Uncategorized, Feathers and Bones

My “Favorite” Season

I love snow, and winter is my favorite season!

Okay that’s a lie. Anyone who knows me has heard me grumble more that once about a forecast for the frozen white stuff.

Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills

Every September I’m working those mindfulness skills double time; to be present; to stay tucked comfortably inside the warm hearth of autumn as it lights up the Wasatch range in all its fiery glory. This is because I know, despite a most stalwart determination, that at the first hint of frost I will be lured by those earliest of icy daggers down the dark hallway of pre-season dread.

For those of you who know, you know what I’m talking about!

Frosted Turkey Tail Mushroom
Frosted Oak Leaf
Hoar Frost at Utah Lake

Just say sNOOOOOOOw, and I am ready to pack my bag and head south. At least that’s what my imaginary self is doing.

As for the real me, I’m toughing it out in the foothills. Because even during these winter weather days I still find myself out there.

I often think back to my early childhood in Wyoming. Back to a time when winter did excite me. When I was very young, snowy days meant sledding, attempting to build snow men, making snow angels, and spending many magical hours immersed in a blanket of fallen stars.

Then, in my sixth year, my family moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. And I missed the snow! I even prayed for snow that first winter and to my own and everyone else’s surprise, this prayer was answered: just for a single day. But it was enough accumulation to build a snowman taller than myself and to make one seven year old girl very happy.

So what happened?

We moved to north central Montana the year I turned twelve. Maybe if my family had stayed in Wyoming, this move wouldn’t have seemed such a harsh transition. But after six years of living in near constant sun, where winter temperature might dip to a tepid 60 degrees in mid January, my family and I were ill prepared for extended August to April winters with near constant winds that often drove temperatures to well below freezing.

Needless to say, the two years I endured in that climate forever affected my love of winter and of snow.

Fast forward a handful of decades. Having moved once again from a lovely temperate climate along the west coast of Oregon to a seasonally cold Utah, I still am working on resurrecting that inner child who once looked forward to and enjoyed winter and snow.

Like I mentioned above, I usually make my way out to the hills or to the shores of Utah Lake, even in the heart of darkness (winter).

Frozen Utah Lake
Utah Lake WInter Scape
Utah Lake in December

I may yearn for the golden, tank top days of spring and summer as I apply layer after layer of outer apparel. However, once I get myself out the door I am more often than not still surprised by wonder. I even find myself rekindling that sense of play that I worry might become diminished by the rigidity of age and an attitude that has trouble finding altitude during these cold months. Cold air goes down, not up after-all, so am I not just fighting a natural trend here?

Still, at the end of February, as we are standing on that seasonal threshold with one foot hasting into spring, I can look back on this past winter along the Wasatch front and upon the previous ones and say, snow and ice can be pretty fun! And also just plain pretty…even breathtakingly so.

Juni and the Giant (Snowman)
Beauty in WInter
Icicle Chandalier over Creek
Me Skating at Utah Lake
Snow seal by Juni and Sienna
Stormy Sunrise Water Tower
“Snoctopus” by Juni and Sienna
Sienna Sledding in the Foothills
Looking back to the Lake in Winter
Frozen Cascade

And I think I might even miss it the tiniest bit this year. Though I am not sure I will remember this once I am enveloped in the joyous robe of riotous spring. But then again, just maybe I will..

Flipping the Bird

One of my earliest recollections regarding a bird whose crossed star rises every fall here in north America, the turkey, occurs in Kindergarten.

My Jackalope Jackie who lives on my car dash. Ear warmers crocheted by Sienna Smith

One day, in late fall, My classmates and I were put to the task of coloring in a line drawing of a turkey, using crayons. I remember feeling awed by this handsome bird with a spectacularly fanned tail. Although, wild turkey do inhabit the windy plains of Wyoming, I hadn’t seen one in real life. (Hunting the elusive jackalope was my primary preoccupation when out of doors). Despite a lack of formal familiarity, however, I distinctly remember having a very clear idea of how I wanted to color this picture.

Rainbow turkey

I began with blacks and browns over which I gradually built up layers of color; adding reds, blues and yellows. I wanted to create a sheen that shimmered like a magical rainbow over the dark base as seemed befitting of this bird. Unfortunately, the school grade print paper canvas was not up to the task. As I pressed harder and harder onto the over saturated surface, crayon flakes, like so many unruly autumn leaves scattered helter-skelter. This chaos of pigment left smudges of multicolored stains around the margins blurring the image. The harder I worked, the worse things got. I had aimed for a particular perfection, but what I ended up with was a perfect mess: Hands, paper, desk. The stern look on my teachers face, gave a final confirmation that my efforts had gone awry.

I had wanted to display, through my artwork, a nobility and beauty that I innately felt was true about this bird, but what actually appeared on the paper was an amorphous scribble obscured by cloudy smudges.

I find in this long ago memory a kind of metaphor for how this remarkable feathered folk has been perceived or rather misperceived by the general American public for the past three quarters of a century or so.

Today, I am about to right that long ago mishap, however and paint for you a better picture.

I’m flipping the bird.

Don’t get your knickers in a twist, just hold on tight to those tail feathers.

It’s time to turn ignorant stereotypes topsy-turvy, and bring clarity to the somewhat murky reputation surrounding this truly indigenous American bird that we call turkey.

Which comes to mind when you think about the American Turkey? Do you picture a lean, bold colored bird with with a keen, alert look in its eye?

Or do you picture something more like the buxom snowy tom aimlessly meandering the white house lawn in late November, ready to be pardoned for the sole crime of being a favorite “guest” at the holiday table?

Do the words, bravery, or fidelity, agility and cunning come to mind?

No?

To be certain, in the current zeitgeist to be called a turkey or to label something a turkey carries a distinctly negative connotation; meaning something along the line of second rate, stupid or cowardly.

But let’s back it up a bit and take a longer view.

The American Turkey (meleagris gallopavo) bears such an ironic misnomer, as it does not and never has existed in the country it is rumored to have been mistakenly named for. The heaviest member of the galliformes, this bird has been revered for centuries by the indigenous inhabitants of the Americas. To this day, the turkey is honored among different tribes as a clan name.

