Colourful

Not much to see, I said. Fog and rain and half-hidden trees. Grey overhead, dark shadows around me. Not much to look at.

I was mistaken. As long as I was driving, eyes mostly on the road ahead, trees sliding by in the mist, I was really half blind. To see more, you have to slow down. Better still, stop.

I was eating my lunch beside the logging road turnoff (cold boiled eggs, pepperoni, cucumber with chili powder and lime juice, lukewarm coffee) and looking through the windshield. A typical roadside forest, logged off, torn up by road builders, weedy. But look! On this dim, grey day, look at all the colours! Warm, cheerful colours!

The view from my driver's seat.

It was barely raining now, a mere sprinkle. I wrapped the camera in plastic and went colour shopping.

Yellow-green moss, purplish dead leaves.

Dead bracken ferns; freezing brings out the bright red colour.

Creamy lichen (witches' hair?) dangling from cedar branches.

Salal stays bright green all winter.

Red osier dogwood.

A closer look. Pink, almost magenta in spots.

Broken stick having a bad hair day.

An dark chocolatey, almost black seed pod of Scotch broom.

There's more; more colours, more shapes, a bunch of lichens. For tomorrow.

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No hay gran cosa para ver, dije. Neblina y lluvia y árboles medio escondidos. Arriba, cielo gris, alrededor, sombras. Nada que te llama la atención.

Me equivocaba. Mientras seguía manejando, con los ojos fijos en el camino, viendo los árboles a ambos lados deslizándose entre nubes, estaba en realidad medio ciega. Para ver las cosas como se debe, hay que ir despacito. O mejor, pararte.

Mientras comía mi almuerzo en la entrada al camino de madereros — huevos hervidos frios, choricitos de pepperoni, pepino con chile en polvo y jugo de limón, café tibio —  miraba la vista en frente de mi parabrisas. Un bosque típico de los que se ven al lado del camino; los árboles maduros ya cosechados, la tierra revuelta por los constructores de caminos, hierbas invasivas ... Pero, ¡mira! En este dia oscuro y gris, ¡mira todos los colores! ¡Colores cálidos, alegres!

Apenas llovía ya. Envolví la cámara en plástico y fui a buscar colores.

1. La vista desde mi parabrisas.
2. Musgos verde/amarillo, con hojas muertas con un tinte de color morado.
3. Helechos águila, Pteridium aquilinum, muertos. Al congelarse, se vuelven de este color rojo tabique.
4. Un liquen color crema, probablemente "cabello de bruja", Alectoria sarmentosa, colgado de las ramas de un cedro rojo.
5. El salal, Gualtheria shallon, se mantiene verde brillante todo el invierno.
6. Cornus stolonifera.
7. Unas de las ramas con sus botones. Los tallos siempre son rojos, pero el color es más intenso después de una helada.
8. Un palo roto que parece que sufre de un dia de pelo alborotado.
9. Una vaina de las semillas de retama negra. De color de chocolate oscuro, casi negro.

Hay más; otros colores, otras formas, un montoncito de líquenes. Lo dejo para mañana.

Trails on a hillside

Driving down the highway, going north or west, I pass the entrances to roads, un-named, unpaved, sometimes just a couple of ruts. I can't resist seeing where they go to; usually they're logging roads and go on and on and on, winding across the hills.  But sometimes they seem to  have no purpose, and just peter out after a turn or two; why they were made is hard to imagine.

One, with a wide enough space to park at the beginning, then goes under the trees for a dozen car lengths and ends with space to turn around. (Not always the case.) And someone, someone not willing to pay the fees for appropriate dumping, has been using this space to discard construction debris; a few days ago, it was a stack of broken drywall.

But below this, a narrow trail, maybe a bear trail, not likely human-made, leads down to sunny, moss-covered rocks, where grasses blow in the wind and dragonflies circle over a trickle of water. On my first visit, I sat here for a good while, listening to the rustle of swaying grass, the bird voices in the trees.

Another trail, widened recently by small all-terrain vehicles, goes from the highway steeply down to a logging road below. And this road passes a small lake, Mirror Lake. The name is descriptive.

Somehow I end up stopping here often, even on my way to someplace else.

