Reeds gone wild

Such elaborate designs can be created with a few dead cattail stalks, a quiet pond, and a stone!

Duck pond, Centennial Beach Park

Blue house, with cherry blossoms

I spent most of the afternoon, the evening, and the night, on the road, in the rain and wind. For a few brief moments, the sun made an attempt to break through the clouds over Strathcona. I rolled the window down and took a photo.

Pender Street is lined with blooming cherry trees.

I hope tomorrow will be dryer.

In lieu of beavers

"Let's go check on the beavers," Laurie said. It was raining and miserable in Strathcona, so we cancelled our plans for the afternoon and went home to Delta, and down to Cougar Creek to see how the beaver were doing.

We didn't see them, as usual. They've rebuilt three dams, and something was swimming about underwater, blowing bubbles; an otter or two, or a beaver. We never saw anything break the surface.

But there were ducks, and new spring growth, and reflections on the water; we weren't disappointed.

Reflections of trees in duck-disturbed water

Wigeon and squiggles

Male hooded merganser, between dives.

His mate, far in the distance

Mallard pair, on mirror-like water

Indian plum, just starting to bloom

I love how these early salmon berry blossoms start out all crinkly.

Laurie just had to take this view of a wild rose tangle; stems and thorns. Wicked thorns.

Robin hunting for worms in the grass.

Blogger has been uncooperative tonight; it wouldn't load any of my photos, nor would they upload to Picasa for Blogger's use. I linked these from Flickr, but over Blogger's protests. If they're not showing up, let me know in the comments. Thanks!

Living dangerously

One thing I like about Strathcona; it's buggy. There still are no flying critters at home in Delta, and very few spiders, even out in the garden. While there's nothing for them to eat, they're sleeping.

Ah, but Strathcona! I was coming up to bed in my daughter's house here, when I noticed a tiny bug on the staircase wall, well above my head. I risked my life, trying to get close enough for a photo; every time I felt secure enough to focus, the narsty critter moved away.

The best I could do. I'll track it down tomorrow, in daylight.

There were a couple of pretty moths, though. I managed to catch one.

I love the frilly pleated "petticoat". The smudge on the left wing is my fault; I had to hold the moth for a while as I searched the kitchen for a suitable lidded container.

I haven't attempted to identify these. I should have been in bed hours ago. Goodnight, all!

Half a season in 25 kilometres

The spring flowers are coming on apace in Beach Grove; not so much up here on the hilltop. My birdbath was frozen over a couple of times last week. But we'll get there eventually. Almost all of my perennials have poked an inch or so of green through the top dressing on the soil - steer manure and bone meal, this time. The hostas and ferns are still in hiding. I've planted more seedlings; Sweet William, foxglove, columbine, Candytuft and Fairy's thimble. (I love these names. They roll so easily off the tongue!) Laurie's going to put in a purple gooseberry shrub -yum!

But those fruits and flowers are all in the future; at present we're glad of Beach Grove. These are from last week's showing:

Cherry blossoms against a blue, blue sky

Creamy white clematis

Looking down the throat of a strongly yellow daffodil

Narcissi and their shadows

A green-flowered hellebore

The waxy flowers of Pieris japonica

And some humble purple asters. Well, as humble as asters ever get, crouching down at toe level.

I'm heading up to Strathcona tomorrow. There'll be gardens to envy, to emulate, and probably to shake my head at, bemused.

About those animal tracks ...

Maybe that was too easy; the animals that made the tracks I posted yesterday were pretty well identified just by location. Kirk weighed in with the answer before dawn.

Hermit crab tracks.

Maybe I should have asked for the species.

However obvious the track makers were, I failed to recognize them when we first saw them on the beach. Which is surprising, and a bit embarrassing; after years of interacting with hermits, and more years of following snail trails up and down the mud flats on this same beach, I had never noticed any before. My (flimsy) excuse is that my hermits were usually underwater, and the snail trails are mostly in mud, which oozes and doesn't retain those pin-prick prints. It was only in the damp, firm sand, protected from the wind in valleys between wave ridges, that the footprints stayed put long enough for us to see them. Where the hermits crossed ridges, the orderly line of many-legged travel became only a wind-blown, blurry mussing of the sand.

I discovered the source when, at the end of another trail, I picked up another small snail shell. This one had sand clumped around the opening; I gently brushed it off, until I exposed just the tip of a hermit's main pincer. Poor frightened beastie, trying to make himself invisible deep in his shell! I apologized, and replaced him in his cosy trench.

No, I don't know the species for sure, either. By the location of the tracks, the size of the shell and shape of the pincer, I think it was probably a greenmark hermit; we have found many, a bit farther down this beach.

