June 9th. Yesterday, a seal watched my dogs on the beach as they sat quietly and watched him. All we could see was the seal's head, and it looked very much like a dog swimming in the water. I wonder if the seal saw the dogs and thought they looked very much like seals. Seals on leashes. I know it was not a dog because he eventually dove down to the eel grass to look for lunch, and didn't come up for a long time.
Also, yesterday, I heard what sounded like a baby eagle in the nest tree. I heard the adults, for sure, but another voice sounded quieter and squeaky, like past fledglings have sounded. I tried to see the baby from the viewing area, but I couldn't see anything. It could have been an adult making sounds like an infant, I suppose.
Today we had a winter storm in summer (almost).
Several large maple branches blew down onto the path. This one wedged itself into the railing, so I had to go get a handsaw to cut it free. In summer, we often have whitecaps due to a north wind on sunny, warm days. It is unusual to have whitecaps from the south at this time of year. The high winds hit while trees like the maples had all their leaves out, causing more damage than might have occurred in winter.
April 30th.
Some unusual events this past week:
Hundreds of birds have been congregating on Puget Sound between Eagle Landing Park and the northern end of Vashon Island. They churned up the surface of the water with their activity. When some of them came closer, they appeared to be Bonaparte’s Gulls, accompanied by our usual seagulls. Some of them dove at the water, and some of them dropped things from the air into the water. From a distance, they looked like a strange, localized storm on the surface of the Sound. They seem to have moved on now, having just stopped for a rest on their way from Mexico to Alaska.
Hundreds of clams all started shooting water at once, just south of Eagle Landing Park at low tide. It looked like the fountain at Seattle Center. I had never seen them do this before. Over decades of visiting the beach I have become familiar with the squirt of water as you step on the sand near where a clam is resting just under the surface. You’ll see them randomly squirt here and there even if you don’t step near them. This was the first time I ever saw hundreds of them go off at once for no apparent reason. Other people saw it, too, so I wasn’t hallucinating.
Five eagles swooped around the nest tree one afternoon. One adult seemed to guard the tree while two other adults engaged in an aerial battle. Two juveniles seemed to be watching the display. As far as I can remember, five eagles are the most I’ve ever seen at one time. Besides that activity, I haven’t seen many signs of nesting activity. It got me to wondering if eagles might attack each others’ nests to ruin the eggs and reduce local competition. I found this video of an eagle attacking an eagles’ nest: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ttvz_attack-on-the-maine-eagles_animals . This might be the third year in a row with no fledglings from our nest tree.
April 16th. The dogwood is starting to bloom. I'm always glad to see its return in the spring. The starflower is up, but not blooming yet. The vanilla leaf is coming along.
Two of the Trilliums are missing. I don't know if the theft was by a person or possibly the mountain beaver. People need to know that taking a trillium stem in bloom can seriously harm the plant or kill it. It needs its leaves to feed the bulb. The trilliums that were taken will most likely not bloom next year, if they survive at all.
April 12th. The mystery plants turned out to be purple dead-nettle and scotch broom, so I yanked them. Thanks to the several people who answered.
The eagles have been exhibiting nesting behavior recently. One flew toward the nest with an alder branch in his talons. Also, one eagle has been staying at the nest tree most of the time while the other comes and goes. The one at the nest tree does lots of complaining, possibly saying, "Bring me a fish!" I hope this means we will have fledglings this year. There weren't any in 2006 and 2007.
April 4th, 2008
I need a little help identifying these plants. If they are weeds, I want to remove them, but if they are natives I will preserve them. The first one seems to be related to a Stachys and the the second one might be in the lotus family. Both grow one to two feet tall beside the trail. Any help would be appreciated. jim [at] eaglelandingpark.org
March 14th
Tonight just before sunset I saw the Great Horned Owl. I had been hearing them for months, but this was the first time I saw one. He or she was sitting right over the trail, in a young maple. I could see the "ears" or horns. The owl flew off a little way and continued to make the soft hooting calls.
March 11th.
A windy and sunny day, it was a perfect day for eagles to play. Flying was easy, and they had to work hard to ever come down. You could see them high up in the sky, circling effortlessly without ever flapping. They didn't need to go that high, since it just took them farther away from food. I think it's just a way to enjoy the perks of being an eagle. To land in the perch tree, they would hover along and then park in the air above the tree, just with a slight adjustment of their wings. Then with another slight adjustment, they would slowly ride an invisible elevator down to the top of the tree. No flapping required. I would like to have been an eagle today. Just before sunset, I heard them talking softly to each other in the nest tree.
March 9th.
Spring is here, according to the flowers. Indian plum, trillium, salmonberry, currant, Oregon grape, coltsfoot, and skunk cabbage are all blooming. Ocean spray and snowberry are leafing out. The buds of the maples, vine maples, and alders are fattening. Down at the beach, an alder has split lengthwise, and will soon fall down to the gravel. The devil's club is showing signs of green on the buds.
The eagles are around, but I haven't seen many signs of mating behavior or nest building. This may be another year without fledglings, the third in a row. I wonder if they will retire to Arizona, or something, and leave their prime nesting site to a new couple.
February 29th.
