Here today

Mid-July on the island, back home: a status report. 15 hours and 54 minutes, sunrise to sunset today; the days are already getting shorter, but slowly for now. Blue skies; islanders complain of the brightness of the sunshine, and there is no rain in the weather forecast for the rest of the month. (A 2% chance of rain; what does that even mean?) It's fire season, but so far, there's only one fire on our island, a small one, just south of here, and under control.

Now, at near 11 o'clock in the evening, it's 17° and there's a cool breeze. On the other side of the island, looking out at the great Pacific Ocean, it's several degrees cooler. It will stay cool in the daytime, there, too; here, we can expect 28° tomorrow, cooling again after dark.

The warm nights are busy; a few nights ago, I checked a noise at my open window and came face to face with a startled raccoon. A black bear regularly turns over garbage bins; I come out in the morning and tidy up after him. Moths flutter around light bulbs; in the daytime, they sleep, and the butterflies air-dance over my flowers. Spiders prowl, hoping for moths. And the deer drop by, usually in the early morning light, to eat my rosebuds.

No rain means thirsty gardens, but with a daily watering, there are flowers everywhere. I took these photos just outside my door yesterday morning.

Sweet peas.

Shadows on the steps, with a rose hiding from the deer that eat the buds.

Hostas. Some are white, some are blue.

I will be away from the computer for a few days, gallivanting with family. Back on the weekend.

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Estamos ya a mediados de Julio, y estoy de vuelta en casa; aquí un informe del estado de cosas:

15 horas y 54 minutos; eso es lo que dura la luz del dia hoy, desde el amanecer hasta la puesta del sol. Los dias ya se están volviendo cortos, pero lentamente por ahora. El cielo: azul. Los isleños se quejan de deslumbramiento. Y no figura ni lluvia ni nubes en el pronóstico del clima por lo que resta del mes. (Un porcentaje de 2; ¿qué puede prometer eso?) Es la temporada de incendios forestales, aunque por ahora solamente hay uno, pequeño y bajo control, un poco al sur de este lugar.

Ahora, a cerca de las once de la noche, estamos a 17°, y hay una brisa fresca. Al otro lado de la isla, donde miran hacia el gran oceano Pacífico, la temperatura es más baja, y no subirá mucho de dia. Aquí, nos prometen 28°, refrescándose otra vez despues de anochecer.

Estas noches cálidas son pobladas; la otra noche, oyendo un ruido a mi ventana, abierta para captar el aire fresco de la noche, retiré la cortina y me encontré cara a cara con un mapache bien sorprendido.  Un oso negro viene a voltear los botes de basura; salgo en la mañana y pongo todo en orden otra vez. Las palomitas revolotean alrededor de focos; de dia, duermen, y las mariposas bailan en el aire sobre mis flores. Arañas rondan en busca de palomitas. Y los venados llegan al amanecer, para desayunar comiendo los botones de mis rosas.

La falta de lluvia deja los jardines secos, sedientos, pero todos regamos y hay flores en todas partes. Estas fotos las saqué ayer en la mañana.

1. Guisantes de olor.
2. Sombras en la escalera, y una rosa escondiéndose de los venados.
3. Flores de mis hostas. Unas son azules, unas blancas.

Voy a estar lejos de la computadora por unos dias, paseando con familia. Regreso a fines de semana.

Those famished eyes!

A very hungry racoon, a nursing mother, came to my door yesterday night, begging. But first, she climbed my potting shelf and turned over a basket to get at a bag of shells, saved for drainage material.

Disappointing! All the shells are empty!

(Photo is in black and white, because, taken through double-paned glass, it was polluted with colours reflected from inside. A green raccoon? With pink eyebrows? Not good.)

I opened the door and chased her away. She went reluctantly, looking back, hoping I'd relent. Later, once she was gone, I went out and tidied up the mess. While I was at it, I looked up, and there she was, looking wistful, barely a foot away. I dashed back inside; I don't want to tangle with a desperate coon. And she tried to follow me through the door. I slammed it in her face.

And then she sat there, staring at the latch, looking soooo sad. She broke my heart; it's awful to have babies and not enough food.

"Please? Pretty please?"

No, I didn't feed her. Eventually, she wandered off, disconsolate. I hope she found some good eats somewhere, just not on my doorstep.

Too tame!

A young raccoon wandered up to the back door a couple of days ago, saw me there, and left. I went after him with the camera, not really expecting to get close enough for a photo, but it's best to be ready.

The raccoon, by the time I got beyond my garden, was far down the walk, just heading into the cedars. So that was that.

And then he turned, saw me, and came towards me. Slowly, hesitatingly, as if he hoped for something from me, but wasn't sure I was safe. He was only a couple of metres away when I realized he didn't mean to stop, and shooed him away.

He went, reluctantly, stopping several times to look back at me, in case I had changed my mind.

"Do you really mean that? You don't want me here?"

This is seriously not good. A tame raccoon is in danger; not everyone is kind. And houses have dogs, who are rarely friendly. A raccoon surprised by an attack can turn on the dog or person; they're good fighters and well armed with tooth and claw.

It is possible that someone has been feeding this one, making him expect help from humans.

And, checking the photos, I discovered another possible reason for his tameness. His left eye is damaged. Half of it seems covered with a scar or scab, and there is tissue damage around it. In none of the photos was the flash reflected from that eye. Whether it's blind or not, I can't tell, but it's probably painful.

He may be desperate for food and water. I've put out a bowl of water for him. That's all I can do without endangering him more.

Raccoon with a grudge. Entirely legitimate.

Yesterday, the afternoon was warm, and I had the back door open about 6 inches to let in a bit of air. I was sitting at my desk by the door, reading, when a young raccoon came to visit, standing by the open door about 3 feet from my chair, hesitating, as though wondering if he dared take the invitation. I cautiously collected the camera from its shelf and turned it on.

It makes the slightest possible "click" when the lever turns. Before the camera could focus, the raccoon had pulled back.

But I got a couple of shots through the glass door:

"Maybe not ..."

"I'm sorry; I was just leaving."

And he tiptoed away, as cautiously as I had moved with the camera.

But I followed him, in my sock feet, to the neighbour's.

"You can't see me here! ... I hope."

And beyond, where he stood on two feet behind some tall lilies:

"Are you still there?"

I took pity on him then; he looked so worried! I backed away, leaving the path to the cedars open, and he ran for cover behind them.

In revenge, or so it feels like, he came back in the night and dug up my begonias.

I guess I deserved that.

What have you done to my water?

Life is full of mysteries. And meddling people.

"Can't drink this. Nor wash my feet. What good is it?"

And now the meddling person has gone and removed the bowl entirely. The birdbath, too. What's a young raccoon to do?

Small wonders

April, between showers . . .

Red-stemmed moss.

Plume moth, sleeping on the wall by the door

Robin, pulmonaria, and daffs. And a few leaves of lettuce, still surviving cuddled up to the pulmonaria for protection from the slugs.

The young raccoon, back again for a drink, keeping his eye on me.

He needs a nail clipper; look at that thumb nail!

Raccoon fingernails. I'm not volunteering to trim them for him.

And the first rhododendrons we've seen this year.

And the cup mushrooms are out in force! But each time we've seen them, so far, it has been pouring rain.

Parched!

The rain finally came to an end. The sun came out. The puddles sunk into the ground. And, in the early afternoon, a raccoon made an unprecedented mid-day visit to my yard.

To get a drink.

"Excuse me, but somebody stole my pond!"

He drank quickly, then dropped to all fours and went on his way.

September sampler

While I have been spending all my spare time recently staring into the aquarium or checking yet another page on Google, the world has gone on its way. (Inconsiderate of it, that!) The long summer is winding down; out near Chilliwack, the trees are turning yellow. My little maple has begun to drop leaves, and the tiger lilies that I barely had time to notice are bare stalks. Winter shadows lie across my garden plot. The first pair of juncos are back. My daughter is talking about Christmas plans.

But I haven't been entirely oblivious. I've paused, now and then, to take a quick photo or two of non-aquarium residents. See:

A black and yellow bee on Canada thistle. Cougar Creek.

Back view. Elbowed antenna just visible.

On the sheltered wall by our front door, assorted moths sleep through the daylight hours. I saw, one day, an orange one, very tiny. I dashed in, dropped off the groceries and grabbed the camera. And when I got back to the door, it was gone, though I searched high and low.

Other moths were less flighty:

Brown moth. I found a match on BugGuide, id'd only as "moth". Not much help.

*Update: In the comments, Sara Rall identified it as Neoalcis californaria, the Brown-lined Looper.

He's hiding his feathery antennae, but I got a glimpse of one side.

'way up at the top of the wall, wedged in beside a beam. I had to stand on a chair and stretch for this photo.

Today's offering; a 1/2 inch plume moth.

Beside my desk. A big spider carrying her egg case.

From my desk, through the window. A Steller's Jay eating peanuts.

Took a quick walk down Cougar Creek. I love the patterns water striders make with their feet. This one is superimposed on reflections of tree branches in the fog.

More water strider patterns.

And from the BirdCam, a robin in for her bedtime bath. 8:00 PM and already dark out.

What else have I missed?

This. While I was typing that last line, I heard a rattle outside and went to look. A raccoon was drinking from the birdbath. I hadn't set the BirdCam (too busy), but I managed to get the door open a crack and the camera poked through without startling the 'coon.

Finished his drink. Now for a bit of salad.

Caught in the act, digging a hole under my London Pride. Looking for slugs, maybe. He's welcome to them.

And with the third flash shot, he turned and fled. Goodnight, 'coon! Happy hunting!

Teenagers!

The youngsters were partying too late; I caught these stragglers sneaking back home after 9:00 in the morning.

Half-grown raccoon kit.

There were five in the family. Only three showed up this time. Whether the other two have been caught by dogs or coyotes, or are just more of the homebody type, I don't know.

How one's face turned up in focus when nothing else was, is a mystery.

I followed them out onto the lawn, and they started to run. This photo is terribly fuzzy, but the lead kit's pose always makes me laugh.

Decapitated raccoon

Lee Vallley Tools included an Audubon BirdCam in their latest catalogue, with a motion sensor and a flash; it would run at night, and the price was right. I ordered one (I call it a RaccoonCam, though).

I picked it up the other day, and got it set up last night for a trial run. I am not sure of the settings yet, and it is difficult to aim; there's no viewfinder, and getting it closed down and locked always jiggles it a bit. I just set it on the ground for the first test.

It worked, the first night! Sort of.

Fat raccoon, eating my parsley. (See that pink tongue?)

And drinking the birds' bath water.

Baby steps, baby steps. I've got it on a tripod now; maybe the next photos will actually get the whole animal.

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Once again, a reminder: Rock Flipping Day is next Sunday, a week from today, September 9th. Instructions, history, etc.

Last year, several people wrote later, to say that they had intended to join in, but forgot until it was too late. So this year, I'm harping on the date. You can help by passing the word along. Thanks!

Stood up!

Every night this week, around 1 AM, a pair of raccoon kits has been coming to drink from my birdbath. They are so small still, that they can't reach the water without climbing up and into the tray, so they make quite a racket. And they're really cute, bumbling around in the dark.

I've tried to take photos, but with the flash, I just get the backwash from the window pane. Without, I get a grey blur. Opening a window doesn't work; they jump down and run away instantly. So tonight, I've rigged up a good light aimed at the birdbath, and waited for them, camera ready.

They didn't show up.

I'll try again tomorrow. For now, I've cheered myself up with photos of yellow asters taken this afternoon.

Bee on Dusty Miller

The view from my desk

I've been busy the last little while, getting ready for company, a wedding, and a week in Campbell River afterwards. I've been carrying my camera everywhere and never taking photos. Traffic isn't all that inspiring, nor are offices and malls.

But in between times, I keep the camera on my desk. And every so often, I look up from the phone or the mail, and see a squirrel hanging by her toes to get at the suet, or a ray of sunlight pointing out a just-opened flower. And sometimes, I take a breather and wander out to the lawn. With the camera in hand, of course.

This evening, just after dark, I looked out, and there was a baby raccoon. A really small baby; I'd never seen one that young before. Such little stubby legs! And the wide-eyed, amazed stare of a baby discovering the world for the first time; so cute!

Then the mother came down the path to take a drink from my bird bath, and four more kits followed her. I rushed out with the camera, but by the time I had it on and focused in the dim light, they were halfway down the lawn, the kits all lined up watching me, the mother trying to lead them away. As the camera finally clicked, they all turned as one and ran off. The photo shows two black blobs. I'm not posting it; you can imagine it; green lawn, black fuzzy blobs.

Laurie came out and we followed them to his hosta and fern garden. There, the kits hid behind a big evergreen trunk and peeped out at us. We stepped closer, cautiously, and the kits started to climb the tree. But they were too young; a few scrabbled at the bottom; a couple managed to get three feet or so above ground, and clung there, uncertain as to what to do next. Finally, they crawled back down, more awkwardly than they had climbed.

The mother left, and the kits, left alone, dashed across the path  one by one, and into the bushes after her.

Some photos do turn out, though. Here are a few backyard sights:

Astilbe. This was a couple of days ago; this afternoon, several red ones had opened up, too.

The underside of a begonia leaf, in sunlight. I saw it glowing from my desk, and had to drop my work and go out to get a better look.

Crow on the lawn

The lawn will never feature in a landscaper's manual; it's a mix of grass, moss, white clover, self-heal, black medic, and creeping buttercups. And hawkweed, but I weed that out conscientiously. And it gets mowed only when the guy who does it is in the mood. We like it. So do the birds.

The flickers are shy and rarely step out of the undergrowth. This one stayed close to safety. I took the photo from my desk; when I finally stood up to go closer, he left.

We pruned a dragging branch off the plane tree, and found several clusters of yellow eggs. And this busy couple of prospective parents.

I brought in a leaf with eggs on it. They were little yellow ovals, standing on end side by side. The next morning, I looked at them again; now they were black.

I didn't have time to check them again until after supper. And the eggs were white, and surrounded by tiny, just-hatched ladybug larvae.

Empty egg cases. Some of the larvae are eating them; two or three are starting to wander about. 

That was last night. This morning, I went back to the tree and harvested a few leaves loaded with aphids for larvae food. I checked the container just now; there are still live aphids, but quite a few dead ones; the larvae are feeding. Some look quite a bit bigger than they were yesterday, already.

Laurie's pansies. I love these angry faces. They remind me of a crowd of protesters, but where are the signs?

A red, red rose.

And now, I'm off to bed. I've got another busy day tomorrow.

Headlight eyes

I was sitting here at my desk at midnight, when I heard a clicking noise just beyond the curtains. When I looked out, a raccoon was nibbling at a plant in a pot he'd turned over. I made a bit of racket unlocking the door in a hurry, chased him off and righted the pot. He would be long gone by then.

Except that he wasn't. He came back, before I had even shut the door.

Bold as brass

 And no matter how I chased him, the camera flashing all the while, he came back, and back, and back ...

Skulking behind the astilbes.

Rooting for something in the London Pride.

He spent some time trying to get into my compost bin, without luck. There's a heavy board on top. (I'm not inclined to share my compost fixings.)

And then he came back to the original pot. I don't know what interested him there; it holds a couple of stems of some unknown ground cover and a new volunteer lobelia. And a watering frog, which he dumped on the ground.

Maybe he's trying to make out the design on the pot.

I chased him again, out onto the lawn and over to the neighbour's garden. And this time, he left for good. I think.