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.