Shut Down, Hike Up

The government shutdown started the day before my trip to the Southwest. I had campsite reservations on federal lands and planned to visit many National Park sites. What might I be able to get to? Gates were locked at a hoped for visit to Ft. Larned National Historic Site in Kansas, but that extra time resulted in a visit to the terrific nearby Sante Fe Trail Center museum. That night, the parking lot was open at the small picnic area in Rita Blanca National Grasslands in tiny Felt, Oklahoma. I got a little birding in before more folks came to the lot to camp. A nice couple from Springfield, Illinois and their dog set up next to me, and we shared some drinks and talked about our travels. They planned to visit Capulin Volcano National Monument in New Mexico the next day. I had visited a couple years before and it was a little out of the way of my planned route, but when I woke very early, I decided to head that way.

Dawn at Capulin Volcano with Venus

I arrived just as a little light was coming into the sky. The volcano had a bright light on top that I soon realized was Venus. I drove on to the road to climb up the cone, but as expected, it was gated. The sign read that hikers and bikers were allowed when it was daylight, and I figured that the light switch had been turned on.

Dawn on the volcanic field

Dogs are not allowed on trails in the park, so Chance sat in the car during our visit two years earlier. This time we’d not be taking any trail, but walking the two mile paved road, so Chance came along. The road corkscrews up the cone and the dawn light was creating a nice show of all the cones in the distance. As the road curled to the east, the sun was just coming up.

The new light played on the grassland below. Capulin sits in the transition zone between the prairie grasslands and the Rocky Mountains. But it felt more like being in an Impressionist painting.

Or maybe one of Georgia O’Keefe’s who worked not far away

Or farther afield, maybe John Constable’s Romantic landscape.

We made it to the top and got to look down on another nearby cone before heading down.

The hike had been quiet, but the birds were out and singing for the walk downhill.

Canyon Towhee

I hadn’t even planned to come to Capulin Volcano the evening before, but thanks to a conversation, plans changed. The government shutdown closed the road to cars, but allowed Chance and I to hike the full round trip without encountering anyone else and enjoy the light show to begin the day. And then getting near the bottom, a giant Golden Eagle exploded out of a tree just overhead. I couldn’t get the camera focused quickly enough for the surprise, but fortunately it swung back a little later for a shot.

Chance and I made it back to the car for breakfast and to chat with some other people to encourage them to hike up the road. Before we left, the couple from Springfield came and I got to thank them for inspiring me to enjoy an inspiring morning.

Golden Eagle

Oh, Deer

We were lucky to see quite a few animals in Rocky Mountain National Park. By far the most common were elk from the far distance to eating along the roadside.

There was a competition for the cutest. I’d vote for the marmot on the alpine tundra.

Prime competition came from the Least Chipmunk, but when there’s “least” in your name, it’s hard to compete.

From smallest to biggest, we move on to the moose.

Mama moose and her young one were in Sheep Meadow. We had hoped to see some Big Horned Sheep here, but had to settle for this pair.

Going back to the car from looking at the moose, we were surrounded by some mule deer.

The end

A to Z: Alpine tundra Zoom

Fall River Pass in Rocky Mountain National Park is at nearly 12,000 feet. The one-way, dirt Fall River Road leads up the mountains to meet the paved Trail Ridge Road and offers a wonderful view of the Pass.

The tree line at Rocky Mountain NP ends at just over 11,000 feet. Above that is the alpine tundra.

From a distance the alpine tundra looks barren and nearly lifeless. However, taking a trail on the tundra reveals a bounty of life in the tough environment.

Flowers bloom and seed throughout the very short growing season.

Next week perhaps some of the birds that fly around here.

Night Thoughts

We took many hikes up to lakes in Rocky Mountain National Park. One terrific adventure was to Mill Lake, where we sat on a peninsula to enjoy the view over the lake and the clouds venturing over the mountain peaks surrounding the lake.

Here is a poem by Franciscan Father Murray Bodo.

