Surprise! Off to the Gardens

Herp Lady called on Friday, and suggested a trip to the Denver Botanic Gardens! Quite a treat, as I hadn't been there in quite some time. I daren't confess how long, or I'd lose my credentials as a plant lover! The attraction, for her, was a special exhibit of sculptures by Henry Moore. I have no credentials as an art patron, so can freely admit I'd never heard of him or the exhibit.

DBG, as it's fondly known, has an impressive amount of hardscape... and water! Despite the ever-presence of concrete and H₂O, plants were everywhere. Just what we expect from a botanic garden. Oval with Points.

We were impressed at the number of species still blooming outdoors so late in the year, even tender Desert Willow (Chilopsis linearis it was in my long-ago Arizona lifetime). All those flowers I pretty much ignored in favor of more subtle plants (except a patch or two of purple jewelweed, aka touch-me-not, ripe for the touching).

Everywhere we went, water flowed and bubbled and reflected. Quite a change from the unrelieved aridity the Foothills Farm has displayed lately. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time looking at the water; in quantities more than a rainbarrel-full, it's so foreign to me!

El Pomar Waterway, with interspersed fountains and, oddly, pots of Cereus and Crassula poised above the water.

I picked up some plant-display tips, too, and was quite captivated by this slope of partially submerged pots. It looked like a hobbit village! I can imagine it would help define plant spaces, as well as provide a little shade in full-sun spots. Can't wait to try this one at home. A nice inventory of broken pots should adapt well to this approach.

If not flowers, what? There was this lovely Dawn Redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides) in or near the Asian Garden. With foliage still soft green and vernal, we wondered how it weathers our winters. Apparently fine, as it appeared to have been there a while, although too young for coning. Here, Herp Lady gives it a closer look.

I was also drawn to another conifer, the lovely larches. These are captivating because of their unusual habit of deciduousity, although these particular trees also remained in springlike mode so far, showing little sign of the coming seasonal change.

The sun on their needles was particularly appealing, and the day was warm enough that we understood their reluctance to show color.

Although flowers were still everywhere, as shown below, the colors of the Little Bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium, grass in foreground) testified to the coming winter. It's one of my favorite foothills grasses, here thriving in captivity.


Another sign of seasonal change was the occasional evidence of harvest. A pile of gourds here and there, trailing vines with beautiful gourds still attached, and the glow of the fruits and leaves of this Castor Bean plant (Ricinus communis), below, in the Euphorbiaceae.

Considered poisonous, as are most drugs, this plant also has had a host of pharmaceutical applications. Not one to mess with.

Paracelsus: Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.

So much to see... more photos soon!

First, Last, Always

Challenges always present themselves, and the one I find hardest to meet among nature observations is catching the last Hummingbird of summer, or the first returning Junco. You just never know. One day hummers are here, and you can assume you'll see them the next, but Poof! No more hummingbirds. This year it happened, I believe, the last week of September—a very late departure for hummingbirds.

A bit more than a week later, on October 9, I saw this little guy poking around in the weeds. He brought friends. If he wasn't the first Junco, he was definitely in the first returning wave.

It's mid-October now, and we've yet to have our first real frost. A cold spell last weekend brought rain and temps as low as the 40s (3-5C), but most days have been warm and sunny and nights rarely below 50 degrees (10C) in recent weeks. Without a frost, we can't even call it Indian Summer. Brought the house plants in last weekend; the geraniums are still outside enjoying 80-degree days (25C).

Others are "always with us, late and soon." First in the morning, last in the afternoon, or until it runs dry. This time of year, the Scrub Jays empty the sunflower feeder as fast as I can fill it.

Are they hungry? Not particularly... but they recognize opportunity and find it hard to pass up. First one, then two...

Four years ago, when this blog was new and posting perhaps more regular, I offered this little treasure about our ubiquitous Scrub Jays. I still think limericks have great potential as tools for environmental education! (Haven't been able to persuade anyone else, though!)

In case you missed it back then, here's our backyard version of

The Circle of Life

A garrulous bird is the Scrub Jay
He sits and he cackles all day
   For sunflower seeds
   To meet his winter needs
Then hides them wherever he may.

