Honeybees, Rosemary and Art

Here in the high desert, rosemary grows well in our dry alkaline soil. Sunny warm days have kept this tough little herb in full bloom, and hundreds of honeybees are taking full advantage today.

I wonder if their honey will have a hint of turpentine?
Will it be dark or light?

A conversation with a beekeeper last weekend reminded me how amazing these creatures are. As a batik artist, I have used many pounds of beeswax over the past thirty years. It is interesting to contemplate whether or not someone is harvesting the honey from bees in my garden, and whether I might be buying beeswax created from my own rosemary.

Cranes, golden cottonwoods and fairies

The sharp cobalt sky is filled with the churble of sandhill cranes, heading down to the Bosque del Apache as the high country peaks are showing white.

Our best season lazes on: frost clips the late blossoms, while afternoons warm south walls. The house is downright toasty, thanks to the sun. Furnace still not needed.

A western screech owl has been roosting in the summer house for several weeks, and the resulting owl pellets have been of interest to me and my five-year old grandson. Mouse bones are so tiny.

We recently spent a magical afternoon as he built a house for the fairies, tearing tiny placemats and a tablecloth from rags and carefully hanging mistletoe from the roof.

He assures me fairies like mistletoe.

Tiny stone seats were placed with care around a rock table. Periwinkle petals provided exquisite decor, and a good sheet metal roof supported a rag flag, on which he had drawn a flower and bumblebee.

We're certain the fairies approved.

Spotted Towhees and Robins

This morning the season officially changed with the arrival of several spotted towhees at the feeder. One of the most colorful winter residents, these little orange, black and white sparrows are never so plentiful as to be a problem (as the robins can be) so they are always welcome.

During a dry winter, flocks of robins crowd our small pond and befoul it, endangering the goldfish. One February we arrived home after leaving our house with a sitter for ten days. The pond water was purple, and two dozen dead fish floated like fall aspen leaves. The robins were so thick that it was hard to think of them as symbols of spring cheer!

As a kid I raised a robin fledgling that had been caught by our cat. I will always recognize the call. Named Cheep-cheep by my little brother, she grew quickly and learned to fly, but always had one wing feather that went at an odd angle due to the cat's claws. She would swoop down and land on my head, then poop. When she was grown we took her with us on a week-long vacation to a nearby state park. Every day we would let her out, then let her into the cabin at night if she would come to us. By the time we left she had taken up with some other robins.

That was in the misty Blue Ridge mountains; this is the Southwest high desert. A very different life for a robin, where life depends on finding water. And since I choose to provide it, guess I can't blame them for showing up in excess.

Kinda like our own species: always able to recognize a good thing, then overusing it to the point of destruction.

Death of a young bobcat

Sad to find one of the bobcat kittens dead down the hill this morning. Probably dead a day or two; wounds on its back point to a possible owl attack.

Could also have been a coyote or male bobcat. We don't have stray dogs in the neighborhood, so probably a wild predator.

It was larger than a big house cat, but not grown, maybe twenty pounds.

We haven't seen the mother again either. Buried it under the juniper where it died.

Dark of the moon, owl and coyote

Wakened this morning about 2 AM by an owl. Oddly, I had just been listening to sounds of different owls last night on the 'net. We have seen screech owls in the yard, but this was a great horned owl, for sure.

Fell back asleep to the soft calls, then woke just before six to hear them again. It was close... probably in the dead tree just east of the house. Allowing for Daylight "Savings" Time, it was a bit more than an hour before daybreak.

Last night was the dark of the moon; we are three days before the fall equinox. More calls-- there! we spotted it. Silhouetted against the early eastern dawn sky, perched right on top of the tallest trunk, peering around and calling.

Then a coyote barked, just on the other side of the fence, maybe 30 feet from the owl. They exchanged remarks for awhile, until about 6:30 the owl flew off to the northwest. My friend lives in an arroyo over that way, and reports such a creature in residence there.

No more sounds from Mr. coyote. Safe to let the Lab out? She's ready to go.

Glad we left the tall tree trunks standing; the idea was to carve them with figures to watch over us, like totem poles. Living, they were beautiful Balm of Gileads, giving shade and habitat for orioles and blackbirds. It was very sad when they died, but they are still beautiful in death.

"There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the wounded soul..."

God's dog at my gate

Coyote packs in mad cacophony have always been part of life here; they typically sound off in the wee hours, presumably in pursuit of a jackrabbit or cottontail. It is not unheard of to spot a lone skulker on the nearby Forest Service lands during the day.

But today around noon we were startled by a sudden yipping-yapping-yelping right in the middle of the dirt road by our driveway, hardly 50 feet from the front door.

Our black Lab sprang to the front window to answer the challenge. The coyote continued to bark, and seemed interested in something in the muddy road.

Was he baiting the Lab? Was he hoping our plump "indoor" cat was sunning on the porch? I wonder. Well he knows which dogs live where in his territory. And who has chickens, outdoor cats, bird feeders, lily ponds...

I think back to the night we spent out in sleeping bags in Southern Arizona about 1970, sans tent, trying to stretch our $25/day museum per diem. All night we heard the wailing coyotes... not much sleep, all the better to enjoy the bright stars that stretched to infinity.

Nowadays we have the luxury of a house and warm bed, yet the howling chorus is a reminder of the wild that still exists on the other side of threshold and window pane.

Thank You Mother.

Supporting the local economy

Yesterday I went to a golden wedding anniversary for friends.

As I unloaded the dishwasher just now, I realized that there is not a day when I don't think of them. Why? Because my kitchen is full of their beautiful handiwork: bowls, small plates, pitchers, serving platters... they are gifted and generous potters, whose work is both useful and aesthetically pleasing. Every time I make a sandwich or soup I remember our friendship. The handmade tiles in part of the backsplash came from them as well.

