Colorado Nature Narratives

Recently I read The River in Winter, a collection of essays by Stanley Crawford. The author describes the rhythms of life and seasonal changes on his northern New Mexico farm and in the natural land bordering his cultivated fields. He observes how people absorb knowledge of their natural world without even trying. Even if they don’t know the names of trees, birds or flowers, they will know which trees leaf out first, where a hawk likes to perch, where the first flower of spring will bloom.

Light green bark of aspen trees

I have found this to be true. Even as a little girl growing up in north Louisiana, I knew when to look for ripe blackberries, that one bird sang only at night, and I recognized the songs of many birds even though the birds remained nameless to me for a long time. Over the years, though, I began to pay more attention to the natural world and came to expect to be surprised by nature on almost every venture outside. Just yesterday in my Colorado Springs neighborhood, I saw a Merlin, a small falcon with dark plumage, for the first time in my life. It was perched in one of the tall cottonwood trees right across the street. And in our backyard, I noticed the faint green color of chlorophyll that shades the bark of aspen trees, and heard the two-note whistle of the Black-capped Chickadee, reminding me that the first day of spring is only 23 days away.

Image via Wikipedia

Photo Credit: Bark of Aspen Trees by Melissa Walker; Black-capped Chickadee from Wikipedia

On this frigid February 1st, our outdoor thermometer reads -9 degrees F. The backyard pond is frozen except for a three-foot circle of open water surrounding our circular pond heater. Overnight, a mix of light snow and sleet sprinkled the icy pond, creating a surface like frosted glass.

The smooth snow covering the front and backyard remains untracked all day. The usually active mammals – rabbits, squirrels, fox, deer and occasional bobcats – are nowhere to be seen. The only wildlife visible on this below zero day are birds, their feathers fluffed to trap extra air for insulation.

Cedar Waxwing photo by Winston Walker

Five American Robins fly to the pond in late morning, gathering around the small circle of water. After dipping their beaks into the water, they tilt their heads back to swallow. Soon, they are joined by two Cedar Waxwings, elegant winter visitors to our neighborhood. This is the first time I’ve seen them this year. With my binoculars, I note their sleek, gray feathers and back-swept crest. The Waxwings look like they are wearing a black mask and a cape hemmed in red, black and yellow threads.

This brief glimpse of winter’s Cedar Waxwings reminds me of Henry David Thoreau’s quote, “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.”

Photo Credit: Thanks to my brother Winston Walker for his beautiful photo of the Cedar Waxwing perched on a Crab Apple branch.

Ten months ago in one of my first blogs, I used a quote from my favorite nature writer Ann Zwinger. The year 2010 marked the 40th anniversary of her classic natural history book, Beyond the Aspen Grove, still my favorite. I chose my nature blog’s tagline “always something new to discover” from Ann’s words:

Beginning to know these mountain acres has been to discover a puzzle with a million pieces already set out on a table. Occasionally a few pieces fit together and we gain another awareness of the land’s total pattern of existence, of its intricate interdependencies, enhanced by knowing that the puzzle will never be completed. There will always be something new to discover… (From Chapter 1, Beyond the Aspen Grove)

As I write today, a snowstorm has settled over Colorado Springs and every shape outside my window is now etched in white. With 2010 drawing to a close, I am reflecting on the turning seasons of this year and thought I’d share a few of my favorite Colorado discoveries with you, with homage to Ann Zwinger.

Sandhill Cranes and Sunset, Sangre de Cristo Mountains, late winter

Northern Flicker, late winter

Bobcat with two of her four kittens, late spring

Alpine Tundra Wildflowers: Alpine Forget-Me-Nots and Dwarf Clover on the west slope of Pikes Peak, mid-summer

Golden aspen leaves paint the mountainsides in autumn

Snow-covered Backyard with pond, aspen trees and tall stalks of teasel, early winter

Happy New Year!

