Foothills Fancies

Always a Surprise

2008-05-20T07:19:00.009-06:00

For weeks now, I've been wanting to drive up to the lower mountains (or upper foothills) and get a snowbound photo to go with February's post on my special gulch.

We finally did the tour on Mother's Day, with MiL along for a delightful ride, but the snow that afternoon was old and tired looking. We did see the first few bison calves of the season at Genesee Park, small light brown lumps near large darker brown humps of mom. Happy Mother's Day, girls; and Happy Birthday, bisonlings. Click for full-screen to find two of each, moms and newbies. (Yes, that's a house in the background.)

We had a cool wet week, so I returned on Friday (mind, we're talking May 16th now) in search of fresher, cleaner snow. I guess the surprise was that there wasn't more of it—but the snow provided the winter view I'd neglected to acquire back in Jan-Feb when driving there would have been more challenging. Along with it came an ice-cold, crystal-clear omen of mosses, ferns, and wildflowers to come.

While I was revisiting winter, the Husband was driving to Moab, UT, for a weekend of biking in the high desert. He called with talk of Desert Trumpets and the news that he'd purchased a wildflower guide. Shows to go: after 28 years of marriage, your spouse can still surprise you! All weekend the talk, when he called, was of the fragrance of Cliffrose along the road, or the ephemeral flowers of Evening-Primrose, or even the scorched earth efforts to eradicate Tamarisk along the Colorado River.

Then yesterday, the Handy Helper and I were working on house stuff (he painting, me organizing, sort of) when I called him outside to see a Golden Eagle soaring overhead. The importance of looking up. An hour later, the Husband got home from his trip and called my attention to the First Wisteria Blossom in the exact opposite direction, which I'd completely missed! Go figure.

As you might imagine, Wisteria does not grow in Colorado. I did not know that 25 years ago when, in all innocence, I mail-ordered this one and planted it on the east side of our new home in the foothills. It grew rampantly; in fact, it's taken over two trellises and tries to choke itself annually. Two years ago, it decided to bloom, and was covered with flower buds in promising drooping inflorescences, one of which opened. I began to plan elegant tea parties under the arbor. Really! (I know, another surprise.) Then came June, a very dry June, and no more blooms were seen. Until yesterday.

I had a fabulous weekend myself, though not exactly FF-bloggable material. It was one of those rare occasions when Life was more fun than Blogging. Imagine!

Happy Americorps Week!

2008-05-13T08:28:00.006-06:00

Click to enlarge and see NCCCers all over the park.
We kicked off Americorps Week yesterday by pulling weeds (under warm sunny skies) in Red Rocks Park with about 300 Americorps NCCC volunteers. Check it out!

About this morning, the best that can be said (besides the traditional "we need the moisture," always true) is that it's a good thing it wasn't like this yesterday!

'Nuff said? If not, more later...

Another Newcomer...

2008-05-09T07:10:00.006-06:00

They just keep showing up! Yesterday I glanced out just after 3 p.m. and was startled to see another surprise on the doorstep. This one the bird books don't even show as belonging in Colorado. Hmmm.

An easy ID this time, no question. This bright male posed for more than a minute, then flew into the treetop, and soon disappeared. (For once, the camera was handy.) The dove looks as surprised as I was. Of course, I immediately made sure to restock the feeders with sunflower seed. Hope he returns soon.

The Rose-breasted Grosbeak is said to be common to eastern deciduous forests and orchards, and allegedly hybridizes with our Black-headed Grosbeaks (one male watched from the feeder while this guy visited). My older bird book* calls this bird a "rare straggler" who "has a propensity to wander far from its eastern range." One was collected in 1938 south of Denver, and they have been recorded breeding at Longmont, further north.

References online: Rose-breasted Grosbeak in Colorado, Auk (1938?); Habits, etc. Shawnee Audubon, Illinois, no date.

I'll update this post after checking with a local bird authority for more information, but I get the idea that sightings are more common here than in the past. Perhaps there's hope of seeing him again.

Welcome, stay as long as you like! But honey, you're not in Kansas anymore!

——
* Niedrach, Robert J. and Robert B. Rockwell. 1939. The Birds of Denver and the Mountain Parks. The Colorado Museum of Natural History, Popular Series No. 5.

Doomless Gloom

2008-05-07T07:10:00.007-06:00

Half asleep, about 5 a.m., listening to a rumble. Cats growling at each other, perhaps? No, more subtle... Lights flashing vaguely through closed eyelids. Seems familiar. Oh, right... ummm, thunder, that's it! Been a long long time.

So yes, we have prospects of rain today. A few drops have already fallen and a small dampness prevails. Smell of spring. I revel in these days, when we see the green really starting to spread on the nearby hills. Days like this, a friend says, "temporarily assuage our resistance to living in a semi-arid climate." Spring is late and will, no doubt, be too short. Today the lilacs are barely budding, tomorrow it could be 80 again, as it was on Monday.

By the way, to update previous pessimism, the ash leaves survived that last snow storm, but the asparagus took a hit from the chickens. Apple tree is in bloom.

This gloom, therefore, bodes well, brings prospects of life flourishing and flowering. Keep your fingers crossed.

Feathered Firsts

2008-05-06T17:49:00.006-06:00

Yes, it's that time of year again, when we're watching for the first of the spring migrants to return. But beyond that, a few place-firsts have happened along too. Here's an update.

Most startling, perhaps, among the wild happenings lately was the Wild Turkey that showed up on Earth Day, April 22. Our first sighting here in more than two decades...

