A bird mystery, and spring has come (maybe)

18 March

I took another escarpment walk this afternoon. All kinds of critters emerging and leaving tracks in the sandy trail. I'm pretty sure I saw kangaroo rat tracks, among the usual rabbit, mouse and quail tracks. I also saw a bird that I'd never seen before. About robin size, with white tail feathers he constantly flipped and a slim head, sort of like a loons, that he held pointed up with a long beak, somewhat reminiscent of a blue heron's. He made a low, croaking sound. A mystery.

20 March

It was actually hot, coming down the escarpment today. Saw a hawk tilting his wings, hunting. Also, I solved the bird mystery: he's an immature meadowlark. The first day I saw him, he could barely sing. It was more a croak. Today he almost sounded like a meadowlark — much more melodious — and his chest feathers had deepened from white to a light yellow. Both times he lifted his long beak high to sing. That's why it was pointed up a couple of days ago, when I first spotted him.

Western meadowlark. Photo courtesy of the US Fish & Wildlife Service

Additional information: Western meadowlark
Average length	9.5 in (20 cm)
Song is a series of bubbling, flute-like notes, accelerating towards the end.

Bright Mars

20 December. We gazed at Mars in the early evening about 8:30. Looking to the east and a little north, it was easy to see — big, bright and yellow. It was even brighter than Sirius, and stays brighter until 3 January.

On the 18th of December Mars reached its closest distance (54,783, 380 mi, 88 165 305 km) to Earth; it will not get closer until 2016.

It's lucky we looked when we did. Mars will actually get brighter on 24 December, when its in opposition with the Sun (exactly opposite the Sun with Earth in the middle). But during January, Earth leaves Mars fast: The distance between them increases by about 30% — from 56.7 to 72.3 million miles, in a month. And Mars fades in brightness a full magnitude.

Examining snowflakes

14 December.

Snow on our mountain home with a warm fire burning inside.

Snow fell all day long, covering trees and ground. Watching snow fall, Lanney and I wondered what a snowflake looked like close up. Sure, we'd seen pictures of symmetrical beauties glistening in the light, but would we really see such beauty, or would we see just globs of snow?

We fished out a small magnifying glass (not the big 'Sherlock Holmses' kind) that magnified about 5 times. We stuck a tee shirt in the freezer, and let it get cold. Then, armed with proper equipment, we went to the upstairs balcony, where snow was falling all around. We held the cold tee shirt out to catch flakes, then closed in on individual ones with the magnifier. Our breath tended to melt the flakes.

The flakes melted fast. Finally, I managed to spot a lacy-six-pointed individual snowflake next to a cluster. It shimmered like a small diamond. Soon after, so did Lanney. Most flakes were not symmetrical. All melted fast, so we looked fast. But they are just as lovely as pictured. And fun, when you discover them yourself.

A few flakes

Photo courtesy of Jerome Mathey and Wikipedia.

11 December. By the time I went escarpment hiking, today, it was in the low 40's. Got colder as I climbed. To the east, rain (or snow?) squalls swirled across parts of the city and mountains. To the west, a misty veil crept over the volcanoes. Fearing rain heading my way — I started to jog home. The squall, however, did not come directly east to me. Instead, it swept from the volcanoes in a great arc to the north. Snow (not rain) started to fall, as I headed out. The first snow of the season.

A warm December ride

Just got back from a bike ride. Beautiful day --- high near 65 degrees. Going, I battled a north wind; coming back, I scooted with a tail wind.

Saw many animals, especially around Mariposa Park: a ground squirrel dashed across my path; I almost had to brake for it. Only a couple of pedal strokes farther a roadrunner darted, stopped and let its tail rise and darted again. I whooshed down into the park, and found land swampy from a recent rain. About a half dozen mallard ducks paddled in the small pool. When I first glanced their way, four of the six had tails in the air scrounging at the bottom for food.

Mallard duck. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

I peeled down a steep hill into central park, and circled to the duck pond. More mallards --- maybe, a couple of dozen. I cycled across a small bridge, while a duck paddled underneath, it emerging just as I finished crossing.

As I left, a yellow butterfly fluttered in front and led the way. Mariposa is Spanish for butterfly.

Quail in the gloaming

Gambel quail. Photo courtesy of Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge, California.

Last night, I was pulling down clean clothes from the clothesline, and listening to quail clucking, when several Gambel quail flew up from the other side of the wall, and landed on the top of the wall, within arm's reach. We sized each other up; they conversed among themselves.

Then more quail landed, top notches bobbing, beside the first bunch. Before long, over a dozen quail were chatting, lined up along the top of the wall. Finally, they took off, in successive waves. I heard them land in the front yard amongst dry leaves.

Additional information: Gambel quail
Average length	11 in (30 cm)
Wingspan	15 in (37 cm)
Move primarily by walking (actually tearing along the ground is more like it), but can break into explosive flight.

Eb's barn --- a scene from a SF story I'm writing

A father looks at his barn just after learning his son was killed warring the aliens.
-------------------------------------------------
"What a godforsaken barn," Eb says to red-dust emptiness.

Only wind moaning around the metal dome answers.

"Barns should look barnlike, for godsake." Eb's clumsy gloves impede his work, and add to a fury he barely contains. He heaves up another block, staggers over to a growing igloo, attached to the barn. "Need a place for the rover," he says, as he thumps the block down.

He shakes his grizzled head, almost mad with rage. "Got to get 'em. The question is — how?!!"

He settles the block in its precise position, and turns to get another. First he gazes up at the fierce sun and empty horizon. "No sign of 'em, but that means nothing."

His gaze takes in the squat barn structure, built low to the ground to withstand winds that rip across this red planet twenty-two light years from Earth. The barn's shiny dome tops a ring of solar panels that alternate, checkerboard fashion: white, brown, white... A ring of gray foundation blocks below hug the ground for warmth. Eb shivers in his suit, thinking of night cold.

Soon evening descends; faint, high clouds promise small radiation through the night. Gloom wraps the land as Eb heads into his barn — home only to strange animals, his robots and him.