International Day of the Seal

It’s been a while, but I’m back! And I’ve brought with me a herd of local pinnipeds to help celebrate International Day of the Seal.

According to this PBS Fact Sheet, “There are 33 species of pinnipeds, which are colloquially known as seals.” But it’s no secret that my favorites are the local harbor seals, with whom I’ve become very familiar.

Even as nursing pups, these marine mammals are adorable.

Sure, they look a bit ungainly, but you gotta appreciate their persistence! Here, a yearling seal pup takes a breather in the surf grass, waiting no doubt for an incoming wave to help hoist him to the higher rocks where a raft of friends awaits him. 

Harbor seals have highly developed senses, too–super powers that they use to detect changes in the environment, find food, and distinguish friends from predators. 

That thick layer of blubber? It protects them from the cold. But as you can see, it also creates a cushiony pillow when they haul out on jagged rocks. And as for that fur coat, it’s a leisure suit and a wet suit, all rolled into one.

When they’re in the water, it’s hunting season. But when they’re not foraging for their next meal, these puppy-faced pinnipeds are all about rest. Reproduction, too, but mostly rest. 

Here, for example, our friend Freckles is lifting his head just high enough to taste the sea spray that just awakened him from an afternoon snooze. Wasn’t long before he nodded off again.

There’s lots more I could say, in celebration of the seal. But I’m just now dipping my toe back in the water, so I think I’ll these photos speak for themselves.

One more before I go: A whole party in a single seal. Pretty sure this guy is giving International Day of the Seal his #SealofApproval!

My uncouth neighbors: A murder of crows

If you love hummingbirds like I do, you already know that crows are among my least favorite birds. I know: They are wicked smart. I know, too, they’re important to the overall ecology of things. But they’re uncouth, murderous beings, in my view. I’ve watched in horror as they preyed on nesting hummingbirds. I’ve seen them bully our songbirds into cowering silence. So as much as I love and respect their place in nature, they’re not welcome here. None, whatsoever. Not for a minute. Not even one.

But crows are marauders, with minds of their own. And wouldn’t you know it, those unwanted guests have taken a liking to our backyard birdbath. Not for splish-splashing, like civilized birds. Nope, they’ve come to baptize their own. And by that, I mean their pantry items: Peanuts, lizards, stale bread, road kill…whatever detritus it is that these horrid creatures digest. They don’t offer shiny objects in return. They don’t sing with the goldfinches and dawn. Nope, they just dredge their kill through the fresh water, cawing loudly as if to brag about their culinary prowess, and then fly away with their carrion in tow.

Turns my stomach to even think about it, much less watch out my window. But last week, a murderous corvid did something even worse. When the sun was at its peak, he dove headlong into my birdbath, carrying a limp, befeathered carcass in its beak. It was touch-and-go landing, during which he swished the carrion in the fresh water…and then, he decided to let it marinate a little longer.

No, uh-uh. Not on my watch. I marched my nauseated self out to the garage, grabbed a shovel, and flipped the crow’s prey into a thicket where it could decay in peace. I then sanitized the birdbath so the honeybees and songbirds could dip into their pool without risk of contracting a disease.

But the very next morning, he plunked that decomposing bird into the birdbath again! Detached feathers, floating up from the bottom. Murky water, swirling around a lifeless beak. I flipped the carcass into the thicket again, choking back waves of nausea as I scrubbed the birdbath clean again.

Not 24 hours later–good gracious, can you give it a rest?–there it was again, that pitiful bundle of bones and feathers! And my unwanted guest was perched on the back fence, raising a ruckus. It was a nightmare, akin to finding myself thrust into a director’s cut of THE BIRDS! But I wasn’t having it, not any more. I scooped the marinated remains into a plastic bag, and then carried it out to the garbage bin. (RIP, you poor thing.) Believe you me, I made sure the lid was sealed really tight.

Why would crows do such a thing? Turns out, they like to soften their food before eating–especially carrion, which gets stiff over time. Turns out, it’s the culinary genius of mama crows, who create from stale bread and rotted meat a nutritious soup for their babies.

Well, alrighty then. I get that nature has her ways, not all of them pretty. I understand that, while hummingbirds and crows aren’t “birds of a feather,” they share in common the fight for survival. And every species on the planet needs to reproduce and feed their babies. But this is my yard, my birdbath. So my message to the murderous flock of uncouth neighbors that are cawing overhead again this morning is…NIMBY!

Photo Credit: Alexandra Rudge/Getty Images, because I don’t even want them on my camera roll.

Smitten with Kittens, by Florence and Wendell Minor

Paws in the air for SMITTEN WITH KITTENS! Co-created by Florence and Wendell Minor, it’s the purrfect read for a Caturday afternoon, before or after a catnap. What better way to celebrate International Children’s Book Day? Any day, really—this picture book is a melt-your-heart tribute to all types of kitties, from cover to cover and every page in between.

“Who isn’t smitten/ with a kitten’s sweet MEW / and all the cute things that kittens will DO?”

