Misamssootaa... The Long Rains

Preface Note: Tawny is a magpie who we became very close with last summer, when her parents began bringing her and her siblings to our house for babysitting, while they went flying throughout the neighborhood to catch enough food. Her parents trusted us, because they had come to know us through observing our associations with Derrick, our pet magpie. Tawny, however, being just new out of the nest and deposited with us throughout the day, became somewhat imprinted. She would sit on us, and felt comfortable coming and going from inside of the house as well. We half-thought she would end up mated to Derrick. But while she made some efforts at gaining his friendship, he always denied her coming too close. Eventually, she found a different mate, and began bringing him over to the house, so that he could get to know us too. This summer, the couple chose their first nest site less than a block away, beside a small pond at our neighborhood park. Up until this moon, Mahoney and I had been going to the park every morning to meet with them, and bring them some beetle grubs. We were very much looking forward to learning what would happen in terms of our relationship with Tawny’s children

II Near-Fledgling (18Jun12)

0749 Was a little concerned this morning when Tawny and her husband were more interested in kibble than grubs, and caching everything instead of bringing it over to the nest. So on my way out of the park, I crawled into the brush to find out what was going on. I suspect it might be a little bit of tough love. From what I could see, which wasn't a lot because the nest is so incredibly protected, there's at least one very large baby, mature enough to stand and look out over the rim of the bowl at me. This one should probably be starting to explore at least on the branches around outside of the nest, and maybe that's his parents are trying to prompt him toward. Kind of like what we've been doing with our big kid

IIII ) llll Death Of Tawny’s Babies (23Jun12)

0810 Terrible discovery this morning. I've been expecting to meet Tawny's babies. When she stopped bringing food to the nest a few days ago, I even crawled into the brush and looked up at it from below to see one alert face peering down at me. But when this little one failed to appear outside the nest with Tawny and her husband the last couple mornings, I started to suspect something bad had happened. This morning the pair were acting aloof, sticking to a small tree on the opposite side of the park from their nest, not coming to get grubs from me until I had been there with the gulls for about an hour, and then only taking a few before returning to the tree. So I decided it was time to break protocol, climb the bulberry bush housing their nest, and really investigate what was going on. It was a very sad sight, four baby magpies dead, damp from the recent rains, and flecked with dirt. One of them, no doubt the one I'd seen a few days ago, passed while sitting upright at the edge of the nest bowl. Were they victims of eating food that was recently sprayed with Round-Up? (I noticed the city workers spraying weeds the last few days) Did the weekend fishing folk crowd the nest too much, so that Tawny and her husband were afraid to bring food? Or was it just the hardship of our recent storms, bringing them hypothermia? No way to know. But this is the conclusion of one chapter in Tawny's story, the unfortunate end of her first nesting attempt in the second summer of her life

IIII ) lllll Continued Absence Of Waterfowl (24Jun12)

1248 Sspopiikimi - It's a nice overcast day in the first quarter of Misamssootaa, the long rains, and indeed we have been receiving a lot of moisture, the most recent downpour having occurred last night

Mahoney and I have just arrived, and are feeling very out of touch. It's been at least a couple weeks since our last visit, far too long to have much context (other than prior years' experience) to understanding what's going on

The first thing I note, on our walk from the parking area to north-pond, is the absence of flowers on the brome and crested wheat grass. I am used to seeing their yellows and purples, respectively, during this moon. It doesn't seem we're too late for this bloom either, otherwise we would see at least the remains of their tiny flowers dangling here and there. But at present, nothing

North-pond itself is very quiet, the waters anyway. Not a duck, or coot, or goose in sight. There's the odd redwing blackbird across the way, on the reeds of the wet meadows. Their wives are no doubt incubating eggs right now. We can also hear magpies, flickers, robins, and chickadees in the forest somewhere

The yellow salsify are in flower, as they were beginning to do during my last walk here. Perhaps because I was already aware of this event being underway, I don't direct much of my attention to these flowers. Mahoney, on the other hand, does and is rewarded for it. There are mid-sized (by local standards) black and white striped ants herding and harvesting from aphids at the base of at least one leaf per salsify plant. The only plants excluded from aphid pasturing are those with curious little white egg sacks on the leaves. I suspect these eggs belong to spiders. They are wrapped in silk, flat and disc-like, similar to those of several wolf spiders, but much, much smaller

