 Image by Daniel Roberts from Pixabay Note: As Katy B reported seeing the first Rufous hummingbird of the season we are republishing a feature from 2018
By Sara Wright This morning I watched aghast as Mr. Rufous hit the window and fell to the ground. Rushing out to give him sugar water, I was so relieved to see him recover his wits and fly towards his cottonwood bower on his own. A very close call. Rufous, an iridescent coppery jewel arrived here on June 22 and his mate – just as beautiful in her less dramatic emerald and rust attire, came with him. My other resident hummingbirds (black chin, and broadtail) all seemed to be cooperating as they visited my two feeders. I wondered how Rufous and his wife would fit in so I have been keeping a sharp eye on hummingbird cooperation dynamics. Five weeks have gone by since their arrival, and this couple is staying to raise a family. It is true that this pugnacious little hummingbird can throw a wrench into cooperation but I have been pleasantly surprised to see this male and female sipping nectar with other birds sitting on neighboring perches. Could it be that the broadtail and black chin social dynamic has rubbed off on Mr. and Mrs. Rufous? I have no way of knowing but it does seem that they are more willing to compromise than most others I have known. Some days, of course, Mr. Rufous hovers above the feeders and making sudden aggressive dives scaring the others away with his high pitched squeaks and buzzing - but only for a few moments. Usually he lets the others return to share quite companionably. Mrs. Rufous seems very cooperative and she has taken to visiting the nastursiums, scarlet runner beans, fiery salvia, deep rose and scarlet penstemon and the pot that holds my bee, butterfly, and hummingbird friendly wildflower mixture that Iren gave me last spring. Apparently, the territories that the male and female rufous hummingbirds “defend” are somewhat different. Males hover over the primary food source(s) while the females extend their ranges further afield choosing less dense wildflower meadows. But this year, except for my little pot garden there are few wildflowers beyond the fence where I do not water, so choices, at least here, are limited. And Mrs. Rufous does not hog these flowers. Rufous hummingbirds are small with a short tail with mighty flight skills that allow them to travel 2000 miles from Mexico to as far north as Alaska for breeding in the western states. This migration can take place from as early as May to August in New Mexico, and some stop along the way to raise their families. They follow the wildflower season throughout the rocky mountain area. During their long migrations, they make a clockwise circuit of western North America each year moving up the Pacific Coast in late winter and spring, reaching Washington and British Columbia by May. As early as July they may start south again, traveling down the chain of the Rocky Mountains. The adult male has a slender bill, white breast, a rusty face, flanks and tail with a startlingly beautiful orange-red throat patch or gorget. Some males have some green on back and/or crown. The female has green, white, some iridescent orange and a dark tail with white tips. The female is slightly larger than the male and has longer wings. As many of us know they feed on nectar from flowers using a long extendable tongue or capture insects on the wing. These birds require frequent feeding while active during the day and go into a state of torpor at night to conserve energy. Because of their small size, they are vulnerable to insect-eating birds and animals. Most breeding habitats are open areas, mountainsides and forest edges in western North America and the Pacific Northwest. The female builds a nest in a tree or shrub and raises her brood of two chicks alone. The offspring are ready for flight in about three weeks. Surveys show continuing declines in rufous numbers during recent decades. Because they rely on finding the right conditions in so many different habitats at just the right seasons during the year, this hummingbird is especially vulnerable to the effects of climate change. These iridescent "flower birds," were considered gifts from the gods by Indigenous peoples. In Peru and other South American countries, naturalists have cataloged over three hundred species, and it is believed that not all have been discovered yet. The rain forests of South America were probably where hummingbirds first evolved (co-evolved) with flowers.
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Water, man. By Zach Hively Recently, nearby, an arroyo carried so much sand to the Chama River that it plugged and diverted the flow. This is the power of water in the desert—and I have no doubt this has been happening, in moments, for as long as there has been a river through this valley. The problem now, of course, is that people live and farm along this river and this arroyo. We humans don’t function on geologic time; we need and expect water to stay where we found it. I understand these people along the Chama are receiving help and support. I hope I understand right. I also hope that we can start to (re)learn how to live in a world that has always shifted under our feet and over our heads … because these changes are accelerating.  ANYWAY. Thinking about the river and my own local tributary to it, where I walk most days with the dogs—feeling into it—this poem came out. Surprise: it might change after I post it! I’d be silly to think a river poem could remain unrevised for good.
