Tomorrow we are supposed to have the first freezing temperatures and I am watering my adopted juniper, the first tree species that I fell in love with when I came to Abiquiu, because of its fantastic myriad of shapes, its tenacious ability to cling to cliff edges and because so many of these trees are allowed to live out their natural lifespans of a few hundred to a thousand years or more. Now my love and amazement for these drought resistant trees has deepened into genuine concern because this summer’s drought has turned clumps of needles brown on most of the junipers on the mesas and many appear to be dying unnaturally (very old trees do have a strange half dead look that is normal). Anyone with eyes can see how dis - stressed these trees are.
 
 Water is Life. Here in the river valley, including the Bosque there are fewer dead patches but little or no new growth on the junipers. A few days ago I took a tape measure to measure new spikes on the solitary juniper that I water, noting that most fronds had bright blue green spires measuring twelve inches or more. Although I am happy for my tree I am also frightened because it is clear that we are now living the ravages of climate change and most of the junipers around here have little or no new growth and are not doing well.
 
Western junipers are an “indicator species.” If they are showing signs of stress from lack of water then other less resilient trees are even more threatened. Not to take heed of this juniper tree warning would be a grave mistake. For me, the upside of this knowing has validated my belief that I must stay with native flowering plants and because of what the junipers are saying instead of planting fruit and other trees I am going to choose more junipers. Fortunately, there are many beautiful cultivars to choose from. My neighbor Bruce has a gorgeous blue green gray green teardrop shaped juniper that is definitely on my list. It even has a huge bird’s nest hidden within its boughs.
 
Western junipers are dimorphic, meaning that they have two growth forms. One is upright (like my tree), and the other, much more common is bush-like opening to the sun like a flower. Even the biggest trees are not taller than 40 feet. The seedlings especially bear bluish green awl shaped leaves that are pointed at the tip. Mature leaves are a darker green and scale - like in appearance. The older leaves are borne in pairs or whorls of three and are rounded at the tip. The arrangement of the adult “leaves” in a circular pattern gives the twigs and uncanny resemblance to coral. 
 
Although juniper and cedar are related – both belong to the cypress family - cedars produce small woody cones while junipers produce a bluish berry –like cone. Most junipers are dioecious, meaning that male and female cones are found on separate trees and once you observe the difference it is easy to differentiate between the two (to make things confusing some junipers have both male and female cones on one tree). The male cones are brownish in appearance and very small. These latter produce pollen sacs that release pollen grains in spring and summer, as many people that suffer from allergies know. The female cones look like berries. As the trees age some of the trunks become twisted and gnarled.
 
Junipers are one of the top ten plants for wildlife. Many birds love their berries and around here the Cedar waxwings, the Townsend solitaire, and American robins flock to the juniper cluster that shades the ground. I also see Dark Eyed juncos, Canyon towhees, and House finches scratching the ground under the tree. Collared doves, Pinion jays, Magpies, sparrows, and Western bluebirds to mention a few, gather in these trees for protection from hawk predation. And when winter winds are fierce and deadly, birds of all kinds seek protection from the bitter cold in the junipers’ thick branches.
 
To survive in dry climates, western junipers have long taproots and extensive lateral root systems that can efficiently obtain moisture where none seems to exist. They are intolerant of shade, so if you are going to plant some give them space and lots of sun.

For the past couple of weeks, streaks of blue have been diving into the trees under my bird feeder to search for dropped seed. First one, and now about four raucous scrub jays are conversing and mimicking – they have such an amazing vocabulary if you listen. My dove Lily b has had a special relationship with some blue jays in Maine and I note that he is continuing this trend here in Abiquiu moving to the window nearest to the jays to coo in response to some of their calls. Strangely, the jays definitely respond to these coos. How I wish I knew why this relationship exists between the two and what keeps the conversation so riveting that Lily b is still actively seeking out these birds out after 27 ( almost 28) years!
 
In Maine, all my raucous blue - jays disappear for the summer. The literature says they move into the forest but I live in a forest, or did, and they don’t stay in there! Every September they return in flocks of up to twenty birds to raid my feeders and this is what the scrub jays are doing here. They are also starting to converse in the Bosque.
 
Jays are members of the Corvid family and I have witnessed blue jays using tools – sticks, in particular, to move a large piece of fat to a place where they can get at it more easily.
 
This morning I was watching the scrub jays through binoculars. There was one youngster amongst the pack. My birdfeeder trips, shutting its doors when a squirrel or really large bird lands on it, and the jays fit into this latter category. I was so inspired by their behavior that I wrote this article!
 
