Thankful

Some things for which I'm thankful:


Fall color:



Skies like this:



Distractions like these:



A partner in crime:



...who's just as fascinated by the world as I am:



...and, really, is a blast:



For my other partner in crime, who's a great husband and dad:



...and who puts up with me doing things like this:



...and for so many other things that I don't have in photos. We've had some rough times this year, but there's a lot of good stuff.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone. I ♥ you guys.



See?

Monday goodies: Great-tailed grackle

I've shown my love for common birds already. I'm easy. A bird need not be exotic for me to love it, just gorgeous. And I think all birds are gorgeous. Today, grackles, Quiscalus mexicanus. Some people hate 'em. I think they're awesome. They're cacophonous and feisty, they're sometimes considered pests, though they're not introduced by humans (unlike house sparrows). They're widespread, but seem to be especially common out here. I swear they follow me. Some people get crows; I get grackles. I'll take it!

Enjoy:












What animal should I show off next? Sparrows? Spiders? Sp ... cactus wrens? Happy Monday, everyone.

Friday 5: Adorable arthropods

I have insect and spider shots that are better than some of these. But these are the cutest. Yes, cutest. Even people who aren't me, my son, or my buggy friends have awwwed at a few bugs now and then.

Praying mantis


Hey there! Be my friend? And feed me live flies?


Damselfly


He probably sucks at hide and seek.


Fiery skipper


Seriously, don't you just want to pet him?


Pallid-winged grasshopper


Grouchily adorable.


Jumping spider


If I didn't kind of hate the word, I'd squee here. Tiny cute spider! It was my writing muse for an afternoon.

Back to regularly scheduled intelligent nature blogging this evening. Oooh, and a bonus peekaboo damselfly:

Travel Thursday: Mount Graham Part 2

Check out the first set of Mount Graham photos here.

If you're going to Mount Graham, about nine miles south of Safford, remember a few things.

Wait until spring. Graham, the highest peak in Southern Arizona and the anchor of the Pinaleño Mountains, rises almost 10,720 feet. It gets cold. Besides, higher-elevation campgrounds just closed for the winter this week, and that's where we had the most fun.

Know where you're going. Don't be idiots like a certain blogger and her husband, and punch in the coordinates on your GPS. Don't feel smug and satisfied because you punched in the exact geographical coordinates, so it's not like anything could go wrong. Not that I know anything about that.

Keep an eye out for wildlife. Be safe, but mostly, keep an eye out because it's awesome and there's a lot of it to see here.

Remember to bring your directions. And seriously, don't rely on your GPS.

Plan for inclement weather. Tarps, extra layers, more tarps, coats. It's a pain, but trust me, it's worse to leave them behind.

If you make a campfire, keep it to the fire circles, and thoroughly douse and bury it afterward.

For the love of god, don't use your GPS to get there. And if you do, and something goes wrong, remember -- it's your spouse's fault.

We were lucky the weekend we went to Mount Graham, as even the busiest campsites still had plenty of room. You probably should call the number listed here to check availability before you head out, but something is bound to be open. If you're headed out that way, you want to take US 191 to AZ 366, which winds up the mountain.

Don't try and get fancy with directions. Bring them, and trust yourself and don't take any weird turns suggested by your GPS. Our own drive out there was nothing short of disastrous. After realizing we didn't have the directions ("I thought you brought them!") my husband and I nevertheless felt confident, because we had the precise geographical coordinates. Surely putting those into the GPS would steer us better than some stupid website, or the fact that we basically knew where to go already.

More directly, maybe. What we didn't know, however, was that the GPS was hell-bent on steering us directly to the mountain, serviceable roads be damned. By the time we were in over our head, we had already driven for ten miles on washboards and eroded dirt roads, and we figured pushing on just a bit more would be better than redoing all of that, so we got ourselves in even deeper, and probably almost on some really dumb evening news piece about idiot motorists.

To make an extremely long story shorter, after what might as well have been off-roading (in my PT Cruiser) somewhere between Klondyke and Safford for a couple of hours, we nearly drove off a high wash wall. We turned around, took an extensive series of roads to backtrack, and found ourselves ... at the same damn wash. Finally, we managed to escape the nameless network of rocky paths, and eventually rediscovered the 366.

After that, the trip was nothing but awesome. The crazily switchbacking drive to the summit presents new and spectacular views at each turn, and we could actually feel the temperature change as we ascended, dropping about 40 degrees from the base to our campground at 8,600 feet.