Night Thoughts, by Murray Bodo, O.F.M. in Song of the Sparrow

"Spinning and tossing . . . their songs"

Growing up in Florida, we had lots of Mockingbirds. Two very young babies fell out of their nest from a tall palm tree. Dad put them in a box to protect them and the parents flew into the box to feed them. As they grew, I got tweezers and fed them, too. As they grew, I perched them on my finger, and lowered it down to get them to flap their wings and learn to fly. Once they flew, they kept returning for our food. We’d open the back door and they would fly into the house for seeds. One had a bad leg from the fall, that was “Limpy,” and the other was “Tweetie.” I searched for a picture of them sitting on my shoulder, but I couldn’t find it. Here’s a fellow who looks a bit like them.

Grey catbird, Montrose Point, Chicago

This morning

two mockingbirds

in the green field

were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons of their songs

into the air.

. . .

White-crowned Sparrow, Montrose Point

I had nothing

better to do

than listen.

I mean this

seriously.

. . .

From Mockingbirds, by Mary Oliver

Tree Swallow, St. James Farm Forest Preserve

Tree Swallow (in a Bluebird nest box), Herrick Lake Forest Preserve

. . . .

when they rose

out of their mortal bodies,

like a million particles of water

from a fountain,

. . .

Bluebird (homeless?), St. James Farm Forest Preserve

. . . .

Whatever it was

I was supposed to be

this morning- -

whatever it was I said

I would be doing- -

I was standing

at the edge of the field- -

. . .

Willow Flycatcher, St. James Forest Preserve

I was hurrying

through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--

Baltimore Oriole, after its bath, Montrose Point, Chicago

I was leaning out;
I was listening.

From Mary Oliver’s Mockingbirds

Scarlet Tanager, West DuPage Woods Forest Preserve

This wonderful Tanager has been my nemesis. I haven’t seen this stark colored bird in years. I keep hearing its beautiful call, but can never see it. Finally, this fellow gave me a show.

I quoted quite a bit from Mary Oliver’s Mockingbirds, but left out the important central part of the poem. Do yourself a favor and read it: Mockingbirds

I mentioned that I searched unsuccessfully for the picture of me with the mockingbirds, but I did find this one of me with mom—and my first camera, a Kodak Brownie Hawkeye. The picture is at Busch Gardens, so I’m pretty sure I shot some parrot pictures that day.

Warbler Weeks

It’s been the peak of migration season and the time to see warblers as they head north. It’s mostly hearing them and then getting peaks of the little ones. Although, they’ve been in the nearby forest preserves and my yard, the best place to see them lower to the ground is at the aptly named Magic Hedge.

Warbling Vireo

Nope, the fellow above is only pretending to be a warbler. Here’s a true warbler, and can you guess it’s name?

Yellow Warbler

The Magic Hedge is the nickname of the Montrose Point Bird Sanctuary on Lake Michigan in Chicago. In the 1950s, it was one of 20 Nike Missile bases as the final defense around Chicago in the event of a Soviet attack. Decommissioned, it became a preserve. Only 150 yards long, over 300 species of birds have been spotted here, including:

Palm Warbler

The three images above I got before I even walked in the sanctuary. They were right along the path and the road that drives along the harbor. The site is popular for the birds since it is a green sanctuary in the city right on the Lake Michigan flyway that the birds use on their migration.

Yellow-rumped Warbler

I visited the sanctuary last week on my way to nearby Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs. (The bird watching was much better that day than the ball game.) There’s plenty of ball fields in Montrose Park. I’d sometimes come with my brother Bob to watch games there, and I suspect I saw my brother Herb play some 16” softball there.

Blackburnian Warbler

Blackburnian and Yellow Warblers made my life list on prior year trips to Montrose. The Park District and volunteer groups work to make the area safe for the birds and add a couple water features which not only provide a place for the travelers to bathe and drink, but they also attract a lot of people with binoculars and long camera lenses.

