After a slow first five months, I'm back to blogging in earnest. In the forthcoming few months I plan to keep on tracking the blooming of wildflowers, the activities of bugs and reptiles and any other critters I'm quick enough or lucky enough to photograph, and to comment on ecological relationships. Since there is an increasing sense of ecological crisis among many people and more vigorous denial of such on the part of others, I will inevitably comment on the social and political dimensions of survival as I see them.
I am still an adjunct instructor in the English Department at Feather River College, but time permitting, I am available for hire as a nature guide in the region in and around Plumas County. A brochure describing my usual kinds of natural history adventures is in development. Email me c/o firstname.lastname@example.org with your mailing address and a statement of interests, and I'll send you a rough draft.
I have been teaching since 1965 and have recently joined the English Department as an Associate Faculty member at Feather River College. Recently taught Nature Literature in America and am currently teaching Interpersonal Communication and Basic Reading and Writing.
While we continued to converse, off and on, cognizant of the other's main interests, we also meandered separately, each focused on our own main interest - Bib on the rocks with "finger" holes in them, and me on anything alive besides humans. When I wandered a little bit south from our entry to the beach, I found huge accumulations of seaweed and poked through quite a bit of it looking for amphipods, flies, and crabs. The wind was probably making me impatient because I didn't find much, and I wasn't as persistent as I usually am in such situations.
Turning north again, wondering where the large bowling balls had gone, I recognized the furthest cliffs (left-hand edge of the above photo) as the ones immediately behind the bowling balls we had seen on our last trip here. That area appeared to be around a mile away, so we decided not to walk that far.
Back to looking for signs of life, I was intrigued by the glow of sunlight emanating from this bunch of grass. Stealing a phrase from an iconic Ansel Adams photo, I love the "early morning light."
This lone specimen of Bull Kelp seemed particularly photogenic to me. The wavy pattern of mini-sand dunes brought forth images of desert and other places of isolation, but the kelp was a reminder of the tenacity of life found in such places - such as Ed Abbey wrote about after exploring Death Valley.
Considering how the waves bash everything against the rocks, I felt privileged to find an intact crab shell.
Then, on the trail back up to our parking space, I found a great specimen of Harvest Brodiaea that I overlooked on the way down. Again, the early morning light made this one especially beautiful. Onward to points south - coffee, chile relleno, and bookstores.