Temporal Delineation

 Six hours from now, the new year begins. It's this arbitrary thing we humans do to mark time, and in the long run, it means very little. Still, if there ever was a year that needs to be mentally put in a box labeled "history" and shoved to the back of a drawer somewhere, it is 2020. Generally speaking, being a hopeful species, we expect 2021 to be better. Odds are it will be. The petulant child we've been saddled with as president for four long years is set to leave the White House in three weeks. Vaccines are starting to be distributed. Life continues for most of us. 

My list of personal grievances this year is shorter than it might have been. There has been uncertainty, a collapse of a bathroom wall, and the usual litany of deaths and disasters that accompany our lives. I miss my daughter, who I haven't seen much lately due to us taking this pandemic seriously, but as they say, this too shall pass. 

Happy New Year. May we continue to find inspiration. 

The Holidays, Covid Style

 Being inclined to take such things seriously, we hid the welcome mat and hunkered down for the holidays this year. Greg stayed up north, and Willow stayed at her mom's. Jeanine, Eva, and I exchanged gifts mid-morning while the sky darkened and the wind picked up. I had planned to go out in the afternoon to look for Wood Ducks along Coyote Creek, but decided to stay in due to rain. I've leveled up my bird nerdiness to the point where my outings are sometimes determined by posts to a birding e-mail group. So far, these e-mails have paid off in the form of a Phainopepla and a pair of Ferruginous Hawks, although disappointingly, not a Northern Pygmy Owl. 

The day flew by, and now my reflection stares back at me as I look out the window, ghostlike in the light of my laptop screen. The house is a bit of a mess, but I have new coffee and chocolate to look forward to, plus a slew of practical gifts to subtly make the coming days happier ones.

Despite my intentions, posts here have slowed to a strangled trickle. I wouldn't say work has been busy, since for much of autumn we've been in a holding pattern preparing for a winter of virtual camp with a spattering of actual day camp, not to mention some Covid test proctoring. It's funny how quickly things become the new normal. I've spent more time that I should have photographing wildlife around camp, but we've managed to put together a pretty respectable project on iNaturalist using the photos, so I can justify my actions. 

I have another week off before diving back in to what is sure to be an interesting January. 

Victory

 After four years, we've finally managed to wipe the crap off of our collective shoes. Sure, there will be a smear there on the edge of the curb for awhile, but eventually it will dry up and flake away. 

Monday will mark the first day of actual kids at camp this school year. They will only be there during the day, and only for two days, but it's something, at least. I'm one of the two staff members leading the group.

Autumn

 Yesterday was the Autumn Equinox, and tonight will be just slightly longer than today. I've been back to work these last couple of weeks, getting ready for eventually working with kids again. Our first day with kids is now slated for October 12th, and we'll be in distance-learning babysitter mode for the mornings and early afternoons, and hopefully getting some time to take the kids hiking after their "school days" are over. As with so much else this year, we're heading into uncharted territory. 

I've more or less finished my field guide project, and spent this morning helping clean and organize the nature lab. Each animal now has a dedicated "evacuation cage" if we have to evacuate them again. Did I mention that? We had to briefly evacuate them during the worst of the local fires. It was just a precautionary measure, but still... the fires did get a little closer to home this year. For many, it did much worse, of course. 

We have a new bird bath with a solar-powered fountain bubbling happily away in the yard. The birds have so far mostly ignored it, other than a California Towhee giving it a double-take before flying away. 

On Sunday, I went for a walk at the Sunnyvale Water Pollution Control Plant ponds. I took photos too, of course. Here are a Northern Harrier and a White-faced Ibis.

Oh, and what the hell. Also a Northern Shoveler.

Written to the tune of Empyrium "A Retrospective..."

World Life Expectancy

 While digging around online to find fuel to disprove an irritating infographic, I came across the World Life Expectancy site, which has all sorts of information about causes of death, broken down by country. According to the site, Japan has the greatest average life expectancy rate at 84.2, the U.S. is ranked at number 34, just under Cuba, with and average life expectancy rate  of 78.5. Which country is dead last? That would be Lesotho, with an average life expectancy rate of a mere 52.9, which is coincidentally almost exactly how old I am at the moment. I'm glad that I don't live in Lesotho.