Chestnut-Sided Warbler

This fellow made my life list this day at Montrose.

Magnolia Warbler

The Magnolia Warbler made my life list at Montrose in 2019. Bathing behind it was another fellow who made my life list earlier this year in our backyard.

Tennessee Warbler

The little Tennessee Warbler flew up to a branch to dry off and pose. They’ve been in the tree tops in our yard and in nearby forests just singing away, but I’ve not been able to get a good image. So I was very happy for this bit of magic before I left the hedge.

Backyard Birds

With migration in full swing, our backyard is filled with song and action. Their whistles, twitters, and songs play in the background as I type this. We have a pair of robins and three hatchlings nesting right by our back door that get annoyed when we use that door.

Song Sparrow

A forest preserve is just a couple houses over and a wetland in there is filled with frogs that have been joining the chorus, especially in the night and early morning. Unfortunately, none have come over to have their picture taken. One of the most vocal of the birds though, does indeed sound a bit catlike.

Gray Catbird

Not sure why we had to get so Greek and call this one a Phoebe, because it clearly calls its own name a lot: FEE-bee

Eastern Phoebe

One that wears its heart on its chest is the Rose-Breasted Grosbeak. The plain brown lady has come right to the feeder by our window, but the striking fellow keeps his distance. I found this one in the neighboring forest preserve. His voice carries at least football field distance, so the high perch serves him well.

Rose-Breasted Grosbeak

Another voice that is often in the chorus but hard to spot is this guy. Well worth the view when he does show.

Indigo Bunting

The world seems always a bit upside down for these little ones.

Whited-breasted Nuthatch

Someone was generous enough to pose in sunset light.

Downy Woodpecker

Going for the bluesky look on its way up north was this warbler

Yellow-rumped Warbler

These guys have been singing in the neighborhood, but have been ignoring the fruit I’ve put out.

Baltimore Oriole

Finally, a pair of lovers in the woods nearby.

Northern Cardinals

"Tohu wa-bohu" תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ

That time of year to revisit my favorite text, myth, poem, story: The creation story in Genesis. Last year, I was fortunate to attend Easter Vigil at the English speaking Franciscan church in Tokyo, and listen to this wonderful story proclaimed.

I recently found a very interesting podcast episode that explores Genesis as a whole and the creation story in particular. If you’d care to listen, the discussion of creation starts about 25 minutes in. It offers some inciteful translation suggestions like the one in the title of this post. Here are some images from the last couple years while enjoying creation.

Minnesota river

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth,
the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss,
while a mighty wind swept over the waters.

Florida coast

Then God said,
"Let there be light," and there was light.
God saw how good the light was.
God then separated the light from the darkness.
God called the light "day," and the darkness God called "night."
Thus evening came, and morning followed—the first day.

Texas coast

Then God said,
"Let there be a dome in the middle of the waters,
to separate one body of water from the other."
And so it happened:
God made the dome,
and it separated the water above the dome from the water below it.
God called the dome "the sky."
Evening came, and morning followed—the second day.

Texas coast

Then God said,
"Let the water under the sky be gathered into a single basin,
so that the dry land may appear."

Curecanti NRA, Colorado

And so it happened:
the water under the sky was gathered into its basin,
and the dry land appeared.
God called the dry land "the earth, "
and the basin of the water he called "the sea."
God saw how good it was.

Kyoto

Then God said,
"Let the earth bring forth vegetation: 
every kind of plant that bears seed
and every kind of fruit tree on earth 
that bears fruit with its seed in it."
And so it happened: 
the earth brought forth every kind of plant that bears seed 
and every kind of fruit tree on earth 
that bears fruit with its seed in it.
God saw how good it was.
Evening came, and morning followed—the third day.