View near the top of the hill. Grass, Ocean spray shrubs, Scotch broom (Grrr!), evergreens. End of June.

The grass now is all tall and dry, whispering; it covers most of the rocks, even hides some of the Scotch broom. A couple of days ago  I  followed a narrow trail through this grass, leading off from the mossy rocks, thinking it might cut across to the ATV trail. It wound around, aimlessly, it seemed, down and down and down. There were human signs near  the top; a pair of high-heeled shoes, in good condition. (Why?  Why?), a broken office chair. (Again, why carry it all the way down here?)  Then nothing, only the tramped down grass still cutting a curvy path, until it opened up into a depression. A bear wallow; a circle of flattened grass about 3 metres across. It looked comfortable; the grass would make a soft bed. No bear; wrong time of day.  But I got out of there, and I won't be back.

Grass, gone to seed.

And another grass.

Near the bottom of the ATV trail, I came around a rock and startled three rabbits browsing under a tree;  they leapt into the tall grass, out of sight in a flash. A squirrel raced up a trunk, leapt sure-footed from branch to branch, disappeared. Goldfinches foraged among the evergreens. Sparrows stopped to look at me.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Well-fed.

At the bottom of the hill, I followed the logging road to the lake. Rock faces cast this part of the road into shadow; the broken rocks at the bottom are covered in moss. Dry, dull moss at this time of year. Where the light percolated through, it caught a few stalks of St. John's wort, now gone to seed.

With scraps of dry weeds.

Past its sell-by date, but still beautiful.

From the road,  at this time of year, the view over the lake is mostly hidden behind leaves. I haven't found a trail — yet — that takes me down to the water's edge.

Mirror Lake, end of July.

I'll be back. Again and again.

A Skywatch post

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En las carreteras hacia el norte o el oeste paso por las entradas a caminos sin nombre, caminos de grava o lodo, a veces apenas dos surcos paralelos. No puedo resistir el impulso de ir a ver a donde llevan;  generalmente son caminos de los forasteros y van cruzando los cerros por largas distancias. Pero otras  veces no parecen tener propósito, y después de unas pocas curvas terminan sin llegar a ninguna parte. Porque los hicieron se me hace difícil de imaginar.

Uno de estos, con espacio amplio para estacionarme al lado de la carretera, pasa por el bosque por unos 50  metros,  luego desemboca en un sitio abierto con espacio para dar vuelta al coche. (No siempre se  encuentra esta facilidad.) Y alguien, una persona que no quiere pagar para dejar sus desperdicios en un sitio designado para el propósito, ha estado usando este espacio para tirar materias de construcción. Hace dias, fue un montón de cartón yeso roto.

Pero más adelante, bajando la ladera, un sendero angosto, tal vez un sendero hecho por osos, menos posiblemente hecho por algún humano, se dirige a un grupo de piedras asoleadas, cubiertas de musgos, donde los pastos se agitan por el viento y  donde las libélulas dibujan círculos alrededor de una corriente pequeña de agua. La primera vez que vi estas piedras, me quedé sentada en una roca por buen tiempo, escuchando el susurro de pastos, los cantos de las aves en los árboles.

Otro sendero, recientemente ensanchado por vehículos ATV recreativos, baja abruptamente desde la carretera hacia un camino de madereros al fondo. Y este camino pasa por un lago pequeño, el Lago Espejo. El nombre lo describe bien.

En este sitio me detengo muchas veces, hasta cuando no es mi destino planeado.

Foto: cerca de la carretera a  mediados de junio.  Pasto, Holodiscos discolor (el arbusto con flores), el invasivo  retama negra, Cytisus scoparius, y árboles coníferos.

Ahora todo el pasto está a su tamaño máximo, seco y bailando en la brisa; cubre casi todas las rocas y hasta llega a esconder algo de la retama negra. Hace unos dias seguí un senderito atravezando este pasto, saliendo desde las rocas cubiertas de musgo; se me ocurría que podría cruzar la ladera y llegar al camino de los ATV.  Este sendero serpenteaba, aparentemente sin rumbo fijo, bajando, bajando, bajando. Al principio, había señales de la presencia de humanos; un par de zapatos de tacón alto, en buenas condiciones  (¿Porqué? ¿Pero porqué?), una silla de oficina rota (Otra vez; ¿porqué la trajeron  hasta aquí?) Y luego, nada; solamente pasto aplastado todavía cortando un camino serpentino, hasta que por fin se abrió una hondonada. Una cama de osos; un círculo de pasto seco aplastado, de unos 3 metros de diámetro. Se veía bastante cómoda; el pasto haría una cama acojinada. No había ningún oso; a estas horas estarían escondidos. Pero yo me di vuelta y subí la cuesta aprisa. Aquí no pienso volver.

