May 24, 2010 by Naomi.

Enjoy each day because it can never be
re-lived. Once and then it’s over. That thought did not cross my
mind as I stood leaning my forearms on the sun-warmed rail at McNary
National Wildlife Refuge Education Center at eight am this morning. A
white pelican fed along the edge of the island, a sandpiper stood
one-legged on a log, a cormorant dived into the water and come up to
spread its wings to dry, painted turtles climbed on the logs to bask
in the warm sunshine. Looking for the natural action on and around
the water is part of my routine every Monday when I open the Center.
My day had been active from the time I awoke doing activities to keep
my muscles in tone reminding my heart that a few speeding moments
moves the cleansing blood from cranium to toenails. How I love the
sunrise and the stretching of every muscle. I treasure action past
and never once thought of the many days I would be out of touch with
the Refuge. I have a son to see married and his four siblings
who will come together for the happy occasion. I will not get back to
the Refuge for more than 2 weeks, a few days before Second Saturday,
June 12. At home I had weeds to pull and with the weedeater I managed to
clear tall grass and weeds from a large area of the “back forty”
before my wrists hollered uncle. Still hours until dark but I will do
no more hard labor today. My mother used to say: Enough’s enough and
that’s a great plenty. I’ll drink to that.

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May 23, 2010 by Naomi.

When into my kitchen I brought a lovely peony flower on a long stem, ants came along. I always thought they were essential to open the tight petals on my big white flowers. Not so. I have been assured by experts that the petals would grow and the flower would open, ants or no ants. I can’t blame the ants for making the long journey up the stems to lick the syrup off the petals. But I was not happy those tiny little sugar ants invaded my kitchen. With little regard for insects’ emotions I rinsed them off and sent them down the drain. Thoughtless and cruel, that’s what I was, as humans consider their due in view of the lesser animals. I know insects have brains, sized to their heads like all other life. Probably only a glitch of genetic reaction but if they could think at all, I’m sure they didn’t like the wild ride down the rapids of the drain out into the sewer and on into the river that leads to the sea. Well maybe they did. I excitedly rode the rapids in Costa Rica in an inflated raft with a dozen others who thought “what the hell” and ricocheted from one side of the other in the narrow channel of the river whose name I could not pronounce. Animals like adventure, I think, at least they retreat with excitement rather than face an unknown adversary, saving their lives if not their vanity. So I am certain that the ants are out to sea without a pea-green boat or a captain to guide them. The bloom I bring in next will have all lively creatures shaken off and left in the habitat where they can flourish.

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May 23, 2010 by Naomi.

When into my kitchen I brought a lovely peony flower on a long stem, ants came along. I always thought they were essential to open the tight petals on my big white flowers. Not so. I have been assured by experts that the petals would grow and the flower would open, ants or no ants. I can’t blame the ants for making the long journey up the stems to lick the syrup off the petals. But I was not happy those tiny little sugar ants invaded my kitchen. With little regard for insects’ emotions I rinsed them off and sent them down the drain. Thoughtless and cruel, that’s what I was, as humans consider their due in view of the lesser animals. I know insects have brains, sized to their heads like all other life. Probably only a glitch of genetic reaction but if they could think at all, I’m sure they didn’t like the wild ride down the rapids of the drain out into the sewer and on into the river that leads to the sea. Well maybe they did. I excitedly rode the rapids in Costa Rica in an inflated raft with a dozen others who thought “what the hell” and ricocheted from one side of the other in the narrow channel of the river whose name I could not pronounce. Animals like adventure, I think, at least they retreat with excitement rather than face an unknown adversary, saving their lives if not their vanity. So I am certain that the ants are out to sea without a pea-green boat or a captain to guide them. The bloom I bring in next will have all lively creatures shaken off and left in the habitat where they can flourish.

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May 22, 2010 by Naomi.