Then, on Sunday (May 4), we saw our first-ever Red Breasted Nuthatch here at the homestead. (And my 2nd ever in Colorado...)

Yesterday, I spotted the first Bullock's Oriole, a male, dipping from the hummingbird feeder of course.

And today (with, finally, a picture): the Red-Naped Sapsucker (or so I conclude from examination of the bird books). His red appears to be more on the throat and crown than the nape, to my view. He's also a first-ever here, and for me.

Also today, the first Black-headed Grosbeak of our local flock appeared. A bright male, like the one at my 2006 Mother's Day post. Have not spotted the females yet, but these are among our favorite local nesters. I've lost track of how many generations we've raised here...

So, welcome to all of you birdies. The red and orange season has clearly arrived, and the Juncos seem to have moved on. We still have a few White-crowned Sparrows around though.

Another Taste of Spring

2008-05-01T08:43:00.005-06:00

Addendum: In my search for posts for Berry-Go-Round in recent weeks, I missed a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to Cate at Beyond the Fields We Know. She was buried in snow the last time I stopped in, so I hadn't expected her to have flowers already. For a glorious look at eastern woodland wildflowers, some of my childhood favorites, please drop by. Her May Day (Beltane) tribute is just up, but do scroll down through a marvelous sequence of Trout Lily, Bloodroot, Trillium and more!

Meanwhile, here at "the Shire" (as The Husband would say), we are having a lovely Beltane Day as well. Much needed moisture, but perhaps not preferred in quite this form. I must go cover the asparagus, just emerging. Wonder if the ash leaves will make it through this time.

Spring at Berry-Go-Round (#4)

2008-04-28T08:38:00.021-06:00

Welcome to Edition #4 of the celebrated plant carnival, Berry-Go-Round. Those of us in the northern hemisphere are seeking and celebrating signs of spring, but we invite you to explore many other topics—and places—with us this month as well. Read on, plant friends!

(By the way, if you're featured here—or even if you're not—please help promote Berry-Go-Round by linking to this post from your site.)

Spring arrives in the south first, and our Texas Travelers captured it in photos of coastal wildflowers. If you’ve ever wondered about the namesake of fiction’s famous Scarlet Pimpernel (I know I have), Troy and Martha have got that covered too!

Laurent reports that some flowers get cleaned up and ready for spring with a flower bath. Amazing! While you're visiting Seeds Aside, take a look at the genetics of apples and explore the crossroad between biodiversity and health. Lastly, Laurent offers a seed guessing game that will challenge you.

GrannyJ revisits her reliable wildflowers, which have returned to Arizona at Walking Prescott.

Hedgewitch awakens our senses with the scent and lore of Lemon Balm, posted at Earth and Tree.

In Floyd, Virginia, Fred brings us someone in a pulpit and considers renaming a favorite spring flowering tree.

In Non-seasonal Works...

Nomenclaturally speaking, if you thought "Cypress" always meant "Cupressus," get an update from the wonderful folks at Botany Photo-of-the-Day, who explore the elegant and iconic Monterrey Cypress. You'll have many other daily plant fixes to choose from there as well, but hurry back, please!

While we're talking gymnosperms, Julia Heathcote feeds her Gondwanan gymnosperm fetish while reporting exciting but mysteriously overlooked news, "the botanical equivalent of finding a non-avian dinosaur on an island somewhere," at The Ethical Palaeontologist. Yes, Julia, it would be nice if people got as excited about plant discoveries... She also brings us an important announcement I think you'll enjoy. Congratulations, Julia!

Nunatak presents Darwin's Garden, An Evolutionary Adventure, a new exhibit at the New York Botanical Garden. Also at The Beagle Project Blog, she blogs on her own peer-reviewed research on genomics and plant evolution.

Luigi at the Agricultural Biodiversity Weblog asks that we mention the results of the first competition for agricultural biodiversity—a very interesting surprise winner announced on Earth Day. His other submission, on agriculture at a crossroads, is important reading on critical developments for any of us who like to eat and hope to continue doing so. It explores how modern agriculture has failed many poor farmers and discusses inequities in evolving agricultural systems, among other complex issues.

More Spring Gleanings

Spring is coming late here in the Colorado foothills, and I have no decent flower photos or posts to offer you yet. So just to widen our circle of plant enthusiasts, I've been out prowling for spring wildflowers in the blog world, and am happy to bring you a few more:

Although my photos of western spring beauties were a bit of a disappointment, Nina caught some great shots of eastern ones at Nature Remains. She later takes time out from her fascinating toad and salamander observations to comment on the trouble with flowers. I should be so troubled!

Kerri in Virginia shares excellent spring wildflowers, while Matt at Sitka Nature gets the early bryophyte with signs of spring in Alaska.

Janet brings us two tickets to springtime at the New England Flower Show; and John shows us we can even find color in pussy willows way up in Maine.

I turned up this beauty at the Reluctant Botanist. It's from Down Under, where February must mean late summer or fall, I guess.

Marvin at Three Steps Forward takes us on a walk in the woods, featuring his excellent photos of some of my favorite wildflowers of the eastern U.S. woodlands.

Kathie offers a colorful sunrise stroll in Sycamore Canyon, near Tucson, Arizona.

Lots more colorful Arizona flowers are provided by Leslie in this spring bouquet. That's quite a backyard! Also check out resurrection plant, a great recent post by next month's host, Miconia at A Neotropical Savanna.