From sunflower seeds put away
By Scrub Jays against a cold day
   And never
   recovered
   My yard is now
   smothered
With sunflower plants gone astray.

If Scrub Jays could plan while they play
I’m sure they’d be happy to say
   These sunflowers reseeding
   Are going for feeding
A new crop of Scrub Jays next May.
      —S.L. White

Farewell to a Wilderness Troubadour

Walkin' Jim Stoltz
June 1953–September 2010

We can't afford to lose people who are passionate about wilderness and its preservation, planetary stewardship, and all things wild and free. But we do. With the death of Walkin' Jim, an important voice for the Earth has gone too soon, but his message and his memory lives on through a legacy of music he left with us.

And what a voice! Deeper than a shadowed mountain valley, headlong as a mountain stream, that voice rattles your bones like a blast of high-country wind. The wild wind he celebrated his whole life. I urge you to experience his songs yourself and see just why this advocate will be missed so much by those who loved him and all who knew his music. Listen, and consider buying a CD or download to remind you of the Forever Wild his life celebrated so well... Like the buffalo, his spirit is still on the run.

The message in my inbox said it all: "Legendary American Folksinger, Backcountry Traveler, and Wilderness Advocate James "Walkin' Jim" Stoltz Returns to Earth." A "troubadour," Webster tells me, is a "class of poet-musicians... whose major theme was love." Jim's love of Earth was his guiding principle and the focus of his lifework. Live each day like you mean it, he said, and he did.

I've been the lone wanderer, ramblin' free,
But there's more to this life that I want you to see,
For around every bend, a kind thought and a friend,
Has been there uplifting me.

It's the good hearts that spring from the salt of the Earth,
They inspire and brighten my days,
And I owe it all to the spirit of love,
And the friends along the way.
-- from "Friends Along The Way" on The Long Trails CD

This life is so rich I can taste it,
And I’ve given my heart to the wind,
And when the rain falls down,
And the sun rolls round,
I’ll be thinkin’ like a mountain once again.
—from "Thinkin' like a Mountain" on The Vision CD

Like Loren Eiseley, he "loved the Earth but could not stay."

——
Photo above: Jim (right), with my friend Eric, another defender of wilderness, at Red Rocks in March 2006. When Eric died in June 2008, I wrote Jim to ask to use his songs in a tribute. Typically generous, he replied:

...another good man gone too soon. Yes, please feel free to use any of my songs or lyrics in any way you see fit. I'd be so honored if they were used to celebrate him in some small way.

I send my sympathies to you in this time of loss. Time to sing to the mountain and listen for that echo...the spirits of Eric and all wilderness defenders reminding us to keep on.

Despite cancer, Eric and now Jim kept on... Let's make sure something wild outlives them, outlives all of us.

Adventures in Geo-Browsing

You never know where the current edition of Berry-Go-Round (now hosted by Laurent at Seeds Aside) will take you!

After browsing several of the fascinating offerings, my love of lichens took me to Botany for Geologists where David at History of Geology does a great job of explaining lichenometry, or the use of lichens to date exposed rock surfaces.

In his sidebar, I discovered Eat.Sleep.Geology., by a neogeoblogger whose nom de plume is GeoGirl. She soon led me to the geologists' blog carnival over at The Accretionary Wedge, which provided great ideas for future Berries as well as a long list of future reading.

Geology class at a local outcrop.

David also tipped me off to Riparian Rap, whose series on geomorphically incorrect art is mind-bending entertainment.

As always in the blog world, you can make your way around the planet and back again in a few clicks, and learn a lot about how it's put together in the process.

Legal at Last!

And I missed it!

All these years we’ve been capturing illegal Colorado rainwater here at the homestead, and it turns out that, just last year, Colorado water law reversed itself on this issue.

That’s right, home gardeners and flower lovers, now you can capture and beneficially use any drop of rain that falls on your property without fear of being hauled off to jail! (But please see the fine print below.)

As High Country News explained recently:

“…last year's House Bill 1129 authorized large-scale rainwater harvesting test projects like Sterling and loosening restrictions on individual collection of rainwater. Well owners, for example, can now legally harvest their rain for personal use. We non-well-owning proletarians (and by extension, basically everyone living in a city) are still operating outside the law if we fill a rain barrel, though.