1230 Speaking of spiders, it seems we've entirely missed the brief event when the 'absinthe spiders' (my name for them) set up cottony-looking webs at the tips of all the previous year's dry absinthe seed-heads. They do this in conjunction with the cottonwood seeding, which is just about over now, and in this manner trick lots of little insects into their fluffy white webwork. I can see the remains of this year's webs on all the old absinthe, as well as on a few other plants, including the big asparagus of north-pond

The asparagus, for its part, is maturing, though a bit more slowly than I'd anticipated. The north-pond plant is still in flower, where normally it would have green berries by now. Conversely, the okonoki (saskatoon) is maturing at an accelerated rate, probably owing to this year's early bloom. Their berries are red already, and I imagine it won't be too long now until they're tolerably ripened to harvest

In terms of animal life at this extreme end of north-pond, we've been seeing a few birds... a flicker, a handful of cedar waxwings, a juvenile robin attempting to bathe in an all-too-shallow puddle. There are also turtles out on the drift logs

1242 At the end of north-pond, we climb the levee and move to the river bench for a break. Along the way, I notice that the clematis are starting to vine-out fairly well, and the sunflowers are reaching now about a foot in height. There is peppergrass and hounds tongue in seed, flixweed and prickly rose in flower

Above the bench, in the cottonwoods overlooking the rain-swollen river, we can hear yellow warblers and house wrens. Mahoney manages to prompt a catbird to us from a ways further upstream by using its 'ow-wee' call. The bird flies over, perches in some brush below, gives a few agitated 'waah' calls, then returns to where it came from

1258 From the river bench, we cut southwest, down to the duck blind. We were expecting to find all the resident waterfowl here at the wide south pool. But very surprisingly, all we see is a single redhead female. No geese, no mallards, no coots, no teals. Very odd, this almost total absence

Of course, it could very well be that we're just overlooking them. After about three weeks of on-and-off rains, everything is extremely lush here. There's a lot of places to hide. It's humid too. We hadn't noticed so much on our arrival, but now after walking we are definitely feeling a bit uncomfortable. As Mahoney put it, "I feel like a limp piece of sweaty toast... you know, like toast that was put in a bag while it was still hot." I do know. I feel the same way. Curiously, given these conditions, there are very few mosquitoes to be reckoned with. I would have thought we'd be completely swarmed by now. I hope the city hasn't, in all their ecological wisdom, undertaken to spray insecticides here at the pond

If so, it doesn't seem the honeybees have been much affected. They are all abuzz around the leafy spurge plants at the moment. But in the hour or so we've been here, Mahoney and I have seen only one damselfly, no dragonflies, very few airborne insects at all, to be honest. Perhaps it's the moisture. All the plants are still beaded with last night's rain. Let's hope

1316 Next we hike back north through the middle corridor of the forest main. Our walk could hardly be less eventful, given the season. I mean... yes, we are able to stop and watch a pair of tree swallows and a pair of house wrens feed their hatchlings at the one snag they share for nesting year-after-year. But otherwise, we merely hear, but do not see, the birds of the forest. There are eastern and western kingbirds, robins, house wrens, chickadees, flickers, least flycatchers, cedar waxwings, downy woodpeckers, grey catbirds, tree swallows, yellow and yellow-rumped warblers, and probably northern orioles here. Many of them alert us of their presence, vocally. But beyond that, they are keeping incredibly hidden. It is, after all, nesting season for these small passerines. I've no doubt that were we to poke around seriously, we'd find them and their nests. But the humidity is now really getting to us, and all we want to do is climb back up on the levee into a bit more open air

1348 We hike south again, now up near the level of the forest canopy, and stop to rest for a few minutes at the river bench by the owl wood and old garter snake hibernaculum. Here, we are visited by yellow warblers, catbirds, and cedar waxwings, all apparently curious what we were about. I busy myself collecting large mullien leaves which, though it seems counter-intuitive, are reportedly very useful, when smoked, for clearing phlegm from the pipes and lungs. I'm personally on my way to rescinding my participation in the commercial tobacco trade... cutting way down on the frequency of my smoking, and growing my own nicotine plants from ancient Blackfoot seeds. Before the summer's end, if not much sooner, I'm aiming to have my smoking completely under control, rather than having it remain the daily, nay hourly, habit that I had built of it. Real tobacco, that which I grow, never has the brown, chemically-drenched appearance or taste of the commercial varieties, even those that advertise as 'all natural'. I figure, mullien will make a good addition to the small stash of pipe-smoking mixture which I intend to keep, both for ceremonial and secular purposes