 They aren’t satisfied with dropped seed and have figured out that if one trips the feeder and instantly jumps off some seed is scattered on the ground for the others to feast upon. The jays take turns tripping the feeder so everyone gets extra food.
 
They also use another more acrobatic technique. By hanging upside down on a nearby branch and stretching out their necks, the jays can reach the food with their beaks without actually touching the feeder! I watched one gobble down a host of seeds before ending his contortionist act. The youngster sat on a branch watching the others before dropping to the ground to feed. At some point I am sure that he will imitate his elders. Clever birds! I am impressed.
 
The Western Scrub –Jay’s range extends from Washington south to central Texas and Mexico. Not surprisingly the food-caching behavior of these intelligent birds has been the subject of several studies. These birds plan ahead for times when food isn't readily available. Scrub Jays bury excess seeds and nuts beneath leaves, grass or mulch; and will retrieve them when food sources in their environment are scarce.
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They may also hoard and bury brightly colored objects found in their environment like other Corvids.

According to research, their brain-to-body mass ratio rivals that of chimpanzees, whales and dolphins.

So much for the “bird brain” theory.

Jays like other birds and animals mourn the loss of mates and flock members. They will loudly screech near a dead jay for as long as 30 minutes and remain close to the body for a day or two (I have also witnessed this behavior when Lily b lost all three of his mates with one difference, unlike the jays Lily b mourned in terrible silence).

 Mule deer have been observed allowing scrub jays to hop over their bodies and heads as they search and feed on parasites like ticks. The deer appeared to facilitate the process by standing still and holding up their ears to provide easy access for the jay.

 Scrub-Jays usually forage in pairs, family groups, or very small flocks outside the breeding season. They forage on the ground and in trees, caching much of the food they find and retrieving it later.

These birds are also omnivorous, with a diet that varies by season and region. In summer, they eat many insects, spiders, and snails, and in winter, they shift to berries, acorns, and other seeds. They eat rodents, reptiles, amphibians, and the eggs and young of other bird species in addition to visiting birdfeeders and devouring hunks of fat during the cooler months.
Western Scrub-Jays are typically monogamous, and nest in shrubs or low trees. Both members of the pair help build the nest, which is a thick-walled cup made of grass, twigs, and moss, lined with soft rootlets and hair. The male brings food while the female incubates 3-6 eggs for 15-17 days. Both adults help feed the young, which leave the nest at 18-19 days. They typically raise one brood each year.

Curiously I couldn’t find any information on where scrub jays disappear to in the summer. Perhaps they are still around but (uncharacteristically) secretive while breeding/raising their families?

If you want entertainment just spend some time at the window watching the scrub –jays. I promise that you will not be disappointed!

Image (c) Keith Bowers

Just now I had a White breasted Nuthatch visiting on the porch railing near the garden wall where I have placed sunflower heads to dry. My guess is that he was curious about the new additions. His little chirps sounded like he was excited about something! The jays have returned and I think they are intimidating the Nuthatch family, so I may put up another feeder closer to the house.
 
White breasted Nuthatches are easy to identify. They  are larger than the other nuthatches with a sharply defined white face, a narrow dark crown, and a very long bill. With a short broad tail they are mostly gray and white in color.
 
All summer long I have had them feasting at my bird tree with its squirrel proof feeder. I never tire of watching these spritely little characters climb up and down the branches to take a seed or two before disappearing into the greenery. This year I was fortunate to have witnessed the nuthatches raise a family of four little nuthatches in a tree not very far from the bird tree. This is not a large tree although it has a generous canopy and I will be curious to see where the nest is located when the leaves fall. Most sources say that they nest in tree cavities… so I will have to wait to see. All summer the little ones flew between the nest tree and the bird tree – all day long!
 
 When the babies first fledged it took them awhile to figure out how to land on the edges of the feeder. I am delighted to see that the whole family is still here, especially since it is mid September and seeds and grasses of all kinds are available for these little birds to feast upon. Apparently their preference for sunflower seeds has kept them around.
 
Soon, I hope, it will be cool enough to put out suet. As a bird watcher I am a lover of suet and fat because it draws some of my favorite little birds – nuthatches, chickadees, and woodpeckers in for a feast even during the fall. I would like if possible to keep this nuthatch family with me all winter. I love watching them carry away seeds to hide in crevices of trees.
 
