Today's walk report: And Your Bird Can Sing

A short walk, only about 1.25 miles, I got out later than I had planned. It was 71.4º with a relative humidity of 74%. Dew point was 62.2°F, which is considered humid and slightly sticky. I concur, although I might raise it a notch, from slightly to moderately. I mostly walked and only sat once to hang with a female Selasphorus sasin (Allen's) hummingbird I've been seeing for a couple of weeks now. She had her eyes out for another female. I didn't get a good look, but I suspect that was a female Calypte anna hummingbird I took photos of three weeks ago. They are competing for the territory around the same Hakea tree. This is in the Australian natives portion of the nearby botanical garden. Australian natives currently has the most flowering plants. Total time wandering around was 33 minutes. 

Here are some photos taken today, Sunday, September, 13th. 

The famous California Grumpy Bird, AKA, the California towhee (Melozone crissalis).

I've brought up this song here before. It was playing as I approached this Corvus corax, the common raven. In fact, I let the song play about 1.5 times. Somehow it got selected last night as I was removing duplicate songs from my phone. 

Sing for me
Sing for me
You can come with me
You can live with me
Heal my soul
Make me whole
*The raven sings in a dream* 

 However, this raven wasn't singing, it was Tlock-Clonking. So I tlocked-clonked back. We had a splendid conversation. This is most likely a female raven.

 When a raven makes a hollow "Tlock Clonk" or knocking sound, they are usually communicating territorial dominance, social bonding, or courtship display. I think she liked me. 

Blue palo verde trees (Parkinsonia florida). Even near the end (🤞) of a blistering summer, you can almost always find a flower.

 This is a Corvus corax feather. It looks oddly plunked in this spot. Perhaps someone put it there.

 Lots of Salvia darcyi flowers remain in the California natives section of the garden but oddly again, no hummingbirds. 

When I see one bird feather on the ground, I think, “A bird dropped a feather.” When I see several, I think, “Something dropped a bird.” These were some of many mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) feathers in the same spot. My guess would be a Cooper's hawk took one out. The most frequent hawk visitor I have seen in this garden is the Cooper's hawk (Accipiter cooperii). 

Before you start feeling sorry for the mourning dove, here are some statistics. Mourning Dove (Zenaida macroura): Millions of breeding doves live in California, making them the state's most abundant and widely distributed resident bird. National estimates place the U.S. population over 330 million. Cooper's Hawk (Accipiter cooperii): Counts are much lower—measured in thousands of nesting territories rather than millions of individuals. However, their regional numbers have rebounded significantly since mid-century pesticide bans (like DDT) and are now considered abundant across Southern California's urban zones. And, hey. Birds gotta eat. Maybe if we call the mourning dove a pigeon? 

Appears as though the scuffle took out a small branch from some shrubbery.

 And here's the female Allen's hummingbird I sat down with. We also talked a bunch. I call it my universal bird chirp. I press my lips tightly together and pull in some air, making a squeaky sound. It seemed to get her attention. 

Same as the picture above but cropped in.

 
On the way back to my car, I was a little surprised at this, just a little. This heavily mulched area is right outside the fence for the campus baseball field. It was seriously graded with farm equipment not long ago. Nevertheless, these troublesome "weeds" have popped up everywhere. 100s of them. Any guesses as to what they are? Okay, time's up... They're clumps of young Washingtonia robusta, AKA, Mexican fan palm seedlings. That's right, these are baby palm trees. Within its first year, the plant will transition away from these grass-like blades and start producing its characteristic, armored, fan-shaped palm fronds. True to its nature, the Mexican fan palm grows incredibly fast. If left in place, it will quickly begin to develop a thick, trunked base. Local ecologists and organizations like the California Invasive Plant Council have officially classified Washingtonia robusta as an invasive risk with a "Moderate" alert rating. While they were famously planted by the tens of thousands in the early 20th century to create the iconic "California Dream" aesthetic, they have fast become an environmental headache across Southern California.

This is climate change, ladies and gentlemen, up close and personal. I have dug up 100s of these on my property alone. I grew up here, decades went by, and these palms were not self-seeding, but our climate has become much more tropical. Maybe some walk soon, I'll use my phone and do a walk report documenting some of the troublesome locations I am seeing real trees developing, like along cinder block walls and fences, cracks in streets and sidewalks, and in the front yards of people who seem completely unaware of their presence. Their famous 15-minute gardeners certainly aren't going to point them out. 

  

Weekend walk report: Ripples never come back

 Walks taken on Saturday, September 5th and Sunday, September 6th. 

I'm not gonna lie, Saturday's walk was a bitch and I didn't walk very far (total walk was only 1.63 miles). The walk started out really well, out of the car and the first 1/4, mile I was feeling much better than I usually do at the start of a walk. One mistake, the assistant curator for the campus arboretum and botanical garden was working in the arboretum. I stopped to chat. Stopping, standing in place— that’s not something I’m good for these days. First the left side QL started screaming at me. QL--quadratus lumborum, a deep lower back muscle connecting the pelvis, spine, and ribs. Shortly afterwards, it was both shoulders. The main tendons are chronically irritated, and the bone ceiling above them sits a bit too low, creating a tight bottleneck. Nevertheless, I seem to insist on sleeping on my sides. 