1432 From the bench, we travel around the perimeter of the wide south pool, again spotting no waterfowl, to walk the shale trail of the west length back to our vehicle

When we get to the brush above the peninsula, we check on the state of the currants, which we fully intend to harvest when ripe. There are berries here, but very young and green still. It would not be surprise me if, this year, the saskatoons came ready a hair ahead of the currants

We have also encountered, here above the peninsula, two brilliant butterflies. The one is a viceroy, looking every bit the part of a monarch, and like the birds we too are fooled at first (the showy milkweed are in bloom). The other is a brilliant little pearl crescent, landing amidst the early-blooming alfalfa, who poses calmly for my camera

Up ahead, we can hear the unmistakable cries of hungry fledgling magpies. Believe it or not, this is an event we really want to witness. Magpies, for Mahoney and I, are extremely precious allies. At the little conifer of the golf greens closest to the shale trail, we get our wish. There are two fledglings perched and begging in a cottonwood above, and two more quiet and humble near the nest. Like our own Derrick magpie in his infancy, these birds are working on stretching and strengthening, standing tall every few minutes and reaching as high as they can with their wings. It won't be long until they can join their siblings in the cottonwood. Derrick was born not a hundred meters from this site, and is very likely their consanguineal kin

1440 Having made our initial greetings to these new magpies, Mahoney and I are satisfied with today's round. We hike the remainder of the west length to our car without further event to note. All we are concerned with now are the absences. Where, for instance, are the young mallard families? Or the now two-month old aapsspini goslings? We have never had a summer where these fowl abandoned the relatively safety and rich resources of this pond for other places. If they have done so this year, it can only be for very good reason, and that being a threat I would imagine to be chemical, rather than blatantly predatorial. Our next visit may better inform us

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllll Fitness And Displacement (10Jul12)

1356 Sspopiikimi – It’s a relatively hot day, and I’ve come to scout out what’s new here, in preparation for guiding a cohort of M.Ed. students from the University of Lethbridge tomorrow, introducing them to my form of what their instructors are billing as “alternative literacies.” It’s been a couple weeks since my last visit, and at that time I noted that neither the brome nor crested wheatgrass had flowered. Now, walking in, I can see that in just the short period since my last visit, I’ve missed these events entirely. The blooms on these grasses are already shriveled and falling. That’s the pace, when it comes to phenology. Nature is in constant flux and, especially in the summer season, significant changes can unfold daily

1401 I begin my survey by hiking the west length. Right away, at north and mid-pond, I note that the water milfoil is high. Many plants along the shoreline along this stretch are in bloom, including alfalfa, prairie coneflower, field bindweed, yellow and white sweetclover, and showy milkweed. Canada thistle is getting ready to bloom. There seem to be lots of bluet damselfies around. There are also pink-edged sulfurs and viceroy butterflies, as well as a few mallard drakes in the reeds by the wet-meadows

1406 Reaching the ksisskstakioyis, there’s a few more blooming plants to mention. I’ve seen some scarlet globemallow, western clematis, yarrow, and yellow evening primrose, as well as lots of flowers on the dogbane and buckbrush. Hairy golden asters are just starting to blossom. There are a few robins on the golf greens, and the ever-present red-winged and yellow-headed blackbirds in the reeds. I’ve been listening for the magpies. During my last visit, the new arrivals were just fledging, and I’d like to follow some of these young families, but I haven’t heard any of their calls as yet

1414 Further along, toward the wide south pool, I begin encountering lots of viceroy butterflies, far more than I’ve ever seen in any previous year. I don’t know if it is the milkweed or hoary cress that’s attracting them at this area, but one thing I do wonder is whether their abundance could be another signal of climate change. This is pretty much the northernmost range for both the viceroys and the similar-looking monarchs, so I always spot a few during the summer season. But what I’m seeing today is unusual, a breeding population

On the water of the south pool, there’s a mallard couple. The golden currants along the cutbank here are absolutely drooping over with berries. This is good news. Last year we didn’t get many berries. I stop to pick some right away, and find they are actually just coming into their full ripeness, that there will be several weeks more to take advantage of them. All the same, the experience gives me an idea for one lesson I can share with the M.Ed. cohort tomorrow… that in my ‘alternate literacy’ of reading this place, we have to be willing to respond as human beings. When there are berries in season, we pick them, we eat them. That’s part of our relational role here, our fit into the local ecology and phonological cycles

