Colorado Nature Narratives

Most alpine forget-me-nots are blue, but some are white. Most scarlet tanagers are red, but a few are orange. Most ponderosa pines have three needles in a bunch, except the ones that have two.

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.

The bright, white Niobrara Ridge is one of the rock ramparts that seems to guard the eastern approach to Pikes Peak. The Ridge can be seen from almost anywhere in Colorado Springs and is a prominent feature in two of the city’s most spectacular places—Garden of the Gods Park and Red Rock Canyon Open Space.

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

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

You can learn a lot about birds just by watching them for a few minutes, and you might be surprised by what you see. One sunny winter morning when I was observing chickadees and juncos at Bear Creek Nature Center’s feeders, I also noticed three tiny mice eating seeds that had fallen to the ground. Then suddenly, a scrub jay swooped down and ate one of the mice! I was astounded! I had only seen the jays eat seeds and insects, and had no idea that they would eat a mouse.

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)

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.

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.

A Few Facts about Red-tailed Hawks:

Red-tailed Hawks have broad wings, 4-foot wingspans and rounded tails that enable them to catch rising currents of warm air. They ride these air currents, called thermals, to soar high in the sky on the lookout for prey.

From its “perch” in the sky, the hawk uses its phenomenal eyesight – eight times better than human sight—to spot a mouse scurrying on the ground one-half mile away. The red-tail then swoops down and grasps the mouse in its powerful talons. Other favorite foods of this bird-of-prey are squirrels, rabbits, large grasshoppers, and even an occasional snake.

Red-tailed Hawk

A mature Red-tailed Hawk is fairly easy to identify with its reddish tail feathers, and is one of the most common hawks in the Pikes Peak Region. Pairs of red-tails use the same territory and nesting area year after year, and usually mate for life.

In most areas of Colorado, you can see this impressive bird almost daily, year-round. In our cities’ open spaces, in the mountains and on the eastern prairies, Red-tailed Hawks are either soaring on the thermals and winds, or perching in tall trees and on fence posts, to survey the landscape for any movement by their unsuspecting prey.

Photo Credit: Thanks to my brother Winston Walker for his photo of the Red-tailed Hawk.

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