Second Day of Camas

We went back to the camas fields near Spangle for a second day of digging. 

As I was digging, a song sparrow fluttered away from my peceʔ and perched on a nearby fence-line. She scolded us, which alerted us to the presence of her nest. We looked down and found five miniature eggs hidden beneath a cluster of leaves. I took a few pictures and returned the nest to the mother bird. 

My auntie Iva arrived part way through the day and shared a hundred stories of the old days - of digging camas as a young girl, preparing the baking pits, and visiting with her grandparents. I could have listened to her all day and more. 

Sunset near Spangle.

 

The first batch of camas cleaned.

Killdeer

The other day, I went walking and a killdeer (sandpiper) flopped on the ground near my feet, making a curious, broken-wing flutter. Somewhere in my childhood, I remembered seeing a classroom film about birds who do just that - they pretend to have broken wings to lure predators away from their nests. I also remembered finding an in-ground nest on my most recent camas dig, so I carefully watched my feet to avoid stepping on any eggs, but I also wanted to see them. Over the protest of the mother bird, I stayed in that immediate area and scanned the ground. 

Sure enough, the eggs were in plain sight, tucked in the crook of a wooden grave-marker. 

The eggs were just beautiful. The speckles made me think of a delicate watercolor painting - maybe something that I'll really paint someday. 

And the mother was beautiful too. As I watched her desperate plea, I tried to reassure her that I intended no harm to her babies. But I found myself intrigued by the question of consciousness. Is it simply a mindless instinct that drives a mother bird to risk herself to save her children? Is it some form an attachment that she feels? Is it love? From the scientific mind, I couldn't answer those questions, but from a spiritual mind, it all made sense. That killdeer mother inspired me; she made me think of what I wouldn't do to protect my own children. 

After watching a few moments, I wanted to see if she would lead me away. Once again, everything happened the way I learned in my childhood. When I walked toward the killdeer, she fluttered on the ground in the exact opposite direction of her nest. A few more steps further, and she fluttered again. This continued for about 100 yards until she made a 'miraculous' recovery and flew away. 

But I had to laugh, because as I walked back to my car, she scolded me. The whole experience was just beautiful! It is probably strange to say, but my heart was full. I feel so thankful to have witnessed this amazing bird ritual for myself. 

Below, you can see that I got a short video clip of her broken-wing act. 

By the way, when I got home, I tried to think of the Salish name for killdeer birds, but I couldn't think of it. In the dictionary it has two possible words: sccíʔistšn, or sttʔitšn.

Riverfront

Rhonda went away at women's retreat and Whitney went to a dance competition in Olympia. And when Dakota went to play rehearsals, McKenna and I were left to figure out how to spend the day. We decided on making a visit to Riverfront Park. 

Our first stop was dinner at Ho Ho Teryaki in the Flour Mill. An elderly couple did everything: they took our order, prepared our food, and served our table. They even brought a game to our table to help us pass the time while we waited. They even spent time visiting with us and spending time to get to know us. I can't say that I've experienced personalized service of that kind in any other restaurant. I'll probably go back, just for the experience of community, rather than simple commerce. 

McKenna was being bashful with the camera (above), but I finally got her to agree to a picture (below). Either way, I thought she was adorable. 

But then she said, "If you're going to take my picture, then I have to take your picture." 

Afterwards, we walked through the park. 

The river was flowing with such power that I thought, 

"It really is amazing that we have such a

powerful river right in the heart of our city." 

Serviceberry flowers by the old Washington Water Power building. 

McKenna at Spokane Falls. 

This goose allowed us to get within four feet

before it finally flew back to its mate (in the background).

As the sun set, the sky turned a deep blue. 

But the pink flowers retained their vibrancy. 

The blue bridge is in the background of this picture. 

Roots

About a week ago, a small group of us went root digging at one of our favorite spots near Wilbur. During the dig, I almost stepped on a bird nest built directly in the ground. The little chicks must have perceived my movement, because every time I got close, they opened their mouths. 

It was a super awesome, beautiful day. Many thanks to my cousin Velma for inviting me. 

This is a picture of the bird's mother. 

I believe this is a meadow lark. 

An abandoned school near the digging grounds.  

The Obligatory Barry...

