Colorado Nature Narratives

Each day comes bearing its own gifts – untie the ribbons.

Anonymous

Sand Lilies bloom after recent spring rains

This week I hiked on the meadow trail of Bear Creek Nature Center to look for early spring wildflowers. March was so dry in Colorado Springs that I knew their blooming would be delayed. Finally, on April 11, an overnight thunderstorm brought much needed moisture to our beleaguered flowers. Along the trail and in the meadow grasses, the sand lilies were thriving. Their slender ribbon-like leaves and translucent white petals contrasted with the angular hardness of the granite gravels.

Other wildflowers I saw were a few pale lavender Pasque flowers, light yellow Silvery Bladderpods, tiny pink Spring Beauties, and bold yellow Dandelions. Even though the wildflowers weren’t plentiful, they seemed especially beautiful as the first flowers of spring.

On this gray February day, I find my mind’s eye drifting to colorful images of summer—scarlet red Indian Paintbrush blooming along a mountain trail, pink wild roses lighting up an aspen grove, and a green snake….

Wild Roses

A smooth green snake. That is what took me totally by surprise last June. It was side-winding across a shady trail in North Cheyenne Cañon in southwestern Colorado Springs. I have hiked in Colorado since I was a little girl and had never seen a snake like this. My first thought was, “Did it escape from the nearby Cheyenne Mountain Zoo?”

Opheodrys vernalis: Smooth Greensnake (Photo credit: Todd W Pierson)

Later in the day I searched the Colorado Division of Wildlife’s website and quickly found the snake. Its actual name was “smooth green snake,” the same words I had used to describe the unexpected reptile to my unbelieving friends.

The website described the snake’s range and habitat as “the northeastern United States with only isolated populations in the western and south-central U.S.; typically inhabits lush growths of vegetation along mountain and foothill streams on the east side of the Continental Divide.” Obviously, North Cheyenne Cañon is the perfect Colorado habitat for this isolated population of green reptile ribbons. Now I hope to see another one – summer is only three months away.

Photo Credits: Wild Roses by author Melissa Walker; Smooth Green Snake by Todd W. Pierson

With only three days left of 2011, I decided to look back through my Nature Narrative postings. The articles and photos depict many treasures of nature that were discovered throughout the year. I hope you will enjoy this sampler from 2011′s Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall, and I wish you a Happy New Year filled with nature’s treasures.

Winter

On this frigid February 1st, the 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.

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. 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.”

Spring

Late this afternoon I took a short walk through our neighborhood park. Except for the sound of the brisk March wind, it was very quiet. As I headed south into the stiff breeze, I zipped up my hooded jacket and cinched the hood tighter. I noted very little bird activity. Perhaps they had sought shelter from the wind, just as I had for most of the day.

When I turned northward, with the wind at my back, I pushed back my hood just in time to catch sight of a majestic bird that seemed to revel in the wind. A Red-tailed Hawk was soaring about 200 yards above me. With its wingtips outstretched, it faced directly into the rushing wind, buoyed by the moving air with no need to flap its wings. The motionless hawk seemed suspended from the blue sky by an invisible thread. Then, with a slight turn, it became an untethered kite and flew out of sight.

Summer

This is one of those autumns when the beauty of the aspen trees is unforgettable. The aspen look like ribbons of gold hemming the steep mountain slopes, tracing the streams that meander down to the valleys. Or, like shining quilts blanketing the hillsides. My favorite description of autumn aspen is by naturalist Ann Zwinger who writes:

Fall comes at its own pace in this grove. Protected by surrounding ridges, these trees may not turn until the first week in October. All in a few days they become fired with blazing light, a torch holding back the winter frosts.

On a Thursday they are still green; on a Sunday, they are golden. The leaves range from citron to copper, saffron to gilt, glowing with light.

Aspen Grove, Autumn 2011

They shower down with each gust of coming winter, buttering the still-blooming lupine, catching the purple asters and the last black-eyed Susans. The mahogany-red rose bushes snag them. The juniper waylays them in needled branches, holding them upright in a card file of autumn….

Purple Asters

The sweet musty smell of fall is…a fragrance of aspen dust and honey and sunshine. The silence is soft and warm and full, between intermittent rustlings of gold tissue-paper, wrapping up the glow of summer.

By Ann Zwinger, from Chapter 5 of her book Beyond the Aspen Grove

Fallen Aspen Leaf

Photos by Melissa J. Walker

Late summer—still and quiet. Such a change from midsummer when the natural world took advantage of the longest days of the year. Just a few weeks ago, robins constantly patrolled the grass looking for food for their hungry nestlings, and spotted towhees seemed to sing all day long. Now, all the nestlings have grown up, and the birds no longer wake us up before dawn with their bubbly songs. Though warm weather still lingers, the change in bird behavior signals that summer days are fleeting and fall is already beginning.

Yellow and purple are the colors of late summer and early autumn. Traces of yellow are emerging in the deep green leaves of summer. Dotting the hillsides of the foothills are two late-blooming wildflowers—bright yellow Golden Aster and purple Blazing Star. Although they look quite different, they are actually in the same Composite flower family, commonly called the Sunflower family.

Blazing Star

A close look at the Blazing Star reveals that several tiny purple flowers are crowded together like a tight bouquet and bound by pale green sepals. These compacted “composite” flower heads attract many pollinating bees and other insects. The seeds will soon set before colder temperatures bring autumn’s first frost.