Domestication is nothing new to this bird. Mesoamerican people began husbandry of this ground nesting avian around 300 b.c.e. The huexolotl, as the wild turkey was called among the Nahuatl speaking people became the totolin; a domesticated version that was kept not just for meat, but also for symbolic value and for the use of their beautiful feathers.

Even after the Europeans arrived, the turkey did not suffer in reputation for centuries. Rather it was acknowledged as a valuable resource and a beautiful and unique American bird.

It wasn’t until the 1920s that the reputation of the turkey took at tail spin.

What changed?

The dawn of commercial farming instigated processes that would leave negative impacts on both the consumed and the consumer for generations to come.

Let me insert another memory here:

During my early teen years, I lived in a rural area of Montana. Just outside of the city of Great Falls. A few of my neighbors raised turkeys for meat along with other animals on small five acre farms. I quickly discovered that this was not the same majestic bird I failed to represent with waxy pigments in my grade school days. Although domesticated turkey can and do present with the rich array of feathers that adorn their free range counterparts, the Broad Breasted White (meat) turkey, is ubiquitously, well, white. This has something to do with how the pin feathers show up or don’t show up on a dressed bird. These unlucky creatures have further been saddled with developing overlarge breast, hence, they no longer move with the grace and agility of their wild kin. This is a burden which makes them appear far more clumsy than agile. I remember my peers telling me that turkeys were so dumb that they would drown in rainstorms because they ran around with their mouths open. This it turns out,is a widely circulated myth. From that day on, however, my opinion of turkeys subtly changed.

It wasn’t until years later, after moving to Utah, that I encountered turkey face to face again, wandering the hills of the Wasatch Front.

Nature always seems to offer a generous amount of wisdom and information if one is receptive to it. While I did not have the great fortune of being born into a community that holds a long traditional understanding and mythology of this incredible feathered being, I have, through my observances of and interactions with wild turkey, gleaned something of a window into their true and remarkable character.

Turkey are loyal and intelligent.

I once observed two wild turkeys assist a third to find a way to transverse a tall wire fence that separated the single bird from it’s mates. Because the fence was on a fairly steep slope, this panicked bird had a difficult time getting enough footing so as to launch itself high enough to clear the barrier outright. Continuously calling to their distressed kin, the two other turkeys located and lodged themselves in a tall fir whose branches happened to overhang the fence. After locating his mates, the frightened bird was able to fly to the lowest of the branches and make his way to freedom and back to its two relieved companions.

Turkey are naturally agile, and they can fly.

Watching a flock of turkeys run ninja like through thick underbrush, a person quickly realizes these birds are anything but bumbling or clumsy. It is a scientific fact that wild turkey have very keen eyesight and can travel on the ground at speeds ranging from 18 to 30 mph. On the wing they can reach speeds up to 60 mph. Though their flight paths are only for about 100 yards or so, they easily can wing it up a tall tree to escape predators.

Turkey have a complex language.

Turkey vocalizations, vary greatly in tone and inflection. Sometimes they are so subtle that you hardly notice them. The “gobble gobble” that everyone associates with turkeys is something I hear less frequently in the wild than I do the soft staccato notes that almost sound like drops of water, or the purling chortle of a hen to her chicks. This is an awesome video I found on YouTube regarding how intricate and advanced turkey language is.

Turkey are a bird of many colors.

Wild turkeys can display albinism, which means they can be mostly white, but that is not common. These birds actually have up to five different morphs from smoke, to cinnamon, to blue… The radiant variety of iridescen\e is truly breathtaking in these bird folk which makes their feathers one of my favorites.

But what about that strange naked head you ask?

Well, it turns out, that similar to vultures, turkey have evolved with a natural cooling and heating regulator, and that is the (mostly) naked neck. Also, the color of a toms neck, including wattle and snood – that top dangely bit – changes colors from blue to purple to pink to red to a mottled variation based on their emotional state. Move over mood rings!

This last fact, incidentally, is something my daughter and I discovered after rescuing a domestic tom from *abandonment in the foothills along the Wasatch front.

This giant white behemoth was so terrified that it didn’t take much to get him to hop into the car and happily hunker down on my lap for the ride home. As the car warmed and he settled, his neck and wattle morphed from shy salmon to a pacified periwinkle. What a surprise! What further astonished us, apart from the size of his feet, (the impression he left in the snow was reminiscent of a tiny T-rex, which is to say huge) was the affection and curiosity he demonstrated as soon as he felt safe. This goes to show that even the domestic turkey defy the stereotypes.

Our rescue tom eventually found a wonderful home with a dear friend who made room in her hen house for this giant “chicken”. He lived quite happily ever after to the ripe old age of at least 3 or 4. Which is quite old for a turkey meant to be dinner by 6 months of age.

I am currently in the process of taking an online Tarology class from Jungian Dream Analysis Scholar, poet, student of the occult, current PHD candidate and self proclaimed shape-shifter (sometimes she’s a cat…how fantastic!), Elianne El-Amyouni.

She is known in her social media accounts as Twitchy Witch and I highly recommend her content to anyone who is interested in Jungian concepts, alchemy, religion, poetry, music and middle-eastern studies.

Wait…what does this have to do with turkeys? I can hear you thinking this question…yes I can!

As Elianne puts it. Everything is a symbol. All the things we work with and experience most closely become our most important, personal symbols. Elianne further goes on to elucidate; “…a symbol is a sort of gesture to what is wordless, what cannot be bound in total linguistic comprehension, but can be felt”.

The chance meeting with a certain creature can carry a message that is as individual and mutable as life itself. It is in the relationship that is developed towards an individual creature or collective, through observation and interaction, that the symbol becomes revealed.

Just as the indigenous peoples from ancient times understood, I am understanding more and more that it is through this meta-language, that deeper knowing is recognized and higher knowledge is understood.

Wild turkey tom displaying his fan.
Wlld Turkey of the Wasatch Front

When I encounter the wild American turkey, I am reminded that community fosters bravery and fidelity. I am awed by language that is beyond my understanding but that is also universal in it’s aspect of communicating care. I am made aware that true beauty is not always evident but is revealed; through sudden shafts of sunlight igniting a hidden jeweled iridescence – through the astonishment that ever enraptures with every unfolding of the turkeys majestic tail.