The sun and moon, Navajo Nation

Then God said:
"Let there be lights in the dome of the sky, 
to separate day from night.
Let them mark the fixed times, the days and the years, 
and serve as luminaries in the dome of the sky, 
to shed light upon the earth."
And so it happened:
God made the two great lights, 
the greater one to govern the day, 
and the lesser one to govern the night; 

Naperville, Illinois

and he made the stars. 
God set them in the dome of the sky, 
to shed light upon the earth,
to govern the day and the night, 
and to separate the light from the darkness.
God saw how good it was.
Evening came, and morning followed—the fourth day.

Kyoto

Then God said, 
"Let the water teem with an abundance of living creatures, 

Texas—Spoonbills, whistling ducks, night herons, egret

and on the earth let birds fly beneath the dome of the sky."

Avocets, Texas

And so it happened:
God created the great sea monsters 
and all kinds of swimming creatures with which the water teems, 
and all kinds of winged birds.
God saw how good it was, and God blessed them, saying, 
"Be fertile, multiply, and fill the water of the seas; 
and let the birds multiply on the earth."
Evening came, and morning followed—the fifth day.

Valles Caldera, New Mexico

Then God said, 
"Let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: 
cattle, creeping things, and wild animals of all kinds."

Colorado

And so it happened:
God made all kinds of wild animals, all kinds of cattle,
and all kinds of creeping things of the earth.
God saw how good it was.

Kyoto

Then God said: 
"Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.
Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, 
the birds of the air, and the cattle, 
and over all the wild animals 
and all the creatures that crawl on the ground."

Tokyo

God created man in his image; in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.

Kyoto

God blessed them, saying:
"Be fertile and multiply;
fill the earth and subdue it.
Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, 
and all the living things that move on the earth."

Tokyo

God also said:
"See, I give you every seed-bearing plant all over the earth
and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit on it to be your food;
and to all the animals of the land, all the birds of the air,
and all the living creatures that crawl on the ground,
I give all the green plants for food."

Colorado

And so it happened.
God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.
Evening came, and morning followed—the sixth day.

Colorado

Thus the heavens and the earth and all their array were completed.
Since on the seventh day God was finished
with the work he had been doing, 
he rested on the seventh day from all the work he had undertaken.

Genesis 1.1 - 2.2

Jane and I will be reading the Creation Story at Saturday’s vigil along with a cantor and choir. Listen in if you’d like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMgkAD01lvc

Earlier Creation posts: 2019, 2020, 2021, 2023

Rafting the Salmon River, Idaho

Seeing a friend for dinner tonight made me think of the rafting trip he invited me on seven years ago. I posted some images from that trip at the time: Ponderosa, Mars Attacks and Craters of the Moon, but I wanted to revisit some of the pictures from then.

Rafting the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho

The four night trip went mainly through the Frank Church Wilderness, one of the most isolated locations in the lower 48. Summer on the river was refreshing.

Sections of whitewater made for exhilarating moments, but most of the trip was peaceful floating, with a few hazards to avoid—or just enjoy viewing.

A highlight was enjoying some of the darkest skies in the country. We were blessed with clear skies at night, and the weather allowed me to sleep with no tent above. I set up the tripod and camera next to my sleeping bag, set the alarm for when the moon set and the sky was the darkest, and just reached up to turn things on, focus and shoot.

Starlight above the Salmon River

As I wrote earlier in Mars Attacks, I was flabbergasted to wake up and see this huge, red glow in the sky and reflecting in the river below. The Red Planet was its closest to the Earth and having major sand storms to increase its color.

Mars and Milky Way amongst the Ponderosa Pines

How about a little action in the sky. This view lets you see the reflection in the water a bit better.

The last night on the river.

Seven Sisters constellation above the Salmon River

The battle and creation of Glen Sligachan

Five years ago today started my Covid 19 isolation. My photo trip to the Outer Hebrides of Scotland was cut short, my daughter stopped her studies at the University of Edinburgh, and we scrambled to find flights home. A couple days before, I was on the Isle of Skye, one of the Inner Hebrides islands. We were to ferry to the Outer Hebrides, but decided that it might be risky to be isolated on a remote island as restrictions were increasing. One stop on Skye was to enjoy Glen Sligachan and the weather that changes on Scotland from minute to minute.