1426 As I continue to pick currants, the cedar waxwings come to investigate, probably wondering how much of their claim I’m going to make off with. I can hear one of the magpie families high up on the coulee slope, out of the way of my intended round today. I have to focus on the areas where I might take the students. The brush around me is thick, lush, difficult to penetrate with the eyes. This calls to mind another lesson I might share, regarding some of the potential dangers that a person should be aware of. A lot of times, thick brush like this can conceal large hornet nests, so you should always have your ears alert. This helps also for the odd rattlesnake who might be encountered here. But none of your senses will help you avoid the wood ticks who proliferate in this same brush during certain periods of the year. Luckily, now is not one of those times

Down below my picking spot, I can see apaksskioomi (wide-face), the northern pike, lingering just off-shore of the peninsula. Though I observe them in this behavior every year about this part of the season, I have yet to figure out what meal they’re waiting for. Usually, I’m too busy snatching them up myself. They don’t seem at all interested in the mating swarms of water beetles nearby. Nor are any of the mating damselflies pitching down onto the pond’s surface

1452 Moving on, I round the wide south pool and drop into the forest main, where there are today lots of sisttsiiksi, or small passerines, including among them the northern orioles, iinohpinsoyii. They are leading their new fledgling around, keeping a safe distance from me. I also see yellow warblers, what looks like orange-crowned warblers, catbirds, tree swallows, least flycatchers, and downy woodpeckers. All the usual summer breeding crew are here. From a bit of silverberry, beside the trail, shoots a cedar waxwing who let me come too close. Inspecting this bush I find, as expected, her little nest, a cup of grass beautifully decorated with cotton from the trees. It contains four grey-blue, black-speckled eggs

1512 A conspicuous absence here this year, in addition to most of our waterfowl, are the swainson hawks. They have nested in the same tree for as long as Mahoney and I have been visiting the pond, and I saw them bringing in sticks earlier in the season to make repairs, but in the end they decided to go elsewhere. I’m not sure why this is. The cause is probably related to what has kept the waterfowl away. My suspicion, at this point, is that it has something to do with the construction that went on in the absinthe field near north-pond over the winter. There was a lot of waste-water from pipe-drilling spilling into the pond, and I don’t know whether this may have been contaminated. Equally likely, just the barren field alone could have been enough to scare them off. Certainly there are less rodents to hunt as prey now, though this wouldn’t have affected the ducks. I think it may just be plain old disturbance of an environment that had come to know very intimately. Something’s different now, something’s wrong… can’t trust that things will be stable here all season while we’re nesting… best to relocate

1524 At the north end of the forest, just before I climb the levee back out, the tall goldenrod are getting ready to bloom, and a pair of house wrens scolds me bitterly. I think they must be feeding a hatchling in some hidden cavity nest nearby

Up on the levee itself, the first rhombic-leaved sunflowers are opening. The river’s still pretty high, from the combination of late snowmelt and a few weeks’ good dousing. But this is the first time in three years it hasn’t risen so high as to drown-out the bank swallow nests. Which is good, they need a break

1532 Just a couple of endnotes, as I head back to my car. There are bull thistle blooming at north-pond. Very few turtles out, though it is really too hot to expect to find them basking. What’s strange though is the lack of mosquitoes. I got a few bites, moving through the forest today, but nothing like during previous summers. We just have not had many mosquitoes at all yet this summer. This too causes me to wonder, what kind of toxins might have spilled into the pond during all the winter construction

1635 Tomorrow I'm teaching a cohort of M.Ed. students, most of whom work in literacy with non-English-speaking students, about what is being framed as alternate forms of literacy and text... namely, in my case, learning from a place and its inhabitants, becoming fluent in their languages, social relations, phenological cycles, etc. I don't know how much I agree with casting anything like this as literacy. To me, literacy is here to parasitically replace these natural awarenesses and relations. And I will surely share that opinion, because there are some rectangles where we are going, Sspopiikimi

Today, I took a walk around, just to kind of prep for this session. Something that was on my mind, part of a discussion my friend Darin and I were having the other day, was the notion that ensuring the persistence of a species is not enough, that the living are more than this, that they embody webs of relations. Looking around today, I'm not so sure I agree that preserving a species is not enough, at least if that species is allowed to live out amongst the rest of reality, rather than in one of the dead places we construct. At Sspopiikimi, I see starlings, house finches, alfalfa, absinthe, asparagus, honey bees, the list can go on fairly extensively. All of them are recent arrivals here in kitawahsinnoon, yet they are extremely integrated into complex relational webs with the others who have been here far longer. This occurs simply as a result of them being themselves in the context of the broader eco-social matrix. And in this respect, they are greater than we who have fairly forgotten ourselves, strongly resisting just being alive here. Even the leafy spurge have us beat in this respect