Speaking of infographics and such, I managed to avoid Facebook for a whole day this week, but now I'm back on there getting irritated by stuff again. Our political discourse has devolved into memes and infographics, rife with factual errors and misspellings. People on both sides of the political divide aren't taking the time to fact check things they share, but then again facts seem to have ceased to matter to many people. Our online shouting matches are turning into offline shooting matches, and it's likely to get worse in the days leading up to the elections, and I imagine that the results of the election will be hotly contested as well, probably with violence from whichever side loses. 

How much of the blame for all of this can be laid at the doorstep of social media? Probably a lot of it. People are naive, stupid, and easily led. Right wing hate groups masquerading as patriots are more emboldened than ever, having been given a pass by the president to terrorize at will. There is violence from the left too, although most of it is against property rather than people. This of course adds fuel to lots of fake outrage from the right, and perhaps some real outrage as well. The frustration and anger is palpable. The future is uncertain. 

I'm going to keep doing what I do though. If the current generation goes down in flames, the next generation is going to need to be ready to put things back together again. 

 The fires are still burning. The park buildings at Big Basin State Park have been mostly or completely destroyed, and reports indicate that some of the redwoods have succumbed to the fire as well, despite them being difficult to burn. 

There is a news story that a small asteroid is heading towards Earth, forecast to be here the day before election day. Of course. That said, there is a less that one percent chance of it actually hitting, and it's only around 6 feet across. But still...

The air quality has varied this week. At the moment, it's starting to smell smoky again. In addition, there is more wind and dry lightning in the forecast. 

Here are some more photos of the sunset. There is a kind of apocalyptic beauty here. Don't get me wrong, I rather have standing forests than beautiful sunsets, but sometimes one doesn't get a choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have one more week before I return to work, and I'm still not exactly sure what we'll be doing as the school year starts.  This week, I'm watching old VHS tapes with the intention of passing them on afterward. It's nice to revisit old favorites. Let it be noted that downsizing is something I don't often do, but the reality is that I don't think I've watched any of these movies since the nineties, so at this rate, I'll be in my mid to late seventies before I watch them again. Time to get rid of them, I think.  

The chickens are kicking up a fuss at the moment. Perhaps they're complaining about the air quality. You and me both, chickens. You and me both.

 

 

Firelight

 

 

This is the western sky a couple of evenings ago, with the sun partially occluded by the airborne remains of our coast range forests. There are several evacuations underway at the moment, and one includes Butano State Park, which I had been planning to visit this week. That's a minor kink in my plans, but a potential tragedy for many as whole communities are at risk. Last night, the setting sun glowed red like a beautifully malevolent eye, and this morning, the light that filtered through are east-facing windows looked like firelight. That goes well with the smell of campfire that permeates the atmosphere. Again, I'm not trying to make light of the very real dangers, but one must find beauty where one can. 

 

In Memorium

 It's easy to fall into the trap of blaming 2020 for all of the various misfortunes that have befallen us this year. Of course, it seems to be human nature to look for some outside agent to vilify. Most misfortune, and most accidents, for that matter, can be avoided with a little preventative planning. One only has to look at how most other countries (with the exception of Brazil) have handled the pandemic. The U.S., for various cultural (our self-centered me-first approach to life) and leadership (need I elaborate? I didn't think so) reasons, has failed pandemic 101. We will no doubt have to retake the class in the form of a second wave. That is, if we ever manage to emerge from the first wave. 

The divergent plate boundary of our political divide yawns wider every week. Out of work people are being sucked into all manner of dodgy conspiracy theories, troll attacks, general misinformation, and rabid rabbit holes of reactionary emotions. Or at least that's how I see it. Sure, the media is drawn to sensationalism, and politicians lie. That's a given. That said, our black-and-white mentality no longer recognizes shades of gray. I find myself once again waiting to cast a vote for another lesser evil ticket, while the greater evil lashes out at USPS, of all things. Afraid that all of the votes will be counted? Sabotage the delivery system. Cast doubts. Brazenly admit it. 

A lot of this political chaos can be laid at the feet of the pandemic, but the pandemic has merely deepened wounds that were already there. It's like stabbing somebody in a cut.