Addendum: Just ran across these not-to-miss spring photos by Cate at Beyond the Fields We Know. Start here and scroll down through many favorites from the forests of eastern North America.

Thanks for stopping by! We hope this issue of Berry-Go-Round brightened your day a bit. Look for the next installment at A Neotropical Savanna by the end of May.

Exciting Morning

2008-04-22T07:57:00.002-06:00

But, alas, no photo. Dog #2 was the first to somehow sense a unique visitor, and dashed out to greet a Wild Turkey strolling along the north fence (fortunately OUTside). The Husband and Dog #1 picked up on the message, and we were all in time to watch the turkey fly east into the much quieter neighboring yard.

Although turkeys are certainly known to be in the area, this is the first time in our 27 years here that we have had the pleasure of seeing one so close. Hope we don't have to wait that long for another visit!

Yesterday... and Today

2008-04-17T09:21:00.007-06:00

What a difference a day makes, as we say! The snow started yesterday afternoon, and here we are. I was talking to a naturalist yesterday who told me she had heard a Broad-tailed Hummingbird, so they may wishing they hadn't come back quite so early.

Certainly the finches enjoyed the thistle seed while the snow was coming down late yesterday. They've even figured out the new feeder, which requires them to hang upside down, a technique the other species apparently can't master.

Just for comparison, here again are the spring flowers I photographed yesterday. That makes this what I call a daffodil snow—typical spring weather here!

Spring, Distractions, Other Goings On...

2008-04-16T06:52:00.007-06:00

Although I've been scarce here lately, I'm getting back in gear, what with Berry-Go-Round coming up in a week or so. Please send contributions by April 25th! Any post on plants is welcome, but especially those on spring wildflowers to help celebrate the seasons. Those who have been working on taxes are out of excuses! See previous post for details.

My focus these last few weeks has been history, with our open house coming up. It happened Saturday (Apr 12th), and I put a report up at Local History Explorer.

It has been decidedly spring-like since Sunday—warm, sunny, and magnetic outdoors. An irresistible pull to go for walks, check out wildflowers, pull some Dalmatian toadflax... I let the black widow loose in the woodpile, optimistically thinking we won't be disturbing her til fall. Yesterday, temperatures reached the mid-80s (high 20s C). Today, "they" tell us, it's back to snow and rain. At least it should bring a little (temporary) relief from the pollen!

Next up is a hike for a Green Mtn. homeowners group this Saturday a.m. I expect more weeds than wildflowers, but hey, it's all educational. As Herb Quarterly reminds me, we could consider them medicinal aids instead of invasive plants; it's all a matter of changing perspective. Isn't everything? Would it be too fatalistic to conclude we will have to get used to this homogenization of ecosystems? I'd like to drop in to Earth Day festivities at Evergreen, too; the new nature center there will be launched.

The Husband has decided we need to have a garden. Oh my. The prospect is appealing, certainly, and an excellent response to his indoctrination by Michael Pollan on the importance of eating well (he's been reading In Defense of Food). The fact that we're on well water, and not much of it, will make the garden of his vision a real challenge. Regardless, among yesterday's errands, I bought seeds. Hope springs eternal.

The snakes have been restless. Must be spring. The smaller one has been eating fairly regularly for a couple of months; the larger has yet to break her seasonal fast. I was hopeful; brought home food yesterday. She curled up in the dish with a few baby mice, but declined to nibble. So it goes. She'll have to decide to eat soon, but her weight is holding so I guess we're okay for the moment.

I spent a couple afternoons helping the Artist take down her bread exhibit at the Conifer Library and set up a new one on fly-fishing. She sent me home with a large shopping bag of dried-out artisan breads in assorted styles, so the chickens have been having a major carb fix. The croissants were greatly favored. The flock is also enjoying occasional forays into the front yard, where there is green grass coming up. I'm testing a theory that they might be good for controlling cheatgrass. The Husband has agreed that we can get new chicks this year, so that means more fresh eggs come fall! (Our 14 aging hens produce only a few eggs a day now...)

That's enough!—just a few of the slices of life around here recently.

Berry Comes to Foothills

2008-03-31T07:45:00.008-06:00

Issue 4 of the new plant carnival, Berry-Go-Round, will appear here at Foothills Fancies on April 28th. You may submit your plant-oriented post by emailing subversivescience AT gmail DOT com, or via the automated submission form at Blog Carnival. Deadline for submissions is April 25.

Despite a dusting or two of snow here the last couple days, I plan to go hunting for signs of spring, both out in the wilds and around the blogosphere. By late April, I'm sure we'll all be seeing lots of spring wildflowers. So please send me your own seasonal discoveries for this next edition of Berry-Go-Round. Folks in the southern hemisphere will, of course, be enjoying the fruits of other seasons. However, all posts about plants are welcome. Berry-Go-Round generously allows us to continue to include fungi, so mushrooms and friends can also be included.

Edition 3 of Berry-Go-Round is currently up at Greg Laden's blog, with great reading and new revelations. Check it out!

Hairy Legs Alert

2008-03-25T12:07:00.005-06:00

Yes, another arachnid is just around the corner. Bee Lady sent this great photo, taken by her husband Dave in their backyard yesterday.

This little gal/guy was out soaking up some rays in the lovely sunny days we're having of late. Spider lovers, any chance of an ID on this jumping spider? And what was that about big (I want to say pedipalps, is that it?) signifying the males?

How 'bout it Texas Travelers, can you help us out here? Of course, you should click to enlarge this cutie! (Love that brush cut, kinda like my boyfriend back in high school!)

