Ulistac Natural Area (Blogpost the Fourth)

Oak Woodland in Ulistac Natural Area, Santa Clara

   I entered this urban open space from Lick Mill Boulevard and looked skyward over the grasslands at the opera of contending hawks. Soon my path weaved into Ulistac Natural Area's Bird and Butterfly Garden and I began gathering seeds from shrubs, native grasses, and wildflowers for a local school visit the Site Director, Dennis Dowling, and volunteers are hosting this month. Sample gathering is not permitted except by agreement with professors, classroom teachers and when carried out by volunteers for the nonprofit UNAREP's scheduled events. I will be helping out with an introductory activity about plant adaptations for seed dispersal. I had some seeds on my bureau but still needed to add fresh ones and take a closer look at varieties of plant adaptation featured by the many California natives at this restoration and education project.
   The Christmas Berry, or Toyon, is in full fruit in December and January (http://www.laspilitas.com/nature-of-california/plants/339--heteromeles-arbutifolia). This California native shrub is integral to the survival of winter bird populations and vice versa (http://baynature.org/article/ask-the-naturalist-how-important-are-all-those-red-berries-we-see-to-the-winter-food-chain/). Let their shining bundles of red berries draw you in for some close up bird watching. The Bay Nature article has a lovely close-up of a Cedar Waxwing relishing a berry.

Fruit of the Toyon

I started with these robust and ripe bundles growing just below the Guadalupe River Trail's levee while a Mockingbird monitored my collecting. Some of the birds here are accustomed to visitors and when we weed out nonnatives long enough to blend into the Coyote Brush, Big Saltbush and other brambles, the Scrub Jays, California Towhee, Sparrows, Mockingbirds and others venture rather close as they carry on their daily  routines heedless of our presence. Certain birds like the Towhee seem to recognize that weeding = seeds and as soon as I stand and back away from the spot, in they come to throw dirt around and feed. They're sociable until you aim a camera at them. The hummingbirds, too, will zoom in especially if you are near their California Fuchsia or spraying with the hose (recycled water). These tiny yet bold birds frolic in a water spray as children do at city fountains. I have been eye to eye with hummingbirds while watering their territories. Fence lizards also seem to have adjusted to our presence. One can play the Freeze Game with them on sunny summer afternoons

Fan of the Fruit of the Toyon

  As I gathered a few rosehips from California Wildrose, its foliage drew my eye with its apricot and yellow jagged leaves . . . Some of the red rosehips still shine on the tangled rosebushes
providing wildlife forage through winter.

California Rose Leaves with Ceanothus

   There were sparrows and California Towhees all around me. The sparrows appeared larger and rounder than they do in summer puffed up with winter down. The Towhees lost themselves in the arms of bare buckeye limbs or skipped and ducked under large mounds of Purple and Cleveland Sage. They have made secret bird tunnels into the sages which hide them entirely from people and assure them quick cover from predators. During springtime the shrubbery sings and whistles. Small areas wiggle with motions of bird family life.
   Ceanothus is a violet evergreen with a subtle show of autumn blossom. I gathered a handful of Narrow-leafed Milkweed from the last of the pods. Bright white hairs with their seed at the tips were plastered to the ground after a night of rain. The plants stood shaggily with stiff white fluff sticking to the stems. It has been wonderful and restorative for me to be able to grow with this inspired and inspirational place through many seasons. The native grasses, flowers, shrubs and trees are all telling the story of life out there in beautiful shapes, textures, fragrances and colors. 

Blogpost the Third Coyote Valley continued

   This talkative and willing subject, a Yellow-billed Magpie (http://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/yellow-billed-magpie) pulled grub out from soil accumulated on top of boulders on a serpentine rock outcropping. This bird's range is 500 miles from north to south and 150 miles wide only in California. Its relative, the Black-billed Magpie lives in western North America as well as Europe, Asia, and North Africa.

Yellow-billed Magpie

Family Corvidae

He chattered to himself about all the insects he turned up on top of these soggy perches. Western Meadowlarks (Sturnella neglecta) pecked seed and sang near the horse trailer lot. They are plain like female mallards until you see flashes of their yellow bellies or watch their fan-like tails edged in white as they land.
    Two impressions stand out for me today. One is that no matter how drab the day, moss seems to glow with its own inner light. . .I'll bet you a botanist could spell out the whys and hows of moss's magical glow.
     The second impression I pulled the truck over at the Spino Farm
Stand to jot down: Life cannot always be bunched buttercups and pink frosted cupcakes baked just this morning. I was thinking about worms and mushrooms and layers of wet leaves. I was also starting to get hungry because as I worked with the metaphor I stuck peculiarly to the pink frosting.