Laborare est orare; to work is to pray. I don’t pray, and I’m not religious, but that phrase captures something essential. Much of the work I have to do is tedious and less than fulfilling. When I’m working as a volunteer in the park, I feel that I’m working toward something worthwhile. Even though I’ve been killing ivy for over two years and I’ve hardly made a dent, even though it will take at least ten more years of volunteer efforts to restore this park to something like its native, natural state, and even though the work I do in the park is often undone due to carelessness or ill will—still, while I’m doing this work, this hard, slow, tedious work, it feels like a meditation or a consecration.
The park is alive. It is an ecosystem. The soil is not inert dirt; it is teeming with roots, fungi, and microscopic organisms. Particles of particular shapes and sizes hold the moisture at rates that suit different plant species. A giant Douglasfir may be dependent on an unseen fungus in the soil to exchange nutrients and moisture and minerals essential to life. Even dead things are alive in the forest. A rotting trunk of a fallen alder is more alive with insect activity than when it was standing. Last year’s leaves quickly become this year’s soil. All of this life used to be invisible to me, but books and science and educators have revealed the hidden forest. When I do my work, I can enhance this hidden life of the forest by working to neutralize the infection.
The infection comes in the form of invasive plant species brought here by humans. When I hike in the Cascades and Olympics, I see over a hundred species of native plants along the trail. Each plant fills a niche, and they often cooperate with each other to help each plant reach its fullest potential. At my park, invasive plants are trying to turn this diversity into a wasteland of ivy, holly, laurel, and blackberries. In parts of the park, they have succeeded. The native species have been reduced to less than thirty that can withstand the pressures of the invaders. When I clear a patch of soil, the natives march back in, seeding themselves, restoring the health of the forest.
Many of these invasives were brought here by me or members of my family, and they escaped from our gardens. Out of ignorance, we planted these plants because they seemed robust and wildly successful. Only later did I learn that the ability to force out other plants is not necessarily a good thing. Someone saw a photograph of a university in England with its ivy-covered walls and thought they could achieve some sort of dignity with the aid of this creeping vine. Now that I know better, it is up to me to atone for the sins of my ancestors. Atonement is part of the work. Aches and blisters are penance. The surrounding neighborhood was built with bulldozers and power tools, but I have to restore this park by hand.
When I am done with several hours of volunteer work, the park hardly looks any different. I am covered in sweat and dirt. People look at me and wonder if I am homeless, if maybe I slept under a blue tarp, drunk. In many ways, the park is my home. Whatever house I live in, I will always come back to my park. It is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a church, a house of worship. I can wear gloves, but I like to have dirt on my hands, to have my hands smell of crushed ivy and broken holly. I have put my hands on these plants, weeding, sorting, healing. I’ve had my hands in the soil, in the body of the ecosystem. My work is my prayer, and I can envision a healthy forest, many years from now. A forest that I helped create, with my hands, with my work.
February 27th.
This evening just before sunset I saw 3 eagles. One with a white head sat in the perch tree while an immature eagle flew south about a hundred feet below. Then another mature eagle coasted up to the perch tree and landed beside the first. Neither of them said a word.
February 26th.
I've been hearing the great horned owl very often when I walk near (not in) the park at night. It's a soft sound, and I'm sure that most people aren't quiet enough to hear it. The owl is like an old friend. He never has anything new to say, but it's nice to know he's there. Some other old friends are coming back to life in this warm and sunny weather. I've seen skunk cabbage and trilliums, but several patches of trilliums have not come up yet. Indian plum, elderberry, Oregon grape, and snowberry are leafing and blooming. They are right on schedule compared to the photos I took last year. The palmate colstfoot is springing up. Much of the greenery that has persisted all winter is rather dull, and the fresh green of Indian plum and skunk cabbage are a welcome change. The skunk cabbage especially seems to catch the light, earning its other name of swamp lantern.
Our old friends the eagles are around as well. I haven't seen any signs that they are building the nest again, but I've been watching the perch tree more than the nest tree. Since the park has been open, they have not had offspring. We'll see what happens this year. Maybe they are just enjoying their retirement. They must have had about 30 offspring in the time they have been nesting here, since 1989 or so. In this recent video, the eagle has his or her head turned completely backward so both the beak and the tail are pointing toward the camera. I wonder if they can turn their heads as far as owls can.
January 18th.
I had debated whether or not to try to keep a journal this year, since my notes from 2007 and 2006 were inconsistent and sporadic. Since it's already January 18th, I've missed the boat for keeping a daily journal. However, I've noticed things in the park that I would like to keep track of for later, so I will keep another imperfect journal for another year.
Some notes about the first few weeks of the year: the woodpeckers have been very active, and they allowed me to take a close-up video of one of them ripping apart an old, dead alder. The eagles are around, as are Great Horned Owls and Western Screech Owls. An alder near the parking lot fell westward onto private property, smashing a vine maple in the process. Down at the beach, a chunk of land about fifty square feet fell about four feet. Is that a landslide or a slump? Last December was very wet, and the high tides have removed the protecting driftwood and undercut the toe of the slope. Also, this area is infested with Himalayan blackberries, which crowd out native species but don't bind the soil well. The slide or slump is about twenty feet south of the bottom of the stairs. If this slide grew larger, it could endanger the stairs.