As a collective and as a symbol, I honor this bird each time we meet and I hope turkey will continue to show me further wisdom.

As ever, happy wandering!

Juni -Jen

*A bit about animal abandonment and dumping in wilderness spaces. If you see this happening in your area please report it. This act is not good for the domesticated creature who has not been raised with the skills to thrive in such an environment, nor is it good for the environment as it can introduce disease or threaten natural populations.

A Butterfly in Winter

A Brief Recap on Winter 2023

This winter is feeling long. It’s been unusual in that frigid temperatures began in November, bringing consecutive days where the thermometer repeatedly dipped like a potato chip into a tasty spread. Only not quite as fun or delicious. Especially with wind chill.

December continued in this way until we were gifted a brief warm up just after Christmas that lasted into January. During this traditionally frosty month, we experienced a copious amount of rain in the valley instead of the usual snow. It seems November and January did a do si do on us. Switching places for fun and japes.

But not so fast!

By the end of January the icy cold returned and continues to linger deep into February.

Utah Lake, which in the recent past has had only has one good freeze, if that, had several this past year. In fact, it was so solid that on the day before Christmas eve, Christine, my fellow wanderer and podcast partner in crime, and I were able to venture a mile out onto its solid surface. You can see Christine there in the Panorama above looking back towards the distant shoreline.

Storksbill Blooming — Storksbill Blooms Feb 2022

Usually, by late February, we see a substantial if gradual warm up, with days climbing into the 40s on a more regular basis. Often, purple Storksbill and tiny four petaled Monkeyflower will be making a happy appearance as spring equinox grows ever near. Not so this year. Just this week, we got another 6 inches of snow in the valley. When wandering, any exposed skin is subject to being slapped scarlet by the extra long whip of this winter’s coat tails this year.

winter wear — Lots of layers, that’s what my fashion statement is here.

Every time the sun comes out, however, I keep hope that it will stay and prove to me that winter hasn’t planned to take up permanent residence just to spite my desire to dis-bundle more permanently from my winter wardrobe. This is that ever so posh way of dressing that I refer to as “the onioning” with its many, many layers of defense against the bitter weather.

Charming, no?

Messy for certain, as I peel of each snow soaked outer layer and sweat soaked inner layer. Oh how I long for the days of tank tops and sunshine on my shoulders.

And Now For the Good Part

I have been thinking on this blog for a while. And like the feature of this title, my brain has flitted and danced around it never quite lighting long enough to write it. But at last I have made myself sit and actually put these words to ground.

Short-Tailed Blue
Great Basin Fritillary
Green-veined White
Diana Fritillary

During the ubiquitous monochrome of winter gray, I miss the beauty of the butterfly; their lovely ephemeral existence in a variety of palates; their crack head flights that never seem to take a direction for more than few seconds; these wind-borne blooms mirroring their earth anchored hosts. Especially, in the midst of this long winter, I take a little comfort in reminding myself of something that I just learned this past year; that just over there, in that quilt patch of oaks, or in that cozy pile of leaves protected by a rocky overhang, one of these fully winged creatures might be tucked into a cozy crevice dreaming, along with me, of spring.

A full grown butterfly, you might be asking?

Yes, a fully grown, winged out butterfly.

Of course, many butterfly species winter over as pupa with a nice sturdy chrysalis to protect them from winter’s brutal hand, or as larvae buried into a warm cradle of soil. These await the song of the sun to dance them into and or through metamorphosis. Other species take wing in late summer, such as Monarchs, Admirals and Painted Ladies, migrating smartly to warmer places. (How I would like to follow them one year)!

But a few, including one of my very favorite species, Nymphalis Antiopa, or the Mourning Cloak, winter over as adults, tucked into tree bark, or nestled in old logs, or under a comforter of leaf debris. Here they will hibernate until the temperatures climb to an appropriate degree. For the Mourning Cloak, earliest of the butterflies to awaken from a winter’s slumber, this can be as low as 50 degrees.

Mourning Cloak Cake — My birthday cake made by my daughter, Sienna, this year…I ate and ate and ate!!!

These ingenious creatures have developed a clever adaptation. At the end of summer, they will go into a brief state of estivation. During this period the butterfly will lower it’s body temperature and metabolism, after procuring itself in a protected area, for a short period of time – about a month or so. Afterwards, the Mourning Cloak will re-emerge to make a surprise appearance in late fall, (ta da)! It’s mission is now to eat and eat and eat in preparation for the second, longer dormancy of overwintering. Kind of like what we do in late fall with all of the holidays and festivals. Only we don’t get to sleep it off over the dark and cold months, no fair!

When the temperature begins to drop into and below 40 degrees, the Mourning Cloak will go into a true state of hibernation. Unlike mammals who enter this state, however, they are not awakened by an increase in the hours of daylight, but rather by an increase in temperature. This is why you might occasionally see one in late February or Early March here in Northern Utah. (Yes, please).

Hoar Frost — Hoar frost is everywhere in the winter in Utah

When freezing temperatures arrive, these butterfly folk essentially become tiny little insect popsicles with a secret, magic ingredient. Morning cloaks are able to reduce the amount of water in their blood and thicken it with glycerol, sorbitol, and other agents. Together, these act as a form of organic antifreeze which is similar to the antifreeze we pour into car radiators. This lifesaving trick keeps their tissues from forming damaging ice crystals. In this way, Mourning Cloaks can withstand temperatures down to minus eighty degrees.

Satyr Comma

These winged miracles are a demonstration in resilience. Furthermore, they live relatively long lives for their kind. Along with their fellow overwintering nyphalis kin, the Angel Wing and the Comma butterfly, these insects can reach up to a ripe old age of 10-11 months. Which in human years is a cagillion years old…probably.

It may have have seemed incongruent, when first reading the title of this blog: A Butterfly in Winter; but now you know this is no myth. Butterflies remain with us even in the heart of this sometimes brutal season.

Protest at Utah State Capitol

A Butterfly by Any Other Name…

For me this winter started out in a very strange place. I’ve participated in in two protests, due to an indirect involvement I had in a family court trial that revolves around a broken and corrupt system. You can read about it on international blogger and advocate, Tina Swithen’s blog Onemomsbattle. You can also read about it here in this article from ProPublica.

