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Antidote to Black Friday: desert color

It’s not uncommon for people who have moved here from wooded parts of the country to declare that they miss the seasons, especially fall and its bright colors.  This can be true especially for those who live on golf courses with year-round green lawns and palm trees.  But on close inspection, the natural Sonoran desert has its own distinct seasons, and its own rich color scheme. Each year E and I try to get out into wild places— or, at least wildish places — during the holidays to observe these seasonal changes.

<< One of the desert’s fall colors is green: if autumn rains are plentiful, as they have been this year in the highlands east of Phoenix, the palo verdes, catclaw acacias and other trees leaf out opportunistically.

Often, at Thanksgiving, this means a trip up the Apache Trail, Highway 88, along the Salt River Canyon and its lakes.  Not a trail, and not a highway, the Apache Trail is a well-maintained, and in places excitingly precarious, gravel road that leads travelers through some wonderful upland Sonoran desert east of Phoenix. This is a rich desert, populated with vast Saguaro groves, ocotillo, palo verde, crucifixion thorn, hopseed bush, jojoba, viguiera, bebbia, pink fairy duster, desert lavender, lots of Englemann’s prickly pear, the occasional Mammalaria pincushion and hedgehog cactuses, several varieties of cholla, and many other plants.  (All photos A.Shock unless noted; CLICK to Enlarge)

In the fall and winter the fruits of the slender-stemmed Christmas cholla (Cylindropuntia lepticaulis) ripen red  >>

This year our trip up the Apache Trail began with a false start, as we failed to check road conditions before leaving home and were surprised to find that much of the road is closed due to summer monsoon washouts.  It’s a long drive, but by approaching from the east, driving downstream from Roosevelt Dam, we were able to get to the Burnt Corral campground, which is excellent for picnicking, fiddling about like a pipit on the lakeshore, or hiking up into the surrounding desert which was what suited our anti-consumer madness mood.

The Desert broom (Baccharis sarothroides) bloomed earlier in the year and now the female shrubs are flocked like Christmas trees with fluffy, airy radiolarian-like seeds, which are so abundant this year that the pebbly crevices on the floor of the wash we were exploring are clogged with small drifts of them.  Sparrows and chipmunks will feast on this bounty, and the Cooper’s hawks, shrikes, and kestrels will, in turn, have lots to feed upon.  >>

Like odd pod-like ornaments the seed-bearing organs of the female Crucifixion Thorn (Canotia holacantha), are still ripening and red; later they will droop over and hang, woody brown, until they burst open and release their seeds to the ground.  (Photo E.Shock) <<

In spring, Ocotillos are topped with fiery flare-like sprays of blossoms at the very tips of their stems, but in some autumns, the multiple stems of these drought-deciduous plants are lined with dying leaves along their entire lengths, changing from green to yellow to red to brown.  To the right, the outbound leaves of an Ocotillo (Fouqueria splendens) are easy to see against the deep blue sky, and the green skin of two youngish Saguaros using it as a “nurse-plant”. >>

When the sun backlights ocotillo leaves, they glow like dense lightstrings along the spiny stems.  In the background, against the lake, a still yellow-leafed ocotillo can be seen (left). <<

And to draw all the colorful descriptions above of red-ornamented, flocked, light-stemmed desert plants into a Christmas tree simile, here’s a star for the top — a Loggerhead shrike (Lanius ludovicianus) perched atop an already bare Ocotillo, an excellent perch from which to hunt for prey on the desert floor. (Photo E.Shock) >>

<<  Or, if you have a bigger top decoration in mind, here’s a distant Red-tailed hawk, warming itself on a saguaro in the late sunlight, its image captured at the extreme end of my little scope and digital camera’s range.

And under the tree, as a present?  I almost forgot: a quick daylight glimpse of a gray fox, too quick to photo, but with a glorious bushy tail flowing in its wake.

Posted by Allison on Nov 27th 2010 | Filed in field trips,natural history | Comments Off on Antidote to Black Friday: desert color

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Profile Allison does not consider herself a wildlife artist, but an observer who takes notes in clay. More info...

El Guajolote Supremo wishes everyone…

…a Happy Thanksgiving!