Clouds, in my mind, come the closest to magic in nature. Well maybe the wind. But then the wind is what makes magic of the clouds and can only be seen in the rolling, twisting shapes of the particles of water. The particles are gathered tightly and give an opaque visibility to otherwise colorless water. Water is like magic anyway. It can be solid, gas, or liquid. Not all at the same time, nevertheless, it can quickly change from one form to another and that’s pretty close to magic. I think of gas as hot but the water does not boil to rise and become clouds yet it does turn into its gaseous form as it evaporates into the air. Water doesn’t boil yet it becomes a gas. Sounds more like a puzzle than magic or like a dog chasing its own tail. OK, so clouds are just water that evaporated up into the sky. Some other physics takes place and water falls from the vapor. I understand the logic. Like Richard Dawkins says, understanding the science of the sunlight and prisms does not take away the beauty and wonder of the rainbow. It might as well be magic.

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May 21, 2010 by Naomi.

Those are my thoughts. When off to McNary Education Center, I aim my car at the trail head and settle back to enjoy the ride. Like I have a built in GPS! I do not have to steer, just enjoy the scenery not that hundreds of Caterpillar machines brought in to recline behind a chain link fence is scenic, but they were once hard working and much appreciated for the ditch digging and earth moving they once did to set foundations for highways, skyscrapers and sewer systems. The orange color is known as the symbol of progress in our state and around the world. As I drive past, the variety of machines appear to be a congregation gathered for praise waiting for the next assignment. Caterpillar is still known world wide as the manufacturer of mining and earthmoving equipment and its history lingers in my thoughts as my car moves through the shrub-steppe habitat the fifteen miles to my destination. Called Caterpillar because of treads that looped around the wheels to steadily wind and pull the machines through whatever job the driver directed. I doubt the dignified worm considers it an honor to have the cumbersome, noisy, tons of steel for a namesake but I daresay, people probably think of the machines when they hear “caterpillar” before they remember the cute furry worm. There ought to be one or two chewing on the fresh spring leaves along McNary trails. I’m off for a look.

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May 20, 2010 by Naomi.

When the first light invades my vision I squeeze my eyelids tightly closed. It is way too early to get out of bed. So the earth as much as tells me to rise and shine, my brain, knowing full well that 0530 is hours earlier than I will approach third grade kids to talk about nature and I cuddle back in the blankets which my body have warmed in the past six hours. The wind pushes leaves on my English walnut tree to shatter the sunbeams with an insistence that will not let me rest. From the branches, stems radiate outward with ever increasing leaves to the outermost wonder of synthesis that is the size of my palm. Big leaf. An encyclopedia of things my synapses absorbed over eighty-two years stand ready to be used to explain evolution. But can one explain the process that took five billion years for humans to slowly come from cold earth and water and become warm muscle and hard bones that walk and invent things that change the very climate in which we are acclimated. Well I will struggle to make sense of it. Life earth takes two forms, I tell them, plants are rooted and cannot run away so animals eat them. Not only does everything we eat come from plants or are plants. It takes some time to lead the mind through processes that turned plants into the breakfast eggs and bacon that is now digesting as we think upon it. So much for the first beam of twilight and the turn of the earth that makes the wind shake my awakening thoughts. So much so soon. Get up and get with it. Another day here I come.

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May 19, 2010 by Naomi.

One of the most maligned profession I know of is the weatherman. In fact they look ahead by looking behind and the weather fronts are as capricious as dustdevils. Just as sure as I see black clouds in the west and prepare to guard against a shower, I turn around and the day becomes a bright and sunny picnic day. Like today. I pulled weeds in my driveway and set up hoses for watering my back yard. Got out and did an hour of sunbathing, dashed in to have a sandwich and the rain came. Did I have my car windows up or down? I’ll know when I get in to drive off in the morning. So much for watching the sky which I thought might be more accurate than weather forecasting. Oh Well. One more day I do not have to turn on the hoses. The weed eater calls me and I must put it to work before I take off to play in Bellingham and Seattle. There are still two weeks of school kids to marvel at out at McNary and a couple of USFW barbecues in between. Oh I will need new britches – its back to GoodWill. But I am jolly just the same. Actually laugh out loud when I look in the mirror and see that 82 year old grinning at me while I wait for my PC to bring up the latest earthquakes in the world. Been a quiet week so far. Not to worry. My tires are full of air, my tank is full of gas, and I am full of vinegar.