I personally witnessed, what seemed to me, abusive and manipulative behavior from the G.A.L. involved in this case; watched in shock and frustration as an affidavit I wrote in defense of a contempt charge that had been filed against the mother was deliberately misconstrued and out and out lied about in court by the abusive(several substantiated claims by DCFS) father’s lawyer. I further observed the strange behavior and suggestions of the presiding judge at this same trial. This included a recommendation for starving children out of their rooms! I kid you not. I hope you will take time to read through the blog and article highlighted above in which you find more details about this story.

All of this made me feel like we must have entered another dimension because it seemed so outlandish and obviously wrong. But sadly, these same type of things have happened before in this court; Utah’s 4th district, Provo, not to mention in courts all over the country who haven’t yet adopted Kayden’s Law . I am hopeful that through this protest, our legislature may take a serious look at this issue and adopt this protection for the sake of this family and many others here in Utah.

This winter I have written several government officials in regards to these injustices as well as to express my dismay at the mal-advised bills that are passing into legislation, namely Senate Bill 16 in Utah which bans gender affirming care for transgender youth. I encourage all to read this article released in Scientific American magazine in May of 2022 explaining how trans affirming care has shown across the board to lead to happier, healthier lives for this population.

This is very personal to me as I am a mom of a trans daughter and I deeply am affected by these bills which seem based on, at best, a misplaced concern and at worst fear and hate, and not at all upon actual peer reviewed science, or what is wanted or needed by this population. The world seems much darker to me since I have become aware of these terrible situations, neither of which is limited to the state of Utah. I admit I have felt disheartened often throughout this correspondingly long winter.

Nature has always been my place of solace, my place of stillness and my place of deep instruction. To me the butterfly represents many significant concepts and archetypes as it has to peoples across time place.

Anise Swallow Tail
Western White Butterfly

To see a butterfly is to see a creature of incredible beauty and imagination, a creature that defies form and label in its miraculous metamorphosis, a creature who is fragile but holds a surprising resilience; like the children who are caught in and survive the web of evil and abuse known as “reunification therapy” and the “alienation” industry; Like the transgender population who personify transformation and who show us how life takes form in so many varieties all equal in validity and beauty.

To think of a Butterfly in Winter is to think of these things. It is to remember that the creative power to chose a better way remains with us. It is that unlikely loveliness, that delicate promise of hope sheltering in the human heart – enduring.

Read more about and or to show support for the kids and family who I protested in support of below:

https://www.tyandbrynsarmy.com/

https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tyandbrynsarmy

#justicefortyandbryn

#Onemomsbattle

#mendingmindsvilliage

Twitch: @stupid_flipper

Happy end of winter wandering,

Juni-Jen

Cardinals, Fireflies and Eagles, Oh My, How Time did Fly!

November at Utah Lake — November Storm at Utah Lake

It is November. Some how the summer got away from me. July folded and stitched itself directly to this month of declining light, leaving August through October tumbled in that shaded pocket.

Work keeps me very active late summer through Halloween. Family events, unexpected surprises and some pretty big life challenges, furthermore, made quick work of July’s crafting project.

One of the unexpected turns that came about at the end of September, is the addition of two new fur babies in the form of orphaned feral kittens. Yeah…I thought I was going to foster them, but who am I kidding? Long story short, Luna Rueyn and Mi Suri Bella (Misu) are not going to be leaving any time soon. At 10 weeks they are the sweetest bundles of smokey tortoiseshell mischief that this surrogate kitty mom could ever wish for. Even if I didn’t wish for them in the first place. Oh well…I’m sunk.

Bottle fFeeding

5 Weeks Old

7 weeks Old

Mi Suri Bella

Luna Rueyn

10 weeks Old

November isn’t waiting around for anyone either and I am deep in the process of playing catch up and get ready as the holiday season is knocking at or rather knocking down the door, it seems.

House in Killen, Al — My Brother and Sister in Law’s new home in AL.

Summer found me wandering in many novel (to me) places as I helped my brother and sister in law move from Fort Collins, Colorado all the way to Killin. Alabama. I’m still not sure I have forgiven them for that far away migration, but I certainly made the most of the adventure.

Who knew that the eastern side of Kansas, would be so lush and green? Certainly I didn’t! In my mind Kansas had always been one long stretch of flat dry prairie. I basically viewed it as a tornado runway where ones entire house might be lifted up and deposited in another dimension no matter where it was located withing the boundaries of this state. (Thank you L. Frank Baum and Hollywood). But this is not so! The geology seems to change about midway through, with flat land turning to gently rolling wooded hills which grow greener in intensity on through Missouri all the way to Bamy.

For the first time I experienced the vast and ambling waterscapes of the Great Mississippi and Tennessee rivers. The later of which whose shoreline I got to wander along. These two mammoth rivers flow so very different from the rough and ready tumble of the Provo and American Fork rivers along the Wasatch. My rocky mountain homegrowns seem more like creeks in comparison.

In the backyard of my brother’s new home, I fell into a wonderment of crimson – a curious cardinal, and became utterly enchanted by the ethereal flight of the lightening bug. I have been told there are such insects in Utah at certain times of the year. I might have to make this a quest for the future.

My daily walks around the country roads of Northern Alabama, were orchestrated by an ever present cacophony of cicada serenading from patches of wooded acreage. This is such a singular music, falling somewhere between buzzing of electrical wires and high tenor lawn mower. The cicada population of this year is an annual species and not the anticipated 13 (Magicicada) variety that is expected to emerge in 2024.

Morning Glory Vine — Pretty blue morning glory bloom adorning a long leaf pine tree near my brother’s home.

In this part of the country, long leaf pine, maple and beeches wear shawls of trumpet vine, morning glory and wisteria. This dense greenery echos the moss covered forest of the pacific northwest where I spent my teenage years. It feels familiar and appears so similar, yet remains distinct in flora and fauna from that found in the Willamette Valley and along the coast of Oregon.