White-breasted Nuthatches forage up, down, and sideways over tree trunks and around large branches, which is why it is easy to lose time watching these little birds. They are small aerial acrobats turning upside down with ease to peck suet over their heads. In fact climbing upside down is a distinctive trait of this species. They often start high in trees and move down them head first, pausing to crane their necks up and back, toward the horizontal, for a look around. They probe into bark crevices or chip away at wood to find food. When they find large nuts and seeds, they jam them into the bark and hammer them open. White-breasted Nuthatches often store seeds and insects one at a time, and somewhat haphazardly, under loose bark on their territory. They typically hide the food by covering it with a piece of bark, lichen, moss, or snow depending on where they live. According to the literature they live in pairs year round and chase other nuthatches from their territory. Does this include their offspring? I am curious to see if the family will eventually disperse. Agitated birds fan their tails, flick their wings, or raise their feathers. A bird backing down from a confrontation typically raises its bill and tail, and droops its wings.
 
White-breasted Nuthatches are birds who prefer mature woods, and they’re more often found in deciduous than coniferous forests. They also inhabit woodland edges and in open areas with large trees like the area around my house. They can also be found in parks, wooded suburbs, and yards.
 
During the warmer months they supplement their seed and nut diet with insects, including weevil larvae, wood-boring beetle larvae, other beetles, tree hoppers, scale, ants, gall fly larvae, caterpillars, stinkbugs, and click beetles, as well as spiders. What I didn’t know was that they also eat corn.
 
Their song is distinctive; soft whistling notes with a single pitch. Some sources indicate that their calls vary region by region. What I know from personal experience is that the white breasted nuthatches in Maine sound exactly like the ones in New Mexico.
 
Audubon considers this species climate threatened.
 
It’s important to recognize that drawing these little birds to our feeders helps protect the trees that are infested with damaging insects, so next time you see a White -breasted Nuthatch remember to say thank you for the trees! 

Yesterday morning around 10:30 AM I looked into what had been an empty toad hole that had been dug into the ground on my drip line only to see that someone had filled the tunnel in. Last night I checked the deep depression around dusk and the earth was moving! Returning from an evening dog walk ‘my’ giant Western toad was emerging just before dark. Almost immediately she rounded the corner and disappeared into the vining nasturtium patch...
 
Early last June, I had constructed a rock pool to invite a toad to make a home here in my front yard. Although birds and lizards liked the oasis I never glimpsed a toad until August 29th, a day I will never forget.
 
It was around 2 PM and 92 degrees when I spied a giant Western toad sitting in the middle of my driveway. Stunned, I went over to investigate. In three long hops the female (females are larger than males) landed on the only ground that was moist, irrigated, and had ample space for a toad of her size – she was 5 1/2 inches long and almost as wide. Immediately she dug herself into the still moist soil scattering a few seedlings as she began to disappear before my very anxious eyes. I knew that Western toads couldn’t survive in 92 degree heat and wondered who had frightened her so badly that she ended up exposed to the merciless sun. When she was about two thirds submerged, she just stopped, seemingly, in exhaustion. At this point I intervened and gently poured about six cups of water around her. Her amber eyes peered into mine; I’m quite certain she knew I was trying to help. Next I cut Russian olive and cottonwood leaves to cover her head, and finally placed a big piece of cottonwood bark over the entire spot to keep her cool. That night when I went out to check on her she was gone.
 
The most amazing part of this story for me is that it was obvious that my toad knew exactly where to go to get out of the sun as fast as she could. The spot she chose was the only place in this whole area that was not root bound with perennials. It gradually dawned on me that this toad had probably been living here all summer, and I had just made her acquaintance!
 
I was thrilled because the one thing I miss the most about the Northeast is living with an abundance of toads and frogs in a rich riparian woodland. Over a period of thirty years I have probably raised thousands of peepers, wood frogs, and American toads from eggs that I collected each spring, even after building an ‘almost vernal pool’ to provide more inviting territory beside my brook. This shallow depression, about 100 feet in length is fed by a natural spring, and everyone including a Great Blue heron loved it!
 
When I first moved down by the river in Abiquiu I was sure that I would see and hear toads and frogs in the spring, but I was wrong. In two years I have heard only one toad call. This spring I looked forward to the summer rains that would bring out the amphibians I waited for with child-like anticipation… but this monsoon season has brought so little rain that there were no puddles that lasted long enough for mating to occur or eggs to be laid. By now I also had learned from direct observation that the river’s damming process made it nearly impossible for amphibians to rely on these unstable waters for places to breed because during the summer the river rises and falls constantly.
 
When my giant Western toad made her astonishing appearance I immediately dove into some extensive research on this toad who is the western version of the America toad that I am so familiar with. I was devastated to learn that according to a number of academic sources this animal is already extinct in the only area in which the Western toad once thrived in New Mexico, the Rio Grande and its tributaries in Rio Arriba county.
 
