Hummer went a courtin'

Things are starting to warm up as the vernal equinox approaches.  Over the past few years, the spring has been coming, well, in spring.  Here in the northwest, we have weather phenomena like "pineapple express" (which the weather folks now call an "atmospheric river") to explain the torrential rains, in whichever season they occur, that feel warm compared to the temps that precede and follow them; or "Junuary" which is when we can get inexplicably warm weather in the middle of January, or the coverse, inexplicably cold weather in June.  One of the other weather phenomena is the convention that summer does not arrive until July fifth.  Over the recent years of global warming, here in the northwest, by the time July rolls around we have already started drought and fire season.  The northwest is starting to have more typical seasons, including snow in winter.  A lot of snow, which the skiers might get excited about, but then a pineapple express hits and melts all the snow (and the snowpack we need to avert summer drought) and causes flooding and soil saturation and landslides and ....  Well, you get the picture.

I watched a male Anna's hummingbird a-courting today.  I can't remember when this starts.  I do remember that the first sign of spring for me, even before robins, is the bachelor red wing blackbirds arrive.  They usually show up about a month before the ladies.  And some have shown up, but not as many as normal this year.  Maybe we have another winter blast coming, but somehow, the birds just know, and they come, scoping out the prospects.  The male Anna's hummingbirds overwinter here, and when the ladies arrive, they find mates and have chicks and then the ladies migrate.  I go through two feeders a day when the whole clan is carb-loading; in summer, I buy the big twenty-five pound bags of sugar at the warehouse store.  There are also rufous hummingbirds that show up for the spring and summer, along with the swallows, but I keep at least one feeder through the winter going for the Anna's who overwinter.  It can be tricky during the midwinter single digit nights to keep those birds in sugar. 

I might be in denial when I say only the males overwinter, but there is definitely one mature male with the iridescent purple mask that is a constant, and he chases off other birds most days.  When I see that, I start hanging more feeders.  One male was practicing his courting song last month.  I think it might have been the immature male--it was like listening to a teenage human boy whose voice is changing, it was a thin honk, and a barely audible song.  He wasn't swooping that I could see.  

Today, there must have been a new girl on the block.  The mature Anna's was in full mode, with the big swoops, and the honk.  He was really getting vertical height before starting his swoop, and I always think they are going to hit something, but no, they don't.  I have one birding book that has a graphic showing, in essence, a time lapse of the shape of the swoop.  I think the same book might describe the honk, but no other birding book of mine says anything about the mating ritual.  Maybe if I had a book specific to the two species of hummers that live up here, I would find this intel, but I saw something today for the first time and want to note it.

As background, here is what I have previously observed:

for the Anna's, the swoop starts above the female, the male rises nearly vertically above the female, then breaks the climb, and flies down at full speed, turning his flight into an arc past the female, brakes sharply and reverses to come to a hover about fifteen feet above her, then repeats.  Along with the swoop are vocalizations.  Exactly as he passes her in the bottom of his arc, he toots, or honks, a single loud noise.  When he hovers over her after the arc, he chitters.  If you have ever been scolded by a hummingbird, you know what I mean.  Then he starts to rise vertically and starts the whole swoop-vocalization cycle again.

for the rufous, it is a bit different.  The book I mentioned describes the shape of the swoop slightly differently, but for me, what I notice is that the honk happens when the male stops above the female.  No chittering.  

A few days ago I was clearing briars and a male hummingbird was in the bushes singing.  Singing, like he was a sparrow!  He kept pivoting his head, looking for somebody I think, but the song didn't bring any groupies, and he flew away.  

Today, when I saw the male Anna's courting, I didn't see the female.  But he was persistent.  And since the feeders hang in front of my house, I knew I was interrupting, but he must have thought she was interested because instead of flying away as I approached, he landed on one of the planters and started making googly eyes at her.  By that, I mean he started serenading her, with his chittering, and googly face making.  Stay with me.  Male Anna's have "masks" which are the purply iridescent feathers that cover their heads.  In some light they can look black, but they are iridescent purplish.  Since I have time to watch my feeders, I have seen that on the mature male, at the sides of his face, where human ears would be, the feathers do not lie flat on his head, but stick out past his head, behind his head, like a weird sideburn.  Today, this male was flaring his iridescent purply feathers out, so he made a kind of dragon face, a square jawline, a big face, and it pulsed while he chittered and stuck out his tongue.  Like he was a bullfrog, blowing himself bigger.  The two flew off in the same direction, so it might have worked.