Don't ask me what this poem means. It is no more impervious than any of us, absorbing, steeping, evaporating as we go. This poem changes when you read it, when each person reads it, gives itself away like a river souvenir, shoes squelching on the walk home. I gawp at this, my little river, maintaining its riverness no matter who steps in it, drinks from it, thinks for one moment they can stack some rocks to pool it against its own definition. Even when it runs dry —it runs. That's all this is: a poem, the way all I am is me, always in motion, especially when committed to some temporary map between floods. Zach’s Substack is free. The free stuff today will remain free tomorrow. Someday, he might offer additional stuff. Zach+, as it were. You can tell Zach that you value his work by pledging a future paid subscription to additional stuff. You won't be charged unless he enables payments, and he’ll give a heads-up beforehand. Pledge your support  Some Market Analysts think so. The reason is one of the most reliable predictors of a stock market decline has been an “Inverted Yield Curve”. This is a condition in the bond market where interest rates on short term bonds are higher than interest rates on long term bonds. Normally, the opposite is true. Why should we care? Well, it’s an abnormal condition; and it has led to a Recession in the economy 6 times since 1970. In fact, it’s never not led to a Recession in that time period.
Maybe it’s wrong this time? The economy is bumping along at a healthy rate, which is good, and so it doesn’t feel like a Recession is immanent. The Fed has gotten inflation under control, which is also a good thing - for future prices. But has no effect on past price increases, which are here to stay. The Stock Market is doing great also. Which also feels good. But keep in mind economists don’t know we’re in a Recession until 2 quarters after it starts. So, it’s always the bus we didn’t see coming. It’s always a surprise, and it often happens when things look great. Market declines usually start before an economic downturn is evident. So, they’re unpredictable and usually quite steep: up to 50% in some cases. We haven’t had a decline like that in the markets since 2008-09. Many analysts think we’re overdue for something in the 25 - 50% range. If we hit a recession, it is likely we will see this happen. What to do? It makes sense to take steps to protect a significant part of your portfolio’s gains. There are ways to do this in today’s marketplace and they make a great deal of sense in the conditions we see today. Better safe than sorry. Questions or comments: Peter J Nagle Thoughtfulincome@gmail.com. On Saturday, July 6, the Abiquiú Inn is hosting a Summer Lovin’ Pawty and Adoption Event. In conjunction with Española Humane, adoptable and adorable cats and dogs will happily frolic around the premises of the Inn, waiting for the purrfect human to take them home and love them forever. When I moved to Abiquiú in 2000, Española Humane didn’t exist. Instead, there was a rather bedraggled-looking shelter with limited resources and minimal capacities. I don’t remember when this turned into Española Humane, but I’ve followed their development over the years and I’m constantly impressed by everything they’ve accomplished.  Carol Ho, Española Humane’s Clinic Director, lives in Abiquiú. I asked her to meet and chat with me, and she kindly agreed to an interview. Along came Sookie, a three-legged, delightful dog who had to have one hind leg amputated and one eye removed after she was hit by a car and nobody helped her. When somebody finally discovered her and the puppies she had given birth to in the meantime, the leg was so badly injured that It couldn’t be saved. She is up for adoption now; Carol had fostered her, and Sookie has adjusted perfectly. Fostering is an important part of Española Humane’s work and we’ll get back to this later. First, something about the Clinic Director: Carol grew up in Albuquerque and worked as a public school teacher for a while. And then her life completely changed: she met and later married a man who was employed at Intel’s Rio Rancho facilities, a company that produces digital technologies. Her husband’s job took them across the United States and all over the world; they lived in Oregon, Texas, and Arizona, but also in Ireland and Malaysia. Carol’s son, Brendan, was born in Dublin. He’s 31 years old now and a professor of architecture at Kent State in Ohio. Her daughter, who is 29 and was born in Phoenix, Arizona, lives in Baltimore Maryland, does sculpture, and works as the bar manager at a beautiful hotel. Both love to travel, Carol told me; they enjoy the experience of getting to know how other parts of the world live together and work together. About eight years ago Carol and her husband decided to move back to New Mexico. Chance or fate took her to Abiquiú and she instantly fell in love with the place. They found a charming house and they settled down.  Carol found work at Ghost Ranch and became their Director of Operations. In that capacity she gained enough skills to encourage her to apply for the clinic director position at Española Humane when it opened up, and she was hired. Her parents raised horses, and Carol, always an animal lover, has lived with dogs all her life – a perfect fit. “ The staff at the clinic and at the shelter are both equally great. They work really hard – you couldn't work there if you didn't have some passion for what they do there. The veterinarians work long hours, the staff work long hours, you don't know what's going to come in on any given day”, Carol explained. “Our main focus at the clinic is to work on spay and neuter in the community. Last year, we had just over 6800 spays and neuters at that tiny clinic. This year, we're trying to get over 7000. “ Carol shared some exciting news: “We're right in the middle of fundraising for a brand new clinic. It’s in Espanola, close to Walmart, but just a bit off the beaten track.That clinic will be bigger than our current facility, and it'll have a better capacity to serve the needs of Espanola and of Rio Arriba County. We're in the middle of that right now, and it's looking really good. We're hoping that it will open in 2025”. If you want to learn more and/or get involved – you can have an exam room named after you, for example – please check here.  “We plan to keep the clinic on the current site as the spay and neuter clinic for the shelter animals, so the new clinic will be able to serve the medical needs of the community more. In addition, we offer free vaccinations. We do low cost heartworm prevention, so people can come in and get their animal tested. We also offer flea and tick treatment at a lower cost”. I was curious: where does the money for all this generous support come from? “We do our own personal fundraising, we raise our own funds, that's how we're able to provide things for free” Carol told me. “We try to focus on Rio Arriba County, but there's a need outside of our county as well. So we do what we can for the community. Last month, we spayed and neutered 20 animals for Las Vegas, New Mexico; they brought them over in a van. They'll pay a small fee since they're not in our area, but we do our best to accommodate them with pricing that fits their needs”.  “Same right now with Ruidoso. After their first fire, several weeks ago, we took in a group of animals, and then this last week, we took in another group, just because their whole shelter was in the path of the fire. We had a couple of really lovely volunteers that went down and helped pick up those animals and bring them back to our shelter. That’s working as a community”. “I think that's why I've appreciated working there. There's so much effort, everybody works so hard. There’s the intake of animals, then help get them healthy and bring them to the clinic. We do everything we can for them before they're up for adoption. We have a great transfer program where we work with other shelters and other states. When we get overwhelmed with intake on the shelter side, they will take some of our animals in. Our team works to transport them to Colorado, Arizona, or other places, and make sure that they're finding homes”.  It seems to me that somehow like-minded people, those who really love animals, attract each other and end up working at Española Humane. They, in turn, can rely on a network of trustworthy volunteers and foster parents. It took a lot of work and effort to build up such a community. “There are days where it's not easy because things don't always work the way you thought they were going to work. Some animals that are brought in don't make it. But there's such a strong effort to work together as a team to help bring those animals through. As you get through the day, you realize you just had a hard day, but everybody did their best”. And then there are the heartwarming stories. Carol tells me a recent one that made it into national news: the story of Pancho. “Pancho’s family lives in Espanola. Their house was broken into in the middle of the night. The person had a knife. Pancho went to lunge at the person and he ended up with a deep cut in his neck. The family drove all the way to Albuquerque, because they thought they would find urgent care in the evening, but they couldn't find help. So they drove back and ended up at our shelter early in the morning. We took him in and he had surgery on his neck. He actually crashed on the table. And the vet tech, Dora [Montano], our shelter Clinic Manager, provided CPR, which brought him back. He's doing great now but his story went worldwide because it was such a touching story. Once we got to know Pancho’s family, we discovered that they had adopted him from the shelter eight years ago! So he kind of had a full-circle story. He’s just the sweetest dog. Every time he was in the surgical area, when you told him he was a good boy, his tail would just wag non-stop. He really worked to protect his whole family that night”. Carol mentioned again the fantastic team: “I think it's hard to create a team that works together. That's one of the things that the Humane Society has done in Española: they work really hard to get to know the people in the area: animal control that works to bring the animals in and get them safely off the roads, and the many foster parents who care for them. It really takes a village. It takes a community to work together to make something like this work.That's why I think Española Humane has developed a better and better reputation through the years as a clinic that cares. And that is a tribute to the staff that works there. They're all good people”.  Next, I asked Carol more about the event on Saturday: “This will be an adoption event. It'll be held underneath the trees, in the shade. We have a wonderful off site adoption group that works together. It will be a nice way for the Abiquiú community to see some of what we have available for adoption – cats and kittens and puppies and dogs! They've turned it into a special event with a luau theme. Andy Manzanares has been helping with that as well. She's here in the community, helping to organize the event and making sure we've got everything we need and make it a little extra special, with a lot of different things added to it. I think it'll be so much fun. A couple of weeks ago we did a vaccination clinic here in Abiquiú as well, at the Elementary School on a Saturday morning. We had a nice turnout of people that just needed vaccinations for their dogs.” How many animals are you going to bring, I asked? “Well, that’s not easy to say. We have an expected number that they might bring, but those pets can get adopted right before this event happens, because they remain available at the shelter until we bring them up that day. A lot of dogs and cats will be adopted between now and then. But at the same time, a lot of dogs and cats will be brought in. This is kitten season. So we've got lots of kittens that come in. And a lot of times they're under age, they're not old enough to be adopted yet. We have a really wonderful network of foster care families that take in animals. If they're really young kittens, and they need to be bottle fed, we have specific families that are really good at bottle feeding. They'll take those in and help them through that. Barb Tebbel is our foster manager, she does an amazing job of getting animals placed in foster homes until they're available and old enough or healthy enough to be adopted. Our shelter doesn't have a huge capacity, so we can get full really quickly”.  