The welcome appearance of my toad indicates that as yet the species is still extant, but probably not for long. Toads and frogs have been under siege since the early 70’s when ecologists and naturalists first starting writing about their diminishing numbers, something that I intuited from direct observation before beginning to read about these ‘canaries in the coal mine.’ All amphibians as adults breathe through their skin and environmental toxins were already polluting our air and water as Rachel Carson tried to inform us in her ground - breaking book “Silent Spring.”
 
As Carson, and later, many others predicted, and were ridiculed (I know I was) environmental disaster is now reality - today we are living the consequences of not paying attention to these warnings about the health of our planet.
 
At this point there is little left to do except to accept what is. For me the loss of toads and frogs is deeply personal and heartbreaking because I have loved them all my life.
 
The one antidote to this despair is to take the deepest pleasure out of having a toad living in my yard now and this I am doing on a daily basis. I am heartened whenever I am fortunate enough to get a glimpse of Toad because I know by her size that she has lived a long time (toads live in the wild for ten or twelve years). I don’t know if this toad will continue to use her burrow in my seedlings but just knowing that she seems to be healthy and thriving is a gift that I will treasure for the rest of my days.
 

The other morning I was out watering when a raven landed on the compost heap and began “talking” to me. Naturally I replied. This raven wasn’t “quorking” but making other curious and complex sounds while staring directly into my eyes and the further we got into conversation the more fascinated/puzzled I became. S/he used so many vocalizations in response to whatever I was saying that I couldn’t keep track of them. This raven pointed his beak directly at me while speaking. Our mutual exchange ended when the raven flew off to join his mate, leaving me astonished. What had we been talking about? I would have given anything to have a tape of that dialogue! One curious note: ever since that conversation these same two ravens acknowledge me with a quork whenever they fly over the house.
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For anyone seriously interested in ravens I highly recommend Bernard Heinrich’s book “The Mind of the Raven.” This biologist has probably studied ravens more extensively than anyone on the planet. He believes they are the brightest avians of all. As a naturalist, and therefore a generalist, I have to say that I believe that all birds are equally intelligent, albeit in different ways, but Corvids including jays and crows do seem to have a curious edge in terms of problem solving.

There are three species of ravens but in this article I will be talking about Corvus corax, the common raven, which is geographically and ecologically one of the most widespread naturally occurring birds in the world. The raven is distributed throughout major portions of North America, Europe, Asia, and North Africa, and in all terrestrial biomes except tropical rain forests. The typical adult common raven, the largest of the three, measures about two feet from the tip of its bill to the tip of its tail and is a luminous coal black.

Highly gregarious, adaptable and resourceful, ravens roost and feed in pairs, or scattered flocks, sometimes numbering hundreds (or thousands) depending on the area. Typically, they migrate only short distances with a change of seasons or variability of food sources. They may welcome newcomers, inviting them to dine. They may “mob” a would-be predator or intruder to protect each other or nestlings/ fledglings. The young birds may play games including having a tug of war. For fun, they may also drop and catch objects in midflight or snitch and cache shiny and inedible objects in secret places or yank the tail of a would be predator.   

Opportunistic and omnivorous, the ravens and crows feed primarily on the most abundant food source available. This could include a broad range of insects, arachnids (e.g. spiders, scorpions), reptiles, small birds, small mammals, pilfered eggs, grains and fruits as well as carrion and human refuse.

Throughout the year, the birds spend substantial time resting, preening, sunning and peering around at their surroundings. They may bathe in shallow waters, sprinklers and snow, preening extensively afterwards. Most fascinating to me is that ravens may post themselves near an ant bed, allowing the insects to crawl through their feathers, leaving a blanket of formic acid to protect them—a natural pesticide that eliminates parasites – and then they pick the ants off and eat them!

In the spring, when breeding season arrives, raven pairs mate and bond for the year and perhaps for life. During courtship, the birds may preen each other’s head feathers and gently clasp each other’s bills. They may engage in acrobatic flight, showing off, trying to impress a prospective partner. After mating, a pair turns to homemaking, which often becomes a family affair, with two or three “helpers” – often progeny from the previous season’s hatch – contributing to the raising of the young.

Typically, the birds build their nest on a solid platform such as the fork of a tree, or sometimes, in the case of the common raven, on a ledge or crack in a cliff face.

