Spring Action

        According to an old Chinese Proverb, “A bird does not sing because it has an answer.  It sings because it has a song.” It was a sunny morning in North Texas when I took my Chihuahua out for a walk.  As we crossed the grassy knoll, we had gone about fifty paces when I noticed about twenty Mallard ducks walking in single file.  They left the safety of the pond to look for food.  Meanwhile, a single Canade goose did not follow them.  He merely waited beside the pond, looking like a security guard on duty.  Sure enough, when a Red-tailed hawk flew close by the Canada goose let out a series of harsh honking calls.  As I observed all this, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his mate.  Canada geese are typically monogamous, but there are exceptions.  Is she dead?  How did she die?  These questions swirled around in my head as I moved from the grass to the pavement and back to my front door.  The Mallards finished their morning foraging session and returned to the pond for a swim.  Every time I walk out my front door I see something different.  

Happy Birthday Ansel

           Today was Ansel Adams birthday.  He passed away in 1984, right about the time that I gave up studying the piano and began studying boys.  As Walt Disney was faithful to a mouse named Mickey, Ansel was deeply committed to his craft.  If you never loved nature or mountains before, you could look at his photographs then fall hard and fast.  I admire Ansel for never needing a “focus friend.”  Whereas I sit down to write, then see a squirrel, then start chasing the squirrel.  Ansel wasn’t like that.  He spent 20 years churning out an amazing body of work.  Happy Birthday Ansel!  Unlike others, I did not need your pictures to love mountains.  However, I do appreciate and admire you.

Animals Surviving Winter

Happy New Year!  

Most of the country was hit by the polar vortex, an arctic airmass.  Temperatures dropped.  What do animals do when temperatures get that low?  During day two of icemaggedon, I saw a collection of House sparrows looking for food.  My bird bath was completely frozen, so I slapped a suet bird cake on top.  It did not take long for the hungry members of the species Passer domesticus to find it and start eating.  Passer domesticus is the Latin name for House sparrow.  A gang of Starlings huddled in a nearby tree where they frequently pumped their wings in order to puff up their feathers, which I imagine is something they do to warm themselves.  In nature, greater body mass equals more insulation.  In a few days, I will fly to Wisconsin where the temperatures are even colder.  I have not met the birds up there, but I already respect them simply for surviving.  I can recall in years past, when the Texas heat became unbearable telling friends or strangers, “If I were a pigeon, I’d be dead right now.”  The underlying message was I can’t survive in a tough environment. Some animals go underground.  The subnivean zone is a collection of open spaces and tunnels between the snow and the ground.  It’s created when the ground melts the ice directly on top of it.  The snow acts as insulation which helps the smaller animals survive.  Some animals sleep through the tough times: bears, bees, snakes, woodchucks, hedgehogs, chipmunks, bats, raccoons, and skunks etc.  MAD, migrate-adapt-or-die, is the saying that I used to teach my fifth grade students when we were talking about nature’s survival strategies.  I am hoping to see some evidence of life in the snow while visiting Wisconsin.   

Messner, Kate. Over and Under the Snow. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2011.

Seja, Ledan.  “List of Animals that Hibernate.” 17 Jan. 2014. Demand Media. AOL Inc. http://animals.pawnation.com/list-animals-hibernate-3236.html

The Big Tree Tour

In the beginning, I pulled into what looked like a tree farm.  I parked my Toyota close to the main building, and quickly started unloading my sleeping bag and suitcase.  A tall dark-haired man named Courtney greeted me and showed me to the van.  This hunter green van could safely carry up to 11 people.  I introduced myself to the other tree lovers.  We made a quick stop at Starbucks.  Gene asked for a tall bold, and Courtney, our leader and driver, was confused.  “A tall bole?”  

Three of us yelled, “A tall B-O-L-D!”  

      Finally, Courtney the forester, got it.  