Alongside all of this, the daily challenges of life seem all that much more overwhelming. It's almost comical at times. As I type I can hear power tools as contractors put our bathroom back together (after the wall collapsing weeks ago). The usual August fires (yes, our fire season even came with fire tornadoes this year) are in full bloom. A temperature of 130 degrees Fahrenheit was recorded in Death Valley this week. Eva found a termite in her room. Despite having caught 6 or 7 rats, we still have rats in our walls. We're being invaded by mites, probably from the rats. My tarantula just died. We're in the middle of a heat wave. I could probably go on...  The mixture of global and personal is relentless sometimes, especially this year.

On top of all that, people die. In the past week or two, one old friend, one relative, two musicians I admire, and one author I like have disembarked from the physical plane into the great airport of the beyond.

I met Ellen Primack when she got a job at Tower Books back in the nineties. We quickly realized we had similar tastes in music and film. She ended up living in the same apartment complex as I did for awhile. I was living at the time with my friend and coworker Laura, and her daughter Kelly. I attended her wedding at nearby Shoreline park. It was Halloween themed, if I remember right. Long story short, eventually we moved (I can't now remember which of us moved away first) away from the complex and she eventually ended up on the opposite coast. More recently, she was a Facebook friend who I didn't often interact with, but it's still a shock to find out a friend has died. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Her Facebook posts were often about being in the hospital, but it's sometimes hard to tell how serious things are. I'm one of those private people who is reluctant to share his troubles online (or even in person, for that matter - this post excepted, probably, but then again very few people read this), so I don't often pay close attention to other people's troubles. I feel like I'm invading their privacy somehow, which may be a weird way of looking at it, especially when I consider that they're willingly sharing their troubles on a public forum, but my discomfort in oversharing extends to witnessing other people oversharing, if that makes any sense. Ellen was a teacher and an artist, so she leaves a legacy of enriched minds and artwork.

Pete Haworth was the guitarist for NWOBHM band, Legend. Over the years, they have become perhaps my favorite band in that sub-genre. There was a thoughtful darkness to their songs, and a political awareness often missing from other metal bands from that time period. Pete's guitar sound was incredibly heavy and his playing nuanced and masterful. Legend was in the midst of working on a new album, and I can't help but wonder how close to completion it was. Will their 2013 album, "The Dark Place," be the final one, or will the new one see the light of day? The selfish part of me wants to know. I didn't know Pete, but I did interact with him in limited fashion on Facebook, and found him to be a genuinely nice guy. He will be missed, and his music lives on.

Within days of finding out about the death of Pete Haworth, I learned that ex-UFO bassist Pete Way had also died. It was a bad week to be named Pete. I hadn't followed his recent career very closely, but I have a fondness for those old UFO records from my childhood. 

While being a fly on the wall of the Malazan Facebook forum, I saw that author and musician Carlos Ruiz Zafón had died in June, a fact that had somehow gone unnoticed at the time. Reading this forced me to un-fly myself for a bit. His book, The Shadow of the Wind, is a particular favorite of mine, but I've enjoyed everything I've read by him.  Another voice silenced, but many of his previous words are preserved for all time.

Finally, this morning I got an e-mail from my brother Greg informing me that my uncle, Jerry Olander, had passed away. His wife, Jan, my dad's sister, preceded him in death by a few years. I didn't know Jerry well. As an adult, I visited the Olanders exactly once, and that was a few years ago. This must be what getting old is like - a slow peeling away of friends, acquaintances, and heroes.

Final Weeks of Summer Camp for 2020

 The last two weeks of summer camp blew by in a flurry of sunshine and sweat. I was a solo leader during the first of the two, and I was joined by Otter for the last week. That final week was probably the toughest, at least when it came to enforce the mask rule. One boy always had his mask underneath his nose, and another boy had minor meltdowns about his mask by mid-afternoon on a couple of days. Apparently the first boy had attended a camp where the rule wasn't enforced. That's worrying in and of itself. We carried on though, and everybody had fun.

Our school year camp will most likely be modeled after our summer camp this year, although the details are still being worked out. I still have two weeks of time to call my own before diving back in.

