Fall Morning in Folsom

Observed during my morning walk this crisp October day:

1. Man wearing flannel PJ bottoms, Birkenstocks with no socks, a white tee, dark gray jacket, and sunglasses. Happily strollin' along.

2. Middle-aged couple seated on park bench, eating french fries from a McDonald's bag and talking to an older woman. Couple's two dogs -- one a Great Dane pup with large floppy ears -- were sitting at their knees, eyeballing the fries. Only caught snippet of their conversation, but the older woman (her hair in a bun) said, "Socialization is huge. Huge, huge, huge." True on so many levels.

The park was at its best this morning: the leaves on the sycamores, maples, and oaks are just beginning to turn, and the air carried the scent of a fire from a wood stove. I may repeat the route this evening, maybe on my bike this time, and my first sweatshirt of the season.

Peregrines

Steve's on the board of The Peregrine Fund, and was recently in South Texas for a board meeting. This young peregrine was trapped on South Padre Island as part of a long-term research project to measure contaminants and the reproductive health of peregrine populations.

Peregrines are now off of the endangered species list (DDT and other pesticides caused egg shell thinning and reproductive failures), as trapping results and research measurements now point to a healthy, increasing population.


A biologist is banding this young peregrine; the hood helps protect the biologist and the bird from injury. The peregrine was released a short time later.

Insomnia Haiku

Awake again. Rats.
What's the secret to sleeping?
God knows, but won't tell.

A Passion for Nature

Currently on page 59 of A PASSION FOR NATURE: THE LIFE OF JOHN MUIR by Donald Worster. It's been difficult reading, as Muir was tormented by his father, a controlling, joyless, brutal man.

"Daniel enforced his son's work regime, not through inducements or praise, but through thrashings and sermons. A burning brush pile became a reminder that an everlasting hell was waiting for bad boys who disobeyed God (or withheld their labor). 'The old Scotch fashion of whipping for every act of disobedience or of simple, playful forgetfulness' continued on the frontier, but now it had become part of rural work-force discipline. Most of the beatings, Muir wrote, 'were outrageously severe' and most of them fell on him, not on his sisters or younger brothers."

It's no surprise then that he found solace in nature, and comfort in the plants, wildlife and trees of Yosemite. What's surprising is that he didn't turn out like his father.

Folsom's Annual Bark 'n Splash

Folsom hosted its annual Bark 'n Splash on Saturday, when local canines were invited to frolic in the kiddie pool before its yearly cleaning. This photo features Maya and Erich's Labs, Country and Delilah -- Country is the black Lab in the center of the photo (posing for the camera), and Delilah is the yellow Lab, hopping from the water -- which she did easily, roughly 2,000 times.

Not only was the pool filled with Labs and retrievers, but with two great Danes, one St. Bernard, a handful of cow dogs, two coons, two poodles, one exceedingly shy pit bull (a contradiction in terms, if ever there was one), and maybe half a dozen unidentifiables (aka mutts). Oh, and there were two bulldogs, one wearing a nifty little life vest.

I Heard the Owl Call My Name

At 4:12 a.m., I was sitting at my computer, thinking I'd blog about Kristen Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, when I heard a great horned owl calling. I ran downstairs (in the dark -- crazy, I know, but I didn't want to alert it by turning on a light), and popped outside, where I stood barefoot, in my PJs and bathrobe, listening as a second owl responded, and then a third! I knew they were different birds, as the voice of the first bird, the caller, was slightly higher than the second bird, the responder. The third bird called from somewhere south, but never flew closer to join his comrades.

Temperature was close to 58 degrees, with a light wind blowing from the south. I got cold after 18 minutes and came inside, as it seemed the calls were becoming fainter. I'd hung in, hoping they'd fly west, directly over the house, but they must have flown east, where the eating is better.

4:39 a.m. and they're still calling! (Renee. Come. Out...Renee. Come Out.) I worry a lot about these birds, but tonight, at least, my faith in their future is restored.

Big Bird(s)

Brown pelicans, Santa Barbara, California. I love this pic.


Photo by SPT

Grand Ol' Bull Elk and His Sugarbabe

Steve was in Montana last week, attending a Board meeting for the National Wildlife Refuge Association. He took this shot of a meadow near Melville, about 20 miles north of Big Timber. Those are the Crazy Mountains in the background.



Here, he's leaving Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge (1.1 million acres), located north of Lewistown, as evening approaches and the moon rises. The landscape looks much as it did in the early 1800s, when Lewis and Clark stood in this spot, contemplating what they'd have for dinner, and who would cook it.


Steve spotted this pronghorn near Melville (it's munching a bit of grass). The pronghorn is the swiftest of North America's land mammals (it runs at about 55 mph, for several minutes at a time), and is among the fastest in the world.


A bull elk and his sugarbabe. Or one of many sugarbabes, I should say.



In the end, I made it not quite six weeks without blogging (see the Ron Carlson Kool-Aid Caper, below), and might have lasted longer, but I wanted so much to post these photos of Steve's. I regret not having gone with him -- I had the chance, but I passed, wanting to wrestle with the new novel, which is kinda driving me nuts. I'm taking a break from it, working on a short story, which features an elk as a character, though not as "fancy" as the grand old bull, below. Anyway, glad to be back -- and just in time, too. The mountain bluebirds are in, and I saw a flicker on Friday. Got a lot to talk about!