My cousin Velma and her friend Kat. 

Great friends...

This is Velma's picture of the baby birds. 

She got two of the birds with their mouths open. 

So cute....

Spring

Signs of spring are appearing more slowly than usual. Just this morning, the Spokesman-Review reported that this has been one of the coldest Aprils in Spokane since the National Weather Service began keeping records more than 130 years ago. The temperature has yet to exceed 60 degrees.

The cold weather just never seems to end. The sun made a brief appearance this morning, but soon gave way to another round of snow flurries.

During my morning hike, a hawk perched atop an electrical tower, then flew away. In moments like this, I wish my camera had a better zoom.

The serviceberries are straining to bloom against this unseasonable cold.

Urban Wildlife

This morning I had an unusual encounter with Spokane's urban wildlife.

I was waiting in the Albertson's parking lot at Wandermere when a robin-sized bird dashed over my windshield, followed by a hawk. The smaller bird took refuge under the covered walkway of an adjacent strip mall, but to no avail. The hawk seized its prey and held it to the ground long enough for me to capture this one fleeting image. A moment later, the hawk returned to the sky, while the little bird still struggled for life within the claws of its captor.

The whole scene happened too quickly for me to identify the smaller bird. And now as I review the photograph, I'm wondering exactly which species of hawk this is. I can't be sure, but it seemed much smaller than a red-tail hawk. Does anyone know?

The River

My friend and I explored a few trails near the Spokane River.

A short distance above the Bowl & Pitcher, the water forms a cool, reflective surface before tumbling into the rapids downstream. The last rays of the afternoon sun warm the trees before tumbling into night.

A woodpecker bobbed its head back and forth from behind a tree like a cuckoo clock, while keeping a constant watch on the humans nearby. As we continued down the trail, the bird slowly adjusted its position and maintained a cautious distance on the far side of the tree.

From the markings on the head, I suspect this person is a downy woodpecker.

We hiked along the western shore of the river, following the shadows, and observing the late sunrays on the opposite shore.

An old tree, gnarled with age and exposure to the elements...

We left the trails at half past three, but already the day seemed to fade.

Bird Sit

Yesterday my friends introduced me to the practice of bird sitting.

No, it's not like baby sitting. Basically, a group of people get together to watch birds, but they do so in a methodical and controlled way. The people select a location, like a meadow or a pond, where birds are likely to congregate. Each person sits in a different spot and quietly makes note of all bird activity. A timekeeper makes a crow-call at about every ten minutes to assist the others make a more accurate observation of the birds.

My fellow bird-sitters sat with note pads and binoculars, but I sat with my camera. For my part, I noticed a number of species, but mostly the Steller's jay.



Afterwards, everyone convened in the house and made a large map of the area. Each person placed himself or herself on the map and then recorded everything they observed. We identified each species of bird with a different code. We also used different colored markers to indicate when each bird appeared on the scene.

This practice helps people to become more aware of bird behavior and the natural environment. I had never done something like this, but I'm interested to learn more.

Vultures

About a week ago, I hiked along the Spokane River and stumbled into a committee of red-headed vultures. A few of them perched atop the living trees, but most seemed to prefer the skeletal remains of dead trees. It would seem they even prefer death when selecting a place to roost for the night.





Only rarely do I encounter vultures in this part of the world, but suddenly I stood face to face with a whole colony, numbering at least twenty five members. Others may have remained hidden in the nearby trees.



The vultures definitely noticed my presence, but they must have known I intended no harm. They allowed me to photograph the group while only one or two kept a wary eye in my direction.

Red Bird

Does anyone know this little bird?

I was walking toward the Gonzaga campus yesterday afternoon, when this little red-headed bird fluttered over to a puddle in the street. I've never seen a bird like this in Spokane, so I stopped and slowly readied my camera. Such a beautiful little animal, but after only one shot, and the bird flew away.

Aves

Standing near the water's edge, the birds show no fear of humans. They've grown accustomed to the crowds of gawking people who throw scraps of bread or popcorn. I have nothing to give, but several geese approach almost casually, as if to request their next meal for the day. A sparrow shows only slightly more caution as it hops quickly around my feet. After several minutes they realize I offer no food, and so the geese return to their families by the water and the sparrow returns to the trees.