Cerca del pie de la ladera, siguiendo el camino de los ATV,  salí de detrás de una roca y asusté tres conejitos bajo un árbol; saltaron al instante y desaparecieron entre el pasto. Una ardilla corrió, subiendo el tronco de un árbol alto, saltando de rama en rama, sin tropezar, y se perdió a la vista. Jilgueros  norteamericanos buscaban entre las ramas de las coníferas. Algunos gorriones se detuvieron para mirarme.

Llegando al camino de madereros al fondo, lo seguí hasta el lago. Aquí, rocas altas dejan el camino en sombra perpetua; las piedras rotas al lado del camino están cubiertas de musgo, seco y pardo en esta temporada del año. Donde penetra la luz, iluminó unos tallos de hierba de san juan, ahora ya produciendo semillas. Ahora, a medio verano, hojas esconden mucho de la vista sobre el lago, y todavía no encuentro un sendero que me permite bajar hasta la orilla del agua.

1. Repitiendo; cerca de la carrtera.
2. Pasto seco, con semillas.
3. Otro pasto seco.
4. Gorrión,
5. El mismo.
6. Hierba de San Juan
7. La misma foto, cortada.
8. El Lago Espejo.

Regresaré.

Too good to waste

It was such a beautiful day, too good to waste. Coming home from running errands, I dashed inside, grabbed the camera and headed for the hills. Too much of a hurry. I found, too late, that I'd grabbed the wrong camera, one I'd been trying to repair. Luckily, I still had the pocket camera.

When I was a kid on the far side of this island, I liked to sit outside in the stern of our little boat on trips to Tahsis so I could watch the evergreen forests slide by, so dark and secret, so alien, home to cougars and deer, not us. In some spots, high above the water, the solid bones of the mountains rose to the surface; pure rock, without even cracks for the evergreens to force open with their roots. Not bare rock, though. In this wet corner of the rain forests, the rock bore, bears still, a thick cushion of moss.

Once I climbed the hill behind our house. Through a trackless belt of hemlock and Douglas-fir, breaking at the foot of a cliff into dense salal shrubs, then, as the rock repelled even the persistent roots of the salal, the golden moss burst into sunlight. I climbed to the edge of the forest above, and sat on the moss. From there, I was alone in the world; our settlement, a few houses on the shore, was hidden. The sun warmed the moss, and me.

I didn't stay long; we kids had been warned to stay out of the bush after 5, even on long summer days; the evening and night belonged to the cougars.

Now, here on the east coast of the island, on this bright afternoon, I visited a small patch of mossy rock on a steep hillside, pocket camera in hand.

From halfway down the hill. I didn't sit on the moss this time; it was soaking wet.

Staring into the sun. Glints off the water of Mirror Lake. The blue water is Echo Lake. The road below is a logging road.

Nearing the bottom. Dried, winter-bare branches of Scotch broom and oceanspray bush.

The broom is a pestiferous invasive species; I hate to see it settle in on this hillside. But it makes a nice lacey frill on the steep part of the hill, and in summer, when the moss is dry and brown, the broom paints the hillside in bright yellow.

Random shot as I walked. Somehow, this "speaks" to me.

Are those pussywillows at the bottom of the hill? I think they are!

I didn't go down to the road beneath, this trip, because where the climb gets really steep, the moss was soggy and very slippery. Leave that to summer days.

Lichens and moss from this spot, tomorrow.

(The links above ("Tahsis" and "high above the water" take you to a page with photos of the Tahsis hills.)

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Era un dia hermoso, no se podría desperdiciar. Regresando a casa después de hacer unos mandados. corrí a recoger la cámara y salí a prisa para visitar un sitio favorito en el bosque. Me apuré demasiado; descubrí al llegar a mi objetivo que traía la cámara vieja, que había estado tratando de componer. Por suerte, también traía mi camarita de bolsillo.