Glen Sligachan bridge, Isle of Skye

Long before people were here to build bridges as this, the island was inhabited by giants and fairies. Scáthach lived along the peaceful River Sligachan which was (is?) a portal to the fairy world. Another giant, Ireland’s Cú Chulainn, came to fight Scáthach. Their fierce battle created the Cuillin Mountains you can still see today.

River Sligachan and the Black Cuillins

Scáthach’s daughter Uathach wanted the fighting to stop. She cried and dunked her head into the river. The fairies instructed her how to stop the battle. She emerged and gathered nearby herbs to burn. The warriors smelled the smoke, realized they were hungry, came to eat and became friends.

Glen Sligachan

Cú Chulainn returned to Ireland where he won many battles from the lessons he learned from Scáthach. You can dip your head into the River Sligachan for seven seconds as Uathach did to obtain eternal beauty, as I obviously did not.

New Friends and Old

Visiting Texas this winter introduced me to several new bird species for my life list as well as seeing some familiar faces.

Brown-headed Nuthatch, Big Thicket National Preserve

Big Thicket National Preserve in southeast Texas, not far from Louisiana, has diverse habitats. At the Visitor Center, I asked the ranger for some hiking trail tips as well as good places to see birds. He said one of the best birding spots was in a pine forest right outside the building. Chance (who got a BARK Ranger certificate from the ranger) and I headed out and were rewarded with several of these little nuthatches I’d never seen before.

Black Vultures, Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge

Further south a pair of Black Vultures were keeping an eye on me as much as I on them. The Gulf coast and southern border are filled with both oil refineries and National Wildlife Refuges. In a nearby NWR was a collection of some of my favorites — Black-necked Stilts.

Black-necked Stilts, San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge

Near the Mexican border is a town with a Scottish name—Edinburg. Looking for a spot to take Chance for a walk, I stumbled into a local park that was set up for birding, and I added several birds to my life list there.

Orange-crowned Warbler, Edinburg Wildlife Center

This little warbler flittered through the low brush. You can just make out the faint coloring on its head for which it is named. However, the ones making the most noise and putting on the biggest displays were the Great Kiskadees flying in all the trees.

Great Kiskadee, Edinburg Wildlife Center

The colorful Jays also made themselves known by their loud calls and extravagant colors. They were masked for Mardi Gras.

Green Jay, Edinburg Wildlife Center

On the border along the Rio Grande (with plenty of ICE agents in the area) is Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. Walking a trail called the Chachalaca, I kept hoping to see the bird sometimes called the Mexican Turkey that will cross the river (with no passport). But I had no luck. After taking a couple other trails, it was time to head back to the car. Then several Chachalacas introduced themselves almost exactly as the Merlin app describes them: “Extremely noisy and full of character. Small groups crash through the brush from tree to tree with the grace of a large bulldozer. Often heard ‘singing’ a cacophony of grating shouts and squawks.” They were quite the sight and sound.

Plain Chachalaca, Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge

Great Sand Dunes National Park

While searching for a picture, I discovered that I never processed images from a visit to Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve in south central Colorado three years ago. Camping by the edge of the dunes, I was able to hike into the dunes to watch the glow of sunrise. The tallest dunes looming behind are aglow while the closest are still in shade.

These tallest dunes in the country rise nearly 750 feet above the plains. They collect in a bend of the Sangre de Christo Mountains. The land was once that of the Cheyenne and Arapaho. The day before, I visited Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site in east Colorado. The haunting site was where the U.S. Army attacked a peaceful village of 700 Arapahoe and Southern Cheyenne, slaughtering a third of them. Many still rest there in Mother Earth. It is a hard place to visit.