Photo Credits: Cranes, Bobcats, Wildflowers, Aspen and Pond by Melissa Walker; Flicker by Les Goss

Late in the afternoon on September 10, volunteers and friends met in Garden of the Gods Park in Colorado Springs to observe the White-throated Swifts and their sunset flight behavior. The fast-flying birds are one of the reasons that the Garden of the Gods is a National Natural Landmark, as the Park is one of the largest summer and migratory roosting sites for the White-throated Swifts along the Rocky Mountain Front Range.

When our group gathered on the west side of North Gateway Rock, the Swifts were flying so high overhead that they were difficult to see without binoculars. Then, as the sun sank lower toward the horizon, the Swifts lowered their circular flight pattern over the Park’s Central Garden area. We could hear the birds twittering as they flew in wide circles near their roosting sites. Then, as the sun dipped behind Pikes Peak, the Swifts began to funnel into a long crack on the west side of the Tower of Babel in North Gateway Rock, their primary roosting site. It took about ten minutes for the Swifts to disappear into the large rock crevice and smaller roosting sites nearby.

Swifts flying at sunset, Garden of the Gods

In 2009, I observed that the Swifts migrated on September 23, just before a cold front brought snow to the foothills. This year, Lenore Fleck watched for the Swifts’ departure. On September 25, 2010, she wrote, “No change in weather, still warm and dry. Yesterday, the Swifts were circling at six-o’clock. Today, silent skies.”

The Swifts migrated to the southwest border of the United States and farther south into Mexico where they will find abundant flying insects to sustain them through the winter. At the Garden of the Gods, we will be watching for the Swifts to return in early April as they complete another full circle of their annual migration journey.

Swift Rescued

This fall, Haleigh Shafer, Garden of the Gods Park Intern, rescued a White-throated Swift that she found lying in the Visitor Center parking lot. Before the bird was transported to a wildlife rehabilitation center, Haleigh took several photos. In this photo, note how the bird’s folded wings are longer than its tail. The Swift’s wingspan is 15 inches and its body is only 6.5 inches. The photo shows how small a Swift really is, about the size of a cell phone, yet it migrates hundreds of miles every fall and spring.

Swift rests next to cell phone

Photo Credits:
Swifts flying next to North Gateway Rock by Dave Meyers.
Swift resting next to cell phone by Haleigh Shafer.

Morning rays of sunlight filter through our backyard aspen trees and the woodbine vine that decorates my window. The backlit red and gold leaves of the woodbine transform the window into stained glass. The woodbine (also called Virginia creeper) is at the peak of its autumn glory.

Autumn Window View

The brilliant fall colors lure me outside for a short walk. The air is brisk and I zip up my jacket. Almost everywhere I look, garlands of red woodbine encircle the trees and shrubs of the neighborhood.

During this year’s warm summer, the sun-seeking woodbine vine used our house as a trellis and quickly grew toward the light. The vine’s tendrils attached to vertical walls and window glass and soon the east side of our house looked like an arbor, covered with green leaves and tiny green berries. One afternoon I discovered a tenacious vine that had crept toward the south side of the house and had clasped our windchime with its tendrils. I quickly released the “captured” chime.

Red Garlands of Woodbine

Although woodbine isn’t native to Colorado, it has adapted well to the forested and irrigated urban landscapes of the Front Range. Many native birds now use woodbine for food and shelter. Robins build nests in the vine’s leafy bower and Northern Flicker woodpeckers devour the ripe blue berries.

Returning home from my autumn walk with the day now warming up, I open the vine-covered window. I hear the staccato drums of the Coronado High School Marching Band practicing on the football field about a half-mile away. Now my window sounds like autumn, too.

Ripe blue berries

Photo Credits: All three photos by Melissa Walker

Suddenly, it’s autumn.

The currant, aspen and sumac leaves have turned shades of gold and red, and most of the late-blooming wildflowers are hues of purple and yellow. But to me, the color blue best captures the feelings of this season of transition.

A hike in a foothills’ meadow reveals dozens of blue gentians, their deep corollas offering nectar to September’s remaining bumblebees.