As for our present condition, it is not as though we are disconnected from the web. The magpies remember who we are, and continue to stay wholeheartedly allied, even though many of us, in our confusion, now hate them, our best friends. The mosquitoes, the ticks, the rock doves, jewel spiders, hobo spiders, and a whole host of plants all believe in and engage us regularly, and we pretty much express hatred toward them for it. The point is, there are many close relations who have kept with us, or adopted us, despite our insanity. And I suspect that if we want to enhance these relationships, develop many others, and become a better fit, we have only to behave more like human beings. It's really that simple. To the degree that we refuse to do so, we will continue to feel like there is something wrong with us, we will feel ecologically unhealthy and in danger. And we will be correct in that diagnosis

Aapistsisskitsaato'si

I Return Of The Thrasher (19May12)

1801 Sspopiikimi - It's the first day of Aapistsisskitsaato'si, the Flower Moon, and though I don't have long before the light is gone, I want to at least get in a quick survey

Off the side of the highway, as I was descending the coulee on the way here, I caught a flicker of bright white wings in the grass, which turned out to belong to a completely albino magpie. Oh how I wished it was safe to pull over on the spot. I'm very tempted now to hike the kilometer or so back up the road to get a better look. But on the other hand, I really do need to find out what's shaking down here phenologically, and since I now know the general vicinity of the rare bird's territory, I can always go back and have a look around at a future date. Best I stay put

1814 The first thing I notice, stepping out of my car, is the sound of chorus frogs and a snipe in display overhead. I don't know why it is, but the frogs are always very late here at Sspopiikimi, and it seems this year is no exception

Then, coming into view of north-pond, I see redwing blackbirds, spotted sandpipers, an eastern kingbird, and bank swallows. The latter two are new arrivals since last week. I also notice a black bird on the opposite shore, and my hopes rise that it is a coot, that they've finally returned. I glass in that direction and find that it is actually a mi'ksikatsi drake. And sitting beside the drake are two blue-winged teal drakes and a female. They are completely camouflaged, such that I can barely see them with my naked eye, even knowing exactly where they are

1830 Still very curious about whether or not the coots have returned, I opt to walk the west length first. Between north-pond and the ksisskstakioyis, I note that the yellow-headed blackbirds have finally joined the red-wings in the cattails, and I see that the magpies are collecting insects to feed their hatchlings in the evergreen trees on the golf course. The aapsspini family are feeding on the wet-meadows directly behind the ksisskstakioyis, and it looks like they're down one gosling. Last week, I was pretty sure that one of their six was adopted. I wonder if its birth parents finally coaxed it back to their side

1849 At the wide south pool, the surface of the pond is swarming with swallows. They're flying just high enough not to touch the water. I walk down to sit on the peninsula and watch them for a few minutes, but can't really tell what they're eating. Then Naato'si peeks through the clouds, and the bright light enables me to pick out midges fluttering short distances just above the surface

There are more yellow-headed blackbirds here, in the cattails of the marsh. There's also another mallard drake (the females must be nesting), and two more pairs of blue-winged teals. To my great surprise, the wood duck couple is here as well. We only saw them the once, several weeks ago. But they're here, and I wouldn't doubt that they've been coming here off and on, nor that they will likely remain here this summer, given how long they've now stuck around. But I don't see another goose couple with a lone gosling, and the coots are definitely still absent. The latter case is incredibly strange. Usually, by now, they would have already had their mating dances and it would be time to build nests

1910 As I watch the swallows and survey the ducks, someone begins singing from the currant brush behind me. Whoever it is knows a huge number of songs. I quickly pack-up to go find the source. There are a lot of small birds in the brush here. I see tree swallows, yellow-rumped warblers, then a catbird, first one this season. But the singer isn't the catbird. It's another, a reddish-brown bird perched on the only cottonwood growing amidst this brush. A brown thrasher! Our local mockingbird. This evening is full of surprises. And because my visits have only been weekly, I feel extremely out of touch

1950 I really wasn't planning to hike the wet-meadows or forest main this evening. But then, while enjoying the thrasher's repertoire, I notice one of the older beavers come ashore near the duck blind, and waddle back into the forest. Off I go immediately to try and get around the south pool in time to learn what the beaver is harvesting. No luck though. It reurns to the pond before I'm half way there. By this point, I figure I might as well continue the round. When I get to the duck blind area, I try to retrace the beaver's track, but again come up with nothing