Suzan Shown Harjo is a Southern Cheyenne and Hodulgee Muscogee, and amazing advocate for Native peoples and land. You can read more about her in the Smithsonian, including a picture of her receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Obama. She also is a wonderful writer and her lyrics to the song White Antelope’s Chant is in Norton’s Anthology of Native Nations Poetry When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through. To know when reading the poem, Tsistsistas is the word Cheyenne use for themselves.

White Antelope had a song

it was a Tsistsistas song

it was his song

because he sang it

. . . .

The Song that sang itself

had a Tsistsistas sound

and a truth for all who heard it

at the hour of the end

The Song that sang itself

had no chorus

its voice was the Morning Star

and the rain at the edge of time

. . . .

The Song sang a Tsistsistas Woman

in the offerings at dawn

in the sighs of the wind

in the power of the end

. . .

The Song sang a Tsistsistas sound

in the peace before dark

in the sighs on the wind

in the power of the end

Only Mother Earth endures

sang the man

Only Mother Earth endures

sang the woman

Only Mother Earth endures

sang the child

Only Mother Earth endures

sang the song

Only Mother Earth endures

From, Suzan Shown Hargo, The Song Called “White Antelope’s Chant”

I got a little lost preparing these images, but I did find the one I was looking for:

A Roseate is a Rose

I was fortunate to travel through much of the U.S. growing up. However, I complained to my parents that while we’d travelled all over the country, I hadn’t seen as much of our home state. That Christmas break, we headed to the Everglades, and camped at the very southern tip of the state at Flamingo campground. Sitting at the picnic table finishing dinner as the sun was setting, the sky was suddenly filled with waves of birds I’d never seen before. They were flying out to the mangrove islands to roost. The seemingly endless stream of birds were Roseate Spoonbills, and to see them in the colors of the setting sun was memory to hold forever.

My last post was of a little pond on the Texas coast filled with water birds, among them Roseate Spoonbills. Since it was just two miles from where I stayed, if conditions were interesting, I headed over. Sea fog rolling in constitutes interesting conditions.

The atmosphere was wonderful as a few birds floated in the pond, while most rested on bushes lining the pond with the sound of the waves just behind. Let’s move in for a closer look.

The birds were generous enough to create beautiful patterns to photograph. Spoonbills stand out with their pink feathers. Like Flamingos and salmon, they get their color from the carotenoid pigment in the algae, crustations and invertebrates they eat.

As we move in closer to the marvelous pattern the Spoonbills created, we see other species in the scene. In the water on the right are the Black-bellied Whistling Ducks who were the stars of last week’s post. On the right edge is a Great Egret, and starring in the center is a White Ibis. Hidden in the background are several Black-crowned Night Herons.

Finally, a juvenile Spoonbill flew in to show off its gentle colors to the ducks, ibis and secretive herons. We’ll close with this close-up.

South American migrants

Black-bellied Whistling Ducks live throughout Central and South America and coastal Mexico. Twenty-years ago, I saw my first ones in Florida. They were a rare sighting then, but are now getting more populous along the Gulf of Mexico. I’m vacationing in Texas, and they were the ones who tipped me off to this pond two miles from where I’m staying.

I was walking on the beach, when I heard a lot of bird chatter behind a large growth of bushes past the dunes. As I went up there to explore, I heard the distinctive whistling sounds of these ducks as they fly. Soon a flock whistled and flew over, and I walked up and saw a fresh water pond behind the bushes. The pond became a frequent spot to visit.

The ducks introduced me to many other friends who were sharing the pond—Roseate Spoonbills, Black-Crowned Night Herons, White Ibis, grebes and coots. Images of them will be coming in future weeks. For now, here’s a Great Egret to share some screen time.

Robins' Hood

Friday Fotos started about 20 years ago, with an image attached to an email. Some simple shot of nature, close to your feet to add a bit of brightness to the end of the work week. The IT department eventually complained that the images were taking up too much server space since I worked with most of the folks who got the weekly image. That directive started a website. The images and stories grew.