As I walk slowly through the wild edges of our open space park, I am contemplating these changes and transitions. Then, a flickering shadow shades my eyes and patterns my sleeve. For a moment, I am in the shadow of a butterfly. For only a moment.

Swallowtail Butterfly. Photo by Winston Walker

Photo Credits: Blazing Star photo by author. 2nd photo: in appreciation to my brother Winston Walker for the Swallowtail Butterfly photo he took yesterday, not yet knowing the topic of my article.

On June 7^th, I took a short trip to Rocky Mountain National Park to see some of my favorite mountains sparkling white, wearing this year’s unusually high snowpack. Trail Ridge Road finally opened on June 6^th, its latest opening in 20 years, with 30-foot snow drifts covering parts of the alpine highway.

Long’s Peak at 14,259 feet towered over the Estes Park Valley and the blue jewel of Lily Lake. Every summer, I take a wildflower hike on the lake’s circular trail. This early in June, I was treated to a return to Spring. Light lavender Pasque flowers that bloomed in April in Colorado Springs were in full bloom on the west side of the lake. Scattered beneath the Ponderosa Pine trees was the largest natural garden of Pasque flowers I’d ever seen.

Long's Peak, June 7, 2011

The higher elevation of Estes Park, cooler temperatures and ample precipitation provided the perfect environment for these wildflowers to bloom a few weeks later than in the foothills. That’s one of the extra benefits of living in Colorado. You can follow Spring up the mountainsides.

Pasque Flowers at Lily Lake

Pasque Flower Close-up

Lily Lake and the Mummy Range

Photo Credits: all three photos by Nature Narratives author Melissa Walker

When I first moved to Colorado Springs, I was an 18-year-old college student. More than anything else about that first year, I remember the thrill of waking up every morning and looking out at Pikes Peak. My parents saved the letters I wrote that fall, letters full of long descriptions about the clear, crisp weather, the sky that always seemed to be blue, and the new snowfall on the tops of the mountains.

Having grown up comfortably enveloped in the hardwood and pine forests of Louisiana, I simply felt different in Colorado. I felt as tall as any tree as I gazed out at the expansive horizon. Views of horizons were new to me.

Here in this place, I could see where I wanted to go. I wanted to go around Cheyenne Mountain to see what was on the other side. I wanted to explore the upended rocks of Garden of the Gods. I wanted to climb Pikes Peak.

Then, I found that wherever I went in the Pikes Peak Region, I could see where I had been. On top of Mt. Cutler, I could see my dorm back on campus. On top of Pikes Peak, I could see the cottonwood trees marking Fountain Creek’s path to the Arkansas River—a river that eventually met the Mississippi and flowed through my home state. Like so many before me, I was captivated by this place. Now it is my home.

In the ensuing years, I have discovered that alongside this Region’s stunning beauty are unforgettable stories of its people; inseparable from its beauty are its native plants and wildlife; and the foundations of its beauty are its rocks, canyons, mountains and horizons.

Pikes Peak on the Horizon & Indian Paintbrush

Photo by Author Melissa Walker

Dry, dry, dry and windy sums up the weather in Colorado Springs for the last two months. During March and April, we usually have over a foot of snow. This year, we have had only a dusting. I went on a short hike last week at Bear Creek Nature Center to look for my favorite spring wildflower – the Pasque flower. The trails showed few signs of spring – it has been so dry. Finally, I found two pale Pasque flowers beginning to bloom on a shady slope. They had pushed through a brittle layer of last year’s scrub oak leaves.

Pasque Flowers and Oak Leaves

Later that day, my brother called from Steamboat Springs, Colorado, to describe how migrating birds are beginning to arrive in his snow-filled part of the state. He sent a photo of a Sandhill Crane struggling to walk on snow and of a Mountain Bluebird perched on snow. The birds are having a difficult time finding any bare ground. He described Steamboat Springs’ weather for the last two months as “snow, snow, snow and more snow.” This week, the Steamboat Springs Pilot newspaper reports that the area still has 15 feet of snow on nearby Buffalo Pass and over 9 feet on Rabbit Ears Pass. My brother reports that he has over two feet of snow in his yard in town.

Sandhill Crane Walking through Snow

Mountain Bluebird Perched in Snow

How could our weather be so different? Colorado Springs is in a rain shadow, a phenomenon of mountain weather patterns. Colorado Springs is on the east slope of Colorado’s mountains, and Steamboat Springs is nestled against the northwest side of the mountains. When the moisture-laden Pacific storms reach Colorado’s northwestern mountains, the winds push the storms up the crest of the mountains, where the moisture condenses in the cold air and falls as snow.

By the time the storms blow to the east side of the mountains 100 miles away, the clouds have often released all their moisture, leaving Colorado’s Front Range cities and eastern prairies “high and dry.” Also, this spring’s weather is a continuation of the La Niña pattern where most of the snowstorms are tracking across Colorado’s northern mountains (according to the Natural Resources Conservation Service).

Fortunately, as of this week, rain showers are finally bringing some moisture to Colorado Springs. And eventually, warmer days will bring an end to Steamboat Springs’ snow – at least for this year.

Photo Credits:

Thanks to my brother Winston Walker for his photos of the Sandhill Crane and Mountain Bluebird

Pasque Flowers by author Melissa Walker

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

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