Despite the changes, the original law was hardly enforced on individuals back when rain was contraband. It seems intuitive that the people inclined to harvest their own rainwater for personal use would be little-impeded by a badly made, artifact of a policy.”

The rationale for the change rests on a 2007 study that revealed how little water (3%) actually makes it into the stream systems, the remaining 97% being lost to evaporation or put to beneficial use by plants. Probably any ecologist could have told them that years ago.

Does it make a difference? It's amazing how much water a modest roof can produce from a 10-minute Colorado dust-settling rain that doesn't even get the soil wet. My substantial collection of house plants gets watered most of the year from harvested rainwater. Even in much of the winter, the effective snowmelt cycle makes it possible to use the rainbarrels, except when they turn into 55 gallon icecubes.

Of course, we rainbarrel lovers still have to deal with rampant mosquito larvae and the occasional drowned mouse (today’s find) in the rainbarrel. And, equally obvious, it has to rain now and then for this system to work.

And it doesn’t protect your cherished home-grown heirloom tomatoes (which will cost more than $3 each, we calculate, assuming we get any) from the depredations of passing deer (for the second time this season).

Photo from the Why I Don't Garden series.

Berries and Bridges

Hello from Pittsburgh, city of 1700 bridges! (I think that's what the sign said as I was driving in too late last night and getting lost somewhere in or under one of them.)

The 95th Annual Meeting of the Ecological Society of America is taking place here at the Conference Center, but only two bridges are visible from its deck overlooking the Allegeny River. Here's one of them, looking downstream toward the Monongahela River, which is just around the corner somewhere.


Actually, I think that photo captured two or three of them! And here's another one, looking upstream.


Two down, 1698 to go! Actually, about 5 more are visible from the hotel room, so that trims it down a bit.

We also have boats. Kayaks, Mississippi-style tour boats, speed boats, and so on. Here are the human-powered ones.


Speaking of human power, the Convention Center encourages exercise, especially in the form of lots of walking! It's also, to get a little eco-note into this post, an LEED-certified green building. In fact, they say the whole town is going green, now that it's over its coal-mine-and-steel-mill past. The Westin Hotel is also doing its part for the environment: They even turned off one of the two shower heads in the hotel room so you have the option of saving water, if you don't turn it back on.

Back at the Berry-Go-Round, Jade at Brainripples.com has done a fabulous job as host of her first plant carnival. Too rich for words, you must explore it yourself! Be sure to allow plenty of time for the diverse offerings she's rounded up...

Take care, all!

Nature Today: Attempted Prey Piracy

Drama unfolds on a short hike today with Book Lady. I think I saw the spider first, curiously immobile in a crevice. Then the wasp. Then mayhem. Eventually we left them to it, so I'm afraid I can't tell you the outcome. Perhaps a duel to the death; perhaps capitulation with the spoils to the victor.

First, borrowed from Wikipedia courtesy Blazeblaze, the participants in today's event looked a lot like these two below. Due, in part, to the fast action, the rest of the photos (mine) will be a bit more blurry.


My first thought, when I see an unusually large spider with an unusually large wasp, is "Pepsis" (for the latter). Turns out Pepsis, the tarantula hawk, is even larger than these gals—a full two inches (50 cm). And Pepsis has an opposite fashion scheme, a blue-black body and rusty wings.


It's true, this time even I know that wasp is a gal. She is, after all, engaged in feeding her family, or rather, expected family. She is also most likely Tachypompilus ferrigineus, a spider wasp of a different color. Spider wasps, of course, see spiders as material to be stung (as this one is) into submission and stuffed into nests where one can lay upon them an egg, which will hatch into a larva that then devours the providentially provided sustenance. (She is about 35 mm long; the spider is probably 50 mm.)


If it were only that simple, she may be saying. As I mentioned, the spider was in a crevice. Above she's on the trail, having arrived there under the influence of gravity and some unknown propellant...

Which turned out to be another wasp, with clear designs on the same spider. In the ensuing brawl, it was hard to keep the two combatants straight, and impossible to tell which was the original possessor of the prize.

