Wordless Wednesday: The Early Summer Edition

What's Coming

The weather has been unseasonably warm here on California's central coast. Some crazy high pressure system has parked over us (again), and we are warm and dry. Sure, it feels good deep into our winter bones, but we know how we'll pay for it this summer-- with water rationing. We've been reading stories about it everyday in the local paper. It's hard not to love these balmy days, blue skies, temps in the 70s, but we need rain. Bad.
We've lived here long enough to remember when "northern" California was considered wet, wet like Oregon wet. Roger was born in this part of California; he has spent much of his 66 years within 50 miles of here. The coastal redwoods here are at least twenty times older than he. They thrive in the coastal foggy damp environment. That dampness is long gone. Now we are watching the parched land dry and crack. Day after week after month after year.
On these beautiful sunny days we walk the Pogonip, a 640 acre piece of land covered in redwoods, oaks, and coastal prairie. Here the red-shouldered hawk cries out to its mate. We watch as she flies over, and they fly away together. The hummingbird leaves a tippy top branch and darts above us where it hovers and watches every move we make.
Off in every meadow, especially the ones we don't ever see, the coyotes, bobcats, and cougars roam. They see us, so think they know what's coming.

All photos taken last Wednesday January 28th.

Hello Coyote

We finally took some time away from the serious matters of life and went for a very merry walk. The sun was out for a delightfully bright and cheerful change. So, we headed down to the creek. It's our favorite walk-out-the-door walk, no cars, no major planning.

When we arrived the creek was wide at full high tide and deeply green. We often take the creek walk during low and minus tides so we can walk straight out to the mouth and up the shoreline. At high tides like this one we are limited how far we can go, so we just sit on a great piece of driftwood and watch the world go by. It's mostly quiet of human sounds there. The herons squawk at us in unnervingly deep, hoarse croaks, and the kingfishers chatter in sharp rebuke at our approach. Every now and then a small plane engine interrupts all the other quiet murmurous buzzing, humming, and tidal lapping. Still it's all perfectly peaceful, and why we've come.

The other secret reason we walk here is because we are desperate to see something wild, something that will remind us that the world is not entirely made of bad presidents and lousy health care, or strange public-sex seeking senators and tainted food from China. We come down to the creek because here is where we've had our closest encounters with eagles, and we pretty much know which tree the red-tailed hawk sits in and hunts. We want a rendezvous with them. But wild critters can never be counted on, and on Wednesday they were simply not around. It was quiet. It's just the way it is with wildlife, their appearance always come straight out of nowhere. We haven't even talked about why we've come, we just sit and listen. It's a beautiful day. That's when something tawny catches our eyes. There beyond us toward the mouth of the creek, we see a young predator, a little trickster. What a welcomed surprise, we both laugh a little. We want to leap and hoot and holler, but don't. I just quietly lift the camera to my eye. He sees us right away, of course, and starts to trot away before we've even had time to say, "Hello coyote and thanks."

Leaving the World Behind

I don't know why, but I often want to start our Friday posts with: It's been a quiet week here at Lake Wobegone. I guess because it really has been quiet--days and days with no visible horizon. The clouds and fog moved in again, and we spent most of the week under a low-hanging ceiling of uniform gray, and a view that barely took in the boundaries of our property. Yes, it's slowly driving us crazy, but we slog on-- and who would notice anyway?
I spent a good part of the week reading a fine mystery novel The Liar's Diary written by fellow blogger, Patry Francis of Simply Wait. I don't usually read mysteries, but was so pleasantly surprised and drawn in by this engrossing and interesting story. Patry keeps you guessing all the way through, and the roller coaster ride of clues, details, and intrigue makes this a truly gripping whodunit. I give it five stars***** and two thumbs up!

I made myself put the book down, though, so we could leave the house and get out on one of our favorite trails. Even on the grimmest days, a walk along Chimacum Creek lifts our spirits. I told Roger that I don't know how I could put up with the news of the world, if I didn't have these fine sights to assuage my battered spirit. I wish I didn't take the world so seriously, but I do.
So, we walked and watched many water birds gather in the creek. Glad to see them in such numbers. While we watched them fly in from all directions, a coyote appeared on the other side of the creek. I thought for sure it would charge in after the birds, but it just sauntered along, until it was joined by another coyote. The two of them strolled a bit, sniffing under logs and low branches, before heading up into the hills.
It's why we walk out of our house, even on the dreariest of winter days. We look around, waiting for something to catch our eyes and pull us out from under the fog. We leave the world of news behind, of wars and tragedies, of trials and thieves, of presidential campaigns and netroots bloggers. We leave it all to come into the world where the wild things are.
*****
I hope you have remembered to send your splendid good planets photo to Susannah at dccnet dot com. This week's theme is "earth." I like it. Check out Wanderin' Weeta for details.