Do you also have animal trainers for difficult dogs that need to learn some skills before they can be adopted, I wondered? “We have a behavior team that works on the shelter side and they'll make sure that dogs are checked out to see how they work on a leash, how they walk. And they're also there to exercise the dogs that are at the shelter for a short period of time waiting to be adopted. They'll take them out on one or two walks a day. And this results in a quieter shelter. The dogs don't bark when visitors come in, because they've already been on a walk. And they've had time with people. That's another thing a volunteer can do: they can go sit in a kennel with a dog, and just pet it for a while and give it some treats or some toys to play with. So that's another essential piece of making everything work, making the animals more adaptable to a family that has children or a family that wants an active dog that goes out on long hikes”. “So then we can give potential adopters a little more information about that dog's personality, what it likes and doesn't like. We have a really nice play yard at the shelter, where if you're coming to meet and greet a dog, you can go out there once you've seen it a little bit. And if it's old enough and not a puppy but an adult dog over six months, you can go outside with the dog and spend some time with it. If it's a really young puppy, we're going to keep it off the ground where it is protected, because they're not fully protected from Parvo until they're four months old. So we want to make sure that we're keeping them healthy. Parvo is in its swing right now, so there are lots of puppies that have Parvo, which is a really deadly disease. Until they're fully vaccinated, they're still susceptible to it”, Carol explained. She concludes: “Colin and Bridget have been so generous to offer the Abiquiú Inn as the location for our adoption event – please join us on July 6th from 12 noon to 3 pm!”  This is from a past event.
Well, I’m certain the puppies and dogs and cats and kittens who make it to Saturday’s Luau party (or Pawty, to be exact) will be happy and healthy. Please come for the fun, and if you wish for a new four-legged, furry friend, look no further. Open your home to a poor little chap who is yearning for a forever family, and support Española Humane at the same time – a win-win situation! They’re doing so much for the animals in their charge and for the community, and work so hard to make the future of the shelter better and better. With the warmest thanks to Carol Ho for talking to me – I love to interview people who are passionate about their job. Mahalo! All images courtesy of Española Humane. God rest ye merry, gentle reptiles By Zach Hively Dogs and humans evolved together. We learned, genetically speaking, to complement each other and share a deeply meaningful symbiosis, as well as food. Never is this relationship more apparent in my house than during lizard season. I, being the man of the house, am disposed by my DNA to lift my feet off the floor and climb onto the tallest available furnishing whenever any small, quick, crawly creature enters the picture. This is not a reflection of my bravery. Rather, it is a reflection of each and every one of my ancestors. They all—ALL—survived long enough to procreate, largely because they evaded mice and cockroaches underfoot, plus every other creature comprising less than 0.1% of their total body mass. These ancestors o’ mine were able to ensure their bloodline would continue precisely because they had dogs whose own evolutionary conditioning taught them to go ballistic at the mere distant rumbling of a UPS truck. And also at the sight of a lizard  It is high lizard season at our house. As in, high season for lizards—not a season for high lizards. High lizards would be too sluggish to survive my 83-pound puppy dog, Ryzhik, who has decided that hunting lizards is his life’s passion. I will never know how many lizards my dog has caught because they digest too fully. Nor will I ever see him hunt to his heart’s content, because this drive appears insatiable. But in this endless quest, I get to witness pure joy. When Ryzhik spies a lizard through the window, or a wayward blade of grass that COULD BE a lizard, or a rock that a lizard likely once stepped on, he comes closer to achieving human speech than some humans I know. Nothing else inspires this level of vocalization. Not his favorite dogsitter. Not his favorite dog. Not a pork chop I picked up off the floor before he could get to it. Not a whole brace of rabbits. Not even all of these at once. I always let him out. How could I not? He would dismantle the door if I ignored his pleas. Then he smashes up my selective attempts at landscaping in pursuit of the lizard, who by this point has shed his tail for the fourth or fifth time and knows Ryzhik can’t fit under the shed no matter how hard he runs at it. Nothing can deter him. Nothing, that is, but our ancestral evolutionary bond.  You see, after one of our intense monsoon rains, Ryzhik and I went on a walk. Ryzhik was on leash, because he would chase a string of lizards from here well into California. I stepped on some relatively solid mud, and then I stepped into quicksand. I sank right up to my knees.