I tried to separate them a time or two with a walking stick but they only had eyes for each other and couldn't be distracted. Eventually we decided not to risk attracting stings, and left them to sort it out. Whatever the outcome, we have to suspect it ended badly for the spider.

Timely Intervention

Just when it looked like summer might cut the green period short, we welcomed a weekend of wet. It all started with a hailstorm Friday that left my car with a fashionable textured look and stripped twigs from the oaks at the county courthouse. Green streets takes on a whole new meaning. I'd driven north just a few miles to Golden, fortuitously arriving at a traffic light just in time to meet the storm, not one golf ball of which settled on the home turf. Sitting duck, listening to it thunder against the car, no camera.


Friday night it arrived, a steady downpour most of the night, threatening floods in various Front Range communities, flushing algae and, I hope, mosquito larvae out of rainbarrels, and setting everything outdoors awash. Yesterday, waves of gentle rain passed through, separated by misty intervals—all very Pacific Northwest. More of same today, as it looks. Tomorrow, or whenever this lifts, is going to be VERY good for weeding! (Honey, looks like the lawn needs mowing again.)

All this rain also makes the rhubarb very happy, if not the celebrants at the 23rd Annual Pine Rhubarb Festival, where I spent most of yesterday. Though the crowd was reduced in size, its spirits were undampened, and the crowning of the Rhubarb Queen ("best ever rhubarb pie") happened right on schedule, as did all ten minutes of the parade. Between the all-you-can-eat pancakes with rhubarb sauce and the highly diverse bake sale that followed the judging, it was a delicious place to be on a rainy day.

Obligatory botanical note: Rhubarb, Rheum rhabarbarum (formerly R. rhaponticum), is a member of the Polygonaceae, not native to the U.S. but widely grown in the east and midwest and, yes, Colorado. Its stout petioles are edible, but its large leaves contain higher concentrations of oxalic acid and are considered poisonous. When cooked with sugar, the stems are used in "fruit" pies and other pastries, but lately I've had two reports of children in Mexico and other places enjoying the stems raw, difficult as it may be to imagine. (One entry in yesterday's bake-off was a rhubarb salad (not baked), but I didn't get a taste.)

Incidental personal revelation: Rhubarb also had a peripheral role in our courtship, via a Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie, which must have been pretty basic as I don't even remember the recipe. I think it may have been not so much the substance of the pie as the fact that I could even make a pie that captured Darling Husband's attention.

Bonus link: A fun read on the 17th annual Rhubarb Festival.

Getting Down... and Busy

Happy Pollination Season! If you notice a sudden jump in the quality of photography in today's post, call it punctuated equilibrium. It's because ALL photos are courtesy of (and copyright to) The Chemist. (Let me know if you want more formal acknowledgement, buddy!) And, of course, his trusty sidekick, a new camera with which he's obviously having way too much fun! You should also know, perhaps, that all this botanizing took place in his own backyard, where he maintains a native garden that offers a seasonal smorgasbord to members of the Apidae. (The botanist left in me wants to say Apiaceae, but that's a whole 'nother subject.)

First up, and earliest in the season (4/15/2010) after a long hungry winter is the Willow (species unspecified). Can't you just hear this honeybee: "Ummm... Yummmm!"


Along about the 24th of May, The Chemist was out in the garden one day, when he realized he was being watched. This diminutive peeping tom declares: "No pollen for me; I'm here for something else altogether." Crab spider in ambush mode on Vicia americana (American vetch).


Then came Mertensia lanceolata (chiming bells, 5/31/2010). Still hungry, but a whole different bee (Bombus sp. or at least that group).


Fast forward to today: yep, they're still at it out there among the flowers! The Chemist reports: "This honeybee put in a great deal of effort trying to squeeze into the tight flowers of Hedysarum boreale [Utah sweetvetch]." Remember, bees, no means no!


Competition (or something) is heating up though. As he watched, this wasp zoomed in aggressively. The Chemist describes the action: "The wasp/hornet? also was apparently getting nectar but a pair of them seemed more intent on patrolling around the plants (looking for nest provisions?) than foraging for nectar. At one point one of them, apparently intentionally, gave a honey bee a good ramming although the honeybee seemed pretty unperturbed by the collision."