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May 18, 2010 by Naomi.

There was no doubt in my mind but that a weekend at a writer’s conference would furnish many days worth of blogs. Not so. The weekend is over, relegated to the past, no longer fresh enough in my mind to warrant recall. Today is something else: rain, school kids, vertebrates, then wind, followed by warming sunshine. This day is almost over – also past. I walked with my camera to capture the spring buds and flowers on the plants in the well groomed patches to highlight our native plants at the McNary National Wildlife Refuge Education Center. The showiest is the wild rose which has occupied North America from Hudson Bay southward for centuries. Where it didn’t seed itself, people carried it, cultivated the biggest, prettiest, and most colorful, until by clever genetic engineering, every conceivable color, shape, and size are available to any gardener. Another plant in bloom is yarrow, a plant known to ancient warriors, carried into battle for its ability to coagulate blood and prevent injured warriors from bleeding their lives away. Not limited to any particular soil or habitat yarrow flourishes in all parts of the world. Did the generals carry yarrow as a medicine for the injured? Or as a tool to hone the bodies of the fighters? Queens wanted samples when explorers left to find what they could on the other side of the mountain, or beyond their known shores – whether it was plants or animals that were discovered. Now there is a subject for unlimited blogs. Tell of the botanical adventures of David Douglas sent to North America by the London Horticultural Society in 1827. Remember President Thomas Jefferson’s insatiable thirst for knowledge who sent Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on The Voyage of Discovery into the “Northwest” territory with the directive to send back samples of flora and fauna before unknown in the east. And so words keep flowing. Blogging. What a peculiar combination of letters and a more peculiar concept. All these words and not one mention of the birthday of my twenty-five year-old grandson.

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May 17, 2010 by Naomi.

The past few days give me plenty to blog about and more than I wish to put all in one, so here goes a quick overview and then a more detailed beginning. First of all I left on Saturday morning around 0530 for a drive to Wenatchee over three hundred miles to the north. I looked over possible routes and decided to go through the Hanford site, a drive I had not done for years. Rattlesnake mountain and all land around is green with the first growth of sweet clover and beginning to brown with the first crop of cheat grass gone to seed. From Vantage I cut north, bypassed Yakima, whizzed through George and Quincy to arrive in Wenatchee before noon. Turned out to be an 80 degree day and I did some driving around the area in the apple capitol of the world – so claimed the sign as I drove into town. There were orchards aplenty all past the blossoming stage, and the geometric arrangement looked well loved. It appears that a fruit taking over is the grape, many more vineyards than in the past. The meeting I went to attend was about writing – Writing On The River – WOTR to be exact. Editors, publishers, and writers seeking each other to find the next New York Times best seller. There were speakers professing the hard job of writing, workshops to study writing techniques, and discussions about how to bring about success, all at the Wenatchee Community College with interesting art scattered about the campus, some of which I was able to capture on my camera before the batteries had a stroke. I checked in, picked up my packet, perused the campus and then checked in to LaQuinta motel. A cooling thunderstorm clashed before midnight about the time I hit the hay. A most exciting ending.

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May 12, 2010 by Naomi.

This is the time of the year for the aromatic Russian-olive, an invasive tree that does not require much water and is salt tolerant. It is native in the dry steppes of Russia nor is it a true olive. It is banned in many states. It is not a lovely ornamental but a hedge makes a good windbreak. The leaves are long and slender. Its bushy growth furnishes poor shade. The thorns on the misshapen tree are long, hard and sharp. It is not a long lived tree and are easily uprooted by wind. The fruit is a seed about one quarter inch in diameter. It has little flesh that does not make a satisfactory meal although the taste is sweet. Some birders insist it is excellent bird food but in all my observations I see no birds indulging. When the tree is cut down the stump must be thoroughly treated with Roundup or a dozen shoots will pop up at its base. The perfume from its tiny yellow blossoms hangs heavily in the still evening air tonight and I will breathe better when a brisk breeze blows the pollen away.

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