Monday, July 6, 2020

Rest in Peace Rex

Every year toward the end of Spring I start scouring the roadsides leading to Oakland Feather River Camp looking for wildflowers and their companion bugs. The goal of gathering photos for this blog makes me look closer than I might ordinarily do when hiking fast. A favorite stopping point has been a very large Ponderosa Pine at the edge of the road next to a spot where a spring leaves a  puddle in the road well into summer in normal years.  This has not been a normal year. The puddle is almost completely dried up. I still poke around there, looking for interesting wildlife and ready for surprises. The above photo is of a special chunk of bark on this tree that was first pointed out to me by naturalist Rex Burress.  On the day I first met Rex, he had driven up from Oroville to see the Mountain Lady Slippers that I had photographed in the woods nearby. Rex had been the naturalist at Oakland Camp for over 20 years, following an equally long and distinguished tenure of his mentor and predecessor Paul Covel. When I came along, I more or less stepped into these verybog shoes and was camp naturalist for several years beginning in 2006.
     On the day I met Rex, he stopped by this big pine and started talking to this piece of bark.  He said in a very friendly, touching voice, "Hello, Walter."  Turns out Walter was the fist name of another naturalist who had inspired Rex and Rex acted as though Walter's ghost resided in this tree.  FOr the past several seasons I have photographed Walter then emailed Rex to say Walter was still there and looking fine.  This year I got no answer, and after some frustrating net surfing, discovered that Rex had passed away last Fall. The big pine is not doing so well these days.  The woodpeckers have created some new holes so Walter does not stand out as so unique any more, and there are more and more dead branches and brown needles above as the tree is showing the effects of old age and the drought. I miss Rex's friendship and inspirational story telling, and I'll miss this tree - if I outlast it.

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