SMITTEN WITH KITTENS is an adorable, read-aloud romp with kittens who perform mischief and mayhem of all kinds…cuddly, curious, cats-in-the-making, whose superpower comes of charming you with their naughtiness and then snuggling into your lap for a nap.

Wendell Minor’s illustrations are disarming, in that the graphite drawings are smudged so they look like fur. Now and again, the black and white images are punctuated with playful pops of color.

Rumbly, tumbly, bouncy, flouncy kittens tumble across every page…

Shhhh! Once the kitties are napping, be sure you turn the page. Quietly, please, so as not to disturb their rest. You’ll want plenty of time to browse the “Fun Facts” about felines! Did you know, for instance, that cats sleep about 18 hours a day? That might seem like a lot, but then again, maybe not. Thumb through the previous pages and think about all the energy these furballs burn when they’re awake!

This book is at once heartwarming and entertaining, and definitely re-readable. No surprise, it was inspired by the “fabulous felines” who’ve graced Florence and Wendell Minor’s home with their presence, filling their days with joy and leaving sweet pawprints on their hearts.

I first heard about SMITTEN WITH KITTENS when we were grieving the loss of our sweet Toby. When he passed away in late January, I thought I’d never fill the void he left behind. But love has a way of expanding, doesn’t it? We’ll never forget our gentle giant, of course, but we found room in our hearts to adopt another rescue kitty.

Meet Jeffrey “the Big” Lebowski, aka The Dude. It’s a big name, legendary even. He’ll have to grow into it, but I’ve got no doubts whatsoever that he will. He’s already laid claim to every corner of our house, and on the day that we brought him home, our hearts grew at least three sizes.

You can purchase an autographed copy of SMITTEN WITH KITTENS from The Hickory Stick Bookshop. It’s a popular book, widely available through online vendors as well as brick-and-mortar bookstores. Looking for a lovable kitten of your very own? Your local adoption agencies/shelters are the feel-good, do-good way to find the purrfect matchup.

Happy New Year, 2022

The stories of 2021 are written in sand. Time will edit them; nature, too. May our favorite passages endure and sustain us, and may the troublesome parts drift out to sea.

The Badlands

Over the holiday weekend, we explored Badlands Park–an easy hike that follows the coastline above Laguna.

Hard to image that these sandstone bluffs were, at one time, a stretch of sandy beach.

Why do they call this the Badlands? I traced the origins of that term to the Lakota people, who called the weather-exposed, rugged terrain of the Black Hills “mako sica,” or “land bad.” French-Canadian fur trappers also called it “les mauvais terres pour traverse,” or “bad lands to travel through.” 

Hardscrabble trails…prickly cactus…venomous snakes and who-knows-what-else, hiding in the underbrush…no shelter from the elements or fresh water to be found. This is unknown territory, pockmarked with uncertainty and trepidation.

But also, excitement. Because once you get your bearings, you can follow the trailhead to the ocean.

We wore face masks on our hike, to protect ourselves and others from the ever-present risks associated with COVID-19. We tried to keep at least 6 feet between us and other travelers, even when they got sidetracked by their cell phones and veered into our path. Everyone’s going through a rough patch right now, so while we remained vigilant, we made allowances.

That’s the nature of our journey, in this global pandemic. We’re traversing unfamiliar ground with untold risks, exposed constantly to unseen dangers. It’s a perilous trek, one that challenges our strengths and exploits our weaknesses. The Badlands, if you will.

But while most of us are more cautious, now, we remain curious. No way will we allow COVID-19 to steal from us the joy of discovery!

What magic does this place hold at different times of the day, for instance? We saw the angled shadows of late afternoon, but I also want to see the golden glow of sunrise from those bluffs, and a fiery sunset over the water. Badlands or no, there’s always another “just around the bend,” always new vistas to explore.

TINY BIRD: A Hummingbird’s Amazing Journey

The typical ruby-throated hummingbird is about three inches long. He weighs as much as a penny. That this tiny creature somehow manages a 1,500-mile sprint– in the span of twenty-plus hours, mind you—is miraculous, to say the least. 

And still, they embark every year on this seemingly impossible journey. Twice a year, in fact. 

This amazing feat is the inspiration behind Robert Burleigh and Wendell Minor’s upcoming picture book, TINY BIRD: A Hummingbird’s Amazing Journey.

With a feather-light touch, Robert Burleigh blends lyrical words with action-packed phrases, charting Tiny Bird’s progress on every leg of this suspenseful journey. 

The story opens in a peaceful garden, where “Tiny Bird rests and feeds, / flickering from flower to flower / like an emerald spark flashing in the bright sun.”

Burleigh gives a breathless account of Tiny Bird’s southward trek–down the Atlantic Coast from New England, across the Gulf of Mexico, and into his tropical forest home, where he returns every winter.

“Over the first pounding waves, / it begins its nonstop flight of more than twenty hours. / Can Tiny Bird make it? Many hummingbirds never do.”

From the very beginning, we find ourselves rooting for Tiny Bird’s success. And we are lured deeper into the story with every page.