Coyote Valley Open Space Preserve; Arrowhead Trail (Blogpost the Third)

Fisher Creek 

   Fisher Creek is a seasonal creek which flows through Coyote Valley. It has been raining all week and will rain some more so it was a great day to listen to the creek rush down the hillsides. Hints of spring growth like the feathered leaves of yarrow and the lacy leaves of California poppy sprout among the miner's lettuce. Moss and lichen lined the trees and rocks like snow does around this time in places farther north.

Various mushrooms ruffled out of fallen tree limbs or grew up from mossy mats hugging the creek's stones. Pictured is Stereum hirsutum which grows on fallen oaks. Mushroom scholars what say you?

Stereum hirsutum (Hairy Curtain Crust)

     I lingered a spell at the creek poking among the grasses and weeds, then climbed back up to Arrowhead Trail watching little groups of Dark-eyed Juncos and Sparrows of indeterminate lineage. I love the endless detail of birding, but I draw the line for myself at sparrows. If they help me with wonderful, stark crown stripes I may view from a distance that is one thing; however, if they are all going to just hop and merge and switch places like a roomful of kindergartners, then I throw up my hands and trek on. "Sparrow TBD," perhaps by a more painstaking birder.
  Up at the first bench overlooking Tilton Ranch and the large squares of farmland below, I watched small groupings of Yellow-rumped Warblers and Western bluebirds in the skinny Valley oaks. Somewhere nearby I could hear a few nuthatches lurching up the tree trunks and woodpeckers. There was a hawk or two hunting among all the little birds I tried to espy. Scrub jays and Stellars jays screeched and carried acorns from spot to spot.
   Admittedly, at first I did not want to venture out. "But, what about your Public?" cried my conscience or my inner handler. Without an excursion I would not have material for the next blog. I did not want to have my new endeavor dissipate while we are still only in the first week of 2017. I have not only myself to consider as I might writing in a paper journal in my bedroom. Part of what unstuck me from my messy room and unswept stairs and love affair with malingering in my pajamas was not wanting to leave you, whoever you might be, in front of blank pages. I am glad I have a public which doesn't care whether I comb my hair or match my socks. With ice storms in Maryland (my brother's place) and temperatures well below freezing in Montana (cousin Robin), I did not feel I could put forth excuses against braving some wet grass.
   One of the first things I encountered on Heart's Delight Trail near the parking lot was this gross worm tying itself in a knot. It could very well be a horsehair worm though I can't say I am up on my worms these days.

Nearby English elms

                                                       

   Winter walk at dusk,

   naked elms hold fingers high

   feeling for the drops.

 "Blogpost the First"

   My younger brother challenged me to start a nature-walking blog with photographs for the new year, 2017. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve and willow, cottonwood, and sycamore along the Los Gatos Creek Trail hold aloft their last autumn leaves in yellow. Today I hear all around me the zip zip chirree chirree of Annas hummingbirds.
   Now in my late forties, my "depressive realism" shows me that, indeed, a lot of people are having a lot more fun in more brochure-worthy surroundings than I am. Their coffee is frothier; their peaks are higher; their teeth are gleamier and their shots are crowded with smiling family, partners, friends and other people wearing better sweaters and seemingly all really excited about something. A lot of my shots frame a leaf or a bird or a tree, sometimes a stone: A good majority are unpeopled.

Many of my walks are humble, close to home routes taken and retaken. If I can place myself within these walks in the moment, then they always reveal new things both within and around me.
   I am able to join myself in this walk looking down at the Los Gatos Creek at coots and mallards and screens of treetops without the pain of those I believe to be missing. Who should walk beside me? Who in my life would enjoy this walk and with whom am I anxious to share these paths? These are the types of distracting thoughts which beset me in my thirties. They would take me out of place and make even the now feel like lost experience. Many trees are stripped down to the bones fragmenting the clear sky.

 I think of calling a few friends back because I will be doing that more often this year. We all need other people; to fight this need is to fight one's own nature. I need the clamor of others. Merry-go-rounds have just never been a solitary activity. One boy stands dead center in the circle trying not to move or stumble and surrounded by laughing and shouting assorted children.

You can try to ride it alone, but it is cumbersome, too tiring. One has to perform too many roles. You hear the grinding of the gears. My year has ended untidily with lots of smears, blurs, and things as yet unreached. My days have turned up unsuitable for the sonnet but I can still sing my song.