Bee Lady also reports they found pasque flowers up, though not yet blooming, at a foothills park a few miles up the canyon. Two weeks ago we saw buds on the Easter daisies down the trail, and a friend found them blooming on nearby Green Mountain. AND the Squaw Currants (Ribes cereum) and Golden Currants (Ribes aureum) in the backyard are budding to green as we speak. See Shrubs for All Seasons for more on native shrubs.

Even the exotics are putting in an appearance. The oriental elms are in full bloom, witnessed by all who suffer from pollen. Lilac buds are opening, daffodil leaves push up through dead leaves, and all remnants of those late-lying snowbanks have disappeared. All proof that Spring is indeed coming... is here, whatever snows are ahead.

Rites of Spring

2008-03-23T10:25:00.006-06:00

Arising early, I was surprised to see lights, many lights, out the "usual view" this morning, having somehow momentarily forgotten the sunrise service that would be taking place at the Amphitheatre. The parking lots were well lit, and strings of cars raveled toward them through the dark. As the sky began to lighten enough for this picture, a few Christians, just a bit late, were still making the pilgrimage.

There's no doubt this spot is sacred; this annual modern ritual confirms an ancestral recognition of its power. Latter-day pagans also gather here, I'm told, on the solstices and equinoxes, drumming and celebrating their own sunrises in other ways. This park, known more than a century ago as "The Garden of the Angels," missed being named "Garden of the Gods" by just a few years as a similar spot 100 miles south captured that priority. Perhaps people gathered there to celebrate this dawn as well.

Dave at Via Negativa is honoring the ancestors today, in another way.

The Urban Disconnect

2008-03-18T07:49:00.007-06:00

Lovelock again: "At least 90 percent of us in the first world now live in cities or in suburban areas around them. ... Because our lives are so wholly urban, democracy ensures the election of governments almost entirely out of touch with the natural world."

Now there's a new criterion for judging candidates, unfortunately it would most likely eliminate all of them.

Here's what we've done locally with our little corner of one of the grandest views in North America: the contact between two continental scale physiographic regions, the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains. That's a car dealership in the middle foreground, and our county seat of government behind it, fondly known locally as "The Taj." A testimony to the sensitivity of governments to native ecology. As are the communications towers on the mountain behind.

Which of our candidates (at any level election) ever spent time in the woods as a child? Which of them remembers it?

(Dare I even mention that most of the trees in the foreground are Chinese elms?)

Caught in the Act!

2008-03-06T07:42:00.009-07:00

Ummm, what's this? Tasty?

Yikes! Something's watching me! I wasn't doing anything, honest!

Mom, mom!

Yes, dear? What seems to be the trouble?

Oh that, don't worry about her!

I feel safer hiding here with you, mom...

There, there, dear, it's just a camera!

This little drama transpired right outside the door yesterday morning. Baby was so cute and fluffy I couldn't resist a few photos. A yearling (I'm thinking "she") from 2007, apparently, barely tall enough to see over mom's back. She probably doesn't realize that she'll be getting a new little sibling one day soon.

It's tough to keep the juncos fed on a snowy day without encouraging these guys, but short of turning the dogs out... options are limited.

A double demonstration of why they're called "Mule" Deer...

Intersections of Interest

2008-03-05T08:03:00.008-07:00

The Husband and I are reading, each in our own separate book. We are so intrigued by these two books that we even read passages out loud to each other, a virtually unprecedented move. This morning I was struck by a sudden intersection between the diverse ideas that landed us squarely in the realm of human (and especially American) psychology.

He's reading Michael Pollan's book In Defense of Food. Pollan illuminates the fat phobia that has driven a massive experiment on the American diet in the last thirty years. In fact, we have changed our diets, and (he explains) not for the better: after adopting the claims of nutritionists, we are no more healthy today than we ever were. Across the pond, James Lovelock argues that we have a similar phobia centered on nuclear power, a phobia he considers unfounded and harmful. In The Revenge of Gaia, he demolishes the claims of "renewable" energy sources and postulates that only by adopting nuclear power can we avert imminent climate catastrophe.

So, it would seem, here we are: our environments, internal and external, are now threatened by habits and beliefs we have been persuaded to adopt only in the last three to five decades. Yes, indeed, most interesting, especially perhaps to a generation that grew up protesting having someone else's ideas shoved down its throat.

Food is our most personal and intimate interaction with our external environments, and no one would question that our food decisions can wreak havoc on the planet. But I particularly appreciated Lovelock's perspective on our fears of nuclear waste:

Wild plants and animals do not perceive radiation as dangerous, and any slight reduction it may cause in their lifespans is far less a hazard than is the presence of people and their pets. It is easy to forget that now we are so numerous, almost anything extra we do in the way of farming, forestry and home building is harmful to wildlife and to Gaia. The preference of wildlife for nuclear waste sites suggests that the best sites for its disposal are the tropical forests and other habitats in need of a reliable guardian against their destruction by hungry farmers and developers.

Now that, friends, is delightfully perverse. That is, it seems to contradict our intuitive understanding—until we somehow learn that Lovelock is right. Fear, even irrational fear, provides great protection for natural areas.

I wasn't involved in 1992 when the Rocky Mountain Arsenal, a Superfund site, became a wildlife refuge here in Colorado, so my enlightenment came later, in the struggle to prevent the commercial development of Rocky Flats. The Cold War was over, and the market for plutonium triggers was crashing. The Rocky Flats weapons plant was situated between Denver and Boulder, high on a rocky plateau. Post-war (II) wisdom suggested it be surrounded by a large "buffer zone" to protect neighboring communities, thus the plant site itself occupied less than 10% of the 6,240-acre (2,525 ha) site. Almost ten square miles of mostly undeveloped land was, and is, a rarity in this part of the Front Range. Developers were eager, to say the least.