While in the area I took the opportunity to visit the Florence Indian Mound and Museum. This indigenous built mound was first constructed over 1500 years ago. I climbed the steep stairway that allows visitors of the museum to explore the precipice. Always, I am humbled by these places, feeling a deep human connection, despite the troubled history of colonization. I walked the perimeter of the apex to gaze out over a landscape that stretched far to the horizon, unbroken or hemmed in by sharp peaks as it is where I live in the mountain west. The experience was beautiful, ineffable…

Sacred Way Sanctuary Horses I, also, very much wanted to visit the Sacred Way Sanctuary. This invaluable interpretive center, horse refuge and trading post houses more than 100 Indigenous American horses whose lineages go back for centuries and hearken from several different tribal groups. The sanctuary is further home to the remnants of ancient equine species, 0ne that roamed North America during the ice ages long before the Spanish conquistadors arrived and introduced the European breeds to the vast grasslands of this continent.

I am sad to say they were not open for business while I was at brother’s house, so I was unable to actually participate in the tours and informative activities at the facility.

Making Friends with Sweet Sanctuary Horse

I had to settle, instead, for a drive out to the Sanctuary where I was, thankfully, able to greet a few horses that were grazing happily in a fenced pasture. One of them was particularly interested in investigating this strange woman standing along the fence-line looking on so longingly. As I have always had a huge affinity with the horse, this place is top of my list to visit when I return.

Mom and Me in Gazebo at Elk Mountain Hotel — Mom and Me at Elk Mountain Hotel

On my way back to Utah, I spent an extra week in Fort Collins, Colorado. During this time I was finally able to take my mom to Elk Mountain, Wyoming to visit the historic township and tour the wonderful Elk Mountain Museum.

My mom spent her most cherished childhood days rambling over the wooded terrain of this Wyoming giant; Her family taking residence in a tiny cabin, while her dad worked a local lumber mill. Throughout my own childhood, I have been happily regaled by tails of her adventures rambling around her beloved woodland home as a free spirited wilderness woman.

Elk Mountain juts dramatically from the surrounding grasslands through which the Medicine Bow River gently idles. Stunning and picturesque, this solitary inselburg and once sacred summit of the plains peoples, has been purchased by a single entity and proclaimed private property. No one is able to wander past the foothills these days without permission. Despite this, my mom and I drove up the hillside as far as we could go. We stopped to pick wildflowers and to collect rocks form this motherland; Touchstones connecting to that spunky, curious, wonderful child that forever shines from within my mother’s cornflower blue eyes.

Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills

Back home in Utah, we have enjoyed a spectacular fall. The changing of the leaves from summer greens to russet, amber and ocher set the mountains a flame by late September. This fiery display burned clear through October before cooling slowly to brown and crisping embers. The first snow took us by surprise just after Halloween, dropping temperatures over 20 degrees over night. This I did not love so much.

Through it all, I have continued to find respite, solace and beauty through wandering the wilderness spaces.

Stormy Utah Lake Along the expansive shoreline at Utah Lake this morning, storm clouds mist the wind swept water, as well as myself as I meander through the shallows. Suddenly I catch sight of a large dark shape skimming and then rising above the water line…to big for hawk or gull, it’s shape distinct even from the osprey I see in summer. This is a singular silhouette, formidable, with expansive wings tipped with fierce feathers splayed defiantly against a tempest shrouded sun.

The American bald eagle has left it’s northern abode to feast on carp and other fish abundant in Utah’s pluvial lakes. From now through February these beautiful raptors will find refuge and nourishment in these sheltered valleys.

It is a marker on the wheel of the year for me. This returning of the eagles. A visceral reminder of the invisible process; Time ever spiraling forward on the broad shoulders of a great and ghostly bird.

An Inventory, an Invocation on the Advent of Spring 2022

March 2022

I have struggled this month, to find words to fit on a page. Possibly like many others, I feel a sort of shock into silence at the state of things that are occurring in our world right now.

It is hard not to feel the collective stress, deep sadness and near helpless empathy for the suffering of nations.

And while I realize that most days, somewhere in the world, there is warring between humans, with the current clash between Russia and Ukraine, I feel this drag towards a potential global conflict. It is not prophesy, just an undercurrent of things that might be. And I continually pray will not.

I have many thoughts that swirl.

I wonder about the human condition; If we as a species, on this beautiful living planet, have ever really evolved beyond base passions: greed, lust for power, desire to dominate.

I know some might go on about complexities.

And I get it. Such situations are knotted up with economies, old alliances, and balances of power that have been twisting and turning for years before they reach a flashpoint that breeds such volatility.

Ultimately, though, the behavior of the major players remains the same as that of the bullies in the school yard. Only now instead of whispered threats and sideways punches, weapons of mass destruction are hurled about as carelessly as spit wads.

Tragically, for the people who are caught in the crossfire, the cause will never be equal to the consequence. No amount of apologies, money, or retributions can restore the lives that are lost.

An Inventory, An Invocation

Even under all this upheaval, I continue to find solace, beauty and stillness in wandering. In escaping from the constructed world, into a more authentic space; Nature, who’s endless creation and abundance leaves me equally as speechless, but with wonder and beauty rather than terror, and depression.

Walking along Utah lake, I revel in a cacophony of birdsong: The red wing blackbird, spotted towhee, the white capped sparrow. Sweet is the sing song of their gossip as they perch and peak out at me from a sway of pussy willows.

Beneath the cottonwood, pairs of ring necked doves court and coo, dipping like gentlemen at a ball.

A single pelican drifts in the shallows; a cumulus cloud puffed and aloof, shadowing a din of ducks and squabbling gulls.

Over head, three sand cranes wing their way towards the southern shore. It is a graceful ballet of long necks and legs, wing-borne, I think.

So much life returning.

And yes, even the midgefly, followed sooner than later by their vampiric cousins (mosquito) – love them or not, are slowly unpacking their campers, ready to make the beaches home and nursery once again.

In the hills, red tailed hawk collide, tumbling towards earth until just at the last minute they release. Dangerous and dizzying, and completely exhilarating, they play the mating game. Powerful calls echo through the greening canyons where nests hold precious new life.

Purple corksbill, yellow monkeyflower, butterwort, and whitlow grass blooms, mirror the many petaled sun ascending towards its summer throne. Soon they will be joined by camus, sweet pea, doe lily, and the luminous little blues that flower beneath the budding gamble oak and maple.

Squirrels scramble up the still bare branches and scold passers by. “Don’t get too close to my babies”! These fierce little bushy tails chirp.