Cuando era niña, en la costa opuesta de esta isla, me gustaba sentarme afuera en la popa de nuestro barquito cuando íbamos al pueblo de Tahsis. Me gustaba ver como se deslizaban los bosques perennes, tan oscuros, tan secretos; el territorio de pumas y venados, allí nosotros éramos los invasores. En algunos sitios, muy por arriba del agua, el esqueleto de las montañas se descubría; roca pura, sin ni siquiera grietas que los abetos podrían abrir con sus raices fuertes. No era roca desnuda, en este rincón del bosque pluvial; aquí la roca llevaba un grueso cojín de musgos.

Una vez subí la montaña atrás de nuestra casa. Pasé por un bosque sin sendero alguno, un bosque de árboles perennes, los abetos de Douglas y Hemlock, abriéndose al pie de un despeñadero en un matorral denso de los arbustos Gaultheria shallon, y pasado este, llegué a donde el musgo dorado se bañaba por el sol. Subí hasta el borde del bosque superior, y allí me senté en el cojín del musgo. Desde allí me parecía que estaba yo sola en el mundo; nuestras pocas casas al borde del agua estaban escondidas tras los abetos. El sol nos calentaba; al musgo y a mí.

No me quedé mucho rato; nos habían inculcado bien que teníamos que estar fuera del bosque a las cinco de la tarde, aun en esos dias largos de verano; el atardecer y la noche eran propiedad de las pumas.

Ahora, aquí en esta costa del este de la isla, en esta tarde luminosa, visité unas rocas cubiertas de musgo en un acantilado, con la cámara de bolsillo en la mano.

Fotos:

1. Vista desde la mitad de la bajada. No me senté en el musgo esta vez, pues estaba bien empapado.
2. Mirando directamente hacia el sol. La luz brilla en el agua del lago Mirror (espejo). Lo azul es el lago Echo. El camino allá abajo es un camino de madereros.
3. Cerca de este camino, con ramas secas de retama negra y de "espray de oceano", Holodiscus discolor. La retama negra es una planta nociva e invasiva; no me gusta ver como empieza a cubrir este sitio. Pero en invierno hace un encaje en el borde de la roca, y en verano, cuando el musgo está seco y color de café, llena el espacio de un amarillo brillante.
4. Foto al azahar mientras caminaba. Por alguna razón esta vista me hace sentirme en casa.
5. Sauces de gatito, o sea los botones peludos del sauce. Lo más distante que llegaba a operar la cámera; no bajé hasta el camino porque el último tramo del declive estaba muy empinado y el musgo empapado estaba resbaloso.

Mañana, habrá líquenes y musgos de este sitio.

(Los dos enlaces arriba te llevan a una página con fotos desde los cerros alrededor de Tahsis.)

Pretty, thorny, problematic

Three years ago, on the shore of Echo Lake, I found a gorse bush. It was not in flower; this was in February, but the shrub was easily identified; it looked like and had the texture of Scotch broom, but all the leaves were stiff, sharp thorns. I stopped by to check on it last week. And it's in full flower.

Common gorse, Ulex europaeus

Flowers and spines

This gorse is a European species, imported as an ornamental (because, well, it is pretty and would make a sturdy hedge) but it has gone wild and is now becoming invasive like its relative, Scotch broom. It is hardy, drought-, heat- and frost-tolerant (down to -20°C), and long-lived; a single plant can live up to 45 years, producing up to 18,000 seeds. And the seeds are viable even after 30 years in the soil.

Gorse is designated as a Provincial Noxious Weed by the BC Weed Control Act, as well as a Management species by the BC Provincial Priority Invasive Species List. (Invasive Species Council of BC)

Among the reasons this shrub is of concern is that it is flammable; in dry areas, or in the recent hot summers in what used to be wet areas, it is a hazard. And once burned, it can regenerate from the burned roots; even scorched seeds can sprout. In this way, it can replace our native fireweed, which provides cover for tree seedlings. Gorse has the opposite effect, suppressing conifer seedling growth. (Fraser Valley Invasive Species Society)

From February of 2020 to now, the small patch of gorse on the shore of Echo Lake has doubled in area. Worrisome. I looked up ways to eliminate it; not an easy task. Cut down, it re-sprouts from the roots. It must be dug up, root and all. Removed plants will spread seeds and sprout from pieces of root; it is not destroyed in the compost.