In the 1990s, the buffer zone and adjoining properties also became the focus of local efforts to preserve a pretty significant ecosystem, the tallgrass prairie. Encroaching development on the east and mountain uplift to the west pinched this plant community into a narrow zone along the foothills, in front of what we call the "mountain backdrop." Thanks to the rocks, the area had never been plowed (it remains, however, too vulnerable to gravel mining). Chronic, sometimes vicious, winds kept it from being overly attractive to settlement or development. This land surface, the Rocky Flats Alluvium, is the oldest undisturbed surface in Colorado.

We made many field trips, most to a spot outside the official buffer zone, but sometimes we signed documents, gave up our cameras, donned dosimeter badges, and toured the inside as well. What made it a special treat was long views across the expanse of prairie, the opportunity to find new and unusual plants, and, above all, the absence of people and cows. This was grass that hadn't been grazed by domestic stock for more than 30 years! The sense of solitude, and tall waving grasses around us, gave us the illusion of traveling back in time. The guards in the towers with rifles didn't make much difference: they watched us just as closely when we were outside the fence.

By June 2004, access had become easier, and teams of scientists and volunteers conducted a 24-hour Bioblitz in the Rocky Flats area, recording almost 1,400 species of living beings in this 10-sq-mile sample of mixed grassland. Click on "All the Species" at the above-linked page for a list of the results. Don't you wonder what we'd find if we looked at other places this closely!

Soon it became clear that hundreds of acres of native tallgrass prairie, unusual plants, and healthy wildlife populations would not be enough to save this area from development—but public fears of radioactivity could help. In 2005, despite protests, the area was designated Colorado's newest National Wildlife Refuge, with the Dept of Energy retaining management of a central core to mitigate safety concerns. Although people can visit to hike and view wildlife, many of those who commented on the refuge proposal during the years of negotiation will continue to avoid the area because of health concerns. And that's just fine with 1,396 species of plants, lichens, fungi, insects, spiders, other arthropods, birds, mammals, and one fish!

Weather Goes Poikilothermic

2008-03-02T10:10:00.004-07:00

What a fun word, that. When we learned it in college biology (or could it have been high school?), we found a mnemonic—it was dubbed "poky," for those abrupt ups and downs you'd see if you graphed it.

Two days in, March is already poikilothermic; probably Colorado weather always is. Yesterday noon it was 72 degrees F here (22C); today it will be about 30 (-1C) at noon, as it is now. Friday it was in the upper 60s F; about 20C. Maybe I should start a graph.

The homeotherms out there (and only homeotherms are out on a day like this) are enjoying the suet and sunflower seeds, not having much of a problem adjusting at all. They were scarce yesterday though, other options for foraging perhaps prevailing. In the "something new" department, nine robins are hanging out in the ash tree, all either fat or fluffed up to stay warm in these mild but blizzard-like conditions. March generally is our snowiest month.

Coming home from errands yesterday, we made a quick stop at the trailhead to check the progress of spring. Dark buds of the Easter daisies, one of spring's first flowers, are tucked tight in the hearts of their tiny rosettes of leaves. They hold a promise, out there under the snow, whispering "soon, soon."

As for colors, there was no "gray light of dawn" this a.m., nor blue either. It went straight to white. I have a picture, but the computer is not cooperating, so I'll add it another time. Doesn't really matter; we can't see anything anyway.

Expecting the Unexpected

2008-02-24T18:04:00.009-07:00

To some extent, a foothills canyon is a familiar, known entity. Delightful to explore, but rarely yielding surprises. Or maybe I’ve just been spending too much time in the lower elevations. But last summer’s visits to a hidden gulch just 2,000 ft (610 m) higher than my usual whereabouts brought new discoveries for me, and seemed a rare treat even to the more experienced botanists I took along on future visits. Everyone got excited about this place!

First, that fern. It was everywhere here in the gulch, but I had never encountered it elsewhere. Patience for keying is never my strong suit, but this little guy fell out indisputably at the 4th fern couplet, without a hand lens. That's my kind of fern! My real botanist friends later confirmed the identification. Among Colorado’s modest fern flora it is exceptionally recognizable. The Northern Oak Fern (Gymnocarpium dryopteris) is reasonably rare in Colorado. It had been reported from one locale in my county, but never from this nearby county.

Here's a close-up, courtesy of Priscilla, of those beautiful sori that cinched the ID, if we could have been mistaken before. The fact that they are naked, lacking indusia, and not marginal, separates this from, guess what?, Bracken Fern (Pteridium aquilinum), just in case its delicacy and grace were not enough to distinguish the two.

With a substantial surprise like that right at the start, we began to expect the unusual. Sure enough, more surprises awaited around every twist in the gulch. One after another, plants that were doing quite well here, thank you. I guessed many of these moisture lovers, including my little fern, would be more familiar to readers of eastern North America than they are to me. I may have been wrong.

Let’s start with the wintergreens, all low ground covers with attractive flowers.

Single Delight (Moneses uniflora, Pyrolaceae)
Tiny and shy, this little wintergreen is pretty well established in appropriate parts of Colorado, that is, moist subalpine forests from 8,000 to 11,800 feet (2440-3600 m). It is, however, threatened or endangered in Connecticut, Ohio, and Rhode Island, although it does better in New England and is secure in Canada. You have to make a real effort to see its flower-face, always cast downward and held barely an inch above the ground.