Anyway, standing in one spot is notoriously brutal on my lower back and hips compared to staying in motion. Once I stop moving, my QL (both sides) has to work overtime as a static stabilizer to hold my torso upright—and when it's already exhausted or tight, it goes into full spasm mode very quickly. The night before I needed to rearrange 118 lbs of kitty litter in my garage (among other nonsense). Coupled with chronic tendinitis flared up from sleeping on my sides, standing still to chat was a recipe for intense pain.

Here are some pictures from Saturday...

Once again, starting into the local campus arboretum, there was one Cereus peruvianus cactus flower still open from the evening. It was just about 9:00 a.m. when I took this picture. 

 Friday night into Saturday morning I also apparently put a bunch of body weight on my right hand/wrist which is still healing from my being tripped up by a pine cone back on April 26th. Not only did I wake up with pain, I also had a dream about the incident. Further down the path I was taunted once again.

 ×Chitalpa.

 Some same old subjects, different days. Amaryllis belladonna.

 It has been cooler this past week. In fact, I walked every day this week except for Monday. Monday was reserved for dealing with a rather massive amount of ficus debris with a blower and vacuum/mulcher. I only need to work that about another dozen times, and maybe it'll be cleaned up. With the cooler temps, it seems some plants are recovering from the recent heatwave. Unfortunately, it appears we're going back into triple digits this week. Here, this Alstroemeria, Peruvian lily, has been pushing out fresh flowers again.

  Bouteloua hirsuta, AKA, hairy grama or eyelash grass.

Cuphea hyssopifolia.

 

 Salvia farinacea and a bee.

 

 A female monarch playing hard to get.

 

 Once again, my main goal was to spend quality time with at least a couple of hummingbirds. This female Allen's hummingbird (Selasphorus sasin) was the only one I saw and she wasn't very cooperative. I have found that, unlike Anna's hummingbirds (Calypte anna), Allen's hummingbirds need some time to get acquainted with me. That generally means multiple visits. 

 

 That was it for Saturday. The discomfort in both shoulders was brutal and I headed back to my car parked 0.65 miles from that little hummingbird. It was a long 0.65 miles. No more talking when I'm out walking. 

 

Sunday, September 6th (that's today, if I get this finished).

 

Currently, it's about 5:30 p.m. and today we got 1.15" of rain (so far). Growing up in the San Fernando Valley, a weather event like this in late summer was essentially unheard of. Historically, the Valley in early September was defined by relentless Santa Ana winds, bone-dry brush, zero humidity, and triple-digit heat. Getting a quarter-inch of rain was a rarity, but pushing past an inch from a tropical plume is an absolute anomaly. This is due to Hurricane Marie, as I type, categorized as a Category 1 hurricane, that is weakening into a tropical storm. 

 

Here's a screenshot from this morning.

 

 And here's a screenshot of incoming precipitation into SoCal this morning. 

 

 I was watching out the windows and watching the radar all morning for an opportunity to go for a walk and take pictures. It was mostly the window watching that got me out the door. I was on foot just minutes before 1:00. It was 69ºF and the relative humidity was 87%. I didn't find that particularly comfortable, but a lot of people would. I was also moving pretty fast. Contrary to yesterday, for the most part, I felt wonderful. 

Here are some pictures from today (yes, some same stuff, but it's different 'cause it's wet!).

This myrtle tree had the first dripping wet flowers I saw. So, I took pictures.

 There's a massive few crops of narrowleaf milkweed (Asclepias fascicularis) and a lot of it had been pummeled by the rain. This was hanging down a couple feet over the sidewalk I was on.

 This Coreopsis verticillata plant just amazes me. It seems to always be loaded with flowers. I am going to swipe some seeds from here.

Puddle pictures. These are depicted as I saw them. I like turning obstacles into photo ops.

The Amaryllis belladonna once again, but it's wet. Can you see that? It's wet. With rain! In September!

The agapanthus is not blooming.

I discovered that I could not get a picture of a reflection and ripples both in focus. So, where is the reflection?

 Moving from the arboretum to the botanical garden, 

Rose hips.

 

 Fresh new growth on the wild rose bushes.I'm pretty sure this wasn't there yesterday. 

 

 13 new barrel cactus recently went in, right off the path. Don't ever back into one of these when you're out mowing your yard and you're trying to avoid kicking up dirt onto the neighbor's parked car, so you're not paying attention to where your big feet are. It was also the neighbor's barrel cactus by the way. Close up...

 

 And the granddaddy of the golden barrel cactus (Kroenleinia grusonii).

 

 

 California buckwheat.

 Another puddle, another ripple. No plant IDs inside the puddles.

 

Crimson bottlebrush (Callistemon citrinus).

 

A fresh leucadendron sprig. 

 

 Puddles heading baack to my car. It wasn't a very long walk, 1.42 miles but my clothes were sticking to me from the warm humidity. It's still raining by the way.

 

Sail away, away
Ripples never come back
They've gone to the other side
Look into the pool
Ripples never come back