An Eerie Send-off

Red fox are generally thought to be silent and cunning predators, conducting stealth attacks on field mice, rabbits or domestic chickens.  In fact, they can be quite noisy at times, a fact that was reinforced the other night.

Hoping to get a good night's sleep before driving back to Missouri, I was awakened by eerie cries, echoing from one of our Littleton farm pastures; I immediately recognized the screams as those of a red fox, indicating that our recent visitor intended to stay.  While female red fox often deliver these harrowing sounds during the mating season, that activity does not occur until late winter.  Too tired to seek the source or the purpose, I concluded that it may have been a territorial rite by our new resident; fortunately, whatever their motivation, the screams soon ended.

Hosting wild neighbors can be a mixed blessing for human homeowners.  While we enjoy observing their behavior, especially when youngsters make an appearance, we must also accept their instinctual noisiness, their scat, their musky scent markings and the damage that they may inflict on roofs, siding, vegetation, gardens and out-buildings.  I'm generally more than willing to accept those natural consequences but the alarming screams at 3 AM tested my patience!

Flashback Post XXI

Now that the political conventions are over and we move toward the November election, it is especially important for Americans to reflect on the vital role of our Government, especially as it pertains to human rights and the health of our environment, sentiments expressed in a post from October of 2012.  Vote for Biden/Harris!

See: The Value of Government

Sabine River Highway

The Sabine River rises from several tributaries within Lake Tawakoni Reservoir, east of Dallas, Texas.  Flowing ESE across the prairie country of Northeast Texas, it passes Longview and then angles southeast to Logansport, Louisiana, where it becomes the border between Texas and Louisiana.

Along much of that border, the Sabine flows through Toledo Bend Reservoir before winding through the cypress swamps of southwest Louisiana and eastern Texas.  More than 500 miles from its source, the river enters Sabine Lake and then reaches the Gulf of Mexico through the Sabine Pass channel.

Hurricane Laura, currently a category 4 storm, is forecast to make landfall near Sabine Pass and move northward through the Sabine River Valley.  Extreme storm surge is expected east of its course while high winds, torrential rain and tornadoes will threaten the entire region; indeed, hurricane-force gusts may occur as far north as Little Rock, Arkansas.  Already the largest river in Texas by flow volume, the lower Sabine will surely flood for many days to come.

Marco Fizzles, Laura Threatens

Tropical storm Marco, briefly a category 1 hurricane, continues to approach the Louisiana coast but upper level sheering winds literally blew the storm apart, sending its convective thunderstorms northeastward to the Florida Panhandle.  As its central circulation curves westward, Marco will weaken to a tropical depression, leaving only mild storm surge and coastal flooding in its wake.

Tropical storm Laura, on the other hand, continues to churn across the Caribbean, impaired only my mountainous terrain in Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic and Cuba.  Once it enters the giant bathtub of the Gulf of Mexico, where water temperatures are at or near 90 degrees F, Laura is expected to strengthen and will likely be a category 2-3 hurricane by the time it reaches the Texas-Louisiana border region.  Unlike in Marco's case, the upper atmosphere will be free of sheering winds, favoring the storm's development.

Based on its current forward motion, Laura should reach the northwestern Gulf Coast within 48 hours.  While its center will likely pass west of New Orleans, it is a large storm and its effects may stretch from Houston to Pensacola before it moves inland, bringing torrential rains to the lower Mississippi and Ohio Valleys.

See also: Tropical Storm Dynamics 

No Rest for the Raptor

Yesterday evening, after another brutally hot day in Metro Denver, a male Cooper's hawk settled in our large catalpa tree.  Seemingly enjoying the cooler air of sunset and a gentle north breeze, he did not appear to be in hunting mode.

Nevertheless, a trio of our avian residents would not tolerate his presence and began to vigorously dive at the raptor.  One might think these attackers were blue jays, crows or magpies but, in fact, they were tiny broad-tailed hummingbirds.  While Cooper's hawks feed primarily on relatively large songbirds such as robins, flickers and doves, the hummingbirds appeared to feel threatened nonetheless.

After a fifteen minute standoff, the hawk took cover in a neighbor's cottonwood and the victors buzzed away to their own nocturnal roosts.  Hawks and owls may be apex predators but their right to enjoy an open perch in the cool evening air will almost always be challenged.

Storage Season

Despite the extreme heat wave along the Colorado Front Range, the hours of daylight are contracting and wild creatures take notice.  After all, winter conditions can threaten the survival of many species and they can either head south or store nutrients for the leaner months; the latter choice may involve putting on a layer of fat or hoarding food while it is still available.

Among birds, nuthatches, woodpeckers and nutcrackers are best known for storing food and, this week, I have noticed an increase in that activity.  Both white-breasted and red-breasted nuthatches reside on our Littleton farm and their seasonal storage activity has become especially evident.  Snatching sunflower seeds from the feeding area, they head to crevices in the bark of our larger trees or in the wooden sides of our garage and barn; there they stuff in the seed for future consumption and begin another sortie.

It is entertaining to watch this instinctual behavior and reassuring to know that fall is on our doorstep.  Hopefully, the oppressive heat and smoky air will yield to an inflow of crisp, clear mountain air by that time; given our worsening drought, an early snowstorm or two would also be welcome.

A Red Fox Returns

When we bought our Littleton, Colorado, farm in 1990, a pair of red fox were denning beneath the barn and, for a decade or so, produced a litter of pups.  Emerging in spring, the pups were a joy to observe as they scampered and tumbled about the property, oblivious of our presence.  While they continued to feed on mice, voles and berries, the resident fox had already wiped out the cottontail population prior to our arrival.

Then, some years later, coyotes moved in, scaring off (and in one case killing) the fox and taking over their den.  Concerned about the risk to neighborhood pets, I managed to dislodge the coyote family, though visiting coyotes have continued to appear on occasion.  Once the coyotes and fox were extirpated, the cottontails returned and their population became problematic; fortunately, great horned owls and hawks (including northern goshawks in winter) were attracted to the abundant prey and the number of cottontails fell dramatically.

Now that the cottontails are recovering once again, I have hoped to see fox return and, on this cool, hazy morning, my patience was rewarded.  A young red fox trotted up the driveway and was soon nosing his way through one of the pastures.  The circle of life is complete and I am pleased to have this beautiful predator back on the farm (though I doubt the cottontails, voles and mice share my sentiments).

Humans & Animals

One often hears statements such as "He was acting like an animal" or "She was treated like an animal."  I find such declarations disturbing on several levels.

With regard to the first statement, I would make the point that he is an animal, not a plant.  We share the same physiology and instincts; of course, our larger brain should confer a reasonable degree of social etiquette, empathy and behavioral constraints but that is not always the case.  Indeed, one might easily argue that some humans are the cruelest animals on the planet.

Regarding the second statement, there is an implication that it might be acceptable to mistreat non-human animals; this notion has been widespread since we first domesticated animals about 12,000 years ago and continues today in the form of puppy mills, feedlots, trophy hunting and other human endeavors. On the other hand, many humans pay more attention to the needs of their pets than to the welfare of their fellow humans; we are even kind enough to provide compassionate euthanasia while restricting that option for "children of God."  The more we accept the fact that we are animals, just as much a part of nature as those we observe in the wild, the better off all species will be, mankind included.

Trump races to destroy our Planet

On the day that the Democratic National Convention begins, the Trump Administration has finalized plans to open up the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil and gas exploration.  Ignoring both climate change and a world oil glut, our Dear Leader is intent on rolling back every form of environmental protection before he is voted out of office.

Perhaps he is playing for the Alaskan vote and the financial support of the oil and gas industry but one would think they are already in his corner.  More likely, Trump intends to use his authority to destroy a signature landmark achievement of past Democratic Administrations while he can.  To be perfectly honest, I doubt he could find the Refuge (or the State of Alaska) on a map.

Unfortunately, as was pointed out in the New York Times, leases granted prior to the election may not be reversible by a Biden Administration.  Legal challenges are thus underway by a host of Conservation Organizations and your financial support is encouraged.  Most of all, vote for your grandkids in November; help to save our planet by electing Biden and dumping Trump! 

Sunrise at Roxborough State Park

My daughter, her husband, my son, a grandson and I opted for a hike at Roxborough State Park, in southwest Metro Denver, this morning.  In order to beat the heat and the crowds, we met at sunrise.

Shortly after starting the north loop trail, the sun made its appearance, glowing through smoke-tinged air; the latter is the consequence of multiple wildfires in the State and a lack of strong winds to clear the skies.  Nevertheless, it was a pleasantly cool morning and we were on our own until we had completed the loop.  Crowds are common at the Park, especially on weekends, due to the spectacular rock formations (Dakota, Lyons and Fountain Formation sandstones, east to west) and the fine trail network.  Mule deer are reliably encountered as are a mix of foothill shrubland birds.

In addition to the pleasant hike, we were educated about dinosaurs by my 3-year-old grandson and he was rewarded with donuts when we returned to the lot.  Such family outings (safely-spaced these days) have long been highlights of my time on our planet.

Wildlife and Stress

Since returning to Colorado, I have spent a good deal of time wandering about our Littleton farm and observing the wildlife.  As I have written in the past, nature offers an excellent diversion from the stress of this difficult period.

As children, we tend to pity wild creatures, missing out as they do on holidays and having to endure the brutal weather of winter.  As adults, we sometimes envy them, free to go about their lives without worrying about finances or relationships and immune to the emotional burdens carried by human adults; overwhelmed by news related to Covid-19 and our dysfunctional government, we may be especially prone to those sentiments this summer.

Then again, our wild neighbors are focused solely on survival, instinctively aware of predators and driven to seek food during most of their waking hours.  We humans, endowed with a large, complex brain, can appreciate those constraints but are still drawn to their outwardly carefree existence.  In return, they offer some measure of tranquility. 

Covid-19 and College Football

While the MAC, the Big Ten and the PAC-12 have cancelled their fall football season due to the risks imposed by the coronavirus pandemic, the Big 12, SEC and ACC are dragging their feet, still (at the time of this post) committed to an autumn schedule.  Do they have medical data not available to the rest of us?  Of course not.

The clear answer is that these conferences primarily represent Red States where conservative ideology is anti-government and anti-science.  They are minimizing the risks to players and coaches (despite recent evidence that a small but significant percentage of young adults develop myocarditis from Covid-19) and presumably will allow tailgate gatherings and fans in the stadiums.  Tradition and financial concerns appear to trump (pun intended) science and common sense.

Long an ardent fan of college football (though I quit in 2018) and conscious of the emotional and economic benefit of college sports, I applaud the conferences that have withdrawn support for fall football.  A poorly managed pandemic has forced their decision and the safety of players, coaches, fans and students must outweigh a "hope for the best" approach.

A Derecho rakes the Midwest

A derecho is a cluster of thunderstorms that moves rapidly along a warm front (usually the outer edge of a high pressure dome), producing strong downdraft/outflow winds over a course of at least 250 miles.  Yesterday, such a destructive weather system raced across Iowa and Northern Illinois before dipping southeastward through Indiana and Ohio.

The straight line winds, exceeding 100 mph is some areas, damaged homes, trees and outbuildings and  caused widespread power outages.  Raking the southern portion of Lake Michigan, they produced high waves and storm surge along the eastern shore, comparable to that of a category 2 hurricane.

Here in central Missouri, the system's trailing chain of thunderstorms brought gusty winds, intense lightning and torrential rain; Columbia received 2 inches of rain in 30 minutes, prompting a flash flood warning.  Unfortunately, the derecho did not drag cool, Canadian air into our region; heat and high humidity persist and more thunderstorms are expected over the next few days.

Seventy: Old & Grateful

Today I celebrate seventy years on our planet.  Throughout my fifties and sixties, my definition of "middle age" gradually broadened but I must now accept that I have entered "old age" (though I still resist the title of being elderly).

After all, I subscribe to the popular notion that "you are as old as you feel" while acknowledging that I don't feel like a twenty-year-old (or a fifty-year-old for that matter).  I am within ten years of the average life expectancy of an American male but am thankful to have made it to this age; many others, of course, do not.

Indeed, my goal is to live as long as I can care for myself; independence is far more important to me than doing all the things I was capable of during my younger years.  Enjoying family, friends and low-key pastimes (hiking, birding, painting, reading, writing) is more than enough to keep me happy and I enter "old age," whether it turns out to last one year or twenty, with gratitude.  

Monterey Cypress

Another benefit of watching the PGA Championship, from Harding Park in San Francisco (see yesterday's post), is enjoying the beautiful stands of Monterey Cypress.  Native to the Central California Coast, these hardy trees tolerate poor, rocky soil and grow best where the climate is cool and moist.

While a few relic groves still survive near Carmel and Monterey, most of the Monterey Cypress found along the coasts of California and Oregon have been transplanted or reintroduced; indeed, these attractive trees have been introduced to Great Britain, southern Australia and New Zealand as well.  While their twisted limbs, thick, white trunks and flat, flag-like tops suggest that they are ancient trees (think bristlecone pines), these features simply reflect the raw, windy habitat in which they evolved and continue to thrive.   Other species of cypress are also found along the California Coast, including Tecate Cypress in Southern California and the Baja Peninsula.

In contrast to the baldcypress swamps of the Southeastern U.S., which call to mind hot, humid air, we can almost feel a cool, damp breeze when we gaze upon a grove of Monterey Cypress.  In the midst of a steamy Midwest summer, a bit of psychic air-conditioning is certainly welcome! 

San Bruno Mountain

Though I have rarely played since my college days, I enjoy watching golf on television.  The tension-filled tournaments are, at least for me, relaxing to watch and I am particularly drawn to the regional geography that one observes from the aerial coverage.

Yesterday's coverage of the PGA Championship, from Harding Park in San Francisco, included shots of breaching whales in the Pacific as well as spectacular views of the San Francisco Peninsula.  One of the views was of an isolated ridge to the southeast of the golf course; consulting Google Maps, I learned that it was San Bruno Mountain, a fault-block formation composed primarily of Franciscan graywacke (a composite of continental, oceanic and volcanic sediments). Most of the ridge, which parallels the San Andreas Fault and has a summit elevation of 1319 feet, is protected within San Bruno Mountain State Park.  Due to its location, between the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay, the Park harbors a mix of rare and endemic species (primarily plants and insects); unfortunately, due to its prominence, the ridge is also graced by a cluster of transmission towers.

Once again, a golf tournament has offered a geography lesson as well.  Even familiar terrain is better appreciated from a blimp (or drone)!

The Story at Corral Bluffs

Last evening, I had the good fortune to come across an episode of NOVA on PBS.  Titled The Rise of Mammals, the show focused on early mammalian fossils discovered at Corral Bluffs, a geologic preserve east of Colorado Springs, Colorado.

The bluffs are a layer cake of late Cretaceous and early Paleocene sediments, divided by the KT boundary, a band of rock that is the remnant of the asteroid impact that ended the Mesozoic Era (the Age of Dinosaurs), 65 million years ago.  The relatively soft sedimentary rocks above the boundary span 1 million years of recovery following the mass extinction and harbor a wealth of early mammal fossils coinciding with fossil evidence of vegetation recovery, from fungi to ferns to deciduous plants; during that time, the Corral Bluffs region had a climate more typical of Florida than present-day Colorado.

Mammalian fossils at the site range from small, rat-like creatures to raccoon-sized herbivores.  Since the mammal evolution is closely correlated with plant recovery, one finds dental fossils that branch from those of omnivores to early herbivores and carnivores.  Though mammals first appeared in the Triassic Period of the Mesozoic Era, the dominance of dinosaurs kept their evolution in check; as the fossils at Corral Bluffs demonstrate, the asteroid impact set the stage for mammalian diversification and eventual dominance.  We humans, of course, are part of that ongoing process.

  

Thoughts on Telemedicine

During the Covid-19 pandemic, telemedicine has become a widely used form of healthcare.  After all, patients are reluctant to come to clinic and healthcare systems want to limit in-person interactions, between providers and patients and between the patients themselves.

While telemedicine has become an increasingly popular means of managing rural patients and the elderly, it is, in my opinion, a second-rate form of medical care.  Though it may be helpful in the areas of preventive care and health maintenance, it cannot replace in-person evaluation in the assessment of symptomatic patients.  Medicine is an art as well as a science and its practice is complex; subtle clues to the presence of serious disease may be missed if a patient is denied examination by a trained healthcare professional.

Beyond the current pandemic, our country and many others face health crises resulting from uneven access, excessive costs and provider shortages.  Telemedicine may have a role to play in addressing the problem but universal access to quality, affordable, in-person healthcare is far more important.

A Fast Start to Hurricane Season

As Isaias churns northward along the Atlantic Coast, it is clear that the Atlantic Hurricane Season is well ahead of schedule.  Stretching from June through mid November, the Season generally peaks in September; since we have already reached the letter I for named storms (tropical storms and hurricanes combined), 2020 appears to be an especially active year.

Of course, the incidence of storms could begin to slow and their intensity and destructiveness cannot be predicted in advance.  On the other hand, warming seawater, due to climate change, favors their development and fuels their severity.

As for Isaias, it is a borderline hurricane at best but still threatens most of the Atlantic Coast region with heavy rains, storm surge and high winds; forecast to come ashore between Georgetown, South Carolina, and Wilmington, North Carolina, its effects will be felt from Florida to Maine.  Unfortunately, the Covid-19 pandemic will likely complicate the response to any flooding that may occur. 

Solitude at Prairie Home

For our latest social-distancing adventure, my wife and I visited Prairie Home Conservation Area, about 25 miles WSW of Columbia.  Established in 1963 and enlarged since, the 1461 acre refuge is a mosaic of grasslands, remnant prairie, cropfields and woodlands, accessed by an extensive network of hiking trails, horse paths and graveled roads; drained primarily by Schaaf Creek and its tributaries, the area harbors three small lakes.

During most of our visit, we enjoyed a shady spot along Johnson Lake.  There we were serenaded by indigo buntings, mourning doves and northern bobwhites while a variety of frogs called from the marshy shores, mixed flocks of swallows zoomed above the lake and turkey vultures and red-tailed hawks soared overhead.  Our only human encounter was a man and his daughter who were fishing far down the shore.

Of interest, we crossed Clark Fork Creek en route to Prairie Home.  A tributary of the Missouri River, it is (I suspect) one of many streams named by or for Lewis & Clark as they explored the vast watershed of our country's longest river.  Social-distancing was especially easy in their day.

Hope in August

For birders who reside across central latitudes of the American Heartland, August brings hope that the birding doldrums of June and July will soon end.  Now that their breeding season has come to a close, many northern species begin to drift southward while more southern birds may wander to the north, bringing some welcome diversity to our ponds, lakes and wetlands.

Highlighting the migrants from the north are shorebirds, joined by a mix of inland gulls and terns that breed across the Northern Plains; early white pelicans, cormorants and white-faced ibis might also make an appearance.  Less common are southern waders such as little blue herons, white ibis and roseate spoonbills that may wander up the major river valleys in late summer.

In addition to these transient visitors, permanent and summer residents such as great blue herons, night herons and egrets (great, snowy and cattle) begin to congregate in large flocks, offering spectacles not observed since mid spring.  Of course, longer nights and cooler mornings also fuel hope in summer-weary humans, foreshadowing the glorious weather and stirring sights of autumn.