Luminous Blues

Heavy hoof prints, of pregnant deer, big horned sheep and mountain goat dot the hillsides, still muddy with melted snow. Soon a trail of smaller prints will follow.

White Sulfer Butterfly

California Tortoiseshell Butterfly

Blue Skipper Butterfly

Walking along these trails I welcome the white sulfer, california tortoishell and blue skipper butterfly, to be joined by many other butterfly folk, delighting the eye of ALL children – young and old. It is hard to be unhappy in such company.

Life is waking from its winters slumber…the hum of the earth is rising. It is a song older than time that dances this world into being each spring.

Again, again!

Such symphony, remains unbroken, undeterred and unbothered by the dissonance of mankind.

It is this tenacity, this consistency that soothes me…to know that humans aren’t in charge, after all, is comforting.

As of today, I don’t put much faith and or trust in humans as a species. We are too driven, it seems, by primal fears…though I keep hoping that one day, the human mind will enlighten enough to bring about a balance within the heart; Such that the destruction of each-other or that of another species or of an ecosystem will no longer seem needful and or acceptable as a means to survival.

This is my invocation, an invitation towards finding a way to make this possible.

In the meantime, individually, we can show support for each other and for the other beings that inhabit this planet. One way we cant do that is by volunteering with or sending donations to reputable organizations, that are personally meaningful. Below is a small list of the organizations that I support. 🙂 Feel free to share ways and places you support your communities by commenting on this blog post.

As always, happy, and peaceful, wandering.

A list of reputable places to help the people of Ukraine

Conserve Utah Valley is a non-profit 501(c)(3) organization committed to protecting and sustaining the treasured canyons, foothills, open spaces, and waters of Utah Valley. Conserve Utah Valley seeks to work collaboratively with all levels of government, the business community, and individuals to preserve spaces that add so much to our quality of life.

Sign the Don’t Pave Utah Lake Petition HERE

Hawk Watch International The mission of HawkWatch International is to conserve our environment through education, long-term monitoring, and scientific research on raptors as indicators of ecosystem health.

Mama Dragons Mama Dragons is a nonprofit 501(c)3 organization that supports, educates, and empowers mothers of LGBTQ children. Since 2013, it has grown from just a handful of moms to an organization that now supports over 7,000 mothers. Mama Dragons’ focus is on providing safe online spaces and educational programs where mothers can learn and connect with other Mama Dragons traveling similar paths as they learn accepting and affirming parenting practices that can help prevent LGBTQ youth suicide, depression, and homelessness.

Kicking the Hornet’s Nest

Kicking the Hornet’s Nest: Why,When,Where

If you are going to kick a hornet’s nest, it is best to do so in winter. In this case, I am not talking about a metaphorical hornet’s nest, which is unaffected by seasonal change.

I am talking about the real deal, an actual home of hornets, paper wasps, or yellow jackets the most assertive and well armed in the family known as hymenoptera vespidae, or wasp.

Wasp Nest Yes, if you do wish to physically accost an actual hornet’s nest, winter is best. This is because winter is when these structures are most likely to be emptied of their prickly inhabitants.

Walking along the paved Provo River Park Trail heading east of Johnson’s Hole, it is easy to spy several good sized nest. No longer secreted beneath the leafy ruffles of summer’s skirts, these interesting structures hang from winter barren branches, like mummy wrapped footballs. The hexagonal hatcheries are enfolded in a variegated, D.I.Y. paper as protection from the elements, other winged insects and birds who like to prey upon the defenseless young.

Collecting paper wasp material — That’s me with a very long stick “kicking” the hornet’s nest.

It is this miraculous material that I am after.

Wasps, hornets, yellow jackets…what can I say? Next to tiny Nosferatu -mosquito (see my entry blog entry entitled Midgefly Mitigation) I am not particularly fond of these insects.

Though I haven’t been stung often, the few times I have played the dart board to this insects sharp barb, is more than enough for me. It really hurts! Further more, a wasp sting can lead to residual swelling, soreness, itchiness and just plain misery that can last for days.

The fact is that more than 90% of perceived “bee” stings are actually from, yours truly, the bee’s less bumbling and cuddly cousin, the wasp. This does not make them a popular guest at the pic-nick table, or in the garden or as a hiking companion.

So why write about wasps? The fact is that they really don’t deserve the bad rap they are given. Wasps play an important role in a healthy ecological system. You can check out their many benefits here.

The wasps or hornet that most people associate with painful probes, are social wasps and really only make up about 1,000 species out of the 30,000 varieties. The rest are referred to as solitary wasps and are much less likely to sting, unless seriously provoked.

From the 5 inch long ichneuman wasp to the microscopic Tinkerbell fairy fly, wasps run the variety gambit of shapes, sizes and colors. I recommend listening to this fabulous podcast on Spheksology ( the study of wasps) on one of my favorite nature podcast Ologies .

In this blog, however, I want to relate some of of my own wasp encounters; What I have observed and learned about their remarkable behaviors and what I have found actually works very well if you end up playing the pincushion. OUCH!!!

Pollen Wasps

One of the strangest insect behaviors I have run into, is that of the pollen wasp.

Growing along the sandy ravines from June through August, is a beautiful flower known as Wasatch beards tongue penstemon. A few years ago, I happened to stop to admire a some of these blooms, when I noticed what I thought was a familiar yellow and black bum protruding from one of the bell shaped blossoms like nature’s caution tape.

I froze, not wanting to disturb, dislodge or disgruntle this temporary tenant. However, after a few minutes of observing with seeming no effort on the part of the wasp to disengage from this floral garage, I began to get more curious. I carefully pushed the stem of the penstemon to see if the wasp would be encouraged to move on. To my surprise, nothing at all happened!

Hmmmm…curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Feeling a little more daring I decided to use a twig to gently prod this flower enamored little creature to see if that might elicit some response… any response. To my surprise, it did not!

Did these penstemon contain a sort of yellow jacket nepenthe or soma? I remember thinking. And how could I garner some in case of future unhappy run ins with less stupefied stingers?

Pollen Wasp in Beardstongue — Pollen Wasp Parked in
Wasatch Beards-tongue Penstemon

Turns out, however, after a decent amount of digging around, that these florally amorous wasps are not yellow jackets at all, but an entirely different species known as the pollen wasps and of course what they are doing behind their petaled curtain is gathering pollen.