Winter Fog

Wednesday morning at 1:40 am, it's 29F (-1.6C) and we have our bedroom window wide open so we can have the cold brisk air on our faces when we sleep. I think we must have the genes of ice age wanderers in us. We love the chill, find it invigorating during the day and sleep inducing at night. We like lots of blankets piled on, in a cold room. Suddenly out of nowhere, the howling cry of a coyote splits the night air like a blade cleaving the silence from the darkness. Again. A different sound, another coyote. Their voices are so close we think they must be just beyond the fence no more than 150 feet away. They howl and chatter loud and crazy, a cackle or demonic laugh. I immediately think of Bev. I leap from the bed to get the camera. I know I'm not going to get a photo in the night, but Bev has recently recorded the coyotes at her place using her camera. The howling stops. We've heard the coyotes before, although never this close and never just in a single outburst like this. I expect another round. My heart is beating. I don't want to turn the light on to find the movie record setting. Silence. Our neighbor's motion sensor light goes on. Five minutes. It goes off. Silence. The coyotes have moved on without another sound. Gone.
It is almost too much to fall back to sleep. Those cries were so close and wild, we are full of adrenaline. Doze a bit, but awaken again. The night air fills with a muffling fog, and by morning the sunrise reflects the eerie night we've had.
Soon enough, though, the fog lifts completely. It's a perfectly clear blue-sky day at our house. So we head out to the Larry Scott Memorial trail to see if we might find our friends, the amorous eagles. But when we arrive we find the trail is still covered in fog all the way to the ground. We think it is a suitably beautiful match for our foggy state. We see no eagles, and the tree where they often perch is barely visible until we are directly beneath it. Off in the bay we hear the gulls crying and crying, but we can't see them either. Nothing happens, but this.

*****

Don't forget to send your Good Planets photos to Susannah of Wanderin Weeta. Her email is susannah at dccnet dot com. We've added Good Planets carnival to Blog Carnival and have that very fine reminder in our sidebar. Check it out. Also check out the Flickr site to see the stunning gallery of photos that have been submitted since August. It's an ongoing celebration of our good earth. I hope you'll send something beautiful to Susannah.

A Different Kind of Secret

We pushed Bush's speech out of our heads and took a walk. We didn't think about the raid on the Iranian consulate in northern Iraq. Not that, nor the additional 92,000 troop build up that was put on the table by Defense Secretary Gates. Nor the litany of mistakes that finally compelled Keith Olbermann to call Bush a presidency of Cliff Notes. We just walked off our discontent-- it's our mantra, our yoga, our exercise of sheer will to stay focused on the things before us. The frigid air pulls us back into our bodies. The slick icy path demands our attention.

We walked the road pictured above. It's the path we take to Chimacum Creek. A little further ahead on the left is a canyon, and past there we head down on the right to the creek. When we get to the canyon, something catches Roger's eye. He says quietly, "There's a coyote on the other side of those bushes, up there." I look up. See nothing. Then, the coyote comes into the clearing and stops to look at us, two humans who are looking back. He stands for a minute not moving at all. I take four photographs. They all look the same.
For us in that moment the plans of madmen recede into the yellow eyes of a wild thing. A wild thing disappearing into the hills is but one way to balance the haunted human world we have created. We don't idealize the coyote's wild world. We know its tragedies, the cost in blood to all the prey animals. But here there are no lies. No secrets about rationales and missions.
There is just this, a different kind of secret-- the coyote's secret. The place he runs and hunts. The place he hides so that a year goes by before we see him again. The coyote spins around and hightails it up the trail. He never looked back.

Good Planets Reminder!!
I hope you have been saving your spectacular good planet shots to send to January's host, the incomparable Laura of Somewhere in NJ. Please send her your photos depicting the beauty of our planet for this Saturday's Good Planets. Her email is lc-hardy at comcast dot net. Thanks everyone!