Coyote Ridge Open Space Preserve

Purple Owl's Clover with Goldfields

   Liam O'Brien, Lepidopterist, visited us at Coyote Ridge from San Francisco to lead a group of approximately forty hikers to roam the old mine roads for sightings of the rare and threatened Bay Checkerspot butterfly (and assorted others). We spotted the Boisduval's blue on some Lupine ovipositing her eggs. On this tour we also stopped in our tracks to watch a California ringlet. We spotted one Bay Checkerspot on some tidy tip blossoms. Liam described him as at the end of his brief imago days or "greased out."
   The day was breezy and sunny. Grasses bent in snakelike paths up the hillsides in the wind. A woman walking beside me called these wind-stroked undulations 'wolf whorls.' I have pondered this phenomenon in these foothills for many springs. It is like invisible snakes or great fingers stroking the earth's hair. The sight is both calming and restless: it gives body to the wind. At times we focused in on the face of one creamcup, blue-eyed grass blossom or a mixture of poppies and purple owl's clover in a small area. Other times we paused to take in whole hillsides watching the utterings of the wind.
   Purple needlegrass nodded and shone in the sunlight and breezes. These native bunch grasses have reddish purple lining their silky-looking narrow seedheads in the spring. There are all different grasses, and to learn to see between them is to learn our own history in this place. The splashy dizzying show of bright wildflowers teases us away from the soft stories whispering in grasses. Who will be the leader of the Grasses Walk? What is the professional title of a grass expert? I wonder if one will stand up and host a grass meander to teach us how the grasses here supported the humans, what lives in there and eats of it and more mysteries about the varied lives of grasses . . .

Purple needlegrasses dangled over wildflowers gently pointing our attention to poppies, goldfields, lupine, tidy tips, purple owls' clover and other flowers growing in their midst.
   White-tailed kites and kestrels hunted the gentle open grasslands. Meadowlarks hidden in tall grasses and among rocks made themselves known to one another in flutelike drifts of song. We were assorted friendly strangers sharing a leisurely walk hosted and organized by Santa Clara Valley Open Space Authority. We peered into the lives of butterflies learning from one of their champions, Liam O'Brien, who spends his days chasing them, studying them, painting them, saving them, and sharing his enthusiasm with the public in his loose, straightforward, humorous manner. Refer to his self-illustrated guidebook, "Butterflies of the Presidio." Or walk with him on one of his scheduled walks. There is nothing like being there, our feet in flowers and our eyes on butterflies. The story of the Bay Checkerspot, Euphydryas editha bayensis, is a window into wildlife conservation where we live. This subspecies of Euphydryas editha at present only survives in Santa Clara County foothills and Coyote Ridge is a core habitat area supporting its host plant, dwarf plantain, and thereby providing a foothold against its extinction. It's bad when the butterflies go away.
   It is April and even the cows are luminous and framed in flowers all around--black cows and calves strolling through goldfields. I stand staring at a cow and her calf all framed in bright gold, their coats like wet daubs of black paint in the sun.

Walk in Beauty

    Thick stands of Purple Owl's Clover below serpentine outcrops brings photographers to our knees; we zero in on their blushy numbers attempting over and over to catch their floral spirits with a click. Hundreds of little white eyes of the flower tucked in the plant's purple feathery bracts gaze back at us. After we go out the gate and back to our cars and descend into the city, the flowers still waver up there on Coyote Ridge. The California poppies shout. The little owl eyes in the Purple Owl's Clover look out. Needlegrasses nod. Meadowlarks sing the songs that if the blue sky could talk, would probably sound of meadowlark.

Wildflowers: You Have to Be There