As the years go by

Every time I cross the museum lawns I pause to say hello to the old eagle. Sometimes, I take his photo. This time, it was a full-frontal shot.

He's missing part of one wing. Maybe that's why he never flies away?

He's getting older. And greener, I think, as algae slowly covers the old wood. Maybe somewhat bleached, after the long, hot summer.

Previous photos: Here he is last year:

September, 2021. With bird droppings. So rude of them!

And the year before:

November 2020. Definitely tidier, without lichen.

And then I went around to the front of the museum and looked at the bird on the new totem.

Thunderbird totem, carved 2017. A replica of the 60-year-old totem.

And it's not an eagle, but a Thunderbird. Wings outstretched, brightly painted, standing atop other creatures, in this case a bear and her cub. A symbol of power, strength, nobility, they say. 

And the older eagle? He stands alone, unadorned, wings folded. To my eyes, he incarnates silent patience, endurance. And there's power in that, too.

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Cada que paso por los jardines del museo, me detengo para saludar al viejo águila. A veces le saco otra foto. La última fue de cuerpo entero, de frente.

Fotos:

1. El águila. Le falta parte de una ala. Tal vez eso le impide volar. Se está envejeciendo. Y tornándose más verde, con el alga que poco a poco cubre la madera. Y ahora se ve un poco blanqueado, quizás a causa del verano tan caluroso.
2. El mismo, el año pasado, en septiembre.  Cubierto de deyecciones de pájaros. ¡Qué descarados!
3. Y del año 2020, en noviembre. Mucho más limpio entonces, sin líquenes.
4. Y luego le di la vuelta al museo y miré el nuevo totem. Un Pájaro de los Truenos, hecho en 2017, una copia del anterior, que duró 60 años.

Y el pájaro del totem no es un águila, sino el Pájaro de los Truenos. Con las alas abiertas, pintado de muchos colores, irguiéndose sobre otras criaturas, en este caso, una osa y su cria. Es un símbolo, dicen, de poder, fuerza, nobleza.

¿Y el otro? Ahí se queda, con las alas dobladas, sin adorno. A mis ojos, incarna una paciencia silenciosa, preserverancia. Hay fortaleza en estas calidades, también.

Vintage bird

 Woodpecker. A woody woodpecker. Really woody.

With mushrooms and a grass stem.

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Un pájaro carpintero. O así parece. Nacido de la raiz de una rama.

Spreading the word

I was crouched down on the path, peering intently at a wet log, when a woman walking her dog stopped to ask, was I alright?

I showed her the birds' nests.

Bird's eggs, or mini chocolate candies?

The "eggs" are spore cases, waiting their turn to flee the nest.

The nests are "splash-cups". When a raindrop hits one at the right angle, the walls are shaped such that the eggs are expelled to about 1 m away from the cup in some species. (Wikipedia: Nidulariaceae)

And then, there were the pixie cups:

The spores grow in nodes along the lip of the goblet. None visible here.

And the crust:

Unidentified porous fungus, with spiderlings and cream jelly dots.

And, as always, the orange jellies.

Good enough to eat. Really. But too tiny to harvest.

The dog walker thanked me, and went on her way, marvelling. And so the insanity spreads.

On another log, a few more of the rusty-gilled polypores were busy decomposing the wood:

Rusty-gilled polypore, Gloeophyllum sepiarium, about an inch long.

And a young-un.

About two weeks ago, I had seen this sepia mushroom near a few rusty-gills, and wondered what it was. I checked it again this Tuesday, and it had turned brown and black and matched the others.

(First five; Tyee Spit. The youngster is by Woodhus Slough.)