Meanwhile, serenity prevails over at the Orobanche fasciculata (broomrape) [now known by some as Aphyllon fasciculata, but let's not go there*], a parasitic plant nestled quietly amid its host, in this case Artemisia frigida (pasture, silver, or fringed sage). Perhaps these gals were done with the business of agent-assisted courtship, and ready to settle quietly into motherhood-mode.

*I'm old-fashioned, I know, but I still subscribe to the theory that scientific names are supposed to be more permanent and useful than common names.


Thanks, Chemist! Bee Lady has been equally busy observing pollinators, so we may have more decent photos to share soon... (The Phylogenist taught me something new about my own camera last week, but trust me you don't want to see my first attempts!)

When is Spring?

The calendar tells us Spring "begins" on March 21, the spring equinox, but of course, the world works on its own schedule. Lately, we've all noticed, that schedule seems a little wacky.


In Colorado, as in much of the West, Spring is relative: it all depends on where you are, especially on how much vertical distance you've managed to put between you and sea level. In the course of the last few weeks, here at the Foothills Fancies homestead, we've jumped from winter into late spring in a hurry. Most of the early spring wildflowers are gone, and, judging from what's blooming, we're well on the way to summer. Sigh.


So when I went West to Talented Sister's on May 22nd, I got to visit an earlier version of Spring, places where the ground is just emerging from snow cover. She lives in the midst of Aspen and Gambel Oak woodlands on a high mesa in southwestern Colorado, very different from here. The up-and-down of the trip also gave me an opportunity to sample the varieties of season available now.

All this is too much prelude to an actual topic. Quaking Aspen (Populus tremuloides) and Gambel's Oak (Quercus gambelii) are both species that "reproduce" mostly vegetatively, forming huge clones of interconnected stems that look like individual trees. So how can you tell where one individual leaves off and another one starts? Because different clones respond differently to seasonal cues, Spring is often a great clue. It's a time of year when you can catch aspen, especially, displaying their individuality. (The oak wasn't displaying anything just yet.) How many, then, do you see in the photo below?


These photos were all taken in two quick stops along Hwy 62 as it crosses the Dallas Divide between Ridgway and Placerville. I'm thinking we're seeing at least three, maybe even five, individual aspen among the many trees present above. That is, of course, a wild guess totally unsupported by DNA evidence. Me, I was just there for the scenery.*

* Much of the scenery is, by the way, brought to us by Ralph Lauren, whose ranch, the Double RL, occupies 16,000 acres (that's 25 sq miles, people) and a good deal of linear footage along this route. It's nice when vast wealth benefits the rest of us. Thanks, Ralph! If you pass this way, you'll recognize Ralph's property by the tasteful 4-rail fence on the south side of the highway (see photo 2).

Such aspen clones are in the running for a world record, if not still holding. The Watcher, saving me a lot of time and trouble, tells us all about cloning and Pando, a giant aspen in Utah that's thought, so far, to be the world's largest organism, in his several posts on the topic. Wikipedia agrees, and so does Wayne's Word, though that site offers a few other contenders in the "most massive" category.

I especially appreciated these Sunday morning views in contrast to the previous evening, when I drove from Montrose to Sister's in a haze of yellowish gray smoke from the Beaver Fire near Norwood, caused by powerlines downed by the phenomenal winds that plagued my 580-mile trip that weekend. Another 3200 acres reclaimed for aspen, perhaps.


Fire is closely associated with aspen, whose cloning habit enables it to be resilient in the face of loss of its aboveground parts. Oak, too, abides below through fires. Scenes like this, with the light spring green and pale grey of aspen set off by darker grey of oak and conifers, depend on fire for the aesthetic pattern we find so appealing.


Of course, getting to see the San Juan Mountains in the background doesn't hurt either! Enjoy the view...

Latest in Berries

The current Berry-Go-Round plant carnival is now posted at Greg Laden's blog. Thanks, Greg, for a great job assembling some very intriguing plant posts—I look forward to applying more of a K-strategy to them soon! We appreciate your squeezing in the post below, on our long-awaited wisteria blossoms.