Juvenile Bald Eagle

When we moved to our new home last year, we explored new places nearby for walks. What has become a favorite is a small forest preserve not a mile away tucked in off a side road. Few people visit, and we can usually let Chance off leash to run the trails. A couple weeks ago, a young bald eagle kept flying ahead of us from tree top to tree top along the river.

Last Friday, soon after posting my Sandhill Crane images, Chance and I got in the car to enjoy the first snow of the season. The long lens came along with hopes that the eagle would still be fishing the river.

No eagle was found. The woods were very quiet with not many birds at all. The snow and leafless trees presented a monochrome scene with some occasional gold from the prairie grasses. Peaceful and simple.

Then fluttering in the trees, and some songs, and color. A simple American Robin. And then some more.

Soon there were more robins than I’d ever seen in one place. Dozens flying through the trees and not one would pose for a picture. I walked down to the river where several gathered in a bit of open water that hadn’t frozen over yet.

They bathed, and drank, and played. It snowed. Chance played. I watched and heard robins all around. The only sound and color in the woods.

For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.

From The Dry Salvages, T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Time for Chance and I to go for a walk in the woods.

Craning into the past and future

In November of 2023, I wrote of a hike up Comb Ridge in Southeast Utah to a petroglyph called the Big Crane. This art was carved into the rock over 1,000 years ago by an Ancestral Puebloan. Comb Ridge is in Bears Ears National Monument, sacred land to Hopi, Navajo, Ute and Zuni tribes containing cultural sites, dwellings, historic objects and is used for many rituals and spiritual practices. Since 1904 Congress was petitioned to protect the land. In 1906, after many Native American sites throughout the country were looted, Theodore Roosevelt signed the Antiquities Act to allow the President to issue a proclamation to protect archaeological and historic sites. However, disputes among tribes and with other interests prevented any action on Bears Ears for over a century. Fortunately, the remoteness and arid environment left many of the ancient homes, structures, and art undamaged.

Big Crane, Combs Ridge, Bears Ears National Monument

Eventually, five area tribes reached a consensus, and in his last month in office, President Obama used the Antiquities Act to protect over 1.3 million acres and create Bears Ears National Monument. The monument would be managed jointly by the Departments of Interior and Agriculture and the tribes. No President had used the Antiquities Act to destroy a Monument, but within a year, Donald Trump reduced Bears Ears by 1.1 million acres and opened the land to bidding for oil, gas, uranium and other extraction. One of President Biden’s early acts was to restore the protections to Bears Ears and nearby Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Though many organizations (including the native tribes who co-administered the Monument) sued Trump, the suits were not resolved when Biden reversed the action. In turn, Biden was sued by Utah and local landowners arguing he misused the Antiquities Act. The U.S. District Judge dismissed the suit, and oral arguments were recently heard on the appeal. While the appellate court will likely find the case is meritless, it is, of course, likely that Trump will again open the protected, sacred land to mineral interests.

Sandhill Crane, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico

I live along the eastern flyway of the Sandhill Cranes, and in November I first hear, then see, the ancient birds heading south from summer homes in Canada, Minnesota and Wisconsin. Sometimes, in late November I would go to Jasper-Pulaski Wildlife Refuge in Indiana to see them resting and feeding in the fields there before continuing south. Surprisingly, the last couple years, I’ve seen flocks here continuing their migration into late December. This year, I heard no birds migrating. Then Tuesday, the unmistakable cry of a flock made me look up to see them crossing the face of the moon. First migrating south in January?

The fossil record of Sandhills indicate they’ve been here for over 2.5 million years. Now fossil fuels help contribute to climate change that makes winters milder and disrupts the migration of the bird the Ancestral Puebloan artist etched into rock.

Dark Winds

A majority of Americans have decided that an evil man will not be held accountable for his abuses, and have licensed him to exploit the country for his ego.