I did manage to confirm a sighting of one additional new-to-me bird in the middle of the last week. There were around 30 birds darting around just above the water at the reservoir. At least some of them were Barn Swallow, and there might have been some other swallow species in the mix as well. I pointed my lens at some nearby birds (as one does) and ended up only getting one usable shot (usable for ID purposes, but not by any means a good photo). Inspecting the photo, I came to the conclusion the bird was a Vaux's Swift (pronounced like "foxes"). I posted it to a birding forum to confirm. I might have seen one last year too, but it was incredibly high up and  didn't manage to get a photo, so this is my first confirmed sighting. These birds are incredible flyers, and can only land on vertical surfaces, which means that getting a picture of one perching is incredibly unlikely.

There are at least two young Gray Foxes who patrol the garden and lower field area. They've marked the area thoroughly with piles of scat, and love eating fallen fruit. Sometimes they're too impatient to wait for it to fall. One photo below shows a fox in a tree, hunting for fruit. Gray Foxes are the only canines who can easily climb. In many ways, they behave more like felines. These foxes let me get within 15 feet of them without acting too alarmed. I have a feeling they would have been much less visible if we had run at our usual capacity this year.

 

 

During the final week, Barn Swallows were much more visible, probably due to the new fledglings making their first appearances outside of the nest. They were still visibly begging for food whenever there were other swallows nearby.

 

Jeanine found an old plague doctor mask in storage (as one does), so I wore it a work. It seemed like the thing to do this year.

 

 

Sometimes you click the shutter at exactly the right moment. Here's a fox appearing to run on two legs.

 

Bushtits are tiny and quick. Males and juveniles have dark eyes, and adult females have pale ones.

 

 

There were a number of young deer out and about. Here are two of them between the Orange group and Green group meeting spots.

Here's my animal count for the entire summer: We worked all of July, but only the first week of August. Usually, we would have worked all of June as well, so this summer's count is missing a month of data. June tends to be the month when we see the most animals, but 82 different species is nothing to scoff at. I'm the only one counting during the summer, but several other staff members told me of sightings that I then added to this list.

Critter Count Summer 2020 (82 species)

July: (80 different species)

Acorn Woodpecker (11)

American Bullfrog (19)

American Coot (1)

American Crow (5)

American Robin (9)

Anna’s Hummingbird (5)

Ash-throated Flycatcher (1)

Banana Slug (13)

Band-tailed Pigeon (7)

Barn Swallow (3)

Bewick’s Wren (2)

Black-headed Grosbeak (1)

Black Phoebe (7)

Black-tailed Deer (12)

Bobcat (1)

Broad-footed Mole (1)

Brown Creeper (8)

Brush Rabbit (3)

Bushtit (23)

California Giant Salamander (17)

California Ground Squirrel (5)

California Newt (55) (48 in Newt York City - the pond where they congregate year-round)

California Quail (29)

California Scrub-jay (7)

California Towhee (2)

California Vole (2)

Calisoga Spider (1)

Cassin’s Vireo (1)

Chestnut-backed Chickadee (18)

Common Raven (2)

Common Sharp-tailed Snake (1)

Common Yellowthroat (1)

Dark-eyed Junco (60)

Downy Woodpecker (4)

European Carp (14)

Gopher Snake (1)

Gray Fox (2)

Great Blue Heron (2)

Great Egret (1)

House Finch (4)

Lesser Goldfinch (5)

Mallard (4)

Merriam’s Chipmunk (4)

Mourning Dove (2)

Northern Alligator Lizard (4)

Northern Flicker (4)

Northern Pacific Rattlesnake (4)

Northwestern Pond Turtle (1)

Nuttall’s Woodpecker (4)

Oak Titmouse (2)

Olive-sided Flycatcher (1)

Pacific Slope Flycatcher (16)

Pacific Wren (4)

Pileated Woodpecker (2)

Purple Finch (1)

Red-shouldered Hawk (1)

Red-tailed Hawk (4)

Red-winged Blackbird (3)

Ringneck Snake (1)

Round-backed Millpedes (4)

Santa Cruz Garter Snake (3)

Sharp-shinned Hawk (1)

Sierran Tree Frog (1)

Signal Crayfish (5)

Spotted Towhee (5)

Steller’s Jay (29)

Tiger Centipede (1)

Turkey (1)

Turkey Vulture (2)

Warbling Vireo (1)

Western Bluebird (2)

Western Fence Lizard (42)

Western Forest Scorpion (4)

Western Gray Squirrel (6)

Western Skink (10)

Western Tanager (1)

Western Toad (2)

