A Week of Work in the Mountains

I had some work to do up in the Tehachapi Mountains this past week. We stayed up high, about 5,000 to 6,000 feet, working at various locations during the day and tenting next to an old cabin at night.

We had some incredible winds during our stay, and I haven't slept in the forest in a while (too long). The wind would whoosh through the trees from the north while I huddled in my sleeping bag, listening to the gust come closer and closer. My trepidation was justified; I was sleeping in a meadow containing some old valley oaks. Evidence of past treefalls and fallen branches (widow-makers) were all around. Luckily, my nightmare of a tree branch crashing through my tent never came true.

During the time I was there, especially when I was waking up, I would occasionally hear a familiar sound such as a truck backing up, a cell phone vibrating, a truck driving very nearby, or a printer spooling. Through the filter of my subconscious, the other sounds of the forest (squirrels, birds, branches creaking in the wind, etc.) were being translated as familiar city/office sounds. I was hardly aware of this until just after, upon considering what I just heard for a moment. As I spend so much time outdoors, and consider myself pretty attuned to nature, this is a little embarrassing!

Lots of flowers were out, and they helped make this trip a fun one, despite suboptimal sleep conditions and hard work. Nice to finally sleep out at the field site, and certainly liked saving 16 hours of driving over the week.

Creosote Bush

Lightening

And the house shudders and sobs

Drips from every edge

Asks the sky how it is possible

Why the rain strips the roofing bare of insulating dust

Seeps into old cracks and scours the surface in new ways

Why the concave angles, so striking and angular in the afternoon light

Wood and ceramic tile built to endure heat and light

Are asked to be channels for water

In the morning

Steam rises from red tiles

From the eastern desert

A warm wind has infused the air with creosote bush

Echoing the storm

But sweetly

.

Live-forever plant

Thought I'd share a little miracle with you.

This is a plant that I picked up (saved from being trampled) at a local park last spring, called lanceleaf live-forever. Mom and Dad had walked with me there during their visit a few years ago. This is a cute plant that lives on rock outcrops, in little crevices, but only in undisturbed places. It's one of those "special" local plants that people like, partially because of how it seems to thrive in such a harsh, hot, dry place, and because of its odd form and small stature. A little like why dad loved the alpine gardens so much.

It had fallen down from the rocks, or perhaps been picked or ripped down, and was on the path and so I brought it home and put it in a pot. It has just sat there growing small new leaves for about a year, and then suddenly, in the last few weeks, it grew a huge number of leaves and it sent up an inflorescence stalk!

I'll send a picture when it flowers.

Knitting (for) a Miracle!

Here is my fruit hat, from start-to-finish! Well I'm almost finished, but I'm too anxious. I had to share!

Thyme is flying!

Literally! I made a delicious acorn squash soup with prosciutto (and thyme) and it was delicious! It got thrown all over the counters while I tried to make that and a simplified coq au vin at the same time.

I'm juggling teaching and research and really busy. However, I would like to take some time now and then to blog again. I really enjoy the writing practice. So I'm writing today to get in the habit again.

I'll be headed out to the desert on Thursday to look at the invasion of fountain grass in a canyon there. I hope to get a good start on my research out there.

I can't believe it's almost midway through November!

L

Happy Halloween!

Dr(s) Allen annual holiday pumpkin-carving party!

Up High: Big Sky and Tiny Flowers

Last weekend I went on my first backpacking trip to the Sierras. It's technically my second visit to the region, my first being a brief 24-hour escape to Sequoia National Forest, land of overwhelmingly giant trees, small red "snow plants" and meadows full of corn lilies. It was a car-camping excursion spent overwhelmed by the height of the mountains, the clarity of the Kern River and the scenery, and the fun of escaping the smoggy air of Southern California with some out-of-town guests.

This second trip was an overnight backpack, albeit a brief one. We hiked out of Horseshoe Meadow trailhead, up to a pass, and north on the Pacific Crest Trail to Chicken Springs Lake. After a night spent acclimating at the trailhead campground, we headed out on the trail. A total lack of understory vegetation was the first thing I noticed. Giant trees cast their defined shadows on bare white rock and sand and surrounded us for the first 2 miles. A few lupines formed low silvery mounds like little area rugs here and there in the forest.

As we climbed up the pass, slowly (though we beat a small pack of boys and male adults WITH our 30 lb packs!), we began to see some more vegetation- a shrub in the oak family (name escapes me), looking a little like a small magnolia, and some more flowers popped up here and there. Totally unexpected for me, as flowers bloom in my area in the winter and late spring into early summer. The late summer is a time for senescence and seed dispersal. Nevertheless, purple sages, large yellow asters and others popped up here and there, it seemed, just to keep us from succumbing to the thin air and our eagerness to sit and rest.

The final push to the lake was tough, as my pack wasn't adjusted properly (my fault), and the chest strap was missing, so I had tied a bandana between the straps, basically putting weight on my collarbone. I was eager to take off my pack!

At the lake, the scenery was unbelievable. Thick, hardy pines dotted the rocky area surrounding the lake. Nearer to the water, a small area of meadow formed a wonderful carpet of grass, and small flowers. We spent the afternoon photographing those, pumping water and then cooking our meal at an overlook over Big Whitney Meadow.

An experience to remember, especially literally the cool weather at the moment as I go about my day-to-day research planting seeds, and remembering that it won't be 104 degrees all winter!