One-sided Pyrola (Pyrola secunda, Orthilia secunda, Pyrolaceae)
Just slightly taller than Moneses is this related species, but its flowers are clustered at the top of their stalk. Widely distributed in mountainous western Colorado from 8200 to 13,000 feet (2500-4000 m), it has been found as low as 7000 ft (2130 m) in exceptional situations. But it seems to be losing ground in the east: strong across southern Canada, as well as in New England and New York, it is threatened or endangered south of about Pennsylvania. It was historically reported as far south as Virginia.

Pink Wintergreen (Pyrola asarifolia, Pyrola rotundifolia var. asarifolia, Pyrolaceae)
Similar story here: threatened or endangered, according to some sources,* in Indiana, Iowa, New York, Vermont, and New Hampshire, secure and broadly distributed in southern Canada.

Many more of our discoveries await description: the orchids I failed to capture in photos and those that we were too late to see at all but suspect are there. All the "berries": bunchberry, baneberry, cranberry (sort of)... And of course the special lichens and mosses and liverworts. An entire post will have to be devoted to the fungi. This gulch will feed my foothills fancies for a long time.

All of these plants have a circumboreal distribution. Not in the far north (boreal or arctic), but as close to it as they can comfortably get. In effect, our hidden gulch was in a small peninsula of the Canadian forest, extending down the Rocky Mountains into and through Colorado. When we find these special plants, we recognize them as fringe species, far from home at the edge of their range, hanging on in small patches of cool, mesic habitat wherever possible. They occupy a narrow coastline in a habitat no longer characteristic of Colorado.

There’s a small picture here: this one tiny gulch, about a half-mile (1 km) long and a few hundred yards or meters wide. On this scale, our gulch seems to be a little piece of Subalpine Forest transported downslope, thanks to the cool north-facing slope and the narrowness of the shadowed defile. There was some Englemann Spruce (Picea englemannii), but the co-dominant Subalpine Fir (Abies lasiocarpa seemed to be missing. (This year, I'll search the overstory more carefully.)

But there’s also a larger picture: an image of glaciers flowing across a continent and down from mountain peaks, figuratively pushing a host of plants and animals ahead of the ice and cold. The glaciers have retreated, and the plants follow their favored habitat. The unsettled or alarmed status these plants are given in many states reflects a readjustment on a continental scale, telling us we’re no longer in the Pleistocene. A process underway for the last 10,000 years, this geographic adjustment will be only more visible, more accelerated, in the decades ahead. How much longer will we be able to find these unexpected treasures?

What one finds... will be what one takes the trouble to look for.
—Joseph Wood Krutch

——
This and the preceding post are submissions for the plant carnival Berry-Go-Round; edition #2 to be hosted soon at Further Thoughts.

*Explore plant distributions by typing in species names at the USDA Plants Database or at NatureServe. Note that the status categories don't always match, or exactly reflect state records, and they can also vary by subspecies.

Pocket Paradise

2008-02-23T10:45:00.010-07:00

Most folks know that much of Colorado is dry-dry-dry… bound to get more so in coming decades, as global warming has its way with us. In fact, early explorers a couple centuries ago suggested it was unlikely any of these western lands (once dubbed the Great American Desert) were appropriate for settlement by Europeans, who are, after all, not well adapted to aridity. (Settlement happened anyway, alas, but that’s another story.)

That’s why it’s so exciting to trip across an exception, as I did last summer. Exploring a small ravine or glen in the foothills (we call them gulches here), I found myself transported into a long-forgotten environment. We’d barely left the car when I realized this spot was unusual. First, there was water running in the bottom of the gulch. Except for major streams, that itself is rare in July at the lower elevations where I live. This spot was somewhat higher, in the upper montane zone at 8,500 ft (almost 2,600 m).

As we scrambled up the gulch, over boulders and downed trees, there was more to be discovered: mosses dripped from available surfaces and leafy liverworts hugged the edges of the tiny stream; trees, big ones, leaned toward each other across the gap. A slug crept across a patch of Marchantia, liverworts studded with gemmae cups or tiny umbrellas representing fecundity. Orchids appeared around every bend.

This was, in short, the forest primeval—or as primeval as we are likely to find on the east slope of the Front Range directly west of Denver. Tucked away in a narrow cut, it had escaped attention for many decades, except for trash tossed in by mountain residents from time to time. People, like nature, seem to “abhor a vacuum.” It had, perhaps, not been changed as severely as the surrounding uplands, which are more vulnerable to logging and fire.

Our attention was captivated by the low plants and shrubs of the ground layer and understory; we scarcely noticed or examined the trees, mostly Douglas-fir or spruce, that created the overstory character and lent a “deep woods” shade to the area. Carpets of ferns were strewn at our feet. We have ferns in Colorado, of course, but few that display the full glory of their eastern kin. I knew I’d never seen these before, and that too was exciting.

That sets the stage. Why here? What secrets does this place hide? The cast of characters will be introduced tomorrow, for the most part. Lest you consider such delay unfair, here are two that, in some sense, most belong here.

The plant is Jamesia americana, waxflower, discovered by Edwin James during the Long Expedition of 1820 and named for him by Gray & Torrey 20 years later. A member of the Hydrangea Family, and a most welcome local endemic in our forests, it has flourished here for 25 million years or more, earning the title "living fossil." Enjoying its flowers is our own Admiral, the Weidemeyer's Admiral (Basilarchia weidemeyerii). This striking butterfly is found in the Rocky Mountains, but neither to the east nor the west.