I’ve watched just enough cartoons to know that this was a critical moment in my own survival. I could have sent Ryzhik for help, like Lassie or other mythical dogs. But he already had a lizard in a bush in his tractor beam. “Ryzhik,” I said. “I need you not to pull me for a minute. I’m stuck.” And what did he do? He released the lizard from his mind and came to my side. Not all the way, fortunately; he is smarter than I am, smart enough to stay out of quicksand. He did not once impede my desperate attempts at de-suctioning my legs and my shoes from the muck. He seemed, in fact, quite concerned for my wellbeing, because I had not yet fed him breakfast. This, though—this is why dogs and humans have forged such a perfect partnership. Without Ryzhik, what would I do? Chase my own lizards? Not likely. Once I get out of this mud, I’m climbing up on a countertop, and I’m staying there. Zach’s Substack is free. The free stuff today will remain free tomorrow. Someday, he might offer additional stuff. Zach+, as it were. You can tell Zach that you value his work by pledging a future paid subscription to additional stuff. You won't be charged unless he enables payments, and he’ll give a heads-up beforehand. Pledge your support By Zach Hively For the rain keeping things cool. If there’s one thing that defines being New Mexican in the United States, it might well be this: We know we are special, while at the same time we feel indescribably inferior to other places. Maybe it’s because we’re not widely known as superlatively anything, or big-league in any way but the nuclear ones. (It’s fitting that our most major sports team is a joke from The Simpsons. We’re a Triple-A state in a lot of ways to a lot of people. [I don’t think so, but they do.]) I remember being a kid and talking with this other kid, from Phoenix, about how hot it gets. He bragged that you can fry an egg on the sidewalk in Phoenix. I hated that Phoenix was hotter than Albuquerque, where I lived. We only occasionally kissed 100°F, usually sitting squarely in the nineties, maybe even the eighties. I don’t really remember, except that A HUNDRED was a really impressive threshold that meant, somehow, we had made the big time. It wasn’t 120° or anything, but it was the upper echelon of hotness, and we might taste it for a brief moment in July before the monsoons rolled in. This is the sixth June that I’ve been back in New Mexico. With ten days to go—fingers crossed—it will be the first one not to hit a hundred at my house. Every other one has, and not just sporadically, but long enough, consistently enough, for a newsworthy Isotopes winning streak. Climate patterns take place on a long-term scale. One good June doesn’t give me much hope. But I still welcome it—along with its welcome rains. For this season of reprieve—long live temps in the eighties!—I offer a sage poem.  My sage plants
poke hard from the sand each year, inching new green. They ditch last year’s scrabbled gains, start again from scratch. Yeah, sure, it’s hard out there. Winds chip away the paint, grind this world’s teeth to nubs. I for one could not survive out there, alone, on the wrong side of the door. I dole out water from the tanks, never quite so lavish as the day before a forecasted storm. It rains, I pour. A full barrel buttresses against —the worst. Worse than no water in the sand? So-- my sage plants poke hard from the ground each year, inching new green, ditching last year’s scrabble, starting themselves from scratch. |
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