My next real stop is the big bulberry brush to download footage from my camera trap. Along the way, I pass below the hawk nest. Nobody's home, though I did see one of them brining new sticks to it last week. I also pass lots of redwing families. Some of them probably have nests started by now, though I'm not finding any. My camera trap has been incorporated as a crucial anchor for a funnel-web of some sort. The spider, if she's around, isn't showing herself. I try to do as little damage as I can to open the camera and retrieve my memory card. It's full of images and video of a whitetail deer and several night visits from coyotes. There's probably more to see as well, when I get home and can look through them carefully

2015 Walking through the forest main to make my way out, I'm thinking of how much I'd enjoy to have a day here very soon when I could really look around closely to identify those nests that're already underway, so that Mahoney and I could follow the stories of these families. Just then, while passing a fallen poplar tree, a mourning dove flushed from close to my side. I knew immediately that she must have a nest there, and sure enough there are two white eggs on a little grass platform. For a mourning dove, that's a full clutch. And for me, that's one nest now to watch

III ) ll Beginning The May Count (24May12)

1033 Sspopiikimi - This coming weekend is the 'May Count' of flowering plants, hosted annually by Nature Alberta. Last year was the first I'd participated, and I had a good experience involving the simultaneous encounter of a rattlesnake, coyote, and thunder. I was glad to receive an invite to have at it again this go'round

The official count-week doesn't begin until tomorrow, but this was the day I set aside to stay back from the office, so my contribution to the count begins now, and I'm hoping it will be accepted. After all, it's not likely there will be a major change in the flowering stage of any particular species in the next twenty-four hours

My observations begin at the parking lot, where there are several representatives of the humble yet ubiquitous dandelion. Here, they have not only completed a flowering cycle, but for the most part have already dropped their seeds. Off in the distance, somewhere near the forest main, I can hear a flicker and yellow-rumped warbler

1038 Arriving at north-pond, I find yellow puccoon, the plant we call ponokaowahsin (elk food), in full bloom. The asparagus has started flowering, but isn't too far into its cycle yet, in contrast to the golden currant, which has completely played-out

Noting my appearance on the scene, one of the swainson's hawks, who had been sitting on the established nest quite a ways from my position, takes wing. Out on the water, I can see one mi'ksikatsi drake (whose wife is no doubt nesting nearby), two pairs of aapsspini, and five redhead ducks (male-heavy). There are about seven or eight bank swallows passing over the pond's surface in search of insects, and I count three redwing males across the way on the wet-meadows, though I'll wait to get over there before recording their numbers

1045 Moving to the far end of north-pond, I see that, like the currants, the saskatoon flowers are done, and the chokecherries are just beginning to play out. Also here, there is leafy spurge, tartarian honeysuckle, goldenbean, and star-flowered Solomon's seal, all in full bloom, with flixweed just coming into flower

Adding to the bird list from this position, I can see three more redwings, a robin, another flicker, and a grackle

1054 Climbing over the levee so I can drop into the north wood, a raven flies past. Right at the top of the levee, there is a very short mustard, almost like peppergrass, but with individual (rather than clustered) stems. I don't know this plant's identity, but have taken a picture of it with my phone, hoping someone will be able to tell me what its name is when I submit my count. It's still in bloom, but many of the early flowers have already developed into seed pods

Down in the north wood proper, the sandbar willow is in full bloom. I can hear three or four yellow-rumped warblers in the canopy, and a couple yellow warblers. There are two robins poking around in the leaf-litter of the forest floor, and a least flycatcher moving from tree to tree away from me below the canopy. The latter is probably the same bird who nested right in this area last year

1104 Proceeding through the north wood and out to the riverbank, I come across a second least flycatcher, as well as a house wren. I can hear a clay-colored sparrow nearby. There are two pairs of aapsspini out on the big island, another three bank swallows cruising over the river, and (oddly) a single American white pelican, feeding by itself. The red osier dogwood is in full bloom here

1114 Crossing the levee once again, moving to the forest main, I head right away to check on the morning dove nest that's hidden beneath leaf-coverage on the trunk of a fallen tree. She's still incubating diligently, and I make sure not to scare her off. The rain is coming down pretty good now, definitely not the most comfortable day to be walking around out here, or to be sitting on eggs