The fascination of this hidden "fern gulch," its subtlety shown here from a distance, brought us back several more times through the summer. It's the first place I'll go this year, once the snows are off and there are botanical discoveries to be made.

——
This and the following post are submissions for the plant carnival Berry-Go-Round; edition #2 to be hosted soon at Further Thoughts.

The Gray Light of Dawn

2008-02-16T08:33:00.008-07:00

Thursday morning, Valentine's Day, we woke to snow. "Here comes the gray light," the Husband said. As every morning, we sipped tea or coffee and watched the light steal across our world. Ever so slowly, the ridge of the hogback took shape out of the gray light, but it was a tentative presence, never becoming solid. Can you see it, looming in the right distance? Its upper edge, outlined by dark junipers, eventually became a blackish line, but the lower snow-covered slopes still blended with the pale sky and air.

The softer slopes of Green Mountain behind remained hidden, visible only to a mind's eye long familiar with this view. Many mornings I've watched the light coming, in various guises but always the same process, not feeling equal to a description. Today, here goes.

But that was Valentine's Day. Those grey mornings are not so typical as a Colorado sunny day. Today, as black and grey gave way to colors beyond description, we knew this day would be bright and clear. The faintest of blues mingled with the palest of yellow from the east to create a "no-color" we've often seen before. On the northern edge of the hogback, further west, a touch of pink was added, but the camera couldn't see it. By now, the entire east face of the hogback is basking in angled sunlight, but our side remains dark. The narrow wedge of light that first touches the rocks and tree tops strikes through the gap in the hogback created by Bear Creek. When we turn, we can barely see it hitting the tops of the foothills to the west, creating a pink or orange glow there.

As the light rises and spreads through the gap, it projects an outline of the hogback onto the red rocks, leaving only their tallest tips highlighted. As the day wears on, this shadow shrinks back to outline the base of the hogback. We don't get many sunsets here; early morning is our time for the colors folks usually associate with the end of day.

I love watching the play of light, but I'm no poet. Thankfully, Eric Andersen is:

Come watch the no colors fade blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

Now that I get what he means, my only question is: which are the "no colors"? Those gray dawns or these indescribable tints of brighter days?

A Kid in the Woods

2008-02-14T08:35:00.003-07:00

Kids know the world because they still live in it. They don't see the world as scenery because only real places—landscapes—have meaning to them. They know where the wet places with frogs will be found; where the slippery clay banks are. I thought my idea of a normal childhood was what everyone experienced: now I appreciate how unusual it was. But at that time and in that place, spending childhood in "the woods" and in "the crick" was the way we all did it. Our backyards and neighborhoods weren't wild, really. The land had been tamed long ago. But it seemed wild to us, and that sufficed. We had no developed parks nearby. The closest thing to a park was the school playground, and we ignored that except when school was in session. We spent all our free time outdoors—exploring, imagining, and learning about our world.

What we remember about childhood, another kid in the woods tells me, is not the fun we had but the discoveries we made. We were alone, with no adults to tell us what to think about what we saw and did. We made up our own interpretations. The woods behind our house was just an old abandoned railroad right-of-way, but huge to me. We believed we could make paper or canoes from the chokecherry bark that peeled loose from the trees. A friend and I pretended we were hermits, living in the woods and rarely visiting the townsfolk. We knew where and when to find violets to pick for our moms; knew where there were bluebells in the woods at the other end of the street and knew not to pick them. They were special and rare.

Mostly I remember the creek. In those days I never knew its name and never even thought to ask whether it had one. It was "the crick." It was where the minnows were, where we'd find jewelweed pods to pop, where we'd hunt for fossils and other treasures. We'd build little temporary ponds to house the shiners and darters we caught by hand. They'd soon escape. Out behind Linda's house, a different creek was still "the crick." There we once waded knee deep trying to build a dam to stop the spring runoff—a major flood to us. Linda's creek was different, shady and mysterious and wild, not open and tamed and barren like my own at home.

The days were long; all the days I remember were summer, I guess. Each day's activity had such intense focus it left an imprint when I'd close my eyes to sleep. There they were, the biggest fattest wild strawberries peeking temptingly from under shiny green leaves. If I'd spent the day at the creek, darters and shiners and pinheads would flash by my closed eyes, luring me to catch them barehanded. That skill I managed to keep into college, much to the surprise of a classmate who challenged me. Once, memorably, I even caught a six-inch mullet with the help of a couple tin cans. I think that surprised both of us. No wonder we always came home soaking wet.

The old apple orchard we found: a wonderland in spring. Even today, the scent of apple blossoms transports me there. Near it was a secret place, an open bowl in the meadow that no sound could enter. We'd lie there wondering at silence, maybe the only place we ever knew true quiet. Planes flew overhead without a sound, even nearby birds were inaudible. On down that path was a high cutbank, a few trees clinging to its eroding edge. We'd dig plants to carry to it for stabilization, trying to fix it. Erosion was a known enemy and there were no ozone holes in those days. As far as we knew then, tropical rainforests were intact, but how we worried about that streambank!

In those days there were few organized distractions from this discovery business of childhood. There was no soccer. The boys had Little League, the girls had the opportunity to hang around watching them. The main organized activity for girls was selling cookies; I learned early in life that sales was not to be my calling. For the most part, no one scheduled our time; except for school we had few routine commitments other than bedtime. We had time but no concept of time. Summer, especially, was an endless stretch of exploration and adventure.