Reynisdrangar

Our mother Earth, who has faced two centuries of relentless, increasing exploitation, has been cast aside. Her accountability, however, will not be stopped.

Jökulsárlón

Our duty is to seek the light, and to spread it.

Víkurfjara

Gordon Henry, Jr. -- Sleeping in the Rain, part 2

Early last year, I used some of the lines from Anishinaabe poet Gordon Henry, Jr.’s poem Sleeping in the Rain to recall my mother and grandmother. A few years ago, I posted some images from one of my favorite places, the Pigeon River in Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina.

East Fork of the Pigeon River

In that post, I mentioned the night I solo hiked and camped along the river. It began raining and I went into the tent early. It rained all night. After sleeping in the rain, I awoke to a river far over its banks ready to hit my campsite.

I worked two summers in western North Carolina and a college roommate lived there. My heart broke watching images of Hurricane Helene devastating mountain roads I’d travelled and rivers I’d peacefully floated down. I thought of the morning I woke scared with a wild river threatening me which was just a minor flood compared to the devastation and fear descending now. What have we done that such a place hundreds of miles from any coast is threatened by a hurricane?

As a close election approaches, I know my anxiety will only increase in these next weeks. Will we travel a path of more destruction or of healing?

Gordon Henry ends Sleeping in the Rain with Part XI:

As the old woman touches me it is like air holding smoke. I am something else. Vestiges of prayer, gathered in a hollow church. Another kind of reflection on the outsides of her black glasses. A reflection that cries when eyes leave it.

As the old woman touches me it is like air holding smoke. I am something else. Fleet anguish, like flying shadows. A moment vanishing. A moment taken, as I am being.

As the old woman touches me it is like air holding smoke. It spins it. It grasps it. It shapes it in a wish. After that there is a mist too fine to see.

Gordon reads the entire poem, and others, here.

Aurora

My mother grew up in Minnesota, and would tell stories of the northern lights. I’ve longer to see them. When I visited there last month, predictions of the lights were strong. On clear nights, I got up to look. And saw nothing. Lots and lots of stars. No aurora.

When my son Dan and I went to Iceland a couple years ago, one night the prediction for lights were strong, so we arose in the early hours, drove to an ice covered bay to look north. And saw no magical lights.

Dan texted last night and said the geomagnetic storm slamming into Earth was a giving prediction of a light display here peaking soon. We went to a nearby forest preserve where we could look over a lake. Gates locked. We went to another preserve were we could look over a horse track that we knew would be open since we went there to see a comet a few years before.

We saw nothing. Our cameras—as in the first image posted above—with sensors more sensitive than our eyes did show some faint color in the northwest. We chatted and waited. We were thinking of leaving, when he took a photo with his phone and said, “look there.” Sure enough, your eyes could start to make out some color.

And the show began. Red and greens grew and moved across reaching far overhead. We are at the peak of the 11-year solar cycle, so hopefully this Fall will bring more such shows.

Gooseberry Falls, Part 2

Last month’s visit to Minnesota’s Gooseberry Falls State Park was near sunset, so the evening light reflected off the rocks, autumn trees and evergreens into the white water below the falls.

The third poem in T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets is titled Dry Salvages. He describes the actual Dry Salvages as “a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape Ann, Massachusetts.” Eliot’s ancestors had migrated to America near this place and settled and fished in the area, and he references generations of people. My generations have visited the smaller rocks by Gooseberry Falls. Here are some excerpts of the poem with illuminated scenes below the falls that I lost time in.

It seems, as one becomes older,

That the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere

sequence—

Or even development:

The moments of happiness—not the sense of well-being,

Fruition, fulfilment, security or affection,

Or even a very good dinner, but the sudden illumination—

We had the experience but missed the meaning,

And approach to the meaning restores the experience

In a different form, beyond any meaning

We can assign to happiness.

I have said before

That the past experience revived in the meaning

Is not the experience of one life only

But of many generations—not forgetting

Something that is probably quite ineffable: