Conservation Canines

Sampson can’t read the alphabet but he is trained as a conservation canine to locate the scat of endangered species by smell. Dogs have a remarkable ability to detect specific scents and Sampson’s nose helps the Center of Conservation Biology at University of Washington to identify wildlife scat that can then be tested to determine an animal’s genetics, sex, stress hormone levels and toxic loads as indicators of overall health.

Sampson is a 13 year old black lab whose obsession for chasing balls made him a challenging house dog and an amazing conservation canine. His human sidekick, Julianne, shows him which species of scat to locate and then he’s off with his tail wagging. Julianne watches Sampson closely, factoring in landscape features and the wind and when Sampson stops at a scat she steps in to take a look. If it’s on target she collects the sample and rewards Sampson with his cherished ball. They spend days and weeks on the road gathering data with far more efficiency as a team than either could do alone.

Sampson’s CK-9 mates include Max who can detect the fresh scat of Orca whales by boat!

Thanks to Columbia Land Trust for organizing a field trip on Mt. St. Helen’s with my conservation heroes Sampson and Julianne!

Your Nature

What was nature to you as a child? Was nature a park, backyard, outdoor school, summer camp or somewhere in a forest far away?

Looking back, nature to me was where I hid for solitude, peace and relief from the chatter of humans. Growing up I shared a big bedroom with my two sisters. My family belonged to a close-knit community village and from sunup to sundown my days were spent with a cohort of kids. I was rarely alone. As an introvert, I found every private nook and cranny in our attic, basement, backyard and the woods beyond. In each place I built small forts where I could sit alone and just be. Little did I know that I was forging a lifetime practice of sit spots and connections to the bigger than human world. Connections that continue to bring me respite and great joy. As much as I love my human community, I also appreciate the quieter company of all the birds, squirrels, racoons and skunks that scurry around and about my sit spots.

 

 

Sun-wise

Tis the first day of fall in the North. As it happens it is also the first day since spring that I do not have strict plans to uphold. I tend to my beehive, slipping sugar water into a hive feeder, watching sun-striped bees hum with preparations for winter.

Slowly, slowly I move in bee time. Thankful for the ebb of the summer buzz. My biological clock in tune with the bees, both in turn with the sun. Lowering on the horizon by minutes each day, the air fresh with cooler, shorter spans of light. How right it feels to move sun-wise, to heed the natural shifts in temperature and set aside the busy summer to rest. If I move too fast, out of sync the bees tell me with a distinct buzz, bee slow please.

Homing to the Group

Do you pull dandelions in your yard because you dislike their bright, yellow flowers or because you’d rather not be judged by your neighbors? If you knew dandelions were a food source for pollinators, especially in urban areas, would that change your behavior? Our human tendency to orient to the herd may make us strangely similar to the pine processionary caterpillar.

Pine processionary caterpillars follow silk trails between their communal home where they shelter and their feeding areas out in the branches of trees. They normally travel out in the morning and back at night, but French naturalist J. Henri Fabre once observed a group that got caught on a rim where they circled for seven days straight. “None abandoned their evolved behavior pattern, where the others, and not the biologically relevant environment, had become the reference (Heinrich, 2014).” Homing to the group, rather than the surrounding environment meant the end for the Rocky Mountain grasshopper, passenger pigeon, the Eskimo curlew and the Carolina parakeet. All aggregated to an extreme extent where their behavior was informed by each other rather than by a place.

Humans are also social creatures where banding together has allowed us to prosper and become the dominant feature of the landscape, even in places ill suited to meet human needs. When our connection to each other becomes more important than our connection to the environment we risk missing important signs of environmental stress that could signal a change in behavior is needed. Learning to read, respond and vary our reference points may increase the odds that someone will survive the circular death march of group think

Inspired by a chapter of the book, “The Homing Instinct” by Bernd Heinrich, 2014 (p 285).

Salmon Season

Columbia Coho, 5.27.2018

You are the hands of my father filleting steaks

smell of alder in the smokehouse

roar of a diesel engine chugging upriver

ocean salt melting in my mouth.

Where the salmon run,

I am home.

 

 

Ode to My Place

There are places that throughout my life have been there for me. Places where I belong.

As a child it was behind my house, above the river, on a platform a friend and I hammered onto a fallen black locust log. I could hear my mother calling from the house but it was far away. I belonged to a forest with a river running through.

We moved from Aurora to Garibaldi, Oregon when I was sixteen and I needed a new place. I found the nearest beach where the ocean absorbed everything. Bring me to any ocean with the smell of decomposing plankton and seaweed and I am home.

Everywhere I live I am drawn to a spot. My place to sit through thick and thin.