A few days earlier, on the White Rock beach, we found another intriguing set of marks. I always notice sandstone; I love the swirling or wavy patterns preserved there. On a big sandstone rock among the rip-rap separating the beach from the railroad track something had left its mark, long ago.

Footprint or coincidental cluster of clay lumps?

This was about the size of a medium dog's paw print. In the photo, it almost looks raised, but it was a depression in the sandstone, partially filled in with a fine clay, hardened, but flaky. (The little piece of wood is sitting loose on top of the clay/stone; knowing that forces my eyes to recognize the shape as an indentation.)

And when I stepped back to leave, I realized that the print was part of a sort of track:

More indentations, in clusters about a foot apart.

Are these fossilized prints, or is it my imagination running away with me? Probably the latter, but it's fun to speculate.

What animal made these tracks?

Do you know? If not, make a guess; let your imagination soar!

I'd never seen anything like these before. We found them halfway down the beach on Boundary Bay, at low tide. There were maybe a dozen separate trails, following the valleys between ripples in the sand.

Either the end or the start of one trail. Central groove, paired footprints or claw prints on either side.

In looser sand, the footprints were less defined, the central groove deeper.

The groove is almost non-existent here.

Here's a hint. The shell at the end of this trail is about 1/2 an inch long. It appears to be empty.

What do you think?

(I do know, because I found one track-maker. I'll post the answer tomorrow.)

Upgrading, crazily

My problems are over! Or just beginning; one of the two. I gave up on the old computer, and went out and bought a new one, of the same make. So far, so good, except that now I find I can't type. The keys are all in the wrong places, and the delete key is hiding in with all the inoffensive keys like "pg up" and "pg dn". I'm sure I've deleted at least two important files.

You would think that the developers would have realized that they needed to consult me about all the changes they were making. Totally inconsiderate of them!

We saw this set of steps going up the cliff face to a house far above the White Rock beach. It is about as logical as this computer, maybe a bit more so.

Staircase, with periwinkles.

The colours of my photos seems to be a bit "off" on this screen. The grey wood looks purplish-blue; it looked fine on the old computer and the spare monitor. What do the colours look like to you?

Now we know it's spring

On the White Rock beach yesterday, it was so warm that we had to take off our jackets. That's a first for this year. The tide was high, and a mixed flock of waterfowl were diving for goodies, some fairly close to shore, most too far out to identify.

View of the pier, with one bird close enough to be visible.

Common goldeneye, male.

I always have to look it up: the Common goldeneye has a round white patch on his cheek; the Barrow's has a comma-shaped patch. Otherwise, at a distance, they are very similar.

Quite a few of the divers were almost completely black, except for a white patch on the breast or a white ring around the neck, and a yellow beak. They were probably Barrow's females.

(About those computer problems; it's working again. But only as long as I rest it on a layer of ice packs. I think the fan is kaput, but at least I'm still online, for now.)

Frazzled

My computer is acting up again. I've got it working at the moment, but it keeps crashing, no matter what I do.

The Huichol tribe in Mexico had the same problem, centuries ago. There is no other logical explanation for this traditional design:

Beads embedded in wax, lining a dried gourd. About 9 inches across.

Windows to gladden your heart

I'm still sorting old photos. Laurie took these in my daughter's antique church/wedding chapel near Chilliwack, at the eastern end of the Fraser Valley. (She and her husband are photographers; this is their headquarters.)

I simply love the colours.

Stained glass window high in the entrance, below the bell tower. The looped-up bell cord and the rim of the bell are just visible in the dim interior.

Round window in the nave, with treetops outside creating water and flame patterns.

The church dates from 1886; these would be the original windows. The bell cord has been replaced, probably several times. The bell is still rung for each wedding.

Forgotten beauties

I'm still sorting my old storage, and finding all sorts of forgotten treasures. I don't think I ever wrote about Earthwise Organic Farm. My mistake; I'll remedy that soon.

These are three flowers from their half-wild walking path, in July of 2010.

Uncharacteristically shy poppy

Shyer poppy

Nothing shy about an aster

I just realized they've opened early this year; we'll have to stop in soon.

The growing of the green*

My garden lies in deep, deep shade; at the height of summer the outer edges get sunshine for a couple of hours a day. In the winter, nothing. What sunlight does appear is reflected dimly off the tops of the tall cedars on the far side of the lawn. So as spring approaches, I watch as the sunlit area moves down and down, a few inches of cedar branches per day. When it reaches the lawn, I celebrate; suddenly the days seem brighter, the yard seems wider.