The end of Echo Lake, with some of the gorse at water's edge, on the right.

The guide book says the flowers smell of coconut or bruised peaches. I didn't notice. I'll have to go back and do a sniff test.

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Hace tres años descubrí un arbusto al borde del lago Echo, aulaga, parecida a la retama de escoba, pero más agresiva, con espinas largas y puntiagudas. No estaba en flor; esto era en febrero, pero era fácil de identificar por las espinas fuertes que crecían en vez de hojas. Pasé a ver como seguía la semana pasada. Ahora está cubierta de flores.

Fotos: la planta, Ulex europaeus.

Esta planta es una especie importada desde Europa, donde sirve de planta de jardín o de cerca viva; aquí se ha vuelto invasiva. Es una plant robusta, que tolera sequías, el calor, y el frio hasta 20° bajo cero. Y puede vivir hasta 45 años, durante los cuales produce unas 18.000 semillas; éstas pueden brotar aun después de 30 años.

La aulaga se designa como una maleza perniciosa en el Acta de Control de Malezas de BC, tanto como una especie sujeta a control por la Lista de Especies Invasivas de Importancia de la Provincia de BC. (Invasive Species Council of BC)

Entre las razones por las cuales este arbusto se considera un problema es que es altamente inflamable; en lugares secos, o en estos años recientes, calurosos y secos, viene a ser un peligro. Y quemado, puede volver a brotar desde las raices quemadas; aun las semillas tostadas pueden volver a la vida. De esta manera puede llegar a sustituir a nuestro epilobio, planta nativa que ayuda a proteger a los arbolitos coníferos recién brotados después de un incendio forestal. Con la diferencia de que este arbusto invasivo detiene el crecimiento de los coníferos jóvenes.

Desde febrero de 2020 hasta ahora, el grupo de plantas en el borde del lago ha crecido hasta cubrir el doble de espacio. Esto me preocupa. Busqué en el internet maneras de eliminar la planta. No es tan fácil. Cortada, vuelve a brotar desde las raices. Hay de excavar toda la raiz. La planta ya extraída puede diseminar semillas y pedacitos de raiz, de donde puede dar orígen a plantas nuevas. Y no se puede añadir nada de la planta al compostaje; allí también puede volver a crecer.

Foto: el extremo del lago Echo, con unas ramas de este arbusto invasivo al lado derecho.

Dice mi libro guía que las flores huelen a coco, o tal vez a durazno machucado. No lo noté; tendré que volver.

What keeps us green

 A rainy afternoon.

Side road near Upper Campbell Lake dam. With Scotch broom. (Zoom in; you'll see raindrops.)

And on the edge of the rain clouds, muted rainy day colours.

Echo Lake, 2:30 PM.

A Skywatch post.

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Una tarde lluviosa.

Primera foto; lluvia cae en un camino que baja de la carretera hacia la presa en Upper Campbell Lake. Con la invasora retama negra.

Segunda foto; nubes traen agua, que no ha llegado todavía. Con los colores apagados de estos dias de lluvia. Es el lago Echo, a media tarde.

Un post para Skywatch; haz clic para encontrar cielos alrededor del mundo.

Invasive yellows, well-behaved whites

 And now the flowers yellow and white.

Buttercup, Ranunculus sp.

This is a pest. It takes over lawns and gardens, anywhere there's moisture, crowding out grasses and veggies and planted flowers. I ripped a big armful out of a small flower bed this afternoon. I didn't get all the roots, so it will be back soon.

But it is beautiful.

And another pest:

Scotch broom, Cystisus scoparius near Echo Lake.

The individual flowers are beautiful, and the colour is cheerful, but this is an extremely invasive plant. It colonizes roadsides, open fields, logged sites, crowding out native species, overshadowing tree saplings, preventing reforestation. And it is toxic to livestock, including the deer that otherwise would be browsing in these open spaces. On top of that, the plants live up to 25 years, producing vast quantities of seed. And the seeds can survive in the soil for up to 80 years.

Everywhere I've driven this month, north or south or west (can't go east; that's the ocean), I see masses of these yellow flowers. It makes me sad, even if the colour is cheerful.

The native wild strawberry, Fragaria virginiana.

It's always a pleasure to find these tiny plants. They grow in open forest or meadows, and if you're there just at the right time, they may have strawberries, miniature but very sweet.

On a friend's balcony, Bunny tails, Lagurus ovatus. An introduced species, but not likely to become invasive.

Sorting old photos, I came across this one, taken years and years ago, with my pocket camera, and needing to have the colour and lighting corrected. I liked it because of the elegant simplicity of the magnolia flowers against the messy background of someone's backyard.

Magnolia was in bloom down my street the other day, but the flowers never last long; when I went by with the camera, they were falling apart.

Magnolia, Delta, April, 2008

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Y ahora, las flores amarillas y blancas:

• 1. Ranúnculus. Esta planta es una plaga. Crece y domina el césped, los jardines de verduras o de flores. Esta tarde arranqué brazos llenos de la planta de un pequeño espacio donde tengo flores tratando de sobrevivir. No terminé con los ranúnculos, porque aun quedan raices en la tierra; volverán a crecer.
• 2. Pero son hermosas, eso sí.
• 3. Retama negra, Cytisus scoparius. Otra plaga, peor que los ranúnculos. 

Las flores individuales son bellas, y el color es alegre, pero la planta es extremadamente invasora. Coloniza los lados de las carreteras, campos abiertos, y el terreno donde los madereros han cortado el bosque. Ahoga las plantas nativas, cubriendo los arbolitos nuevos, impidiendo que el bosque vuelva a crecer. Y es una planta tóxica para el ganado, y también para los venados que normalmente se alimentan de las plantas nativas en estos sitios. Y encima de todo eso, las plantas pueden vivir 25 años y producen gran cantidad de semillas que pueden permanecer vivos en la tierra por hasta 80 años.

En todas partes donde he visitado este mes pasado, norte, sur, oeste (al este hay solo agua) veo campos enteros llenos de estas flores amarillas. Me entristece, aunque el color sea alegre.

• 4. Fresas salvajes. Una especia nativa. Siempre es un placer encontrar unas de estas plantitas. Crecen en campo abierto o en bosques asoleados, y si llegas en hora justa, podrás encontrar sus frutitas, fresas muy pequeñas, pero bien dulces.
• 5. En el patio de una amiga, vi estas "colas de liebre", Lagurus ovatus. Una especie introducida pero no es probable que se vuelva invasora.
• 6. Revisando fotos viejas, encontré esta, de hace años, que saqué con mi camarita de bolsillo, y que necesitaba un ajuste de color y luz. Me gustó por la elegancia de las flores de magnolia frente a la maraña que fue el patio trasero donde crecían.

Las magnolias estaban en flor en mi calle hace unos dias, pero las flores no son duraderas, y cuando regresé después con la cámara, ya se habían desbaratado.

Broom and buoys

So I promised. Promised to tear myself away from the news, which seems to hold a glimmer of hope today, so there's that, and get back to posting photos of my peaceful surroundings.

Okay.

Last week I had a flat tire. Out on the highway, on the way out of town. I discovered that I had no jack in the car, so I got to hang around on the edge of the road until someone stopped and helped me. And so I wandered about exploring a site I had seen in passing and wondered about before, but never would have stopped.

It looks like an old, abandoned gravel pit, where off to the side, someone has used the space for open-air storage. Over the years, invasive Scotch broom has taken over most of the pit.

Scotch broom, Cytisus scoparius. Pretty but not a welcome sight.

Due to its affinity for light-dominated, disturbed areas, any disturbance activity, such as road or home construction near infested areas, can enhance spread. Scotch broom invades rangelands, replacing forage plants, and is a serious competitor to conifer seedlings; Douglas fir plantation failures in Oregon and Washington have been credited to infestations of this plant. (Invasive Species Council of BC)

When I was a kid, living in White Rock for a year, a neighbour had Scotch broom on his property. I loved it, even though my mom said it was a horrible weed. But it was so cheerful!