Blue Gentian

The Mountain Bluebird is the color of Colorado’s autumn sky. In my imagination, I see a bluebird fly so high that it brushes against the dome of the sky, sweeping up the blue color with its wings.

The bluebirds will soon vanish, winging their way southward on their fall migration. The gentians will soon set seed and become dormant until next year. My shadow looks long and blue, and I can feel and see the season change.

Colorado's September Sky

Photo Credits:
Blue Gentian and September Sky by Melissa Walker
Mountain Bluebird from Wikipedia – Public Domain

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days…

Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten…

by poet James Russell Lowell (1819 – 1891)

Wild Iris (by Winston Walker)

Northern Flicker tends nest in Cottonwood Tree

Cottonwood seeds blowing in the wind

It is 4:30 in the morning and the strong voices of the American Robins are already carrying the melody of a new spring day. The nearest birdsong seems amplified as if the Robin is singing into a microphone while dozens of other Robins blend their harmonies throughout the neighborhood.

At 4:50, a Spotted Towhee adds its three-note trills. Two more Towhees awake and sing at 5:10. The pre-dawn sky is beginning to lighten. I hear a train’s long, sorrowful whistle in the far distance. As if prompted by the train, a Mourning Dove begins cooing at 5:16, immediately echoed by another Dove. At 5:22, a Chickadee contributes its “dee-dee-dee” and a Crow its “caw-caw-caw.” By 5:30, the beginning movement of the Dawn Chorus is concluding as the Robins yield Nature’s sound stage to the House Finches and Towhees. It is barely light.

Pre-dawn Sky

If a loud rustling sound in the scrub oak thicket startles you, chances are that you’ve heard a Spotted Towhee rather than a large animal. This colorful bird hops into the air and scratches in the leaves with both feet at the same time, using this noisy method to find seeds and insects to eat.

Since the Towhee is a year round resident of Colorado, alert walkers and hikers have many opportunities to see this native bird. The Towhee is easy to identify with a black head, white breast, rust-colored sides, and white spots on its wings. It is a little smaller than a Robin.

Spotted Towhee at Chico Basin Bird Banding Station

In spring and early summer, the male Towhee announces its territory by perching on the highest branch of a scrub oak tree or neighborhood shrub and sings the same song over and over. The Towhee was named for its repetitive song, a trilling “tow, tow, heeeee.”  Spotted Towhees are actively singing now, so listen for their trilling songs every morning. And any time of year, you may hear the Towhee rustling up “dinner” in the dry leaves.

After seeing a bobcat in our backyard, the next morning I watched the aspen grove outside our window, hoping to see the elusive cat again. Clouds obscured the sun and blustery winds still held winter’s chill. Our rain gauge measured a quarter-inch of rain from overnight showers. Observing the backyard from the comfort of my house was a luxury. At midday, my vigilance was rewarded – but not with a bobcat. Instead, a Great Blue Heron graced our landscape.

Great Blue Heron in backyard pond

Standing knee-deep at the edge of the pond, the regal bird cautiously surveyed its surroundings but never seemed secure enough to strike at one of the fish. At times when the heron was motionless, it seemed to disappear behind the dried flower stalks. After a few minutes, the stately visitor gathered up its wings and flew away.

Fortunately, the heron stayed long enough for my husband Les Goss to capture it on video. To watch a two-minute video of “our” heron surveying the area, then flying away, visit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCUzLDAYFHQ.

Heron wading in backyard pond

According to Ken Pals, park naturalist at Fountain Creek Nature Center, there are at least four heron rookeries in El Paso County, Colorado. The closest rookery (collection of nests) to our backyard pond is located six miles away. The nests are in tall cottonwood trees along Fountain Creek, near the intersection of Interstate 25 and South Nevada Avenue. The herons must not be too bothered by the traffic as they have successfully nested near the Interstate for several years. They usually return to the same trees every spring. Perhaps the heron will return to our backyard pond this spring or summer for a more successful “fishing trip.”
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