I have seen the males duel, and watched them flare their tale feathers to intimidate each other, but I have never seen anyone flare their face feathers and make googly eyes before.  That was a new one on me.  And now I have told you, so the secret is out.  Don't steal the little guy's move, okay?

Singles and Plies

I am not a very good spinner, in fact I am barely above a day one beginner.  But over the years of practice, I can confirm that practice makes...better.  I can usually keep my strand in one piece.  For me, understanding the principles of spinning has driven me to spin finer singles.  If I can keep a fine strand going, then getting thicker singles mean just putting more fiber in the drafting triangle.  In fact, if I go for too long between spinning sessions, I find myself starting fat for a few inches before I can work down to the fine again.  

Spinning a strand of singles means twisting the individual fibers in order that the fibers lock together, at the same time you constantly overlap layers of individual fibers to extend the strand, continuously twisting so that the fibers stick together.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Sort of like laying a brick wall, how the bricks overlap each other to keep the wall strong.  Instead of cement (or mortar), use twist.  The more twist, the stronger the individual single (single strand) will be.  But it is possible to put too much twist into the fiber.  There is a balance of adding just enough extra twist into the single so that after you have made a long enough strand, you can ply that single with another single (or two or three or more) or even with itself, and overtwisting the single so that it wants to curl and knot up on itself when you let go of it. 

In our society, most yarn used for knitting, or weaving, or whatever, is plied.  In the same way that more twist makes a single stronger, combining two or more singles makes that combined (plied) yarn stronger.  Which is probably the main reason society wants plied yarns.  

Plies don't have to be made of singles of the same kind of fiber.  You can make a plied yarn from a single of wool with a single of silk.  Or a ply from a single of one color and a single of a second color.  Plied yarn, in addition to being stronger also allows for more possibilities from a design perspective.  

But I think singles get a bad rep.  Historically, singles have been used to weave fabric on warp-weighted looms, and kept the human race from freezing in the days before central heating.  I don't know for sure without doing some research, but singles may have also been woven into the sails that sailed Eric to the coast of North America on his Viking questing.  You can spin singles with just enough twist to hold them together, making a soft supple fabric when knitted or woven (but more fragile).  You can spin a singles with a lot of twist for strength and long wear, fighting its natural instinct to double back on itself, and weave or knit it into a fabric that wants to bias in turn, but it is as long wearing as you can want. You can spin singles thick or thin, or even"frog hair'.  Singles are done when you are finished spinning, ready to use in a final product.  Singles highlight the qualities of the fiber used to spin the single.  

The size of plied yarn is partly determined by the thickness of the singles used to ply the yarn, and the number of plies to make the final yarn.  Plied yarn can be plied in interesting and creative ways.  You can ply all the singles together in one go, you can ply one single at a time, twisting the opposite direction each time you add a ply.  You can make a plied yarn cabled, or chained.  It requires "frog hair" singles if you want a very fine plied yarn, but it is (and was) done.  Historically.  Pre-industrial revolution.  By folks sitting in their dark cottages lit by candlelight.  Well, maybe whale oil. And when I say "folks" you should read "women and children".  The only time I can think of when european men handled singles and plies, pre-industrial revolution (because they took over nearly all the fiber activities when all those machines showed up), is rope-making.  But they got to beat the rope with those clubs, so there's that. I do know of some males who engage in fiber activity, and even some males who make a living teaching females how to be fibery (go figure).  It's not just the flower child/hippies of the 60s.  

Oddly enough, I haven't heard anything about survivalists educating themselves to create cloth with fiber after society collapses; I guess they are going to be wearing furs and leathers.  