Friday, around 6:30 in the afternoon, a stray ray of sunlight fell along a strip of grass at the base of the evergreens. It stayed only a few minutes, but it's a start. So yesterday, we were out arranging hoses, checking on garden tools, cleaning up fallen leaves, checking the compost, making shopping lists: manure - chicken, mushroom and steer , slug bait, a few more plants for Laurie's newly-cleared (and mostly sunny!) patch, maybe some more hostas for my shady corner.) Gardening fever is upon us again.

In spite of the weather and the lack of sunlight, I have flowers; hellebore in full bloom, pachysandra, heather. And the new stalks of Dutchman's breeches are six inches tall, bright yellow-green and strong.

Western Bleeding Heart, leafing out. Near the roots, there's a mass of flower buds.

Hellebore in a bare garden.

This one lives in a pot in an even darker corner, so the sepals are green-tipped. Those tiny green things around the center are the petals.

Around the corner, in Laurie's new garden, the sun has been shining (when it isn't raining) for well over a week. There, he has well-established Oregon grape, rescued from under a tangled mass of long-abandoned cotoneaster last summer; it's loaded with buds already. The perennials we planted last year are looking good; pachysandra, various small evergreens, camellias, ferns, mint, a rosebush, and more. Everything is budding and stretching.

Last fall we bought these winter pansies. Half went in my shady spot, half in Laurie's semi-shaded area. Mine died under the onslaught of snow and rain; his are thriving.

Some animal broke a stalk off the white hellebore, months ago. Laurie stuck it in water at the base of an empty pot for protection. And now, it's blooming!

And wonder of wonders; the Swiss chard in the 6 by 8 foot vegetable garden, cut down in December, is sprouting new leaves!

Ah, the season of dirt and rakes, slug wars and vanquished roots, seedlings and fish fertilizer! Aching back and all, I love it!

*Title: the Irish in me coming out.

Sand, sky, and old wood

These are a few more photos from that so very windy day on Crescent Beach.

I never tire of this view, especially at low, low tide. And yes, those are shoes in the tree. They've been there for at least two years.

This is from the creek just before we reach the town. The horizon is concave, again.

Signs of spring; flowering trees. The wind was whipping these around so that even holding onto a twig, we couldn't stop the shaking. I took macros of those tiny flowers, but got only a yellow blur.

Logs don't tremble in the wind. This scar reminds me of an eye, but of what animal?

I love this old lichen-coated log. It's almost geographical; the depression could well be a terraced valley surrounded by ancient cliffs.

Another view of the same log. This reminds me of a slow-flowing glacier.

A Skywatch  post.

Just because

There's no rhyme or reason to this post. I'm suffering from brain overload.

These are photos from this past week, in no particular order.

Pair of flies on a hawkweed flower.

A tiny bird's nest left over from last year. It is about 2 to 3 inches across. Beach Grove.

From my back yard, a blue snail. I've never seen one this colour before. The camera sometimes lies, but this is what my eyes told me, too.

Cat on a cement wall, Beach Grove.

The wall and cat were far across the dunes. Something down the crack had his attention, and I stood on the beach shouting like an idiot, "Kitty, kitty! Look over here, kitty!" He finally deigned to give us a quick glance.

A huge forsythia grew in front of an old farmhouse down the street. Untrimmed, it hung over the sidewalk, causing pedestrians to duck under it or step into the road. Every year around this time, Laurie brings me an armload of its branches, loaded with buds. Not this year. They're building a new retail/housing complex there, and have torn out every scrap of vegetation.

I cut a few twigs from the bottom of a shrub in Crescent Beach. At home, they burst into happy bloom.

Lbb, Beach Grove

Moss sporophyte, spore case.

A few days ago, we walked down Crescent Beach in the teeth of a vicious wind. The birds, gulls and eagles mostly, were out in force, playing in the currents. A flock of young eagles would fly out of the trees, then rest on the air, letting the wind blow them sideways back into the forest. Or they would fly far up until they were just dots in the sky, then drop to tree-top levels.

And somewhere in the evergreens on the cliff, a couple of eagles were announcing their romance to the world. He screeched, loudly, over and over. Then she would join in with the bubbly, warbling mating-readiness cry. Hard to describe; a lower tone, liquid, softer than the usual rusty-hinge scream; almost an amplified version of the voice a mother cat uses to greet her kittens. But amplified; very. We could hear her from a good kilometer down the beach.

They would sing their duet for a few minutes, then lapse into silence. Not for long. Again and again they broke into triumphant song.

We kept scanning the trees, looking for a sign of them; we couldn't find them, not even by the shaking of branches, since the wind was tossing everything about. We got photos of playing eagles; dots in the sky against the light. No photos of the mating pair.