As fabulous a bird as our North American Wild Turkey undoubtedly is, there is a turkey more wonderful still: the Ocellated Turkey (Meleagris ocellata) of tropical Central America.>>

On this Turkey Day feast your eyes on the glory that is the iridescent El Guajolote Supremo — eaten nearly to extinction because it apparantly tastes as good as it looks.  Now it’s protected, and currently can be  found primarily on the Yucatán Peninsula, and a limited number of other spots and preserves including Quintana Roo, Campeche, and Guatemala.  (These photos were taken by A and E Shock at Chan Chich Lodge in Belize in 2007.  Be sure to click to enlarge!)

Posted by Allison on Nov 25th 2010 | Filed in birds,close in,field trips,natural history | Comments (4)

Falconeye

As long ago as the Old Kingdom (the middle of the third millenium BCE), the Egyptians used the eye of the Falcon — the eye of Horus, the falcon-headed deity — as an apotropaic, or protective symbol, wearing the still-popular faience amulets as personal ornament, or tucking them into the wrappings of mummies.

The Left Eye of Horus, also known as the Wedjat Eye, was known to be particularly potent, and its resurrective power was demonstrated by bringing Osirus back to life. According to the British Museum:

The name wedjat means ‘the sound one’, referring to the lunar left eye of Horus that was plucked out by his rival Seth during their conflict over the throne. The restoration of the eye is variously attributed to Thoth, Hathor or Isis. The injury to the eye and its subsequent healing were believed to be reflected in the waxing and waning of the moon.

Horus’s falcon counterpart is said to be the Lanner (Falco biarmicus), a falcon of southern Europe, Africa, and the middle east. We don’t have Lanners living wild in this hemisphere, but most falcons display the typical black “speed stripe” below the eye, like cheetahs, which is the distinctive characteristic of the Wedjat Eye symbol.  To illustrate, here’s a detail of a clay portrait of a native falcon I recently completed: the left eye of a male American kestrel, the smallest falcon in North America, and terrorizer of finches, grasshoppers, and small rodents.

Really, I don’t know if a Kestrel’s eye is so much a bringer of life, as it is a see-er of lunch, but, that’s life-giving to a kestrel, if not to the lunch.

Posted by Allison on Nov 23rd 2010 | Filed in art/clay,birds,close in,etymology/words,three star owl | Comments (2)

The “Hot Sword of Shock”

Some readers know that the E who appears occasionally in this space is my husband, Everett Shock. Some readers also know that he’s a geochemist on the faculty of the School of Earth and Space Exploration and the department of Chemistry at Arizona State University.  But up until now, no one knew that an organism has been named in his honor.  It’s official, and in print — a newly identified archæon discovered living in the very hot water of a geothermal spring at Yellowstone National Park: Thermogladius shockii.

Thermogladius shockii: if your Latin’s a little creaky, that’s New Latin (the “made” Latin of scientific names) for “Hot Sword of Shock”.  The transmission electron microscopic photo F to the left shows why — according to M.Osburn and J.Amend, the authors of the article in Archives of Microbiology, some individuals sport “occasional stalk-like protrusions.”  (TEM images from Osburn and Amend, 2010)

But the “thermo” of Thermogladius doesn’t really refer to anatomical hotness (despite any claims to the contrary).  Thermogladius is a genus of HYPERthermophiles, tiny, single-celled, anaerobic cocci who prefer to live in very hot, nearly boiling, gas-rich water fermenting complex organic substrates.  What a way to make a living!

Congratulations, E!

Posted by Allison on Nov 5th 2010 | Filed in close in,E,etymology/words,natural history | Comments (5)

Query, possibly — or possibly not — political:

Which feels worse, the hollowed out jalapeño or the worm what done it?

Go ahead; click on it just to make yourself miserable.

Cranky Owlet says:

“Don’t forget to VOLE, er… VOTE!!”

Posted by Allison on Nov 2nd 2010 | Filed in art/clay,cranky owlet,three star owl | Comments Off on Cranky Owlet says:

Happy yet Spooky…

…Halloween Greetings from Three Star Owl.

(Photo, Detail of “Mother of Owls”, Allison Shock, smoke-fired terracotta, 2001)

Posted by Allison on Oct 31st 2010 | Filed in art/clay,close in,effigy vessels,owls,three star owl | Comments (1)

The unfinished hive

What if you had to raise large numbers of owls, herds of owls, swarms of tiny owls, all at once? What if that was your job? What would you need? You might need an Owl Hive. Or a cluster of Owl Hives. What would an owl hive be like? Each hive would have to have entrances, so that the owls could fly in and out. There would have to be an interior chamber, so the owls could build their elaborate, communal owlcomb. There would have to be access for you the Owl Keeper, to extract whatever product the owl colony produced and stored inside, like vole honey or rabbit suede. It would need a lower hole to expel pellets and admit fresh air. At the very least, there would need to be a roof for the owls to land on, and a lofty perch from which to Keep an Eye on Things.

