Smile On Happy Moon

Whenever I have the pleasure of catching an early crescent Moon it makes me grin. It reminds me of a happy face that's smiling down on Earth. What do I do when someone smiles at me? I smile right back. So that's what I do. I smile right back at that old happy Moon.

You, too, can catch an early crescent moon if you keep an eye on the lunar phase calendar. Use this link as a reference and mark your calendar. When you catch that big grin in the sky - remember, smile back.

American Herring Gull

Imagine a beach without any seagulls and without their cries as they squabble over a crustacean. Now, imagine that it almost happened. In the 1800s, the American Herring Seagull was quite rare. Their numbers dwindling as they were hunted for human appetite - for eggs and for feathers.

I'm glad they've rebounded. I could not imagine a beach without them, as they are as familiar as the ocean breezes and waves. They winter over in nearly all of the coastal regions of North America with the breeding range extending north to Alaska and into the arctic regions. 

This particular seagull was enjoying a sunny, breezy day in Charleston, South Carolina. Could it be Jonathan Living Seagull? Most likely not, but a handsome American Herring Seagull just the same. 

A popular novella in the 70s, "Jonathan Livingston Seagull - a story," was a fable about a seagull who begins a journey of self-perfection through the passion for flight.

Looking at me from behind, his look seems a taunt at me, taunting me of what he's capable of doing in that wide expanse of blue sky and of what I cannot do -- that is fly free and high just like Jonathan encumbered by nothing.

 “He was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all”

― Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull

The French Broad River

This beautiful river flows through the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina passing through the city of Asheville to its final destination joining with the Tennessee River in Tennessee.

An odd name, I thought, but research revealed it was named by settlers as it was one of two broad (broad meaning river) rivers in Western North Carolina and belonged on land owned by the French.

In my readings, I discovered it is considered the third oldest river in the world; however further research indicated that the New River, also in North Carolina, is the third oldest.  I could not find any information to settle the matter.  But whether third or fourth it is old, very old.

If you are ever in North Carolina consider a visit to the French Broad River. Stand on its banks and contemplate its age -  an age that places it before the Appalachian Mountains were formed and before no human stood on its banks.

The American Bison

Soon we saw a cloud of dust rising in the east, and the rumbling grew louder and I think it was about a half hour when the front of the herd came fairly into view. From an observation with our field glasses, we judged the herd to be 5 or 6 (some said 8 or 10) miles wide, and the herd was more than an hour passing us at a gallop, about 12 miles an hour...the whole space, say 5 miles by 12 miles, as far as we could see, was a seemingly solid mass of buffaloes.  - Nathaniel Langford, 1870

The great herds of the American Bison were nearly pushed to extinction in the 19th century by a brutal slaughter campaign sanctioned by the U.S. Army. It took only three decades to reduce the massive herds to almost nothing. Then, the prairies fell silent.

Today, the American Bison lives on in scattered small pockets mostly in national parks and reserves.

In Yellowstone National Park, the bison wander outside the park but the cattle industry fears the bison will infect their cattle with the disease brucellosis. So federal and local officials slaughter them despite there being not one confirmed case of the disease. The slaughter continues every winter for the unfortunate ones who follow their instinct to roam the prairie.

Inside the park, you will find bison on restaurant menus mostly offered up as burgers. Yet, our national parks are deemed animal sanctuaries.

It all seems a travesty and another shameful footnote to add to our nation's history.

Girl

Argiope aurantia. Black and yellow garden spider. Corn spider. Writing spider. Many names for a wondrous spider who I just call Girl.

Sometime in July, she built her orb web outside my office window. I feel lucky she did, as I've been able to observe her from not a foot away. She's pretty darn spectacular. At least two inches long with colors of yellow, white, black and some light tan.

Each morning, before the sun rises, I'd see her reconstructing her web. Intrigued, I did some research and learned that the species eats its web every night and then rebuilds it. One morning I watched her lay in the zigzag, hence the name Writing Spider, and, when done, flex each leg simultaneously like a Yogi and then settle in, hanging upside down for the day. On a recent morning, when I slept late, I was surprised to see her still working on the web, clearly way past sunrise. I wondered what had caused the delay. I am thinking it may be the cool weather we've been experiencing as we move into fall.

I also learned that the male of the species is quite a bit smaller than the female and will often build his web close by or attach it to hers. He'll strum her web to alert her that he's present and, when he approaches, have a drop-line ready just in case she attacks.

I kept an eye out for a male and luckily I spotted him one day. His web was, indeed, attached to hers. I hoped that I could watch their mating. After a week or two, the male was gone and I suspected they had. I kept a lookout to see if I could observe her lay the eggs and create the perfect oval sac with an upturned neck that holds them, but despite a diligent watch, I did not. Then, a few weeks back, I spotted her egg sac attached to the window frame just a foot or two from her. The eggs will hatch inside the sac this fall but the babies, perfect miniature replicas of the adults, will not emerge until spring.

As the nights grow cooler she will weaken and when the first hard frost comes she will die, leaving behind the babies she guarded as long as she could. Little does she know that I intend on keeping watch over them through the fall and winter.

I wait in anticipation to see them emerge this coming spring when they will spin a tiny silk and drift off on the wind.

I will name one of them Girl.

And there they were

Just like that, there they were, as if someone pulled a lever to change the scene. Rising abruptly from the surrounding landscape, the Teton Range in Wyoming is stunning. Rugged and snow-covered they are a photographer's and mountaineer's dream. And a dream, too, for those who come upon them.

I had come driving around a curve on the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Memorial Parkway on my way to Grand Teton National Park from Yellowstone National Park, and there they were before me. No gradual rise or small hills to alert me to a change in elevation, nope they were simply there. I was momentarily stunned to see such a scene before me and could not muster any words except for "wow." Certainly, it seemed, as I think back now, not an appropriate word for the moment or the grandeur. But perhaps it was as it was the easiest word my breath could make while experiencing a moment of now. For contained in that one word was a multitude of feelings and thoughts—awe, wonder, reverence and a deep sense of the age and majesty of planet number three.

Grand they are and grand they stand. Wow.

Grand!

Grand the plains of the north,

Grand the delta of the south,

Grand the torch of the east,

Grand the canyon of the west,

Grand the land ever new,

Grand the sky hung azure blue,

Grand country of wide span

And

Many American—

Grander still this land loved best:

Is that it is grandly blest!

Have you been to Grand Teton National Park? What did you think and experience when you first saw them?

 Note: The image shown was taken on the west side of the Teton Range in Idaho and does not depict the view from the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Memorial Parkway.

The grizzly bear - 55,000 of them and seven billion of us

 I watched this mother and cub in Yellowstone National Park. I thought myself fortunate to observe them in their natural habitat and because it’s a rare thing. I was mesmerized to see the play and evident affection between them. I was at a respectable distance and kept that distance, as I did not want to disturb their solitude.

I watched for about ten minutes and I quietly moved on when the mom and cub moved on. He was small and looked to be a cub of the year, which is a cub born that spring.

 Seven billion of us inhabit the Earth along with 55,000 grizzly bears. And in the continental U.S., there are 1,200 of them and 330 million of us. In Yellowstone National Park there are 550 of them.

There are six recovery areas in the U.S. for the grizzly including Yellowstone National Park. The population is precarious as smaller populations of species are at a higher risk for extinction. And while there are other populations of grizzlies in Alaska and Canada, the total global population of 55,000 is not a whole lot.

Seven billion of us, fifty-five thousand of them – a little more than what Yankee Stadium holds.

They are listed as threatened. They are legally hunted.

 I wonder what the future holds for this little guy. Will his species survive as our species grows? Will the small pockets of grizzlies be able to stand against threats to their survival such as continued habitat loss, a virus outbreak, shortages of food sources, and a number of other factors that would further reduce their numbers and lead to extinction.

Is there room on the Earth for the grizzly bear and us? I hope there is and I hope my species has the wisdom to let them survive. But, the truth is, we won't decide, nature will, just as it will decide the fate of our own species.

Brooks Falls Brown Bears, Katmai National Park, Alaska