Precipitation

 Well, the rain that didn't fall all summer fell during the month of November.  Normally my wettest month, the rain fell with a vengeance and reloaded my rain barrels and then started spilling into puddles all over the neighborhood.  Rivers of water running down the street.  Even the rainshadow town near me had standing water in the streets.  And then the Nooksak River up by the US-CA border jumped its banks and caused tremendous flooding in the town of Sumas, British Columbia, built in the basin of a lake that was drained back in the early 1900s.  So, perhaps predictably, their lake-draining pumps were overwhelmed by the volume of rain and river, and the former lake recreated itself.  Thousands of animals and their farmer people were flooded.  Damages in the millions of dollars (not sure whether Canadian or U.S.).  

After the wettest November in the state, ever, since records exist, December was mostly mild.  Sure, while there were relentless waves of typical storm fronts coming through almost daily, for the most part the precipitation stayed rain, and the temps were in the 40s and even 50s.  Until our Christmas miracle...a lowland white Christmas, courtesy of the "Fraser Outflow" from British Columbia, channeling the cold from the North Pole down through the mountain passes and aiming all that cold right into the Puget Sound region (sort of like a lake basin of lowland between mountain ranges, hollowed out by the glaciers during the last Ice Age).  Cold plus precipitation makes the white stuff.  

I may live in the foothills, but I am not a fan of snow.  Not with my animals, and, well, footHILLS.  Driving becomes dangerous, no matter how careful or rigged up you are.  Once, sometime in the past decade, we had a lot of snow.  Something like ten cars went off the road on my hill, it was a big story in the local news.  And roads on our hills...well, narrow, windy, inclined (natch), trees all the way up shading the road from the sun, with deep ditches on both sides (or worse, just a drop off the road and then down the hill into trees).  So I don't drive in snow unless absolutely necessary.  And when snow and Fraser Outflow combine, we have snow that never melts, snow packed into slippy ice, night temps in the teens or single digits and day temps that never warm up past 20s even if the sun shines...almost Canadian weather one might say.  Plus, my elevation means winter precipitation in the form of snow, even if it doesn't make it to sea level.  

I worry about the outside gang in such cold temps.  One year early on the farm, I bought coats for all the alpacas.  I got one coat on the youngest girl, and within a week she had started wearing it almost like a sari or some exotic garment, wrapped around her so badly that I had to take it off lest she hurt or choke herself.  Imagine her watching me try to catch her, after having already putting a straightjacket on her...I spent the better part of a hour trying to coax her into letting me take it off.  Another one of the alpacas, when I put the coat on her and then stepped back, she bolted and ran around the pasture shrieking like a banshee was eating her alive.  Now imagine trying to catch her.  Just two examples of coat sagas.  So no coats.  I can't abide alpaca stinkeye, it leads to alpaca spitting.  

I have thought about building straw bale "walls" to try to insulate their shelter during winter, but they want to eat the straw.  And how to keep the walls stable, yet removable when the spring comes?  Two years ago after Fraser Outflow kept the polar vortex aimed at us for several weeks, I worried that the four feet of snow that would not melt would collapse the roof of the alpaca shelter, or collapse the roof of my house.  They seemed okay back then, pacing the pastures on channel paths through the deep snow in the deep cold, but I have a couple of older girls who are starting to show their age; the oldest dropped weight this fall and the vet didn't have a lot of suggestions for getting the weight back on her.  She is also on meloxicam for her arthritis.  It may be a tough winter. 

I rejoined my local fiber guild.  I joined the weaving study group, and at the first meeting one woman told me that she was considering quitting, so it isn't only me.  But it is getting me back on the loom.  I have done more puzzles and read more books and finished more knitting UFOs during the past twenty-two months, when I should have buried myself in spinning and weaving and dyeing up inventory for when I can sell again.  I have also joined a citizen science program, studying the coast to "establish baselines."  The program has been around for at least thirty years, according to their literature, so it seems like they should have a baseline by now, but I am constantly surprised at the state of scientific knowledge..."What?!  We didn't already know that?!"... seems one of my regular refrains the past few years.  But it is motivation to go walk the beach once a month.  