Wilson’s Warbler (2)

Wrentit (4)

Yellow-spotted Millipede (4)

August: (48 different species) 2 not seen in July

Acorn Woodpecker (3)

American Bullfrog (7)

American Crow (7)

American Robin (6)

Anna’s Hummingbird (2)

Banana Slug (6)

Band-tailed Pigeon (4)

Barn Swallow (30)

Black Phoebe (4)

Black-tailed Deer (2)

Brown Creeper (2)

California Giant Salamander (3)

California Ground Squirrel (5)

California Newt (16)

California Quail (10)

California Scrub-jay (2)

California Towhee (2)

Chestnut-backed Chickadee (7)

Cliff Swallow (2)

Dark-eyed Junco (20)

European Carp (2)

Gray Fox (1)

Great Blue Heron (1)

Great Egret (1)

House Finch (9)

Mallard (2)

Mourning Dove (1)

Northern Alligator Lizard (2)

Northern Pacific Rattlesnake (4)

Northwestern Pond Turtle (1)

Nuttall’s Woodpecker (2)

Pacific Slope Flycatcher (2)

Pileated Woodpecker (1)

Red-tailed Hawk (1)

Red-winged Blackbird (1)

Round-backed Millipede (2)

Sierran Tree Frog (2)

Signal Crayfish (2)

Spotted Towhee (2)

Steller’s Jay (7)

Turkey Vulture (1)

Vaux’s Swift (1)

Western Bluebird (1)

Western Fence Lizard (10)

Western Forest Scorpion (1)

Western Skink (2)

Western Toad (1)

Wrentit (2)

 

Those Violent Winds That Blow From Nowhere

A little after 3:00 AM this morning, a slap of wind rolled across the valley, whipping the trees into helpless dances and rearranging items in countless yards. It was followed by flashes of intense light and the sound of colliding air. I found myself sleepily meditating on the possibility of a stereo system that could mimic the intensity of thunder. As I did so, bits of humidity detached themselves from the sky and slipped down through the darkness to meet their messy end on cement and soil. The thunderstorm lasted into the dawn. The rain didn't amount to much, but the lightning was impressive. Apparently, many mall fires resulted, although I how serious they are, I haven't heard. 

Apparently there was a fire tornado warning in the sierras yesterday though. That's so 2020. Fire tornadoes. 

I haven't yet written about the last couple of weeks of summer camp, or posted attendant photos here. Right now, the heat and humidity have left me uninspired. I was sweating right after getting out of bed this morning. Lots of other things are happening in the news, setting the stage for a messy and perhaps terrifying election season. There was a recent report that the Greenland ice sheet is past the point of no return. I've been losing myself in Star Trek episodes lately, which is as good an escape as any, and a salve to the mind with the utopian future it presents. Our immediate global future seems to be heading in the opposite direction. 

Our bathroom is still being fixed/remodeled. How exciting. 

I went for a walk with Willow recently. I haven't seen a lot of her during the pandemic. Since she works at a pizza place, she is worried about inadvertently getting me sick. I love her for that, but I miss her.

Summer Camp, Week 3 of 5.

A couple of random quotes that somehow caught my attention over the last week or so:

"It's the size of a peep!" - one of my CITs (counselor in training) from last week, aptly describing the size of a Pacific Wren.

"Tyler's real mom is in jail" - overheard during lunchtime a few days ago.

In some ways, summer camp chugs along like it normally does. I'm doing a lot of the same things, and the added burden of wearing masks and checking temperatures doesn't really detract from things. This week, I didn't have a co-leader, which didn't really hinder things either. I had two counselors and two CITs to help take the burden off.

I saw another bird for the first time, and unlike the Sharp-shinned Hawk from week one, it was truly a new bird to me - the kind that birders would call a "lifer." It happened while we were eating lunch near the reservoir. Since we were all sitting, the birds in the nearby trees felt confidant enough to flit closer, and I of course pointed my binoculars at them. One of them proved to be a Cassin's Vireo, the bold eye ring helping differentiate it from the similar-looking Hutton's Vireo. I didn't have my camera with me, at least not the one with the proper lens, so I didn't get any photos.

I did, however, get a lot of photos of other things.

This is the first Gopher Snake of the summer. We found it relaxing in the shade near the pond. It humored us for awhile.