Though as to why they are so completely entranced and entrenched in their activity as to be seemingly oblivious to a human literally hoisting them up their petard, remains to be understood.

So if you are a wasp expert and understand the process of these solitary yellow jacket doppelgangers, I would love to hear more!

A Farewell to Wasps

As I mentioned at the beginning, the reason you should wait until winter to approach a hornets nest for any type of reason is that it is likely to be abandoned.

Where do all the wasps go, you might ask?

Well, the answer is to die.

All except for the new queens. These fortunate few will leave the nest to shelter in trees or other such dark cozy crevices to wait out the winter. Come spring they emerge like little lady Lazeruses to build a new nest, don their tiny little (metaphorical) crowns and begin their reign as the new queen bee of the wasp colony.

For every other wasp, it is then end of the line. I am going to make a bold (ish) observation here. I think, that often, the end of the line happens to be in a creek-bed. I don’t have any reference for this, just something I have noticed.

Wasp dying in creekbed — Wasp Dying in Autumn Creek-bed.

Year after year, in late fall, I have encountered wasps congregating lethargically on the rocks and damp soil of a creek bed ravine. No longer able to fly (much anyway) they seem to be just sort of wandering aimlessly until they succumb to stillness amongst fallen kin.

I am always caught of guard at the amount of empathy I feel for these once fierce and feared little warriors. They too are humbled by the ever sweeping broom of time.

On wasp Stings

Despite what you might think, wasps do not actually fly around looking for tender human skin to prick.

Most of the time a person is stung because they have wandered into nest territory or the wasps feels threatened in some way, such as being swatted at. Better to back away slowly or try to move on with a calm demeanor.

As I mentioned above, a wasp sting is really quite painful! Luckily I’ve only been stung by your average yellow jacket or maybe bald face wasp (they look and act very similar) and not the wasp whose sting is referred to as the “cow killer.”

This wasp doesn’t really look like a wasp at all, but instead it resembles a large ant with a luxurious taste in outer wear. For this reason it is known as the velvet ant. I have encountered quite a few in my wanderings.

With gorgeous crimson, azure or silvery coats, these wingless wasps lure unsuspecting humans into thinking they are fuzzy fancy friends. Okay, they don’t actually try to get you to pet them, But, either way do not be fooled or tempted! On the Schmidt’s sting pain index which ranks and describes insects based on one scientists evaluation of stinging insects, it is ranked 3 out of 4.

The good news is that the venom is not high on the toxicity scale and no known deaths have ensued from having been stung by the “cow killer”.

You can watch Coyote Peterson self inflict with a velvet ant on his you tube channel, Brave Wilderness here. Is he crazy? Just a little!!

So what do I do after I’ve been stung by a wasp or hornet? I couldn’t end this blog without a shout out to my favorite and quite effective remedy And that is a poultice made from Common Mullein.

Common Mullein

Mullein, (Verbascum thaspus L) grows quite abundant in North America and can be found on sandy hill sides, along fence posts and in ravines, open meadows or abandoned fields. The first year plants form large rosettes of fuzzy oval shaped leaves that measure up to a foot long. The second year plants shoot a stalk straight up into the air that can be as high as 8 feet tall. Though, the ones around here are usally 3 – 4 feet in height. Along this stalk will bloom a beautiful array of creamy yellow flowers. While this plant has amazing healing properties, for many ailments, it is excellent for soothing and healing wasp and other insects stings.

Here’s what to do: Select a good sized clean leaf and mash or bruise with a rock or your hands then apply directly to sting site. You can use a bandage or cloth wrapped around to hold it in place. I like to reapply every few hours. Truly though, this herbal remedy works quickly to help lessen the painful sting and or itching. It’s miraculous!

Beauty and the “Beast”

Wasp Made Paper

Painted Wasp Papers

So why was I collecting a paper wasps nest this past month? For an art project! It turns out these tiny beasties, construct a beautiful medium for painting on, or for other nature inspired projects. My project is a gift that I gave to my mother for her 80th birthday this past week. On sections of wasp paper I painted images from a letter her mother had written about her childhood. Here is the finished project.

I am hoping that by reading this blog, and clicking on the links, I have dispelled some of the negativity that is in the general zeitgeist towards wasps. In reality, these insects are incredibly interesting and creative creatures. Some indigenous cultures even honor the wasps in their mythologies as creator beings and for good reason! Certainly wasp should garner our respect if not our love.

Midge Fly Mitigation

A Farewell

Frosted Leaf

Fall At Utah Lake

Corksbill Brrrr Bling

There is that time when summer finally shuts its gilded door. And the shadow of it, falling heavily against the memory of warmth and light makes an impact – louder, in the silence of it, than it’s final closing thud.

That time when clinging tender greens are found upon a morning, studded with a coat of diamonds – icy daggers. Death, I think, should always have such poetic beauty.

That time when the green song of the earth decrescendos towards stillness.

This is the time when you go down to the shoreline at Utah lake, and it is remarkably silent, despite the regular staccato squabbling of gulls and the familiar lullaby of the lapping water. The spaces between the melody of these is suddenly pronounced.

You think, at first, it is strange and wonder what notes are missing from the chorus. And then it dawns. Gone is the drone of insect wings, the high incessant soprano whine of the tiny Nosferatu.

You know what I am talking about.

The one fanged vampire: Mosquito. Suddenly, his bloodthirsty longing has ceased.

And you for a moment are glad! Soooooo glad.

No more constant swatting, and or stinking of insect spray and still coming home with itchy red mounds that keep you up all night.

But then you remember the delight of the butterfly – madly dancing from bloom to bloom. And the inexplicable happiness of a ladybug sporting a shiny suit of red, pink, yellow, orange.

You find yourself, wishing for the coaxing bumble bee in the thistle, legs beaded with bright pollen – such a sweet promise that will be absent until a far away spring.

Blue Sulpher Butterfly

Lady Bug Landing

Orange Belted Bumble Bee

A Problem?

And the mosquito, and the midge fly? Too often the two are mistaken. Midge Fly vs. Mosquito

These, also, belong to the golden world that begins at that vernal awakening where LIFE! is not whispered but shouted. The celebration parties of spring and summer include all such guests, whether we enjoy them or not.

The midge fly…more than a few have I consumed by accident or insect suicide – I do not know.

How they flew up my nose or down my throat? But so they did and I choked them down, a thankless and equally un-thanked for nutrition.

The midge fly at Utah Lake, bite-less despite their resemblance to the tinier, meaner, mosquito, rise in reproductive columns like smoke signals winding up and up as the summer sun sinks low on the horizon. “We are here, and here and here”!

They are ubiquitous at the lake in these months.

People shout, “Mosquito”! and run. All the while baring and flapping dangerous arms at the clouds that seem To hover constantly overhead. It is a territorial war zone of sorts, after-all.

The midge fly continues to hover despite this mistaken exchange of aggression. A few may fall, and many be accidentally or incidentally consumed. Yet undeterred they persist all through the warm days and nights; The stone ever rolling away from the darkness of their watery incubation chamber, and like an army of tiny messiah they continue to rise, winged and ready to ascend.

A Solution?

Mitigation…that’s what they call it when they spray insecticide.

We will control the troublesome populations by population man–ipulation. Disrupt the egg production by spraying larvae, or sterilizing the adult.

Wanted dead, not at all alive for the horrible crime of annoyance.

Destroy the cradle and the grave appears more readily.

Problem solved. Population of midge fly down, population of smiling happy humans at the lakeside up. It’s what we want. Isn’t it?

It’s what we celebrate for just an instant in October or say November, when we at last realize that we can walk without any excessive exorcising of arms?

This is the natural order though, the cold and darkness – a part of natures tool kit.

A Question

American Bison

Yellowstone Wolves

Passenger Pigeon

June Sucker

But the creation of such unseasonable and unnatural graveyards, they tend to take on a life and a death all their own. Just ask the American bison, or the passenger pigeon , the wolves of yellow stone, or the June sucker for that matter.

Ask the turbidity inducing, midge fly larvae eating carp, that were introduced into Utah Lake after non native settlers, depleted natural fish populations.

Ask the cyanobacteria, who in the absence of the pesky midge fly, more readily form poisonous blooms unchecked by sedimentary stabilizing silk tube nets that the midge fly larvae naturally form.

Ask the indigenous peoples of any kind, leafed, feathered furred, scaled or mineral, about the wisdom or folly of population mitigation.

Or, If you don’t speak the language of the wilderness – maybe ask the beautiful bronzed skinned human beings that have lived, and thrived in this place since a time before time.

I can not, and do not attempt here to speak for these peoples.

Perhaps, though, they might only shake their heads and ask back, what is it that we think we understand more or better than the wisdom and balance found in Nature, Herself.

The Wonder of Wandering

Have you ever wandered just for wanderings sake? Meandered down a trail and then wondered what lay beyond a curious boulder outcropping – so much so, that you let go of any inclination you had to get to a destination, such as the end of the trail or a particular viewpoint?

If so, then this is a blog for you. A blog about letting go of check lists, destinations and expectation. A blog about the items, places, creatures, things and discoveries made by simply exploring.

Juniper Tree — Me in one of my juniper tree friends

I consider myself a consummate wanderer. Sure, you could say I hike, but that might be misleading. Instead, I may start at a specific trail, yet rarely do I end up at the intended destination. Sometimes I travel far from the beaten path and other times I meander only a few hundred steps before I find what I am “looking” for. Always I discover something intriguing, mysterious, funny, or puzzling.

I am fortunate to live in an area that is both remarkably close to a beautiful lake and a magnificent mountain range. However, wandering does not require either of these. Wandering can be done in an empty lot, a nearby park or even the urban jungle. There are many different kinds of wilderness spaces. I think you will be surprised at what you might find, once you let go of trying to get somewhere or fulfill a checklist.

Me at Utah Lake Image by Rachel Hamilton

View of Utah Lake from Wasatch Mountains

How, What and Why Wander

The super good news is that you don’t need special equipment or clothing to take up wandering. Some sensible footwear, possibly, depending on where you wander and appropriate attire for your location. ‘Could be from Good Will. As long as it works for you, it’s perfect!

You also don’t have to be an athlete or even be particularly athletic, though wandering in general might lead towards some gain in fitness, depending on how far it takes you. But again, it is not the aim as wandering eschews such aims, (see below). You also don’t need to partake of a special diet consisting only of twigs and leaves and maybe donuts, because life without a donuts!?

Unicorn, donut — No Resisting Unicorns or Donuts

Lastly there is no requirement to become a member of a secret society. So no bloodletting , or hat-tipping, nose- nodding or demands that you run naked through the woods while blind folded. (Not a bad idea to try sometime – just for fun, minus the blindfold).

All that is required is a healthy curiosity and the willingness to take a little risk. That risk being, giving yourself permission to open up to the full sensory experience; to become completely present in the moment. Something we all did almost everyday, as children, so you’ve most likely already had lots of practice, even if you are a bit rusty from all the adulting you’ve had to endure.

I sometimes like to turn this oft quoted phrase a bit to say “Lost not are those who wander”.

Wandering by it’s very connotation is about straying a bit from an expected course,(let’s face it – you know you’ve always wanted to) be it a literal trail or some explicit or implicit agenda. A wanderer’s path is not aimless, though it’s purpose is to have no purpose other than allowing discovery to unfold. In this way wandering is state of BEING, much more than it is of doing. Far from being lost, wandering is the doorway to finding, to infinite discovery…both inner and outer.

For the wanderer, to miss out on a beautiful journey, for the sake of “accomplishing” a constructed destination would mean being lost…hopefully you are getting the gist, or even better yet, maybe you’ve had it long before I spelled it out on this page.

John Muir, the American naturalist and environmental philosopher known as the “Father of the National Parks” sums it up perfectly:

“Off into the woods I go to lose my mind and find my soul”.

I hope you will follow me, and also my fellow wander woman, good friend and contributor to this blog, Christine, through our wandering escapades. And read on to discover a world that is sometimes weird, always wonderful and often beyond belief. Or better yet, I hope that this blog might lead to adventures of your own.

And as always…happy wandering!

Feel free to tell me about where you wander and what you find in the comment section below. I would love to hear about your discoveries.