Brown Pelicans

Watching Ice Age for the first time last night (I know we are behind in the Ice Age saga - cannot wait to see the meltdown and the dinosaurs), got me thinking about strange, but beautiful, animals that we have encountered recently. I count the brown pelican in that group, and the sea lion.

Adult brown pelican and Heermann's gull, San Francisco Bay

Back in September as we traveled from Seattle to San Francisco, we spent time along the coast, watching the antics of sea lions, gulls, and pelicans. See posts beginning in mid September.

Sea lions on Pier 39, San Francisco

Western gull atop car roof, waiting for discarded fried clams

or just watching the tourists, San Francisco

And now back to the pelicans.
The brown pelican is a big bird -- 3 to 4 feet tall,
with a wingspan of more than 7 feet.
And that pouch.......which can hold 3 gallons of water and fish....

.....attached to that bill.
To say that a pelican has a big bill is quite an under-statement.

Juvenile brown pelican, Monterey Bay

We watched adult brown pelicans fish by plunging head first into the water. After a big splash they bob up wiggling their bill and expanded pouch as they swallow the catch. If a gull is nearby, such as the Heermann's, the pelican does some gyrations to prevent the gull from stealing the fish. The adults were working hard for their meal.

Meanwhile the juveniles were hanging out at the fisherman's wharf, waiting for an easy meal. No flying and diving and getting harassed by gulls. They hung around outside, while fisherman cleaned the fish, and presumably threw them some scraps.

Or they hang out at the public fishing pier,
waiting for stray bait.

These pelicans are so common and so tame
that the locals ignore them.
Who would have thought that this population
is still on the Federal endangered species list.

This one I am sure is saying:
"Why are you looking at my feet...
I know they are webbed and turned inward.
That is so when I am ready to breed
I can use these webbed feet to incubate the eggs.
We all do it."

What to do with this long bill,
but hang my head. What a bird.

Hemlock

Several weeks ago we watched for the umpteenth time, The Rose Rent, one of the few DVDs that we own. Derek Jacobi stars masterfully as Brother Cadfael, in this PBS Mystery! series, set in 12th century Shrewsbury. Cadfael is less extreme in his religious views than other monks in the Shrewsbury Abbey, and he is an herbalist, skills he often uses to solve mysteries. This episode begins with Cadfael giving a potion to a woman whose husband is dying in extreme agony. The potion is some sort of poppy extract, but this time with "hemlock," which Cadfael warns, "one thimbleful Judith dulls the pain, two thimblefuls dulls the pain forever."

Cadfael had gathered poison hemlock, Conium maculatum, a plant native to Europe. Since the 1800s the plant has grown and spread throughout the U.S. A member of the parsley family, it is a perennial that grows in roadsides, stream banks, field edges, and other disturbed sites. And it is poisonous.

Today though I am thinking about a completely different hemlock -- the eastern hemlock, Tsuga canadensis. One of our most common forest trees in New England and one of my favorites.

Eastern hemlock cones and needles

Hemlock is the most shade tolerant and longest-lived of all tree species in the eastern U.S. It can grow suppressed in the understory for 400 years, before a sunlit gap in the forest finally allows it to put on a growth spurt. The cones are small, much more diminutive than the cones of its common neighbor in the forest, the white pine. Hemlocks are scattering their wind-dispersed seeds now and into winter. The needles are short, soft, and flat, with two white lines on the underside.

Single hemlock trees grow scattered throughout our oak-pine and hardwood forests. Most often though, you notice hemlock where it grows in pure stands, forming a dense canopy overhead. Beneath the thick canopy of hemlock, the forest is dark and sparse. In winter, thick hemlock boughs prevent snow from reaching the forest floor. White-tailed deer spend winters here, where it is easier for them to move around. Porcupines also like hemlocks -- chewed hemlock branches scattered on the snow is a sure sign that this mammal is out and about.

Porcupine-chewed hemlock branches.