We redid our kitchen over the past few years (still ongoing) and it is filled with similar memories: the alder cabinets were designed and made by my skilled brother-in-law; the glass in the upper doors was cut by artist friends who do amazing prisms and stained glass crafts; the rest of the backsplash is the work of a local builder who combined materials we already had in an original and unique way.

I look up at the latillas in our ceiling, and remember that our builder had his two young sons helping with the installation 34 years ago. Both "boys" are now well-established builders today, and our families are still friends.

Our lives have been enriched by knowing countless artists and craftspeople due to my many years of doing shows, and as I look at our paintings, sculptures, and weavings, I see their faces. Even our wooden spoons have a story, involving a fierce storm at a show in Pittsburgh.

And our yard is filled with plants from friends who were dividing their own; those are the ones that grow best. A 20 foot apricot tree volunteered from a seed in the compost pile after friends invited us to pick fruit over 30 years ago.

Perhaps someday a new owner will wonder who carved the front door (it was me) and why we used soapstone for kitchen counter tops (we went to the quarry near my childhood home in Virginia and brought back stone quarried over 100 years ago).

May this community always be filled with creative people and may their neighbors continue to nurture them.

Ants, mice and bears, Oh My!

Just back home from a week in a mountain cabin in Colorado.

First discovery: the cats had killed a mouse and left it for us in the bedroom. No sign of any more, but as the weather cools the cats will doubtless earn their keep.

Second problem: orderly rows of ants are marching across the kitchen counters, up the wall, and into the heating vent. There was no food left on the counters, mind you, so there seems to be no purpose to this great endeavor.

A mild dry winter has been followed by a very buggy summer; the juniper gnats never died back, and ants of all sizes churned up the ground and even the brick patio. The ants are also tending hundreds of aphids on my chrysanthemums.

Is there a benefit to all these anthills? Will they make the ground more permeable? Will some of the seeds they bury germinate over the winter? I'm not killing them outdoors, but inside the house— well, maybe we need to bring in some lizards.

No, wait— the cats eat lizards.

A few weeks ago I ordered some non-toxic ant repellent. The entire house smelled like cinnamon and cloves, but it barely fazed the ants.

Up at the cabin a bear had been raiding campsites close by; can't blame him for trying to put on weight for the winter. Guess it is the same for the ants and mice, and for us too, as we sense the shorter days and oncoming winter.

Looking forward to the first frost.

Of hummingbirds, rabbits, and bobcats

Since the coyotes and bobcats have thinned out the cottontails and jackrabbits, the Indian Paintbrush is beginning to bloom again, giving delight to migrating hummingbirds.
All in balance.

Remains of the day

This is what we found this morning. Tracks the size of a medium dog, no claws.

A freshly killed jackrabbit which was dragged into the fenced yard (jacks have never been able to get through the fence on their own). They had just started feeding when something spooked them (probably our dog) and left before covering the kill.

Will be watching for them today in case they return...

Bobcats in the yard

This afternoon a mother bobcat brought her two kittens into our fenced yard for a romp.

She had caught a small animal, maybe a squirrel or baby rabbit, and they were tossing it and rolling and chasing around while she lounged in the shade under a juniper. They played just like domestic kittens with a dead mouse, although these "babies" were the size of a grown housecat.

Their mother was probably forty pounds, nearly as big as our black lab.

Every now and then, she would go outside of the fence and walk around, then come back to check on the kittens. After the kittens tired of their play, mom ate the catch of the day. They must not have been hungry.

Finally, after about an hour, the outing was over and they went on their way.

These were the first bobcats I have seen here in thirty-five years, though other neighbors have reported seeing them.

Cochineal

The prickly pear cacti hereabouts have wooly white deposits with dark bugs, about 1/8 inch in diameter. Yesterday as I pulled one out from its fuzzy nest, it began exuding a dark raspberry red liquid.

The bugs, when dried, have been used for centuries to make cochineal dye.

I would like to try this on my silks.

Snakes and monsoons

Sunday began with the discovery of a dinner plate-sized rattlesnake snuggled under a juniper in the front yard. Probably a western diamondback-- didn't see the tail but his wide "grin" gave him away. (The head of a bullsnake is hardly wider than the body.) This is their mating season, so not unusual to see them out and about, and a good reminder to watch where one steps.

Then a worship service and picnic in the mountains, followed by the return of our monsoon. A good rain and rainbow last evening, showers continuing off and on this morning... welcome relief from the dry heat and unseasonable drought.

Nice to sit at my desk by the open window listening to the sound of water in the desert.

Titmouse update

Turns out the titmouse couple had a nest in an old "decomissioned" birdhouse which was just sitting on a bench in the summerhouse. Guess we should hang it back up for next season.

This morning a 2 foot bullsnake disappeared under the doghouse as we were working on the porch roof.

All in balance, I hope.

Chimney mouse

Cats very interested in the fireplace last night.
We set a live trap-- this morning a little grey mouse got a free trip to the arroyo across the road.
Wonder if he has any buddies still in the chimney?

Trap reset.
Cats ignoring the fireplace.

Birding

Today, a cool dawn gave way to a sunny 90 degree August afternoon.
In the summerhouse a titmouse couple scolded me, and a curious hummingbird buzzed 'round.
Surely it is too late for them to be nesting-- what gives?

Peering up into the dark rafters for a nest, I met the half-open golden eyes of a small gray screech owl.
Ah. So it wasn't me they were after.
I'll leave them to it.