Two new gopher holes by the Indian Free peach tree, which is along the same fence line but at the far end of it from the first attack. I can’t lose that one, I just can’t. But my Comice pear, whose trunk is now ringed by lots of little cinnamon sticks,  seems to be being left alone now.

So the peach got a bunch, too.

I just ordered two more pounds from nuts.com: the cassia type, cheaper and more pungent and exactly what I want. I imagine I’ll have to re-dose after next week’s rain.

And I finally at long last did something I’d been thinking about trying–seeing if swapping out the white bulbs on the warming Christmas lights on the mango would make the night less bright. The answer is, and how!

I didn’t have enough opaque incandescent blue bulbs in the right C9 size to raid from various old strings so I had to finish off with green ones. But oh does it make a difference.

I heard something out there when I went to snap this picture that puzzled me. It stopped when I approached the tree. It started up again when I was almost inside. Walked back towards the tree, and it stopped, but I don’t think it was even in my yard: a rhythmic sound that I finally figured out would be if a critter was trying to dig under, say, a wood plank that was hitting another wood plank. It seemed to come from the other side of the fence.

Skunks eat mice and rats. So that means they’d eat gophers too, right? I hope?

I left the gate open so it wouldn’t have any trouble getting over there. That done, I’m definitely not going back out there in the dark, not tonight.

More gopher holes yesterday. A lot more, same area but further out from the pear tree, none of them very big of an opening.

Alright then: I found the Costco bottle of cinnamon sticks and stuck one into the opening to each hole (should have thought of that sooner.) Each almost entirely filled the space. Then where the edge of the house comes closest to the fence I drew a line of ground cinnamon straight across to make a scent fence. The little underground beavers have to come up to sniff the air sometime.

Today I found that no stick had been touched. There were just a couple new holes, placed as if the gopher had been trying to avoid what I’d done. I stuck cinnamon sticks in them, too, again half in the ground, half out, little flags all around marking my territory. It was welcome to go right back where it came from–out of here!

Meantime, my plum tree, my Santa Rosa plum my kids planted me as a surprise Mother’s Day gift about eight years ago–the last two years it looked increasingly unwell and I thought for sure last summer we were losing it. Of what I don’t know and I could only Google, but when I described it to a friend who has the same variety she said her tree was like that now, too.

I treated it like a peach, giving it an organic-label-friendly dormant copper-spray treatment a month ago, at least on the main part of the trunk and some of the branches before I ran out, trying to do something.

Yesterday it showed only gray trunk and limbs and I was still wondering if that’s all it would ever be again.

Today it had small bursts of green everywhere, some single, some in clusters. All. Over. It felt very, very good.

And I have more cinnamon sticks for this end of the yard, too, if I need them.

I walked around the yard this evening, taking in the slow awakening that makes the whole winter thing worth it.

My Tropic Snow peach. As I was trying to get just the right angle with my phone, a hummingbird dashed right in front of me and dove into the flower at the top branch back there, laughing and dancing away when I got over my startle and tried to get it into the next shot.

The August Pride peach was all small green buds yesterday.

And way over here… ohmygoodness, clear signs of a gopher attack (am I right?) on the pear tree’s roots with quite a scoop of ground dug out near the trunk on one side and some gone from the other side, too. I dumped a load of moist topsoil on top, tamped it down again and again with my shoe, knowing the animal had to have retreated far into its burrow at my coming, and then I put a lot of cinnamon over the top. I know squirrels hate the smell and gophers are rodents too so that should help, right?

I have a few gopher plants standing guard halfway across the yard from there, volunteers and strays of last year, but they’re biennials so I don’t have any seeds yet to spread the love to where I need it–now those would be roots those critters would avoid. I was planning on doing so for my cherry trees at the far end of the yard because they’re prime targets. I didn’t know pear trees were. Maybe the thing just went for what it could reach first after digging under the fence. Maybe it dug under the fence to get away after the neighbors cut a tree down.