Two warblers are fond of hemlock forests -- listen for their songs overhead as you walk through a cool, hemlock-shaded forest in June. Since that is a ways off you have time to learn the songs of the black-throated-green warbler ("zoooo zeee zo zo zeee") and the blackburnian warbler (a thin, high-pitched "tsi tsi tsi tsi ti ti ti ti tseee"). I often hear barred owls calling "who cooks for you" and see pileated woodpeckers in our local hemlock forests. A chattering red squirrel is another common denizen.

A small sap-sucking insect native to Japan and China is killing eastern hemlock from North Carolina to Maine. So far, it has killed few hemlocks in New Hampshire. One thought is that colder temperatures here keep it at bay. But temperatures are changing, and the adelgid is advancing, both on the wind and stuck to the feathers of birds. In New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont, homeowners and nurseries cannot bring hemlock seedlings or trees from adelgid-infected states, unless certified as pest free.

Winter will soon be upon us. The x-country skis and snowshoes are ready for the season's first good snowfall. When it arrives we will head out on trails that wind through hemlock glades, snow deep in the trail. Hemlock boughs on either side laden with snow bowed down to the ground. Snowshoe hare tracks criss-cross the trail, the hares keeping safe beneath the thick greenery. All sounds of the outside world muffled by snow and hemlock.

Baking Bread

Yesterday I made two loaves of honey wheat bread, from scratch, with simple ingredients -- bulgur, salt, honey, salt, butter, yeast, and flour ( a mix of wheat and white). I mixed the ingredients then kneaded the dough with my bare hands until it felt right.

While the dough was rising we went out with Bella for a long walk on a beautiful, warm day. By the time we returned the dough had doubled in size. After dividing it in two, I set it to rise in glass bread loaf pans. Leaving the dough to rise again, we stepped outside to rake leaves, trim bushes, and clean the yard.

Back inside by mid-afternoon, the bread loaves were ready for the oven. After 40 minutes, the browned, baked loaves were out and cooling on the counter. The sweet smell of yeast and honey wafted through the house. We waited as long as we could (maybe 10 minutes) before cutting the first warm slice of homemade bread.

The bread was soft, chewy, fresh, and I must say delicious. How could I have gone so long (years) since making my last loaf of bread. It is easy, fun, relaxing -- especially kneading the dough by hand. Warm, homemade bread is like eating a juicy, red tomato picked fresh from your garden. There is no comparison to a store-bought version.


This morning we toasted a slice of the honey wheat bread and adorned it with butter and our homemade peach jam. A great start to the day.

Chimney Swifts and Sweeps

Smoke is swirling out of chimneys on these chilly November mornings. Chopped and split firewood is neatly stacked in many yards. Many of our songbirds have migrated south. This includes the chimney swift, which technically is not a "songbird" of the order Passeriformes, but instead it is, well, in the order of birds with small legs -- the hummingbirds and swifts, or Apodiformes.

Chimneys rather resemble large hollow trees that chimney swifts nested in before chimneys were invented. Obviously the bird was named after bricks and mortar arrived on the scene. After our eastern forests were cleared for pasture and crops, big old trees were no longer available to nesting swifts. Clearly adaptable birds, swifts took to nesting and roosting in chimneys.

Often called "cigars with wings," chimney swifts are fast fliers, snatching insects on the wing with their small, broad bill and wide gape. Swifts do not perch like the somewhat look-alike swallows. Instead they cling to the sides of chimneys, tree hollows, barns and silos, and cliffs. Mostly they fly on their curved, stiff wings, while emitting a high-pitched rapid twitter.

Adult swifts store captured insects in an expandable pouch in their esophagus. Back at the nest they regurgitate the food to their young. Both adults help build a shallow, half saucer-shaped nest made of twigs that they snap from trees as they fly by. The nest is cemented together will their sticky saliva.

My first experience with a chimney sweep (many years ago) was Bert in Mary Poppins dancing on rooftops and singing "chim chim cher ee." I had not thought much about chimney sweeping since then, until we moved to New Hampshire, and met the Seacoast Sweep, our friend and neighbor up the road. Also known as Phil of the Mitchell family, brother of Alan (see story on Homesteading Woodworking School and skunks).