The Green Scene, and a Spring Surprise

Our season of green has arrived in full force, and greatly appreciated in part because it's so brief! For a day or two this week (especially Friday and yesterday morning when temperatures suddenly soared to 92 and 94F, or about 35C), it seemed like we were going to plunge straight from May into the middle of July. Clouds, a moderate wind, and a 20-degree drop into seasonable 70s yesterday afternoon salvaged a few more days in which to relish this shortest season.


As you may recall, we've been nurturing an unusual (for Colorado) vine here these last few decades, and it has, in other even-numbered years of recent memory, attempted to bloom. Third time's the charm, they say.


This year's promises, a vine extravagantly covered in buds, did not disappoint. And thus, after nigh 30 years spreading its tendrils and withes 'cross trellis and soffit, we have, for once, Wisteria.


I was relieved when the leaves began to catch up with the flowers, as the latter looked forlorn against a backdrop only of brown tangled branches. But now, ahhh...



No doubts about family here! Note, to the right, the stamens peeking from within the keel as the banner stands guard.*


Ummm... wish I could post the fragrance for you too!

——
Need a refresher on the Fabaceae? Courtesy Wikipedia, more details on this very flower, Wisteria sinensis.

Addendum: Since singing the praises of this critter far and wide, I've learned there are others in Colorado. But they're coddled in greenhouses and nurseries, or in town where there's ample water and shelter, not out here in the foothills, trying to make do on what nature offers and wracked by 50 mph winds. (In case you were wondering why it took so long to bloom! And yes, I'll try to coddle a bit more henceforth.)

Collection of Carnivals; Bird Update

It's a feast indeed for fans of natural history out there this month. As the world wakes, so does the nature blogosphere.

The notable 50th edition of Circus of the Spineless is recently up at Arthropoda, and Mike does a great job. His site is new to me, I found myself exploring more thoroughly, and learned a lot! Check out his "Favorite Posts" tab for starters.

The Geek in Question (TGIQ) from Fall To Climb is hosting two of the newer blog carnivals this month. TGIQ tackles herpetology with House of Herps #5: Slime Poetry, an excellent edition as critters emerge for spring. I had to go there to see scales; we've yet to encounter any here (though others have in town).

Next, head over to An Inordinate Fondness, to experience The Shining and learn why TGIQ is so taken with beetlemania.

Nature's Whispers is host for this month's Festival of Trees (#47). Jasmine brings on a multimedia Beltane extravaganza, with art, poetry, video, and much more. Do scroll down to celebrate May Day with the feature film: dancing the Maypole in Glastonbury (and what better place!)...

And that brings us to the 27th edition of Berry Go Round, by Mary over at Neotropical Savanna; a great spot to get your fix of spring wildflowers, like Trilliums, also emerging from hibernation. BGR is itself springing to new life, after a great email discussion, and will carry on with Mary and Sarcozona (of Gravity's Rainbow) as ringleaders.

And Now, Closer to Home

Today: We're ignoring, for the most part, the half-inch of snow this morning. It is May 7th, after all. (I did take the teakettle out to defrost the openings on the hummingbird feeder.) Darling Husband yelled "Come quick!" to make sure I got to see the first Bullock's Oriole of the season. He spotted a pair in the ash tree; I saw only the male.

Yesterday: A drab brown bird puzzled me yesterday, hiding behind the trunk as soon as I brought out the binocs. No distinguishing features whatsoever. Page by page through the bird book this a.m. suggests she could only be a Brown-headed Cowbird (my first!). No wonder she didn't want to be spotted!

The first Western Kingbird of the season perched on the far fence yesterday. DH also reports a male Lesser Goldfinch in seasonal plumage a few days ago.

Last week: The Mourning Doves are back, of course, and billing and cooing like lovebirds. But last week, something different: a lone Ring-necked (aka Collared) Dove. I thought it was an escapee; Bee Lady says they're increasing in our area.

Oh–and Grackles. Since when do we have grackles? They're learning to use the sunflower feeder.

The hummingbirds have been around for weeks, disappearing when it snows, and reappearing. I had three fighting over the feeders a couple weeks ago, until it snowed. Now I see the little hummers occasionally, but not in numbers. Soon, though, they'll be here in force.

More spring to be reported here soon!