Not far from mama dove, there are three more grackles, all up in a cottonwood tree, and I can hear another yellow-rumped warbler somewhere above as well

1131 Since I'm already drenched, I figure it won't hurt to wade through the sopping brush a little bit, in search of new nests. I start at the buckbrush and dogwood patches at the far north end of the forest main. I'm kind of expecting to find the female mallard, since she's nested here in prior years, but no luck. The only ones I turn up are a single robin and a gray catbird

Then, out onto the wet-meadows, I expect to find redwing nests. There are, I can now accurately count, four established couples here, between north-pond and the ksisskstakioyis. There are no plural marriages here this year, from what I can tell. There is also a yellow-headed blackbird couple in the taller stand of cattails midpond. None of them seem to have built nests yet

1142 Leaving the wet-meadows, where none of the plants save sandbar willows are yet in flower, I move into the middle of the forest main. Here, the canopy is absolutely alive with the voices of yellow-rumped and yellow warblers. I couldn't accurately say how many are up there, but I would guess a dozen members of each species. I also hear, and then see, four house finches, as well as pair of mourning doves, a catbird, another five robins, and two more least flycatchers

1157 Zagging back toward the wet-meadows once again, at the subpond, I'm greeted by an eastern kingbird (I know there are more of them here) and a female yellow warbler. There are two more established redwing couples at the subpond proper, as well as a pair of aapsspini. From what I can see already at the wide south pool, there are six mi'ksikatsi present, as well as the five redheads already counted

I'm expecting to come across some snipes eventually, as well as spotted sandpipers and killdeer. I was also hoping to count the wood duck couple, but they appear to be absent today. Too bad... they would have been a rare addition to our local count

1209 At the duck blind, I can see more of the wide south pool. My duck count from the subpond was accurate, but I need to add a blue-winged teal couple who are dabbling by the spring. There's at least one snipe here. It flew out from the shallows below my position when I arrived. There are also several more redwing couples, I would say at least eight spread throughout the marsh and probably two more by the peninsula. I've been hearing the crows of a ring-necked pheasant nearby, saw another yellow warbler, and there are three brown-headed cowbirds perched in a nearby cottonwood.

I've finally come across a flowering plant not already mentioned, awned sedge. It's growing at the bank of the shallows below me and is in full bloom

1215 Climbing out of the forest and up onto the levee, to walk around to the west side of the pond, I pass by the owl wood canopy, where I can hear yet more yellow and yellow-rumped warblers, as well as a least flycatcher. Five more robins make appearances. From this height, I can also survey the entire marsh. This enables me to identify a second blue-winged teal couple, and the first long-awaited American coot, singing the song for their mating dance all alone. The coots are incredibly late this year, two lunar cycles off their normal return. I think something happened to them, wherever those who spend their summers here are wintering. I'm surprised, at this point, to learn that at least one of them has survived

1225 Checking the brush above the peninsula, I find two more catbirds, two more yellow warblers, and a magpie. Somewhere on the coulee slope above, I can hear a savannah sparrow. The black and red currants here are in the same post-flowering stage as their golden relatives who I noted at north-pond. Hound's tongue is just coming into bloom, the first of its red flowers beginning to open. The mustard plants are most prevalent here. There's lens-podded hoary cress and pennycress, both in full bloom. There's also a small and spindly yellow mustard with its flowers fully open. I don't know this species. It looks like a miniature version of the larger wild mustard that's usually found right here by this moon. Oddly, I don't see any of these larger plants at all, flowered or not

1233 Walking the shale trail along the west length takes me between the pond and golf course. There are five aapsspini couples grazing on the greens today, including the pair who have five goslings. These babies sure are growing quick, they already have their grey coat. Also on the greens is another magpie. I know there are at least a dozen more of these corvids nested around the pond, most of them in the thick evergreens of the golf course this year. They must be taking cover from the rain. Out over the pond's surface, at least two dozen tree swallows are now gliding about

1240 Back again at the parking lot, I find three more aapsspini couples feeding on the new grass atop the area that had been pipeline construction over the winter. And one final species to note, I flush a pair of grey partridge from the tall grass beside my car

That's about it for Sspopiikimi today, at least for me. There were several birds I thought I'd see, who I didn't, probably because of the rain. Most of the plants seem to be on their usual schedule, from what I've observed here over the last six years or so. The only events really out of synch that I register are the lack of redwing nests as yet, and the almost complete absence of coots (as previously noted), who have usually been among the most conspicuous of summer residents here

