My Nature Narratives are usually about Colorado, except for today, when I’ve decided to post this evocative photo taken in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains. My son took the photo on a camping trip shortly after his college graduation. It so perfectly matches what he wrote years ago as a 10-year-old, that I find I can no longer resist posting them together.

So, here’s my homage to exceptions – they are often beautiful surprises.

Sunset in the Sierras. Photo by Paul Goss

“The fire in the sky reflects in the shimmering mirror below. The silhouetted tree slips into burning coals. When the fire dies, wind sweeps up the ashes into the sky to hang for the rest of the night.”

The above quote was written by Paul Goss, during a 5th grade writing assignment.

At 4:50, a Spotted Towhee adds its three-note trills. Two more Towhees begin singing a few minutes later. 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 the sound stage to the House Finches and Towhees. It is barely light.

Mourning Dove (Photo credit: mizmak)

When I was growing up in Louisiana, I assumed that birds sang all year round. The sounds of cooing Mourning Doves and raucous Blue Jays are inseparable from my childhood memories. Then, when I was in my twenties and began birding with the Audubon Society in Colorado, I observed the unsettling fact that most birds only sing for about three months. April, May and June – the height of the breeding season – is the time to listen to the amazing variety of birdsongs. By the second week of July, most of the birds are silent. The Dawn Chorus has disbanded until spring comes round again.

Note:

International Dawn Chorus Day is now celebrated annually on the first Sunday of May. All around the globe, people will be rising early on May 6 to enjoy the birdsongs of dawn.

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.

At Garden of the Gods Park, the Niobrara Ridge is in the foreground, with Kissing Camels and Pikes Peak beyond.

Recently, on an unseasonably warm afternoon, I began hiking east from the Garden’s south parking lot toward Rock Ledge Ranch. Then, I turned southward to traverse the Niobrara Ridge trail, “prospecting” for some of the Park’s many natural treasures. Along the way, I narrowed my attention from the expansive views of the Park and Pikes Peak, to birds foraging in the piñon and juniper trees, to rocky remnants of ancient life.

Ammonite fossil and the author's hand

Scattered throughout the Niobrara’s fractured white limestone are fossils of marine animals. Upon close inspection of the white rocks, I discovered circular shapes of ammonite fossils, their rough outlines catching the sun’s rays and casting curved shadows. Ammonites were similar to today’s chambered nautilus and had coiled or straight shells to protect their soft bodies. The ammonite fossils and white limestone of the Niobrara Ridge reveal a time in Earth’s history when a vast seaway covered one-third of the North American continent, including all of Colorado.

Widening my focus from the rocks, I was immediately rewarded by the twisted shapes of the one-seed juniper trees. Their roots push between the fractured rocks of the Niobrara Ridge and somehow find enough moisture to survive. The tiny blue berries of the junipers are actually miniature pinecones, and are a favorite food of the gray townsend solitaire, a year-round bird of the foothills.

Intermixed with the juniper trees are fragrant piñon pines. Both the piñons and the junipers are drought-tolerant tree species that grow primarily in the American Southwest. After checking several piñon pinecones, I found a few nuts hidden within the cones. In Colorado Springs, these evergreen trees are at the northern edge of their growing range, so the piñon nuts are usually very small and dry, unlike the plump nuts found in piñons growing further south.

Piñon nut near center of resin-covered pinecone

The quiet of the afternoon was broken by birds gleaning insects from the piñon-juniper woodland. Blue-gray gnatcatchers, black-capped chickadees, and dark-eyed juncos were in small, separate flocks, softly calling as they flew from tree to tree. Soon, the natural treasures of the Niobrara Ridge will increase as migrating birds return and spring wildflowers bloom. And, I will return to look for them.

Notes:

All three photos by author Melissa Walker

For a trail map of Garden of the Gods Park, visit the following webpage – http://www.springsgov.com/units/parksrec/maps/pdfmaps/gogs-pg1.pdf

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

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

However, by 5:45am, a hazy shadow began to shroud the upper left curve of the moon. My husband and I were now at our viewing location at the entrance to Garden of the Gods Park. We watched in silence as the Earth’s shadow began to cloak the top half of the moon. The December dawn sky presented other treasures. Sirius, the brightest star in our sky, was setting behind the pale saddle of Gray Rock, and the bright stars of Gemini sparkled high overhead.

Eclipsing moon setting before dawn, Garden of the Gods

Just as the top half of the moon was beginning to take on a faint red glow, matching the reddish hues of the towering sandstone rocks of Garden of the Gods, the moon slipped below the mountains of the Rampart Range. In the stillness of dawn, we could hear a great-horned owl hooting in the distance.

Photo Credit: Thanks to my husband Les Goss for capturing this moment.

Image via Wikipedia

Over the years, I have seen the Garden of the Gods’ magnificent red rocks and Pikes Peak cloaked by the snows of winter and the thunderclouds of summer, and illuminated by the bright light of dawn and the last rays of sunset. But I have never seen a shadowed moon set behind the famous view of the red rocks and Pikes Peak.

The weather forecast for December 10 is clear, yet I don’t know exactly what time the moon will disappear behind the western mountains, or how soon the light of the rising sun will fade the colors of the eclipsed moon. But I will be up early and watching, as there is always something new to discover.

Note: to read about the last total eclipse in Colorado on December 20 – 21, 2010, please visit my blogs dated December 15, 2010 and December 21, 2010 entitled “Anticipating the Total Lunar Eclipse on December 21, 2010″ and “It’s Midnight and the Moon is Slipping into Earth’s Shadow.”

Photo Credits: Partial Lunar Eclipse via Wikipedia;  Garden of the Gods with Pikes Peak by Nature Narratives author Melissa Walker

For a couple of years, we tried to grow a pumpkin, carefully choosing the sunny side of the yard, but to no avail. This volunteer pumpkin took advantage of extra moisture near the compost, and quickly grew toward the direct sunlight on the east side of the house. Soon it spilled out into the aspen grove. The racing vine was an organic regatta with velvety sails for leaves.

By early October, one of the pollinated yellow flowers produced a perfectly round, green pumpkin about the size of a basketball. A different volunteer vine (that was almost identical to the pumpkin vine) produced decorative gourds that looked like miniature hot-air balloons.

Backyard Harvest

With the threat of 20-degree weather in mid-October, I harvested the green pumpkin and globe-shaped gourds. The gourds have decorated our kitchen for the last six weeks. The green pumpkin slowly ripened into a warm orange color, and now decorates our doorstep for Thanksgiving.

Photo: Ripening Pumpkin after first frost

Photos by Author, Melissa Walker

Scrub Jay with Acorn (Image via Wikipedia)

During fall, I have also watched scrub jays cache, or hide, seeds. When acorns develop on the scrub oak trees, the scrub jays go to work preparing for winter. A jay gathers an acorn, then flies to a particular location to cache it. Using its sturdy beak, the jay pushes the acorn into the ground, effectively storing it for future use, and inadvertently planting a tree.

Like ravens and magpies, jays are members of the crow family and have similar traits. All have raucous calls, tend to live in small family flocks and are considered among the most intelligent of birds. Scrub jays are easy to identify by their colors—blue head, tail and wings; light throat and breast; and gray back. Unlike crested Steller’s jays and blue jays, scrub jays have sleek heads.

The well-named scrub jays are most often found in scrub oak thickets in the foothills and are year-round avian residents of Colorado. It is only during the breeding season that the word “secretive” would describe this bird. For the rest of the year, the jay’s noisy call and flash of blue feathers herald its location.

(Photo via Wikipedia)