Drawing inspiration from hummingbirds at a neighbor’s feeder, renowned artist Wendell Minor uses watercolor images to help lift Tiny Bird’s story off the page. His paintings move seamlessly between shimmer and shadow, sprinkling symbolism over the realistic contours of a very suspenseful tale.  

In this opening scene, for instance, Tiny Bird is basking in the warm autumn sunshine at his rural New England home. 

So different, the bright colors and dynamic brushstrokes Minor uses in this scene, where Tiny Bird is dodging a predator…

and the darker, more intense palette of this illustration, where Tiny Bird braves a storm at sea!

In the span of 40 pages, we get a very real sense of Tiny Bird’s strengths and vulnerabilities. We come to appreciate his persistence. We are awed by his outsized courage. From takeoff to landing, we get the full measure of a hummingbird, and the magnitude of his journey. 

My own garden is a year-round sanctuary for Allen’s hummingbirds—homebodies that build nests in our front yard fuchsia, feast in our flower garden, and guard our nectar feeders. They may wander into the neighbor’s yard, but they never migrate. And why would they, when the California sunshine warms their tiny, iridescent bodies almost every day? Even so, I enjoyed learning about their migration patterns—first, by following Tiny Bird’s amazing journey, and then by thumbing through the “Fun Facts” section and endpapers.

Although its intended audience includes children from 5 to 8 years old, I imagine it’ll be a favorite for kids of all ages.  If you want proof, just look at this two-page spread! Here, Tiny Bird is a nearly imperceptible speck in a vast, tumultuous ocean.

It’s a magnificent image, symbolizing everything I’ve come to know and appreciate about this ephemeral creature. Strength, courage, and persistence in the face of adversity… these are traits worth emulating, in times such as this.

The welcome respite of rain

Rain’s in the forecast every day this week, spilling over into the next! No big deal in most parts of the country, but it’s a blessing for SoCal residents because it tamps down fears of another drought. Also: Traffic’s lighter, because we sun-lovers don’t venture out as much when it’s wet.

And so it is that I’m curled up in my reading chair, memorized by the percussive sounds of raindrops on our red tile roof. It falls in sheets from the wooly-gray sky, shimmies down my picture window and splashes into my birdbath. My garden is getting a long, deep soaking, and I am filled with a sense of well-being.

It’s as if Mother Nature is sprinkling over all of Creation what we needed most–a quarantine of sorts for world-weary humans, and liquid nourishment for the great outdoors.

Image: “Rain Room” exhibit at LACMA; my silhouette.

The optimism of our Founders

It may be midnight in Washington, but the sun will rise again. I put my faith in the optimism of our Founders. You should too. —Congressman Adam Schiff

Like Congressman Schiff, I believe in my heart of hearts that right will prevail over dark, and that the sun will rise again. It’s an optimistic view that I hold close, when the sky is blanketed by wooly-gray clouds and the air is filled with uncertainty.

I’m not entirely sure what tomorrow will bring, much less the moonless hours between midnight and dawn. But I see this short pause in the proceedings as an unexpected gift. We’ve been fully engaged in the impeachment trial, for and against acquittal. We’ve pored over the documents and listened intently to the arguments–on both sides. And as a result, we see the broader landscape. We know and accept our role in the larger battle. But in this moment, we’ve been afforded a temporary reprieve. Time to lay down our burdens. Time to nurture our inner warriors.

Most of us can’t afford a spa treatment, much less a luxury vacation. No worries. Self-care is invaluable, but it doesn’t require tons of money. As the axiom goes, simple pleasures are oftentimes the best.

Breathe deep the calming scent of lavender. Lean into a treasured friendship. Listen in the quiet for the robin’s chirp and the honeybee’s hum. Unplug. Sit still. Just be.

These ideas too tame for you? Let loose your inner hedonist. Indulge yourself with the crunchiest vegetables, the sweetest fruits, the perfect cuppa, award-winning books, and all manner of fine chocolate. Or…write your own prescription.

The revolution won’t fall apart in our absence. All will be well, so long as we remain united in our resolve. Everything will work out for the good, if we remain committed to our highest ideals. I truly believe that. But to that end, I also believe that even the most valiant warriors need an occasional respite. So let’s take a quick break. Rest. Renew. And then come together again in a show of force, fully equipped for these and other liminal moments.

Be Like Freckles

On this idyllic afternoon, our friend Freckles was lounging on Treasure Island–flanked, as usual, by his harem and seal pups of all ages. Easy living for his pinniped pod. Until, that is, the tides rolled in. 

The waves churned and slammed against the rocks, scooping pinnipeds from their resting place and tossing them into the sea. Whoosh, the surf grass vanished. Saltwater swirled and frothed, and then submerged the tidal pools. Large portions of the island disappeared underwater.

But good ol’ Freckles, he remained as nonplussed as ever. Instinct, no doubt, enjoined by learned wisdom.

In a series of calm, deliberate moves, he nudged his offspring to higher ground. “Tuck your fins,” he seemed to say, “Lift your chin and move that tail! We’ll ride out this storm together, and when the waters recede again, we can rest.” 

 #BeLikeFreckles