Chimney cleaning is important for swifts and humans, especially to remove any buildup of creosote. That is where the chimney sweep comes in. Phil is a member of the National Chimney Sweep Guild. Visit their website and you will see they have a section on chimney swifts, including a nice photo of a nest inside a chimney. That is cool and essential since chimney swifts are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act; care is needed when cleaning chimneys with nesting swifts.

The chimney swift flies over 6000 miles round trip every year, from the eastern United States to its wintering grounds in Peru. In late summer and early fall swifts congregate in traditional stopover spots to buildup fat reserves before their long journey. Sometimes a single, large chimney hosts thousands of swifts on migration. This is the case for an elementary school in Portland, Oregon, which now attracts hundreds of people who pull up chairs to watch the Vaux's swifts return to this roost at dusk.

The Driftwood Wildlife Association in Texas hosts a great website on chimney swifts. There you can learn about "being a good chimney swift landlord" and enjoying a "swift night out." Suitable swift chimneys are those made of stone, brick, or masonry with mortared joints. These provide enough texture for swifts to cling to the walls. The new metal chimneys are too slippery -- these should be capped to prevent birds and other animals from entering. Talk with your local chimney sweep about ways to make your mortared chimney safe for swifts and functional for humans. Also, don't forget about keeping large, old trees. Perhaps as trees reclaim the land and grow older, chimney swifts will switch back to hollow trees.

Until spring, when the swifts return, snuggle up to the wood stove (or radiator). After a long winter, the return of the twittering, sooty-colored swifts will be a welcome sight.

Nibbling at Kale

A few months ago I walked to the back of our yard to pick the rainbow Swiss chard for dinner. The chard was lush, growing in a raised bed filled with composted leaves, grass, and other garden trimmings. The raised bed is only a 100 feet from the house, but it is a bit hidden, tucked beyond the meadow of goldenrods, sedges, and Joe-pye-weed that we let grow wild, and the forest edge.

I thought someone had gotten to the Swiss chard before me, all the leaves were clipped off just above the stem, all in a row. It was too high for a woodchuck. And the chard stems were not evenly clipped as a rodent or rabbit would do with their sharp upper and lower incisors. Deer have only lower incisors so they rip the plant as they munch. As I looked closer I saw a toe print - a deer.

The arugula, scallions, lettuce, and kale were untouched. Weeks went by. The Swiss chard recovered, sprouted new leaves, and we harvested enough for a few meals. A few days ago I went back to harvest some kale. Such a hardy plant, it does even better after a frost. Full of nutrition, it is a great substitute for spinach, which is hard to grow, or chard which is finished for the year.

The dogs -- Bella and Aria -- and I often walk back here, wandering into the woods that borders a wetland with beaver and ducks and other interesting things to see. As we strolled past the raised beds, the dogs stopped to sniff. They lingered. I glanced at the bed -- the kale was nibbled, actually all the big leaves were gone. I continued on a few more steps into the woods. Just then I noticed two large does bounding away, their tails flipped up showing the snow white underside. The dogs, busy sniffing around the raised bed, missed the movement.

They soon joined me in the woods and almost immediately picked up the deer scent. I kept them close to prevent a chase. They stopped sniffing the air and began sniffing the ground. We continued on to the wetland. I reached the shore, but they were not with me. I looked back and saw each of them nibbling at the ground. They were nibbling the remains of the kale -- now in the form of small, round black deer droppings or pellets or raisins.

Our dogs usually avoid animal scat, but they seem to love deer droppings. Yes, deer can carry disease and parasites, which can transmit through their poop. But these deer looked quite healthy, and besides, they had fed on kale. How nutritious is that for deer and dog!

Discovering Wood Ferns

It was over 6 months ago in late April that I noticed the first fiddleheads of the spring. I was at home (my first home) with my parents, helping my mother recover from a fracture. And now a half-year later, Mom is stronger than ever, and the ferns are returning to their roots, fading in form and color.