End Note: Mahoney and I returned to Sspopiikimi seven days later (31May12), at the end of count-week, to ensure no significant changes has occurred since this round was a day early. All of the flowering plants and birds noted above were present, in the same state of development and/or about the same numbers. However, there had been some warm days throughout the week, and as a result there were a few additional presences to note, such as boreal bluet damselflies, pink-edged sulfur butterflies, painted turtles, wandering garter snakes, plus wild vetch and yellow salsify in bloom. There were also two pairs of gadwalls who hadn't been around before (we normally don't get gadwalls at the pond), a shoveler duck couple, and one of the female mallards made an appearance in the wide south pool with her team of about eight newborn ducklings. In the owl wood and forest main, we noticed a few tree swallow, starling, and house wren couples are reusing the same nest cavities they occupied last year. The magpies, starlings, and house wrens were all bringing insect food to their hatchlings while we watched

III ) llllllll Concluding May Count (30May12)

1526 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - I was all set to relax after a long day at the office, but there were a couple little nagging reminders playing at my thoughts. The first said, "Hey, you've been sitting in chairs all day. You sat down to drive the two-hour round trip to work, and you sat in front of a computer most of the time in between. A lot of daylight has been wasted in this stasis. You need to go out and stretch those legs." The second reminder told me, "Tomorrow is the last day of the official Spring Count of flowering plants and birds for Alberta. Get off your butt." So here I am

1824 I begin by making a thorough survey of plants on the coulee rim. Actually, I'm hoping to encounter a rattlesnake, since I logged one on the count last year, but there's a bit of a chilly wind, and none turn up. There are many other presences to note though

For starters, the rim is alive with the songs of meadowlarks and field crickets. Somewhere far below, I can also hear a chorus frog. As at Sspopiikimi, the dandelions here are in seed, or have already dispersed them. Prairie parsley and both local varieties of musineon are near to seed as well, with the flowers of narrow-leaf milkvetch, early yellow locoweed, and goldenbean all beginning to fade. In full bloom are a wild vetch, butte marigold, and prairie groundsel, with prairie onion nearly there as well. The marigolds in particular are being visited by pearl crescent butterflies, and I see several inornate ringlets clinging to the grass. Still other plants are just beginning to open flowers, including bastard toadflax, yarrow, two-grooved milkvetch, and Drummond's milkvetch. The two-grooved milkvetch is being pollinated by large Nevada bumblebees

1858 Moving down the slope, as far as the rattlesnake hibernaculum (about half way to the river-bottom), I see more of the same plant complex. The only additions, in terms of new bloomers, are black medick, Colorado rubber plant, and blue penstemon. In contrast to those on the rim, the yarrow down here are in almost full flower, which is similar to how the goldenbean works (the growth rate of these plants must depend more on water than sunlight). The wavy-leaved thistle has flower buds, but is not yet opening. All along the way, I scare starlings up out of the grass, maybe six or seven in all. And at the hibernaculum proper, I encounter a single cold and docile snake, all the others have disbursed for the season

1923 I don't think it's necessary to go all the way down to the floodplain, as most of the plants and birds there are the same found at Sspopiikimi. However, I will say (without need of verification) that the prairie crocus and yellowbell flowers are played out. I know this, because I observed them two weeks ago at this site, and actually collected seeds of the latter

Just above the rattlesnake hibernaculum is a long, sloping ridge, and I figure it best to include this area in my survey, to maintain consistency with last year. On the ridge and its slopes, I find blanketflower, flixweed, Indian breadroot (or prairie turnip), and scarlet gaura, all with flower buds. There is a very small yellow mustard in full bloom here, a plant I noted for the count last year as well, but have never identified to my satisfaction. The early yellow locoweed and goldenbean here are quite a bit further along in their cycle than those of the rim above. Here, they both have their seed pods, and the locoweed in particular are already drying and starting to rattle in the wind. Just before I'm back on the main trail to begin my ascent, a common yellowthroat flies past

1945 The hike back up the coulee slope is without further event, but I do keep my eyes open for morning glories, moss phlox, and yellow violets, finding none. The morning glories have not emerged yet, to my knowledge, though they're usually flowering in this moon. The yellow violets may have already played-out, which is a bit early. Overall, compared to last year's survey here - which was conducted very near to the same time in both the solar and lunar sequences - many of the plants seem to be further along in their development this go'round. This is especially the case with dandelion, early yellow locoweed, and goldenbean, all of which were in full bloom last year, and are at present mostly seeding