With coffee in hand, we rode to Benbrook to see a Memorial Bur oak.  After we parked, we walked to the spot.  Approaching this tree, I felt very small.  I found an acorn, and put it in my pocket.  The Bur oak acorn was about the size of a doll’s head.  I have never been one to pay much attention to trees, but this specimen was impressive.  The image would have been nice engraved on a coin, or tattooed onto some inmates calf muscle.  Instead, I enjoyed it in person, without whipping out my iphone to document it.  After a bathroom break, we piled into the van and set out for Granbury.  Granbury is a cozy town, especially when viewed from a climate controlled van.  I chatted with Sandy, my newfound BFF.  We stopped for chocolate, because according-to-proper-tree-tour-etiquette-you-eat-dessert-first.  Once we were all buzzing off our chocolate high, we disembarked to see the Texas Live Oak.  It was a Kodak moment for sure.  Conversation halted as we examined the tree.  In Paluxy, we yielded to the right-of-way of some escarpment Live Oaks.  Driving through Johnson City, we noted almost every place of business was named after LBJ.  The world’s largest Vitex tree was guarded by a malnourished coonhound dog.  When we approached, the coonhound barked and his tail was tucked completely under his legs.  It was sad to see.  I wanted to give him a treat and tell him that I’ve had bad experiences with people too.  In Comanche, we stopped for lunch.  We dined in a cafe that did not accept credit cards.  It’s weird being in a cash only business.  I kept thinking, are we in America?  What-in-the-ham-sandwich is going on!  Unfortunately, all the other tree lovers on this trip probably thought I had an eating disorder because I didn’t order food.  I told them that my food was in the van.  Once we left, I crawled into the van and pulled out the tortillas and string cheese in my backpack.  I inhaled the food like I was a starving refugee in Somalia.  The Fleming Live Oak tree had an epic story including a boy, some wild Native Americans, and a town trying to survive.  Now that I had eaten a tortilla, my view of the tree was much more optimistic and upbeat.  Our first day concluded in Fredericksburg.  We saw a Smoke Tree and a Deodar Cedar.  At the hotel, I forgot my luggage in the lobby, but luckily Courtney was the guardian who watched over my belongings until I finally came to my senses.  We went to dinner at a traditional German restaurant called Friedhelm’s Bavarian Inn.  Sandy and I split a plate of Sauerbraten Art.   Our waiter had dark hair and the pale face of someone who spends countless hours indoors playing World of Warcraft. Gene gave the waiter a hard time for forgetting Sandy’s lemons.  The waiter responded by bringing the lemons, looking at Gene, “Here Mr. Grumpy Pants.”  

We all laughed.  It was amusing to see this spirited exchange while all of us consumed a massive amount of food.  When we exited the restaurant, we hobbled to the van. It starkly contrasted with our fast walk upon entering the restaurant. We moved slowly and carefully, not wanting to upset our food babies.  

        On Saturday, we left by 9:45 am.  We stopped at Starbucks, my home away from home.  We were driving through the Texas hill country.  In Leakey, we saw a grove of Baldcypress trees that would have made the Orcs in Middle Earth look like ants.  In Rio Frio, we climbed on a Large Live Oak.  I imagined Gandalf would have scratched his head, bewildered by our actions.  In the van, things heated up.  Conversation went from deadly Oak Wilt to silly aerial sketch mapping to LBJ’s shaved ice and then back to Mr. Grumpy Pants.  We didn’t see any igneous rocks, but gosh darn it, we talked about them.  Words like contumacious and bilaterally frequently could be heard coming from our fragmented-one-size-fits-all-conversations.  We met a forester from San Antonio.  He talked about digging down to get the real dbh, which of course made me laugh.  DBH is tree talk for measuring the diameter at breast height.  We went to the Burditt Ranch to see a Baldcypress tree.  In the shade of that gentle giant, I saw several monarch butterflies feeding on flowers.  There was also a hog trap that I decided to climb into.  Looking back, I wouldn’t do that again, but at the time, climbing into the trap seemed logical and breezy.  We stopped for the night in Concan at Criders Cabins.  The current state champion tree was there.  It was a Baldcypress.  The owner of the property stopped by to ask how we liked the cabins.  She mentioned the Axis deer that roam the land. 

“The call of the deer sounds like a grown woman screaming.” She proceeded to demonstrate the sound.

As I drifted to sleep that night, I could hear the deer calling to one another.  Once asleep, I dreamed of deer and trees.  

The next day, we left by 10:00 am.  The van ride home was mostly quiet.  Once Sandy and I saw a hawk fly by.  

“What kind of hawk is that?”

Casually, I shrugged and said, “I think that was LBJ’s hawk.”  

We all laughed.  Gene said, “Hey, you’re awake.”

I learned many things on this big tree tour.  First, foresters are nice people. Next, take cash on a tree tour.  Finally, trees can get really big.

After Dark in the Park

           It was the 13th of October, on the last night of the After Dark In The Park event at The River Legacy Living Science Center.  My marshmallow pulled into the designated parking area early.  The sky was full of clouds and they were about to dump their moisture.  Rain fell steadily on my front windshield as I waited for the shuttle.  I was glad that I had brought my raincoat and umbrella.  After thirty minutes I arrived at the center and checked in.  My voluntary assignment was to be a roaming captain.  The gates opened at 5 pm.  With 45 minutes to kill, I walked directly over to the face painting area.  I sat down next to a teenage artist with long hair the color of wheat. Half of her face was painted like a pumpkin, it was quite spectacular. 

          I whispered, “Please make me a butterfly.”  

        After about twenty minutes, I got up to leave.  Her design framed my eyes, which made them stand out. I drifted to my first location. When I arrived, the supervisor gave me minimal instruction then she left to have her break.  Parents and kids were everywhere.  It ended up being a cool clear night.  Little white lights ran the perimeter of the pathway.  The soft light they emitted increased the visibility of the forest floor.  All around you could hear Katy Perry’s song “Roar” play as children took turns doing karaoke.  I went to games, the pumpkin patch, crafts, the bounce house, and face painting. If you did not make it out this year, I highly recommend attending next year.

Master Naturalist

        Like a sponge, I am soaking up my Naturalist training and loving it.  So far, I have learned about forest ecology, aquatic systems, amphibians, and mammals.  There are twenty four others who are taking the training with me.  It’s quite a diverse group of people.  My class features an Englishman with crooked teeth, a shy nurse who bakes pies, a retired editor, a sassy plant guy, a woman who works at a nursing home and likes to eat Subway, one storytelling soul sista, a Starbucks addict (me), a librarian, a woman who loves possums and works in economic development, and that’s just to name a few.  We all meet at The Fort Worth Nature Center on Tuesday nights.  On our first field trip, we went canoeing on the Trinity River.  I was paired with the plant enthusiast.  As I propelled the canoe forward using my paddles, I thought I heard his mind explode.  Like a broken record, he kept repeating, “You are wild....You are wild.”

“Would you stop saying that!” I practically spit the words.  

I think I blew the minds of several of my classmates that day.  I was in a good mood, so the volume on my personality was turned all the way up.  Anytime we would pass a creature on the river, I would ask if he’s single?  Then, does he mate for life?  Whenever our teacher would say that the organism doesn’t mate for life, I would scoff and express my disdain for his “lifestyle choices.”  Once, my partner in the canoe, tried to tell me that that is the way nature works.  Organisms don’t always mate for life.  Turning my head, I gave him the stink eye and said, 

       “Are you a pollinator!? You go from flower to flower, breaking hearts, never calling when  you say you’ll call, are you one of those guys?”

I saw a seven foot alligator patrolling his territory.  He watched our every move as we waded through the water to find microscopic organisms.  Using my net, I took a couple of rocks hostage.  I also touched an American Tree Frog.  He was attached to some vegetation alongside the river.  My companion in the canoe spotted him, and grabbed the plant.  He brought Froggie into our little boat.  So briefly, we were a family unit before his guilt kicked in.  He felt bad for taking the frog away from his home.  

“You should feel bad, because you are a horrible person.”  

(Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words will hurt forever.)

I ended up being the one to release Froggie back into the wild.  The American Tree frog is a cute critter.  I look forward to my next fieldtrip!!

Yellowstone

My time in Yellowstone “roused my appetite without bedding it back down.”  I arrived in Montana on the night of July 27th.  It was completely dark, but I could still see the outline of the mountains all around.  Checking in, I proceeded to go find my rental car.  Wheeling my luggage through the parking lot, I paused to inspect each vehicle.  I couldn’t find my car.  A gust of wind blew dust into my eyes, as I sat down on my luggage to wait for a miracle.  Within minutes an attendant asked, “Do you need help?”

    Reaching my hand to my forehead, I grabbed the strand of hair that had escaped and tucked it behind my ear.  “Yes, I can’t find my car.”

He glanced at the key chain in my hand, “May I?”

Offering it to him, I said “Certainly.” 

It took five seconds for him to push one button, and somewhere I could hear an alarm going off.  Following the sound, I walked further into this massive parking lot.  Finally, I saw the car at the very end of the parking lot.  When I arrived, I inspected it.  Black as the night, it was a brand new Ford Escape SUV.  After loading my bags, I sat in the driver’s seat.  Reaching my right hand up, I felt for a light switch.  Nothing.  I turned on the Flashlight app on my phone, to get a good look at the steering wheel.  There was no place for a key, only a single button that said Push-To-Start.  I pushed the button.  Nothing.  Stepping out of the SUV, I ran around the parking lot looking for the attendant.  He was gone.  Then, I remembered the phone number.  I called the rental car desk.  Dillon, the young man who had helped me, answered.  

Trying not to sound hopeless, I said “I can’t start the car.”

“Hold down the brake, while pushing the button and have the key chain on you.”

Keeping my voice cheerful, I said “Do you have any advice for me?”

“You can’t start the car, unless you have the key chain.  Don’t lose it.”

After we hung up, I was able to start the car.  Luckily, the drive to the hotel was super easy.  I got into my room, and unpacked.  For this trip, I had to pack my food items in my checked bag.  However, I learned that it is a bad idea to pack pickles.  Upon opening my bag, I discovered two of my pants were soaked in pickle juice.  There would be no opportunity to wash them.  My pickle pants were out.  This was my first time at Yellowstone and I wanted to make a good impression.  I went to sleep as soon as I hit the pillow.

The next day, I checked out at 6am.  Loading up my car, I pulled out my own music.  Once I started the drive, I realized that the sound system did not take CDs or have an auxiliary source for me to hook my ipod to.  Much to my dismay, I drove the entire way in silence--3 hours. I started to notice my difficulty breathing on the drive to the park.  The altitude was 1,000 feet and my lungs weren’t used to that.

I arrived at my class at 10:30am, an hour and a half late to my first day--no biggie.  Sneaking into the room, I sat in the very back.  The teacher kept talking.  When I looked around, I discovered that people of all ages and backgrounds were taking this class.  The youngest person was 14 and the oldest person was 70.

When we took a break for lunch, I unloaded my SUV and put my stuff in my assigned cabin.  I didn’t eat my pickles.  They had sufficiently pissed me off, so I threw them in the trash.  Somehow I managed to gulp down a tortilla and some string cheese, while feebly attempting to breathe.

My first day there, I tried to adapt.  I’m so used to being in the city, where hearing the sound of a cell phone ring or receive a text is familiar.  In the park, there was no cell reception.  At first this silence was odd, but then I started to like it.  I liked the freedom that comes from not being chained-to-your-phone.

It took me a while to warm up to the strangers in my class.  My favorite was a fellow named Chris, from England.  It was amazing that I did not annoy him because I was constantly switching from speaking normally to speaking as though I were Mary Poppins.  Considering my behavior, it was surprising that Chris kept choosing to sit next to me on the bus.  

Rising the next day at 5am, we immediately boarded the bus.  We rode into the heart of Yellowstone--Lamar Valley.  Setting up our equipment took some time, but it was a welcome distraction from the biting cold.  Tall pine trees and sage brush covered the land.  A hundred yards away, on a steep incline, I focused my telescope.  The den site was somewhere nearby.  Looking into the back country was deceptive to the eye, it appeared small, but actually it stretched on for miles.  My hands started to tingle.  Wishing that I had brought gloves, I kept looking for any signs of life.  After an hour shivering with my eye fixed on the scope, the eureka moment came.  Someone cried wolf.  Where?  In between the trees, they appeared.   Two black wolf pups were playing. They moved so fast, it was difficult to keep up. Watching them chase each other, my pulse increased.  My heart felt like it was doing the Texas-two-step in my chest. Even from a distance, this sighting was incredibly satisfying.  Everyone in the crowd reacted, like when you are in church, and suddenly you feel the Holy Spirit in the room.  After thirty minutes the pups ran back to the den.  Suddenly, a deep chorus of voices united.  The Lamar Valley wolf pack howled, and the sound was pure joy.  It bounced of the hills and we all tuned in.  When the howling ended, there was silence.  No one wanted to break the spell.  Eventually I climbed back into the bus with Chris and the others.  We returned to the ranch, all of us blissfully happy from seeing the wolves.

The beauty of Yellowstone National Park was so staggering, so mind-blowing that I left feeling completely revived, restored, refreshed!  I can’t wait to go back.