If I can get down off the mountain.  

Another tough summer on the farm

 This 2021 drought was somehow even worse for nature than 2020.  It started with a "light" winter of less rain for me than normal.  Scientists claimed our mountain snowpack exceeded normal by a significant percentage, but then the northwest had a week of a "heat dome" at the end of June that melted all the snow I can see in my mountains.  As a matter if fact, I noticed this week (in mid September) that Mt. Baker has a line of blue at the top instead of the regular snow.  I heard that the dark blue on Mt. Rainier is the glaciers showing, so that must be what is happening with Mt. Baker.

Then there was a second heat dome in July.  Apparently, heat domes are common along the mountain ridges in summer, but normally only extend from California down to Mexico.  The heat domes this year were experienced from Mexico to as far north as British Columbia in Canada.  These heat domes had temps in the high nineties and over 100 in Seattle.  A lot of the greenery dried out or got heat stressed.  A lot of the wildlife, the birds in particular, were desperate for water.  I had more juncos than normal foraging in my gutters for condensation off the metal roof.  The hummingbirds were going through two feeders every day.  

The deer seemed to be doing alright, but they changed their habitual movements mid-summer, so all of a sudden deer were crossing the road in odd places and at odd times.  On top of that, logging resumed despite the high fire danger, and I saw two deer dead together on the side of the road, clearly both struck by one of the logging trucks while trying to cross.  The turkey vultures and ravens moved in...on those--and other--carrion.  I had two close calls myself, and I drive slower than everybody else on my mountain.  

I am grateful that we had little smoke impact from summer fires.  The fires raged in California (again) and even in Oregon, but the winds this year stayed mostly typical (unlike previous summers).  Unhappily, the folks on the east coast got a lot of the smoke.  Part of the new normal has been reported as unhealthy air quality days doubling over the past ten years for the whole country.  Again, nothing compared to Australia a few years back, where there was such a huge toil to the environment and the animals.  

I belatedly sheared four of the seven.  They had been packing water away like camels during the drought, and going through hay like crazy since the pastures had all dried out.  But while they hated getting the haircuts, they seemed grateful to be rid of the coats.  Such pronking in the fields.  

My mother had birds in her yard this summer that she doesn't normally see; I spotted some during a recent visit.  She has a wild yard, a quasi bird sanctuary, and these two straggly, skittish birds were scavenging in her back yard.  I think they were just plain brown-headed cowbirds, but they sure looked to me like they had been living the hard life for a while and their feathers looked unfit for flying  She didn't know them, they were not regulars of hers.  And after years of absence, a heron has been cruising her neighborhood again.  Someone had been killing crows in her neighborhood, and there is more construction down by the slough (swamp) and nearby lake, so the wildlife has been disrupted and harmed by covid-frustrated people, and more development, in both our neighborhoods.  

The rain returned in September.  First just dew in the morning, then an odd shower here or there, and then this past weekend, we were predicted to have storms and two inches of rain in a 72-hour period.  The birds were singing their ecstatic joy.  The rain did not compare to the rain out of Ida and then Larry flooding the northeast, but just watch that pendulum swing from one extreme to the other in days and then try to tell me with a straight face that global warming is a hoax.  

The stellar jays also returned to my farm in September, after an absence during the drought.  Yesterday morning I saw the first coyote in a long while, and tonight is the full moon...I wonder if there will be a performance tonight.  Knock wood, I have not had the bear come foraging.  I don't want him becoming habituated and expanding his scavenging.  I *did* have some local tribal liaison folks visit.  They had a radio-collared female cougar putting some hours on my land that they wanted to peek at; I haven't seen her, so she is keeping her distance, as is typical.    

I read an article a while back, I think it was out of Time magazine.  The writer explained there was going to be a period of strange weather before the "new normal"... and called this period "global weirding".  Indeed.  If this summer is any indication.  