After she finishes her nest, the female lays five or six generally oval-shaped greenish-colored eggs over a period of several days. While she takes primary responsibility for incubating her eggs, the male guards the nest from predators, feeds the female on her nest, and may even incubate the eggs for brief periods.

After hatching the youngsters develop the ability to take care of themselves, but stay in the vicinity of the nest still begging their parents and the helpers for food. After a couple of months, they may leave to join other adolescents, but some may return the following year to serve their turn as helpers in raising their parents’ next brood.

The next time you see a raven strike up a conversation and see what happens. Observing these birds as they go about their business of making a living is so much fun!
 

Every time my little dogs and I walked into Owl canyon last winter and spring, one or both dogs would step on a tumbleweed spine. Some days I was extracting these little monsters from my dogs’ feet a dozen times or more, while they held up a tormented paw with a pitiful look. No matter how carefully I scanned the arroyo for tumbleweed I just couldn’t avoid them.
 
After moving into this adobe house, I began the process of land reclamation casting wildflower seeds that I had collected last year, and began watering the disturbed and barren earth – a normal consequence of building a new house. I also removed every tumbleweed skeleton in sight from the bare ground – a massive undertaking – with the hope that I could stem the tumbleweed tide. To my horror the first seeds that sprouted were tumbleweeds! That was almost three months ago, and today I daily fry uprooted tumbleweeds on hot stones   while ruefully accepting the inevitable – I will be weeding tumbleweeds indefinitely!
 
In this process I have developed a begrudging respect for this plant that is a true survivor! It loves wastelands and I am amazed by the plants’ tenacity and determination to reproduce. When the plant is young it is quite pretty with its purple stems and lacy stems shaped like a rosette, but I learned the hard way that if I broke the plant from its root, two days later I would be pulling two or three thick rooted tumbleweeds where originally there had been one!
 
I am not naïve enough to believe that I will ever be able to eradicate this plant, but my intention is to persevere because around the house I want my dogs to be able to run around without prickers in their feet.
 
"Tumbleweed," "Russian thistle" and "wind witch" are common names for this plant. (“Wind witch” annoys me. I am tired of women being attached to plants that are considered dangerous or are considered pests. The war on women – especially old women - never ends.)  Russian thistle alludes to its Eurasian origin. Scientific names for tumbleweed begin with the Latin word Salsola in reference to the plant’s salt tolerance.

Virtually everyone recognizes a mature Russian thistle, which looks like the skeleton of a normal shrub. Plants may be as small as a soccer ball or as large as a Volkswagen beetle! One flew over the Trailercita last spring that boggled my mind – a gigantic beach ball! The seedling and juvenile plant’s bright green, succulent, grass-like shoots have tiny green flowers each one accompanied by a pair of spiny bracts. Mice, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn eat the tender shoots. I personally have never seen tumbleweed nibbled on by anything.

As they roll down a desert road, tumbleweeds disperse seeds. Seeds are unusual in that they lack any protective coat or stored food reserves. Instead, each seed is a coiled, embryonic plant wrapped in a thin membrane. To survive winter without a warm coat, the plant does not germinate until warm weather arrives. When moisture falls, it quickly sends up two needle-like leaves and begins to shoot skyward. By autumn the plant has reached maximum size, flowered and begun to dry out. A specialized layer of cells in the stem facilitates the easy break between plant and root, and the journey begins anew.

Like many weeds, Russian thistle exploited the destruction of native ecosystems and continues to do so today. When farmers removed prairie grasses, they created a perfect environment, smooth and flat, for a plant that could roll across the landscape dispersing seeds. Unfortunately herbicides are used to control the spread of tumbleweeds by disrupting the maturation process of the plant. Recently the U.S. Agricultural Research Service announced the discovery of two promising fungal pathogens that infect and kill tumbleweeds. Not surprisingly, the fungi were uncovered in infected Russian thistle plants growing on the Eurasian steppes — the original home of tumbleweeds.

​Tumbleweeds were first reported in the United States in the 1800’s apparently transported in flax seed imported by Ukrainian farmers. Within two decades the plant had tumbled into a dozen states, and by 1900, tumbleweed had reached the Pacific Coast. Tumbleweeds have never stopped spreading. Nearly every state in the U.S. is now home to Russian thistle, as well as several newer GIANT tumbleweed species that arrived as immigrants from around the world. Tumbleweeds grow everywhere from Canada to South Africa!

Each winter after the plants die, the brittle bushy parts snap off at the roots and blow away, dispersing seeds wherever they tumble - about 250,000 per plant – a mindboggling statistic for anyone, like me, who wants to keep these intrepid survivors under control!