At 14, I was still scrambling the shale cliffs, preferably with a boyfriend, but hormones had begun to alter the picture. I was no longer as willing to feel pond mud between my toes. Being in the water all summer long began to lose its appeal. Childhood was soon over, replaced by a chronic longing, and occasional attempts, to recapture it. Now, at last, I'm old enough to.

——
This was originally written March 18, 1993, now rediscovered. I've posted it in connection with the ongoing discussion over at Romantic Naturalist. Tell us your own story of childhood!

Winter Escapes

2008-02-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

The sun is bright and it’s warming through the 40s F (single digits C) already, but the north yard is locked in snow and it’s clearly still winter. My neighbors are off to the sunny beaches of Cabo San Lucas today, and that puts me in mind of our local beaches.

Even I’d agree that there’s nothing like stretching out in the warm sand on a winter or just-barely-spring day. You might think beaches are rare in Colorado, but that’s only the case if you take the modern view. For those of us who live in the past—the really distant past—sandy beaches abound.

To find them, you just have to ask a geologist instead of a surfer. Far more of the former than the latter in Colorado anyway, I suspect.

The sand of these Dakota beaches does not welcome or warm the toes, and probably isn't quite as comfortable to lie on. No sand castles will be built here: this beach was loose sand about 100 million years ago. Not only is this beach too far from the sea now, and some 6,000 ft vertical (more than 1,800 m), but it hasn't been horizontal for more than 65 million years.

Let's take a few steps back, get the trees vertical, and look at it again. The Dakota Sandstone may have provided beaches where Cretaceous dinosaurs chased each other, as evidenced locally by fossilized footprints, but it'd be a challenge to run along it these days.

More pictures of the Dakota hogback at the January 23 post. Dinosaur footprint picture at Dinosaur Ridge.

——
This spring hike was previously reported at Eldorado Gold.

Difference in View

2008-02-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

What a difference a few hours can make! Sunshine brings hope of warmth... 3 hours later, 34 degrees F (1 C).

Nature Casts Her Vote

2008-02-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

...and the verdict is: Winter! 8 inches, 20 degrees F... a gentle reminder that it's not over yet.

I didn't quite register that this was coming, though the appearance of at least three Steller's Jays yesterday should have tipped me off. Now the flocks are caucusing on the feeders and the seed tossed on the ground. I can't find any more suet, so even the Flicker is on the ground with the Juncos, Red-wings, and Scrub Jays. It's a terrible thing to be without suet on a snow day, but I can't make out any complaints. For the most part they seem to be getting by on sunflower seeds and scratch.

Adventures in Toadland, Part One

2008-02-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

Someone reported a new location for the endangered Boreal Toad (Bufo boreas boreas), and Herp Lady and I went off to check it out. True scientist that she is, this outing was to be a bona fide scientific expedition, with a side serving of naturalist adventure. To seek out the elusive Boreal Toad? Naturally I obliged. A short hike, she assured me, not too steep… field trips are always an adventure, we just never know how much adventure!

A nice fall hike through the forest, a scramble up (and then down) a rocky ridge, a bit of bushwhacking: we followed her GPS unit for an hour before arriving at the wetland in question, a beaver pond surrounded by subalpine forest at about 10,500 feet in elevation (3200 m). We hit the creek a bit upstream and made our way back down toward the site.

We soon walked through a lush landscape, compared to the sparse understory of the drier forest we’d been passing through all morning. In this transition area, the presence of trees makes you think you’re still on solid ground. But where the rising waters of the pond meet the lower slopes of the forest, tall wetland growth obscures an uneven surface.

Fallen logs are soon covered with mosses, wildflowers, and sedge, hiding dark pockets that were delightful places for small critters, no doubt, but could trap an unwary human foot.

As we drew closer to the pond, the trees gave way to open meadow; a network of sedge hummocks laced across open mudflats and shallow pools, equally treacherous afoot. Willows were lodged in the hummocks, aerial obstacles to complicate the trek, as we criss-crossed the area with an eye and ear out for the sudden movement or splash of a toad.

I hoped my observation skills were equal to the task, but it was Herp Pal who first called “Toad!” While Herp Pal expertly caught her subject, I hastened, but gingerly, over the hummocks to watch the proceedings.

Oh the indignity of it all!, you could almost hear friend Toad complaining. Snatched up, weighed, measured—a supreme violation of his person and privacy.

But ‘twas all for the cause of science and conservation; proof positive that he (and presumably some of his fellow toads) occupy this little paradise in a remote mountain drainage. The glove, by the way, is to prevent the spread of the chytrid fungus believed to be responsible for the decline in populations of Boreal Toads.

Minutes later, our subject was released unharmed, kicking as he swam away without a backward glance, only too happy to be rid of us.

Mission accomplished, we too headed for home and an overdue lunch!

(More photos follow after this brief pause for information. Download the 97-page Boreal Toad recovery plan: or find more info at the US Fish & Wildlife Service’s Boreal Toad page.)

Photos, (click to enlarge): A sapsucker excavated a distinctive pattern in the bark of one small tree. A star gentian nestled in the sedges in the wet forest above the meadow.

The close of another successful adventure left me with a touch of envy for Herp Pal's scenic subalpine "office"—we should all be so lucky! While she searched for toads with great dedication, I was distracted by the excellent beaver dam. So what else did we see that August day in 2006? Ah, that must await another post! Stay tuned.