Here are some detail photos of unfinished architectural-effigy-nest-vessel-box objects in progress, some only bisqued, some completely innocent of the kiln as yet — the most recent Three Star Owl clay project. They might be Owl Hives. They might be sculpture or effigy vessels. They might be small ovens or incense censors. Or, they might be actors, waiting to be cast as archæological artifacts in an upcoming fiction post on this blog. Of course, they might be all of the above. Stay tuned to this location to see how it goes. (All photos and objects A.Shock)

Three small pictures of four small things…

… I missed at first, when outside friday morning shooting passionflowers.

It really irked me to not have my own photo of a Gulf Fritillary to post yesterday, so once the sun was higher, I went out to fetch one, if possible (a photo, that is, not a flutterby). I ended up encountering not only the butterfly, but three other notable things. Here they are, in the order they appeared (be sure to click to enlarge, except the kestrel, which is too blurry to bother, and actually will just get smaller anyway; all photos A.Shock):

A. The Gulf Fritillary, which started it all. The insect is sort of hidden in the negative space between stems and leaves (almost a “Spot the Bird“).  This was the best photo I was able to nab — the name flitirraries would suit them even better, because they never seem to rest. They are Passiflora specialists, and are clearly thrilled that we have four vines in the yard. (Well, six vines actually — this morning I found two small seedlings, thriving about 4 feet away from where their parent plant refused to take.) >>

B. The Echinopsis in bloom (or “Easter Lily cactus”). This one is a cultivar, I don’t know which, since these shade-growing cactus have been living in this yard longer than we have. In my experience, it’s unusual to find its crepuscular flowers still open at noon. <<

C. The Fearsome Predator. >> The neighborhood male American Kestrel, about the size of a Mourning dove, checking out the Dee-licious Finch Bar (the birdfeeders) for lunch. I looked up when I heard a house sparrow give a rough alarm call; the little falcon was just 20 feet away from me, perched on a low wire with a good view of the menu. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a shot of him until he’d swooped up to the top of the corner phone pole because my trigger finger was distracted by D:

D. The Ants that were biting me painfully on the feet. Due to hastily brushing them off and sweeping them out from under my sandal straps in a undignified quick-time version of the Myrmex Dance I did not immortalize their image, although they were just doing their job, Protecting The Nest, which I’d accidentally trodden upon trying to photograph the Echinopsis. Perhaps the Gilded Flicker family who lives here (and who, I think surprisingly late, just fledged a young’un) will be making a visit to the Dee-licious Ant Bar.

Do you suppose the Ant Bar has a Formica countertop?

Bonus etymology: Formica, etc.

According to the archives of “Word of the Day”Greek murmex [is] “an ant,” which also gives us myrmecology “the study of ants” and myrmecophagous “ant-eating.” In Latin the related word for ant was “formica,” from which we have the former Word of the Day “formication,” the sensation of ants crawling under the skin. The proprietary name “Formica” applies to a plastic laminate ultimately derived from formic acid (which comes from ants), but it is also a pun—it was originally developed as an electrical insulator that could be substituted “for mica.”

For the detail-oriented, let me add that Latin formīca is the ancestor of the French and Spanish words for ant, fourmi and hormiga, respectively. The Latin and Greek words formīca and myrmex (μύρμηξ) at first glance may not seem similar to each other, but as neatly summarized by Wikipedia, both are generally accepted to be derived from the Proto-Indo-European root *morwi- along with a pile of words for ant in other languages: Latin formīca, Iranian /moirbant, Avar maoiri, Sanskrit वम्र (vamra), Greek μύρμηξ (murmēks)/μυρμήγκι (mirmigi), Old Norse maurr, Crimean Gothic miera, Armenian մրջիւն (mrǰiwn), Polish mrówka, Albanian morr, Persian /murče, Old Church Slavonic mravie, Russian муравей (muravej), Tocharian /warme, Kurdish Mérú, Breton merien.

Posted by Allison on Oct 16th 2010 | Filed in birds,botany,close in,cool bug!,etymology/words,natural history,yard list | Comments (1)

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