More Scenes from Sunday

 This spot on the edge of Highway 70 always fascinates me.  It's a nice demonstration of one-point perspective, but more importantly, it points toward Spanish Peak and Bucks Lake Wilderness, on eof my favorite summer haunts.  Every time I look at it, I yearn for snow melt and summer hiking.  Some of my friends get just as excited about the place in winter and hike to the top of Spanish Peak in order to ski or snowboard their way back down.  I always wonder to what extent those activities foster a closeness to nature as opposed to a thrill ride that could be simulated at a theme park,  Probably a little of each.

 One of the reliable sources of color in winter is the lichen-coated branches of Black Oak.

 The trunk of the tree covered with berries that I posted yesterday has many beautiful patterns of holes drilled by the Red-breasted Sapsucker.  I always park in front of this tree and it never looks the same from one day to the next.  The blooming dandelion in yesterday's post is growing at the base of this tree.

 The trout ponds by the FRC fish hatchery provide many photogenic scenes.  We looked for animal activity in vain.  I'm sure there are lots of bullfrogs and tadpoles in the mud at the bottom.  Maybe fish, too.  We saw no motion of any kind except for a pair of mallards that took off as we approached.

 The mullein, a non-native member of Family Scrophulariaceae [I love to pronounce that word], has become an icon of western roadsides.  It has a two-year growth cycle after which the dead stalk may persist through several winters.  It provides interesting photo opportunities at all stages.  In the spring and summer it serves as host to many insects, spiders, and birds. I've heard that it first came to the USA on the Mayflower.  I have a habit of passing on that story during my guided nature walks, even though I'm not 100% sure of its truth.  But people are doing that sort of thing in churches and schools all the time. 

 In summer and fall, the Black Cottonwood is noticed for its foliage, but in winter, I am drawn to the bark and pattern of branching.  A common trees of streamsides at the Quincy elevation, its high-altitude cousin, the Quaking Aspen, has similar features.  Whenever I take a close look at any member of this family, I am reminded of all the others, and one of the stories about how Plumas County got its name.  Some think it was more likely to be the seeds of cottonwoods floating on the river than the down of waterfowl that gives the Feather River and "Feather" County its name.

As we exited the FRC campus after a satisfying photo mission, the oaks by the tennis courts look dramatic against the sky with their fairly stable crop of mistletoe.  The propagation of mistletoe is another interesting natural history story - for another day.