Bondo: A Good Old Dog

This epitaph is meticulously chiseled in blackened letters into a gray granite headstone within an old picket fence, leaning askew with peeling white paint. The grave is covered with an old blanket, disintegrating now. It is capped with carefully chosen black lava rock from the banks of lower Dorsey Creek in Poncha Pass.

Bondo was probably a good-sized dog from the size of the grave, and he was obviously worth the effort put into this interment. Maybe he ran these sagebrush hills through aspen and fir, following cattle with his owner.

I'd like to know more about him.

Wild and isolated Poncha Pass overlooks the expansive San Luis Valley to the south and is traversed today by US 285. Dorsey Creek is a Forest Service access road just south of the pass.

Epiphany invited

This twelfth day of Christmas, Kings Day, Epiphany is bright and clear in the high desert. Although snow still lingers on the shaded ground, the greenhouse is eighty degrees, with Christmas cactus in full bloom and Meyer lemons ripe for harvest.

This morning a flock of mountain bluebirds feasted on juniper berries on nearby Forest Service land. How apt the phrase, "bluebird of happiness"... what possible survival benefit could such magnificent azure afford? More senseless beauty.

Now a white winged dove peers down at me from a locust, still fluffed against the cold. Our feeder has hosted the winter regulars: juncos, towhees, one lovely brown thrasher, and many others. A quick check in the summerhouse fails to provide a sighting of the Western screech owl who has been in residence since August. He was here at least until mid December... perhaps he has scored a warmer roost these days.

So I poke around, searching for some insight, some spark, some enlightenment. Bring it on — I'm ready!

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..."