Our one Western Pond Turtle (technically a Northwestern Pond Turtle, I'm told), went on walkabout. Another group found it in the meadow and told me about it. Turtles lay their eggs on land, so maybe it was an instinctive journey of futility - futile because it is the only member of its species in the pond. If this is the case, one could surmise that it's a female.

I thought this picture of a female House Finch came out nicely. Usually, they all dart off before I can get close.

The Lesser Goldfinches, on the other hand, are good at ignoring my presence.

I saw at least one Gray Fox every day, I think. Once, I saw two siblings at once. They look uncomfortable with the engorged ticks hanging from their faces.

I took a bunch of pictures of this California Towhee as it got ready for the day in an intense grooming session.

More nature art was created, photographed, and destroyed.

The 2020 summer camp look:

There are a lot of new signs around the park, mostly to protect people from themselves. This one made me laugh. Who dives into a foot of water?

Speaking of protecting people from themselves, the rangers report that they're running out of ice packs due the number of Yellowjacket attacks this summer. One of my counselors got stung on Monday during a game of camouflage, and another group had a run-in with another nest the following day. On our Friday hike, I spotted 4 nests. Then I remember it's 2020, so this kind of thing is to be expected.

Speaking of unfortunate events, the tile wall behind the bathtub in our second bathroom collapsed, revealing rotted, moldy underpinnings. Expensive remodeling work is under way.

I'll end with a photo of a message left by one of my campers this week. Safety is on all of our minds. I hope summer camp is helping kids process things. I've seen articles about other summer camps having outbreaks and closing down. The arguments about the upcoming school year continue. Time will tell.

Summer Camp Photos

Shortly after the pandemic began, I started noticing more people on hiking trails. More people means more trash, more lost items, more shelters made out of branches, more bridges and dams built along creeks, and even graffiti. The lost items are pure accidents, but the rest indicates many of the new visitors don't take responsibility for their actions when visiting our shared open spaces. I love that people are finding solace in nature, but I hate that some of them are leaving very obvious traces of their presence.

At camp, we have noticed more people on the trail than in previous years, although for the most part, they are wearing masks and keeping their distance. For our part, we are doing the same, even to the point of staying off of the single-track trails when possible.

Our reduced numbers of campers do come with at least one benefit. We are seeing more wildlife. The deer and foxes are spotted more often, as are various bird species. Reptile and amphibian sightings haven't noticeably changed. So far, I've only spotted one "new" animal ("new" meaning new at camp, but not new to me) in the form of a distantly flapping Sharp-shinned Hawk.

Below are some photographs taken at camp over the last two weeks.

We've heard more California Quails than we've seen, but this one posed nicely on top of a garden bed before doing the usual panicked flight into the underbrush.

This fledgling Spotted Towhee likes to hang out in the garden too, where it is busily denuding the fig tree of figs.

The photo below perfectly captures the inquisitive personality of the Steller's Jay.

There are lots of California Ground Squirrels around as well, digging their ankle-breaker holes and keeping an eye out for danger. Our resident Red-tailed Hawk is hopefully helping keep the population in check. Ground Squirrel burrows are used by many other species, so they never go to waste after the squirrels become lunch.

The adult Spotted Towhees are much more handsome than the fledglings.

I've spent more time watching the moon lately, which is saying something. When the passage of time becomes amorphous due to shattered schedules, the moon rises in importance as a timekeeper.

The Acorn Woodpeckers are competing with the Spotted Towhees to see who can eat more fruit.

This is the aforementioned Sharp-shinned Hawk, heavily cropped since it was a distant speck in the sky.

Anna's Hummingbirds are always fun to watch. This one was more cooperative than most.

We saw three Northern Pacific Rattlesnakes the first week, and none the second week. This was rattlesnake number three. We encountered it on the way back from Lake Ranch Reservoir as it crawled across a shady trail and took refuge in a hole up the hill.

This Robber Fly was still long enough for me to take a few photos. All things great and small, after all...

There are at least two young Gray Foxes who own our garden. This is the one without ticks in its ears.

The Steller's Jays seem even bolder this year, especially the fledglings.

Despite their name, Common Sharp-tailed Snakes are uncommon around camp, but when we do find them, it's always on or near our front lawn.

And now for some nature art: