Saturday, July 19, 2014

Just a Leaf



It is just a leaf. A Plains Cottonwood leaf to be more precise. But that morning it was much more. That morning I was sitting in the backyard with my dying dog. The cancer had finally closed it's fist around her body and was squeezing hard. We knew out time together was reaching the terminus of the arc projected that April day we were joined together 12 1/2 years ago in central Alberta.  

I was spending a few last precious moments with her than morning reminiscing over the overlap of our lives and what she meant to me and my family. She joined us when our family was composed of me, Laura, Kiela our golden retriever, and Luna the border collie. Benton joined us less than a year later and Crean a few years after that. She was the youngster causing problems with the old dogs and eating baby socks. Then she was our only dog. My boys have always had her as a companion and that was about to change. 

As I stroked her back I noticed a cottonwood leaf next to her. It had also reached the terminus of its life and fallen from our backyard tree. That connection in death - my dog and this leaf -  struck me and I placed it on her side. The fallen leaf triggered autumn memories of days hunting sharptails in the Eastern Montana wooded draws and sage-grouse in the barely green washes of the dry sagebrush flats (where she always amazed me by finding water to immerse herself in no matter how dry it was - she was a water dog). Then the bitterly cold morning when she retrieved three Canada Geese from a slushy Missouri River and then stood in the river, decked in jeweled ice waiting for more. 

Then it dawned on me that I was looking at a golden heart with a black hole in it and the leaf became even more. It was me and my family. We have lots of family memories that include that dog. Her little walkabouts in Fort Peck that left us scrambling to find her only to have her stroll home when she had had enough (or announce her presence in the back of the pickup where I had forgotten her when we got home) to a week on a Minnesota lake where she spent 90% of her time either leisurely paddling around the cove or flying off the dock to retrieve something the kids had thrown for her.  She had integrated herself into our hearts from the first five hours of crying during our initial ride home to her last hours crawling into the backyard pool for one last dip (she was a water dog). She is gone now. There is a hole in our lives somewhat filled by the spunky pup Sage, but she is gone.

I got up and the leaf slipped off her back and into the grass. 

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Mid-Winter Party Invitations from Antarctica - Davis Station

As I noted in my previous post, a number of the Antarctic research bases host a mid-winter party to celebrate the (southern hemisphere) winter solstice and they send out invitations to the other bases scattered around the continent (which is bigger than the continental US - see the photo from NASA below for a relative size comparison).

http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/icebridge/multimedia/fall11/antarctica-US.html
The invitations often mention various amenities the station can provide to guests, the menu for the mid-winter dinner, as well as other activities visitors could enjoy while at the base - knowing full well that there is now way in hell anyone is ever going to show up in response to their invitations. My kind of humor.

My favorite invitation from this year's bunch was the invite from Davis Station; an Australian base located near where Connecticut is on the US map above. There was a lot of work that went into this invitation without the expectation of any response - at least a response of attendance. Here it is:


















More Mid-Winter Greetings from Antarctica

Here are some additional mid-winter greetings from various bases and outposts in and around Antarctica. You may notice that a number of the images are not just greetings but are actually invitations to join the base solstice party. I find these greetings/invites quite humorous and I will show my favorite in the next post.




















Saturday, June 21, 2014

Mid-Winter Greetings

The following photos were sent to me from a good friend spending another winter season in the deep south. Today is winter solstice in the southern hemisphere and from now on it will get progressively lighter. This is an important occasion for the winter over staff at a number of the Antarctic research bases and they all exchange mid-winter greetings in the form of electronic solstice greetings. Here are a few that were shared with us.













Thursday, June 19, 2014

Sprague's Missouri Lark

One hundred and seventy one years ago today, somewhere near the junction of the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers, Edward Harris and John Bell fired their shotguns simultaneously at a small straw-colored grassland bird that rose from the grass in front of them. They searched for more of these birds, but wound up returning to Fort Union with just the one specimen. Harris and Bell were important members of John James Audubon's Great Western Journey up the Missouri River and the following day Audubon named this new species of lark, not after either the collectors Harris or Bell, but the other artist (primarily botanical) on the trip - Alexander Sprague - Sprague's Missouri Lark (Alauda spragueii), now known as the Sprague's Pipit (Anthus spragueii). However, this was not their first contact with this species. Harris, in his journal entry for June 21, 1843 describes how he ".. discovered that a remarkable note of a bird which we have heard for some days and which has given us a great deal of useless walking, by appearing to proceed from a certain spot, and as soon as we reached it it sounded in another direction, was the note of our little new titlark, and that it sings while flying in the air in the manner of the European Skylark and of our Shore Lark.."





The ethereal notes of the displaying male Sprague's Pipit (click here to access recordings of their songs on the Xeno Canto site), as well as comments on their great abundance in the prairie grasslands they inhabit were a consistent comment in the early ornithological records of the explorations of the Northern Great Plains. Captain Thomas Blakiston (of later Fishing Owl and Japanese Ornithology fame) noted that.. "The Missouri Skylark, hitherto looked on as a rare bird, is common on the prairies of the Saskatchewan [River] during the breeding-season. The first occasion on which I found it was in the neighborhood of Fort Carlton, on May 6th. When disturbed from the prairie grass, which is it's general haunt, it utters a single chirp, and immediately mounts the air by a circuitous course, with a very undulating flight, to a great height, where it rests on its outstretched wings, and utters a very striking song, which it is difficult to describe, and I can liken it to nothing I know. The sound is repeated in a quick succession of notes in the descending scale, each note being lower than the preceding. The bird then usually descends to the ground with great rapidity, almost like a stone, and something similar to a hawk swooping on its prey. These striking manners, if once seen, are not to be forgotten; and I should recognize the note instantly, even if I heard it in the depths of a mangrove-swamp in the tropics...How this bird should have been so long overlooked seems marvelous, for I do not know of a more common bird in the buffalo plains of the Saskatchewan [River] during the summer..."



Elliott Coues was even more loquacious with his description of the song.."Rising from the nest, or from it's grassy bed, this plain-looking bird, clad in the simplest colors, and making but a speck in the boundless expanse, mounts straight up, on trmulous wings, till lost to view in the blue ether, and then sends back to earth a song of gladness that seems to come from the sky itself, to cheer the weary , give hope to the disheartened, and turn the most indifferent, for the moment at least, from sordid thoughts.  No other bird-music heard in our land compares with the wonderful strains of this songster; there is something not of this earth in the melody, coming from above, yet from no visible source. The notes are simply indescribable; but once heard they can never be forgotten. Their volume and penetration are truly wonderful; they are neither loud nor strong, yet the whole air seems filled with the tender strings, and the delightful melody continues long unbroken. The song is only heard for a brief period in the summer, ceasing when the inspiration of the love season is over, and it is only uttered when the birds are soaring."


Although unmistakable, the song of the pipit is also surprisingly easy to overlook against the backdrop of the wind and other singing grassland birds as well as the fact that the song is coming from high above you on a treeless plain. Arthur Cleveland Bent explored the prairies of southern Saskatchewan in both 1905 and 1906 and overlooked Sprague's Pipits entirely during his first year on the prairie. He described how the pipit was overlooked the first year "probably because we did not know where or how to look for it or realize the difficulty of seeing or hearing it. It was really fairly common on the prairie in 1906, frequently heard and less frequently seen. The males spend much of their time way up in the sky, almost out of sight, and it is only occasionally one can be seen as a mere speck against a white cloud; in the blue sky it is almost invisible." Modern pipit seekers can still attest to the difficulty of finding displaying pipits in the vast prairie skies.