Looks like I’m going to have to go find me some more gopher plants somewhere, quick. 

1. Something serious: an article on how the whole Bundy standoff thing has been affecting the fish populations at Malheur Refuge.

2. Something not serious, except that it is in that it’s trying to address a common source of landfilling: a thanks to LynnH for pointing out a (fun!) reusable replacement for the ubiquitous to-go coffee cup. Design your own colorways.

3. Something really not serious: I guess the thoroughly-overripe, starting-to-rot grapes I’d tossed in that tall plastic garden waste bin outside the kitchen smelled really good because when I got up later to see what on earth that noise was, there was a squirrel straddling the edge of the screen door and squeezed in against the glass slider while holding tight to either side of the metal mesh as it carefully climbed, clinging and releasing step by unsure step. That screen was the only thing it could get its claws into to try to reach into that utopia that its nose just knew was right there waiting to be claimed. It owned this! (Never mind that the lid was shut. He’d figure that part out later.)

It took the little animal a panicked moment to figure out how to disengage and flee from it and me.

Actually, the Bundys and that squirrel have a lot in common.

The bird feeder was empty and there were no finches nor chickadees trying to get at that one last seed or two nor doves picking up the toss-outs below. I opened the slider, Corning two-cup glass measure in hand, to go scoop and refill. (Metal mini-trash cans are good for keeping the raccoons out–they’ve tried but they have never succeeded.)

The Cooper’s hawk sauntered away, if anything elegantly airborne can be so described, and I went oh oops sorry didn’t see you behind the orange tree there as I went back inside.

No problem. He people-watched awhile, shaking off a bit against the drizzle, preening.

Then he flew half way across my yard to where the sun could be on rather than behind him, showing off every bit of chestnut, white, grays, and those bright yellow feet, well-fluffed above as if there had been no rain.

Here inside, more presents are wrapped and ready, the guest bedrooms are cleared and vacuumed, and the–oh wait, the electric spinning wheel is still in baby-grab range. Right on it.

Perched on the telephone line in the center of an open space between the neighbors’ trees, where it could best be seen, was a Cooper’s hawk this afternoon, celebrating solstice by surveying all that was his.

I saw his tail twitch slightly as he shifted his weight. All tucked together like that it did not give away what it could be in the air.

I watched him awhile, loving this beautiful raptor that let me share the day with him, making sure to blink and turn aside a bit from time to time so I didn’t present in any way as a threat. And once again I wondered if it could feel a human loving him–and I know how anyone with a pet would answer that, except that who can answer for a wild thing?

At that he raised his wings and flew towards me, landing on the closest point in the fence where we had a better view of each other. Was it my old friend Coopernicus or one of his offspring? I’m not quite sure yet.

But clearly, my yard is his in the season to come and I am better off for it.

Yesterday I saw a flash of gray out of the far corner of my eye, heard a bang–and thought, no, please don’t tell me, it couldn’t be, they never… It had seemed too big for a dove.

If it were still there, it would be in the alcove part of the deck just to the left of my desk.

I waited a minute or so and then, seeing no sign of the hawk coming in after its prey (I didn’t want to disrupt it if it were), I stood up to see if anything might be there.

To my great surprise mixed with willful disbelief, crouching down a bit and looking up into my eyes was indeed a Cooper’s hawk–so yes, apparently he had hit it. That or a dove and he’d missed catching it, but then he wouldn’t have stayed put.

Which makes me think this was last year’s juvenile with his adult markings grown in rather than our long-time resident Coopernicus, who had studied every bit of that glass and knew exactly where it was, even coming to check it out after a window washing. Whatever, this one wasn’t comfortable with the combination of my movement and my staring at him from so close and he took off for the trees. Not at hunt speed, but at least now I knew he could fly okay. And hopefully he learned about glass barriers.

Today I kept going back to my new cashmere 4-ply I spun yesterday, willing that thick hank to dry faster, petting it again and again. SO soft.

The other reason I’d put it aside so long? I had gotten it for $10 lb plus shipping because it had been in a warehouse in the humid South where the roof had leaked. It takes some washing to get the (not strong) mildew smell out and I’m always afraid it will reek when wet after being knitted up for someone else. And yet–two rounds of soaking in hot laundry detergent and it seems okay. Or real close.

So did I order Colourmart’s uncontaminated, not-mildewed cobweb weight cashmere, 1100g for $35 ppd? When I can make hanks that feel like this with it and not have to worry when I gift someone after knitting it up? Oh honey you bet.

And then there was a Cooper’s hawk again this afternoon, perched this time on the center of the fence. If it was my old friend he’d grown in quite a few fresh feathers. Dressed in his finest.

He turned to look in every direction while making no effort to hide (and I thought, oh, right, we’re near winter solstice, it’s territory-claiming time.) He proclaimed MINE to the whole world–I couldn’t hear him but I could see him.

The sun was at its highest point for the day, making his feet glow yellow, surrounded by white fluff, his chest a soft orange.

He tucked a foot up and enjoyed his domain.

I silently thanked him for sharing the day with me. He was fine with that, too, my being there didn’t bother him a bit.

At last he took off across the top of the house and not a minute later a junco, then a Bewick’s wren, popped out of the tangle of the tomato cage in relief from just below where he’d been.

You’re going to need a second strand these next few nights, said he over Monday’s dinner.

I had gotten home 9:45 Friday night, the tree was uncovered till then, and some of the upper leaves crisped a bit.  If I’d known things were going to take that long I’d have done it before I left, but too late now. And now we had the coldest weather of the year coming–he was right, and so I wound a second strand around the mango leaves, watched them light up as I plugged them in and wondered how long my supply of bulbs was going to last. I’d already had about eight burn out last year.

Some friends called this afternoon: could they drop by with some Christmas lights? The warm, inefficient, not made anymore kind. For my tree–did it need it?

Yes please!

They showed up with buckets and boxes and more boxes on top of that, taking three trips to carry them all in, with them happy to find a good use for them and me happy to have them. Some hadn’t even been opened. Yay!

And so we chatted a bit. They asked about the birdfeeder and I mentioned the resident hawk.

Who put on a show right on cue, flying overhead. Twice. But the best part was how excited they were that they got to see it.

It’s cold out there.

She mentioned she hopes she gets to taste one of those mangoes someday. Absolutely.

It’s quite warm tonight under those frost covers.

A panic and desperate escapes away from the bird feeder this afternoon.

Nope, that apparently didn’t work.

A little later… A panic and desperate escapes away from the birdfeeder, with one dove smacking its head on the window this time going the wrong way, then careening sideways to the elephant ear leaves and at last out of sight.

Nope, apparently that didn’t work.

The third go-round, probably the same dove smacked that window only this time there was the Cooper’s hawk hot on its tail, gray zooming after gray at a speed I didn’t know a dove could do, the immediate moment of capture hidden from me by a tree’s not-yet-fallen leaves. Now there’s a little adrenaline for you.

While I tinked back a bunch of purl two together through back loops and purl two (one of them a yarnover) together stitches, oh…so…slowly. Put this stitch back behind that one that got twisted in the tbl thing, fixed the dumb mistake, reworked what I’d undone and corrected the now-twisted yarnovers.

And then at last! Nailed it!

Remember the Kermit?

A dirty off-white Tupperware lid for a cup yesterday. We Goodwilled all ours a very long time ago and never did have one that size. I found it in the back yard within a foot or two of where the Kermit ornament had shown up; it was framed by the tiniest sprigs of green grass starting to poke up out of the plain dirt after the rains, and as I leaned over to pick it up, a raven flew rather low directly over, turning its head to continue to watch me retrieving the treasure. Or just because I was watching it.

So I’ve been wondering, would it have been a tool to a corvid? To do what with? Or is it just bringing things here because this is where birds go?