The lacy lady fern and the arching cinnamon ferns, their burst of life above ground now over for the year, are brown and curled. Their fronds almost resuming the shape of the fiddlehead, just as they began the year.

Lady fern (Athyrium filix-femina) in early November

Yet the woods is still full of fern greenery. The wood ferns are there, carpeting the forest floor or tucked in small clumps among rock outcrops, now more visible after the understory shrubs and tree saplings have shed their leaves.

Intermediate wood fern (Dryopteris intermedia)
still lush and green in November

Ferns are a beautiful and diverse group of plants. My interest began early. I have A Field Guide to the Ferns on my shelf, with my father's handwriting inside, "Ellen Snyder 1972." I was not yet a teenager and I got this book as a Christmas present. Although some of the names have changed -- not only do botanists like to reclassify, but the ferns themselves have interbred -- the book is a treasure trove of still valid information about fern biology with delicate sketches of each fern.

Ferns have many different families. One of the biggest families is the spleenworts -- Aspleniaceae. This includes the lady-fern, the wood ferns, sensitive, Christmas and New York ferns, and more. The other family names are just as wonderful -- the royal fern family, the curly grass family, the polypody family, the filmy fern family, the bracken family, and the ever lovely maidenhair fern family.

The wood fern group (Genus Dryopteris) is a tricky bunch. They like to hybridize. I am sure they have confused humans since time began (well not that long since humans are younger than time....). Akin to identifying confusing fall warblers. For the warblers you need to look out for wingbars, eye rings, streaks, dabs of color, and behavior. The wood ferns require a good hand lens to look at veins, sori, and indusia and a study of the stalk or stipe for scales, the leaf or frond for once, twice, or thrice-cut leaflets (or pinna, pinnules, and pinnulets), and a knowledge of their preferred habitat.

One of my favorite wood ferns, is the marginal wood fern. It grows in rocky areas under oak and pine, its fronds are darker green and a bit leathery, and its sori (the fruit dots or spore cases) are along the margins of the underside of the leaflets. Why do I like it so much -- besides its beauty, I can identify it!

Marginal wood fern (Dryopteris marginalis)

Marginal wood fern leaflet or pinna

Underside of marginal wood fern -
note the sori (fruit dots) on the margins

Intermediate wood fern (Dryopteris intermedia) --
note the sori near the mid-vein, not on the margins

Intermediate wood fern, one of those confusing green ferns.

For the intermediate wood fern, take note of the second, upper pinnulet; it is longer than the first, upper pinnulet next to the main stem. That is the only visible difference between intermediate and spinulose wood fern. In the later the second pinnulet is smaller than first. You need to look at several fronds to be sure of the size comparison.

Go out and discover the wood ferns, still green in the woods. If you want to know if it is marginal, or intermediate, or spinulose, or crested, or one of the other many Dryopteris, take a hand lens and a key. Other still green ferns are there too -- Christmas fern and rock polypody. It is all fine greenery whether you know the names or not.

Earl J.S. Rook has a fine website on the natural history of the north woods with fine photos and descriptions of the ferns. See the wood ferns and other families there.

Moon Set

Frost is on the pumpkin this morning - the court jester still casts his cheer upon the yard. A full November moon, large, round, and orange, looking like the Great Pumpkin, sets behind the red oaks as we walked this morn. The moon so big and bright, even with the naked eye we can see the lunar mares -- the large, dark basaltic plains on the moon's surface.

The sun rises as the moon sets, both casting an orange glow on the oaks that still hold their darkened leaves. We've fallen back in time. Dawn comes earlier, casting natural light on our morning walk once again. At least for another month until the days grow shorter and darker.

We savor the morning light, knowing that evening darkness will settle in sooner today. We prepare for the shorter days and long winter ahead. Rake more leaves. Clean and fill the bird feeders. Stow the garden hoses. Gather recipes for soups and stews. Eye the long underwear in the drawer (no - we don't need that quite yet). We are ready.