So bright!

Mom was right, of course. Here on the island, we have a native species that colonizes waste spaces, old logging sites, torn lands; fireweed. It leaps into open sites and prepares them for regrowth of the evergreen forest, while providing forage for wildlife. Broom prevents forest regrowth, and is inedible. Fireweed dies back as the trees recover; broom spreads and spreads and spreads. But it is cheerful!

Among the yellow broom bushes, someone is storing dozens of yellow balls.

Steel buoy floats, about a metre in diameter. Six fit on a flatbed truck.

I've wondered about these, seeing them here and there. If it weren't for the flat, I wouldn't have stopped to look at them, though.

They sort of fit with the broom, like some sort of enlarged seeds. Recently, someone has brought in a bunch of new ones, all shiny and yellow. They are probably for sale, although I saw no signs, and Google map gives no company name. Or maybe they'll rust and blend in with the broom. I don't think they'll re-seed themselves, anyhow.

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Se me ponchó una llanta en la carretera a una poca distancia de la ciudad. Y descubrí que no tenía gata para llantas, así que tuve que esperar al lado de la carretera hasta que alguien viniera a ayudarme. Y tuve la oportunidad para explorar un sitio donde de otra manera nunca habría parado.

Es un espacio que parece haber sido usado para excavar grava, y luego abandonado. Y como muchos sitios, ha sido invadido por los arbustos de Genista. 

Genista es un arbusto que se escapó de jardines y ahora cubre espacios abiertos. Es una plaga porque no provee alimentos para animales ni salvajes ni domésticos, e impide el crecimiento de nuestros árboles nativos. Y se extiende rápidamente, no dejando espacio para otras plantas.

Cuando era niña, me gustaba, porque el color es tan brillante, aunque mi mamá decía que era horrible. Mamá tenía razón, claro.

Tenemos una planta nativa que se ocupa de sanar tierras heridas, el epilobio. Protege la tierra y los arbolitos recién brotados, provee alimentos para los animales, e incluso para humanos. Y cuando el bosque empieza a crecer, el epilobio desaparece. La Genista es al revés; no deja crecer los arbolitos, ni se puede comer, y se queda para siempre.

Pero sí, es bonita.

A un lado del espacio, entre la genista, alguien está usando el espacio para depositar materias fuera de uso. Hay docenas de pelotas grandes, amarillas, como de un metro de diámetro, de metal, oxidándose lentamente. Las he visto al pasar y me preguntaba qué serían, pero no hubiera parado para investigar sin la llanta ponchada.

Parece que son flotadores para muelles y boyas.

Se mezclan con la genista, y casi parecen alguna especie de semillas gigantes. Recientemente han llegado más, nuevecitas, limpias y brillantes. Tal vez están en venta, pero no encontré anuncio o nombre. O tal vez se oxidarán como las otras. Por lo menos, no se van a reproducir.

Beautiful alien

Scotch broom is horribly invasive, toxic to animals, a fire hazard, and a killer of native plants. Besides which, it makes me sniffle and sneeze.

But it is beautiful, for all that.

Broom against the sky, Myrt Thompson trail.

Broom zoom.

When I was a child in White Rock, (1950 or thereabouts) a large house along Buena Vista street was fenced with masses of broom. In season, I would go out of my way to pass them on the way home from school.

Back then, it was purposely planted, as an ornamental, and to reduce erosion. And it grew well anywhere, needing no care. Its stems are photosynthetic, so it continues to grow through the winter, when most of our other plants shut down.

Now it's taking over the south end of Vancouver Island, pushing out our native berries and evergreen trees, destroying range land and endangering wildlife.

Shrubs grow 1-3 metres in height and have a lifespan of 15-20 years. ... Mature plants can produce up to 3500 pods, each containing 5-12 seeds. As seedpods dry they split and spiral, expelling the contained seeds near the parent plant. Seedpods are hardy, remaining viable in water, soil and gravel for more than 30 years! (Invasive Species Council)

It's too bad it's beautiful.

At home on shifting sand.

I'm still sorting photos from the last two weeks, going backwards in time, more or less. These are the remainder from the walk on the Boundary Bay shore dunes last week.

The dunes make up a large part of Boundary Bay Regional Park, and a narrow strip continues south to Beach Grove, separating the fenced residential area from the beach itself. In the park, we find scrubby brush, mosses and grasses, rabbits, wasps and dragonflies, and many birds, from the ever-present sparrows and crows to the osprey, hawks, and eagles that hunt overhead. On the strip along the waterfront, the trees and shrubs mostly disappear, giving way to large-headed sedge, beach pea, sea rocket, pale montia, red sorrel, more moss, and a variety of grasses.

Large-headed sedge, Carex macrocephala. This early in the year, the heads still show some green; later they will be a dark brown, stiff and scratchy.

Lupins are native to this area.  They like well-drained soil, and lots of sunshine, so they do well on the sandy foreshore. They are another pea, like the little (for now) lathyrus that are starting to bloom around this one's feet.

The climate on this spit of land dangling off the bottom edge of the Fraser delta is warm almost year-round, and most of the residents are enthusiastic gardeners. Most of the plants stay at home, but some find the shore too enticing to resist. They jump their fences and take to living wild.

A patch of irises establishing a beachhead. The whitish flowers in front are sea rocket.

Yellow iris. Going by the water droplets on the petals, a neighbour is encouraging it in its attempted takeover. The tall stem and berries are from an asparagus plant.

Not a welcome invader. Scotch broom, one of several thriving bushes. Another big patch is behind it, on the left.

While I sat on a log, waiting for Laurie to go back to the car to drop off his jacket, this little redhead came along to see if I had any crumbs. I left a bit of bread for him and his tribe.

Ant, sand, and sedge.

And on the sandy path back to civilization, we passed this swarm of tiny, tiny ants.

Part of the swarm

Zooming in. They were so active, and so small, that I could hardly distinguish one from the next. They seem to be quite long-waisted, and have a white stripe across the abdomen Could be Tetramorium, probably an import.

Homies and immigrants, country and city dwellers, working out a life together. Very Canadian.

Why do we call it "vacant"?

It had been a stay at home and catch up on chores day, so after supper, Laurie suggested a walk across the street to the vacant lot.

The lot is a block wide, maybe two blocks long, and divided in two sections: half has been abandoned ever since I first saw it, a good five years ago; the other half serves as a gravel and construction materials dump, and gets more or less levelled every year. The first half is turning itself into swamp and young alder forest.

As we neared the edge of the gravelly half, a few steps before the trees start, a killdeer called, off to our right.

Killdeer, almost hidden in the weeds and dirt.

Looking worried.

We followed it, trying to get a clear photograph; standing still, it disappeared into the background, but never for long; a moment later, it would call, flash that white neck at us, and run again. After a bit, its mate joined it, beckoning us on, even treating us to the broken wing pantomime:

"I'm injured! Come and catch me!"

We weren't fooled; we gave up the chase and went back where we first saw them to look for the nest, a mere scrape in the dirt, out in the open. We didn't find it. One of the birds flew over our head, panicked and crying, so we backed off and left them alone.

Killdeer running over old rocks and construction leftovers.

All the vegetation on this half had been torn up last winter and buried under fresh hills of gravel and piles of broken concrete. People have been using the site as a dump for old carpets and lumber. But nature can't be beaten; new growth is springing up everywhere.

Buttercups

Red grasses, swaying in the wind.

Tiny yellow flowers, with purple leaves.

Mushrooms. This one looks like one of those Mexican breads, pan de dulce. Or a lemon meringue pie. Yum! A slug has been nibbling at it.

Horsetails, just starting out. They will cover this hillside in next to no time.

And we found another bird:

Smiling duck.

Daisies are about to bloom, thistles are growing apace, so are grasses and plantains, dandelions and the first of the tiny pink vetches. As we left to come home, I gathered a handful of broom to brighten my table.


After I'd put it in a vase, small critters started dropping out, and walking across the table. Tiny things, just walking dots. I caught a bunch with a paintbrush and examined them; they're leafhopper nymphs, barely two millimetres long.

Leafhopper nymphs.

The leafhoppers have been disposed of. Now there is a tiny spider in the bouquet, looking for them. Sorry, spidey; I've emptied your larder.

All in all, the perfect ending to the day. (The spider may not agree.)

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