Feathering nests

So the hummingbirds have been fruitful, and have multiplied. The local Annas have hatched a brood and are training the young about the feeders and how to deal with the jealous tourist rufous.  Somebody has learned, since there were about 15 birds on the feeders or hovering nearby, six and seven on the feeders plus the helicopters.  I had added a feeder for a total two, in hopes of cutting back on the amount of conflict, but I guess the Annas need to learn about resolving conflict as well.  My oldest llama has been robbing herself on the fencing but as near as I can tell, none of the fiber has appeared in nests; based on the population explosion, it was too late for nests.  

The ravens came through the other day, also with their young ones.  No noticeable difference in size, but two of the ravens acting like babies, crying with their mouths open and fluttering their wings for attention.  Mom (and dad?) was annoyed, and the young ones finally foraged for themselves.  Last year I had seen a raven raid somebody's nest for their young, a real circle of life moment that I hope I never have to witness again, so this was a much more diverting encounter. One year the mated raven couple stood in the pasture and groomed one another, a very tender encounter I would much rather reflect upon.    

The owls have also been heard at dusk quite a lot, but I have not sighted them this year (yet).  But they have ruffled the alpacas who have even been spooked into flight once or twice.  Surprisingly, I have not found any raven or owl feathers.  Do they pick up after themselves?

Nothing to see here...except a new fiber animal

Long story short, I now have one boy alpaca all alone in his pasture by himself so I started troubleshooting about how to make sure his mental health did not deteriorate, given alpacas are herd animals.  I started thinking about getting him company, but not ready to think about another alpaca.  Let him in with girls?  Danger, Will Robinson.  Maybe a goat?  Hmm.  I started browsing animals on craigslist.  Given the season, it should come as no surprise that there were several postings for rabbits.  

I am not an angora person myself, but I have thought about an angora rabbit or two when I buy fiber at the shepherd's festival.  And now that I am trying to get this craft biz off the ground, maybe it was time to expand my thinking?  So there was a posting for mini satin rabbits (a fur rabbit) where the photo showed one of the kits was a throwback and had the longer angora type fiber.  The poster responded that only one animal was available, and it was that throwback rabbit.  So I took the leap and now have a mini satin angora rabbit to bond with.  

Yes, that doesn't help my big boy alpaca, and now there are two herd animals without a herd.  I have only a smidge of buyer's remorse.   

Better late than never

So.  The black bear I wrote about in the spring returned this past fall.  I only saw evidence of him at first.  The trash cans knocked over, and one moved/clawed/chewed on and the contents scattered.  After baking in the summer sun, the contents must have been ripe, but I mostly don't throw food away because the raccoons used to be a problem.  Anyhoo, i righted the cans, and then noticed that the same something had gotten into the bed of the pickup because the sheet of plywood I had left there was broken.  But I expected no more trouble.

Silly me.  The bear came back a few more times.  The second time, he broke open a plastic storage bench where I kept the bird seed.  So I had to package up the bird seed and move it into a livestock trailer I could lock.  But the bear had found something I had forgotten was in the storage bench...a bag of bonemeal I used for fertilizing bulbs.  So I cleaned that up.  The third time the bear came in the night, I heard one of the pacas make a small whimper.  I opened the front door to check, and there was a dark shadow extending the normal dark shadow of the storage bench.  When I shined a flashlight on him, he ran away.  

Thankfully, he did not seem interested in the animals, and the girls in the pasture closest to him did not make a peep (except for that one whimper, so atypical for a normal scared alarm), nor did they run and pack up like they would normally do for a threat.  They seemed to realize they better keep quiet and still, and maybe it wouldn't notice them.  

The bear came back a couple more times, and each time I tried to do something different to make it unpleasant for him, like set off alarms and air horns to scare him away.  There was nothing left to find, investigate, etc.  He did, at some point know the smells were in the livestock trailer (where I keep all the animal feed, including, now, the bird seed) because there were prints on the side of the trailer where he had stood up and pushed on it to see if he could break in (nope).  And I did find a cache of random bones (bears are scavengers) recently so he must still be swinging by.  Especially now I have had my first snowfall on the solstice.  

But he seems to have gone into winter mode rather than fatten up mode.  

Like the rest of us in this covid year.