a peaceful and calming presence. They embody the serenity of winter—a compass pointing to a gentle quietness as life slows down in the waning light and cooling temperature. Plant me in the earth among the decaying leaves and dry flower stalks. Let roots anchor my body and transport the elements into my spirit. Let juncos spend the cold winter nights nestled in the thicket of my warming embrace. I’ll provide them refuge from the wind in the canopy of my coat. Seeds will spill from my pockets onto the ground, and they will joyfully dance around my feet in the rain filling their bellies. We will become old friends as we weave our lives together—a companionship made of gratitude, kindness, and harmony.
I was sitting down watching a white-breasted nuthatch bouncing around the limbs of an oak tree. There were heaps of acorns scattered across the ground. I decided to open some of them up and have a look inside. Acorns are a nutritious food source, and I was curious how many had a little grub inside. Of the seven that I opened, only one was free from a grub. All of the others were in various states of being eaten and one of them was completely devoured. I wondered how many of the acorns become inhabited by these insect larvae. I see squirrels and jays carrying off acorns to cache for the winter, and I am sure they would be disappointed to discover later on that most of their acorns had spoiled. Are they able to tell which ones are free from larvae inside? It would be interesting to investigate their stash and see.
As I enter the arboretum, I hear the call of the white-breasted nuthatch as it merrily explores its world among the trees. Lately, I have seen it flying down to the road in the turnaround loop at the entrance. Acorns that have dropped onto the road are being broken open as vehicles drive over them. The nuthatches are picking up the pieces and caching them. It is interesting to watch them choose a spot to hide the acorn chunk. They will seemingly audition a few hiding places before finally settling on a spot. Besides looking for the best-protected area to ensure that its morsel of food stays unspoiled, I also imagine it might do this if it thinks it has been seen hiding its acorn that could potentially be taken by another animal. I saw this one stuff it in a couple of different places under a carpet of mosses before it finally decided on a crevice under a broken limb. After it wedged the bit of acorn in the crack, it collected some moss and stuffed it in to further protect and conceal the acorn. I love watching these birds. For me, their calls ringing across the landscape are an integral part of the spirit of the arboretum.
I was on the arboretum bird walk this month and watched a couple of flickers performing their display that is used for courtship and territorial defense. In early spring or summer during courtship, they will face off in this display usually while a prospective mate watches. Since it is October, I imagine these two were engaged in territorial defense. The Cornell Lab’s All About Birds describes this display thus: “Two birds face each other on a branch, bills pointed upward, and bob their heads in time while drawing a loop or figure-eight pattern in the air, often giving rhythmic wicka calls at the same time.” They would also fan their tail feathers. The flicker on the right seemed slightly bigger and slowly backed the other one out to the end of the branch. The smaller flicker eventually flew around its rival to a nearby vertical limb. The other flicker followed and they continued their dance circling the limb.
Resources
Northern Flicker Life History, All About Birds, Cornell Lab of Ornithology. https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Northern_Flicker/lifehistory. Accessed 25 Oct. 2023.