We picked Riggs Flat Campground, because 1) it was a higher-elevation sight, the better for chilly weather and dramatic views; and 2) it has a lake. It's actually one of the more popular campgrounds on the mountain, so you might want to check ahead for availability.

Obviously with our driving misadventures, we got to the campsite a little later than we'd planned. Still, we had time to unpack, roam around for an hour, and start a roaring campfire for marshmallow roasting and general campiness. After consuming enough S'mores to make us all nauseated, we doused and buried the fire, and just as we began to worry about stray embers, a deluge began pouring from the sky, and we turned in for the night. (Thankfully, our weather preparations were much more thorough than our direction-bringing preparations.)

The next morning was sublime. It was like the rain had rinsed the whole world. I watched in the five minutes before anyone else awoke, as the forest glowed blue through dawn's sliver of light and someone's campfire smoke. Soon sharp, bright, clear sunlight woke up my son and husband. We grabbed some slightly smooshed sandwiches, hiked a short trail, and sat on the cliff, eating peanut butter and jelly and watching the world unfold beneath our feet. Pretty sweet payoff for a short morning hike.


We returned to the campsite and spent the rest of the morning at the lake. Mist rolled over the water as a few anglers set up for the day (rainbow, brown, and brook trout are stocked) We traipsed haphazardly between the lakeside and nearby forests and meadows.

We hiked various numerous trails throughout the rest of the day -- trails through spruce and fir and through ponderosa pine, easy walks through open grassy meadows, meandering paths along creeks. We saw butterflies, frogs, sharp-shinned hawks, Cooper's hawks, Coue's white-tailed deer, wild turkeys, several species of lizard, and more. We smelled a skunk, which made my son absurdly happy, and found black bear scat, which made him even happier. All in all, a pretty great trip.

Just don't use your damn GPS.

Travel Tuesday: Mount Graham (a preview)

Travel Tuesday will be continued on Thursday this week. A preview: Mount Graham a few months ago. (The season for higher-elevation Mount Graham camping just ended. It's the highest mountain in Southern Arizona. It's cold.)

Monday goodies: Black-crowned night heron

Monday goodies is a perfect excuse to share some black-crowned night herons. I've already shared quite a few shots of the birds, in entries like this Species a Day post, but I've got a whole folder full of "spares." I thought these deserved a showing.

Black-crowned night herons' scientific name is Nycticorax, for "night raven," since they like to hunt at dusk or night, and have a harsh crow-like call. They bark. It even sounds like the word "bark." Watch for them in late evening or early morning around the water's edge, or roosting grumpily during the day in tree branches. If you can manage to get close without irking one too much, it's worth it.









Hope everyone had a good weekend! Happy Monday.

Interfaith conversation on the playground

Written yesterday; held off until I got my son's permission.

We had a loss in the family this week. My son found out just before going to school, and found himself explaining why he was crying at school. A brief conversation ensued. (Names changed, except for my son, David.)

He told me about it after school. It was a normal conversation to him. Everyone's conversations should go like this.


David: "I told Cody and Brandon about what happened."

Me: "And what did they say?"

David: "Cody said he was sorry for my loss, and that [insert religious belief here]."

Now, we talk about these things all the time, especially the last few days. David is enormously curious, compassionate, and opened-minded; which I think is a fantastic combination. He's changed his mind a million times on the Big Questions, which I also think is fantastic. I knew he did not believe this particular religious claim, at least today. He happens to think it's kind of silly. The Oh-no-what-did-you-say alarms started to go off in my head.

Me (in a deliberate, level voice): "Hmm. That's interesting."

David: "It is interesting! I think it's really interesting. But it's not true. At least, I'm pretty sure it's not true. I don't even know if I want it to be true, but it really doesn't make any sense to me. That's what I told Cody."

Me: "Oh? What exactly did you say to him?"

David: "Well, I just said 'Thank you. That is comforting. I don't really believe [religious belief] is true, but I think it's a nice story. Thanks for being so nice to me.'"

Me: "And what did he say to that?"

David: "He asked me why I thought that. I told him, and then I asked him if he was someone who thought anyone who has different opinions goes to Hell. He said, 'No; that's stupid. Everyone can have their own opinions.'"

Me: "I am really, really proud of both you and Cody. What happened next?"

David (shrugging): "Brandon told me a story about his dog dying. I think he was trying to be sympathetic, so I told him thank you. Then we all played kickball. Only WE use special rules..."

[Fifteen-minute soliloquy on special kickball rules omitted for brevity.]

Kids. They are freaking awesome.

Travel Tuesday: Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch

The following review appears in this month's Times Publications.

"Ostrich bite." *

Truth in advertising at its best. Among things that were bitten at Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch last weekend: My hand, my camera, my shirt, my hair, and my son.

We’re going back as soon as we can.

If you're not heading to Picacho Peak, you might not even slow down enough to see the farm, off Exit #219 on Interstate 10, but you should. Nestled at the base of historic Picacho Peak Mountain, it's the largest ostrich ranch in the country. Over a thousand black South African ostrich hens live at the ranch, laying eggs and roaming its 600 acres.

Visitors can buy ostrich eggs (fresh, hollow, or painted), ostrich jerky, ostrich feather dusters (the owners insist they're the only kind that pick up dust), several other products at the entrance gift shop. But the real draw is participation.

Entrance is $5 for “kids 6 to 106,” and this includes a huge cup of pellet feed for the ostriches; as well as deer, goats, and donkeys; which can also be hand fed. The fee also includes a cup of nectar, which visitors can feed to rainbow lorikeets in an enclosed forest.

The products offered were fine, but I don’t think my son, David, has ever bypassed a gift shop so quickly. This should be a compliment, though -- he simply couldn’t wait to get to the animals. As we parked, a pair of ostriches peered over the fence at us. He was hooked.

Owner Rooster Cogburn (his given name’s D.C. Cogburn, but he took on "Rooster" in Oklahoma), sensitive to the fact that most people aren’t used to birds topping out 350 to 400 pounds, provides three levels of ostrich feeding. To stay unpecked, you can pour feed into chutes through the fence, where the ostriches will come and eat, safely on their own side. If you're feeling brave, walk up a wooden ramp and place the food in pans. If you’re insane, or are my son (OK, or me), you go immediately for the “ultimate ostrich interaction,” and invite the ostriches to eat from your hand. David was up the ramp, hand outstretched, in about 30 seconds.

Here's the thing: Ostriches are huge. You think you realize that, but it's a whole other thing to stand beneath a herd (“flock” doesn’t cut it) of giant, panting birds. These modern-day dinosaurs have presence. They towered over us at seven or eight feet, their enormous clawed, two-toed feet kicked up dust, and they breathed heavily, beaks wide open, waiting for food. Occasionally they’d get impatient and launch their heads over the fence in search of stray food. Unwary photographers focusing in the distance, leaning against the fence, are also ripe for enthusiastic pecking (something I learned firsthand).

With hundreds of ostriches wandering around the enclosure, you’re ensured a stampede of panting visitors. The humans learn the drill too -- hold your hand flat, down low, raise it slowly, and don’t curl up a stray finger. No leaning against the fence. Start small if you’re nervous. Feed the birds through the chutes first, and work your way up.

All of this makes the experience sound harrowing, and it was. But mostly it was ridiculously fun. It’s like the animal-feeding equivalent of riding a roller coaster -- everyone approaches it with a sense of foreboding and false bravado, a few folks scream or laugh, and as everyone walks away laughing and bragging, several people get right back in line.

After the ostriches, we took our nectar cups to the Rainbow Lorikeet Forest. The lorikeets are Australian parrots, and are absurdly beautiful, hence their name. They’re loud, playful, and inquisitive. David and I made our way to the back of the 5,000 square-foot enclosure, opened our nectar cups, and held out our arms. We were swiftly covered in a cacophonous blur of green, blue, orange, and yellow, as the lorikeets perched on our arms and sipped the nectar with their specially adapted tongues.

Many travelers make the ranch a quick stop on their way to Phoenix or Tucson, but there is plenty to occupy visitors. After the lorikeets, we refilled our pellets and fed the fallow deer (soft, adorable, and gentle enough for toddlers), the donkeys (frisky, and there are usually babies), and goats (from our lips -- you've got to try it). The ranch even runs 40-minute monster truck tours through the ranch and desert on weekends, for an extra behind-the-scenes look.

So, yes. Ostrich bite. But don't let that scare you off.

*In the printed version, you'll notice it's been amended to "Ostriches bite," which is quite correct. In fact, my son and I immediately noticed the sign's wording, but were a little distracted by the ostriches, well, biting. I imagine if you're warning someone, efficiency is more important than grammar.