In college, I didn’t have a car and bicycled to places at the edge of Corvallis where academia met wild. I once spent the night alone under a cedar above town, I swear I could hear the trees sing as I drifted to sleep.

In San Juan, Puerto Rico I would go to the beach, plug my ears against the city and gaze to sea. In Kaikoura, New Zealand a bench on a trail held me. In Spey Bay, Scotland I would sit on the rocky beach, listening to the Moray Firth lap the land.

Beautiful places. I owe part of who I am to these bits of ground.

For the first time, I now own a place. I have permission by humans to plant, grow and tend to my own backyard, my place.  And the walnut tree that has stood here long before my time. A morning in my place, listening to flickers above, sitting still so as not to scare the juncos. An evening sitting unseen by the opossum heading to the neighbor’s compost. There is peace and quiet in my place even with the sound of busy Lombard St. in North Portland. I sit under the walnut and I am home again.

Bookworm Digest: Bringing Nature Home

The viceroy butterfly develops as a larva on willow leaves. Photo by Benny Mazur from Toledo, OH

Douglas W. Tallamy, author of “Bringing Nature Home,” shares his passion for native plants and insects as the base of the terrestrial food web. Want to support birds, butterflies and bees? Plant a variety of native plants in your yard and they will come. With habitat loss threatening species small and large, Tallamy offers a solution through restoring native plants to our yards.

His experience as an entomologist and gardener include intriguing and inspiring stories on gardening with native plants to support insects, the majority of whom are adapted and highly specialized to specific families of native plants. Insects in turn feed 96% of all terrestrial bird species. In short, more native plants leads to more insects, which leads to more animals and ultimately a more biodiverse, healthy and resilient community. For those worried about insect predation of their favorite plants he outlines how, “In a balanced community, with rare exceptions, no one member of the food chain dominates another, and if one species in an essentially sound system does start to run rampant, it is soon brought back into equilibrium by the other members of the community.” – Douglas W . Tallamy.

The book is packed with photos of moths, butterflies and larva that are so beautiful and intriguing that I’m inspired to plant their food sources just to have a chance to see them. With a detailed list of which plants support which beneficial insects, I’m looking forward to gardening as fodder to support my wild neighbors.

 

 

 

 

Autumn in the Northern Hemisphere

Dew web 2017.

 

On October 11, 2017 at dusk while standing in my backyard I notice the first fog of the fall form from my breath. On cue a flock of geese fly past heading directly South. The crickets, humming every evening since August, are silent.

Curious about the changes temperature brings I noted that it was 47 degrees Fahrenheit, or 8 degrees Celsius with 88% humidity. Indeed the Exhale Condensation Calculator confirmed that the conditions were present to induce the condensation of breath, otherwise known as fall in Oregon, USA.

Happy fall to the Northern hemisphere and happy spring to our Southern half!

 

Reading Fire

Sand-brown grass.

Twigs that snap.

Crunchy leaves.

Dry. Desiccated. Hot.

Smokey the Bear teaches 5 year olds to read the signs of flammable.

Read nature, only you can prevent forest fires.

Post-Totality Tuesday

“Winter is coming!” cries a young boy as the moon slowly eclipses the sun. A warm summer morning in central Oregon turns to downright chilly as dusk sweeps across the land. I watch as a line of fire ants scurry onward seemingly unperturbed. At 10:18 AM totality is marked by a small group of humans shouting: “Stars! I see Venus! I see Sirius!” Coyotes in the canyon below join in with howls. For a full minute,  the plasma of the sun radiates in an uneven diamond shape around the black disc of the moon. I choke up with tears, in utter awe of the beauty and power of our solar system’s star. A burst of light serves as both a promise of the sun’s return and a public service announcement to all humans to don their eclipse glasses post-totality. I feel jittery yet still, like I had drunk far too much caffeine beneath a lake, and am utterly grateful to live as a tiny ant human on this planet.

“A million moons” whispers an 8 year old boy crouched over the crescent shadows on fine desert dust. Barring mathematics, intuition and years of tracking the sun, moon and earth’s arcs to predict such an event, I am delighted to learn that to predict an eclipse one could read the crescent-shaped shadows on the ground at 90% totality. If I see crescent shaped shadows, I’ll know to get ready to shield a baby’s eyes and get comfortable should I ever find myself in an apoceclipse.

A human being is a part of the whole, called by us “Universe”, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest — a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. The striving to free oneself from this delusion is the one issue of true religion. Not to nourish the delusion but to try to overcome it is the way to reach the attainable measure of peace of mind.

– Albert Einstein, February 12, 1950