In other words, a raven knows more than I do, apparently. Pretty funny, actually. I wonder what I’ll find next.

I know crows and ravens like sparkly things. I also know they tend to gift people they like with their treasures. I would never have put me in that category, given that I don’t allow them to land in my back yard. They don’t take it personally; territory is a language they speak and they seem to be cool with that (thinking of the descriptions I read by a researcher who captured and studied some crows and then got bombarded and harassed to the third generation of them.)

Ernie was lying on the ground in the back yard this afternoon, but how he got there, your guess is as good as mine. There’s no small child around, or big, either, to have lobbed it high and far over the fence. No mud had splashed over him from yesterday’s rain. And there is no way on earth I would have missed seeing him bright and shiny there for twenty years since our youngest outgrew the Muppets stage (and I don’t recognize it.) But perch on the overhang from our bedroom and drop it, it would have landed right there.

Pristine. The loop *is* a very sparkly gold.

Hey, guys, don’t you think it’s a little early to be bringing out the Christmas ornaments?

C’est une mystère.

It’s been in the mid-30’s the last few nights and I’ve been putting two layers of frost cover over the mango; the leaves are pushing right against the first cover and I know that that could damage them in the cold, lights or no, so I figure this makes them not right up against the outside air. They’re buffered.

So far so good.

Except that last night a small red but tasteless volunteer tomato had fallen near the trunk and I didn’t think anything of it until I woke up in the morning to find a raccoon paw had torn the outer cover; it clearly gave up quickly but still, each nail ripped a small gap and so that one’s useless for using on its own now except on, say, the mandarins, which are a whole lot shorter so far.

Someone asked me today about my raptors and I confessed I hadn’t seen them in awhile–but I knew they were there because the birds were fleeing into hiding and staying hiding a goodly while every day. They saw them even if I didn’t.

I typed out that response and then I got myself over to the couch to go knit.

Right on cue. Not ten minutes after, I heard the dove that had been herded into the window and I turned fast enough to see still-falling gray feathers. The Cooper’s was right under the feeder and it had caught itself a big one.

The hawk stayed eye to eye with me to the count of one, two, three, then quickly wheeled and lifted as if the thing were but a featherweight, tucking its feet and prey in close and flying to the privacy of the trees where the thieving, mobbing ravens wouldn’t know.

Found a Department of Agriculture page on Africanized honeybees, a ‘contact us’ link, and fired off a note about what I saw the other day.

And here’s what came back to me:

Good Afternoon Alison,

Thank you for your concern and for sharing your experience. African honey bees are present in California, and from what I have read, have continued to move north from Southern California. Behaviorally, African honey bees differ from European honey bees in that they are more defensive of their hive, and will exhibit this defensive behavior further away from the location of their hive than European honey bees would.

During the Autumn months, there tends to be less for honey bees to forage, which can lead to a phenomenon that we call “robbing.” This is essentially the invasion of one hive by one or several other hives, but their intent is just to consume the food stores of the invaded hive. If an African honey bee colony is being robbed, defenders of that colony may pursue robbers from other colonies for extended distances, and this pursuit could end in the defending bee stinging the robber. 

I’m not saying that this is what happened or that African honey bees are involved in this situation; I am just offering an explanation about what you have seen. Regarding the abduction of one honey bee by another, I have no explanation. Perhaps what you saw picking up the assailed honey bee was not a honey bee, but an insect of similar appearance. Nature is variable and often times things occur in nature that are inexplicable.

Lastly, if you are concerned about the dead honey bees at your back door, you should make sure not to leave anything outside that could attract honey bees, for instance cans and bottles of any kind, jars, any receptacle that could have a sugary residue. These things will attract honey bees, especially if there is no natural forage to be found. There is also the possibility that there is a honey bee somewhere around your home. If you see signs of this, please do not look around for it. It would be best to contact a professional to inspect around your home if you suspect that you have some unknown neighbors.

Best,

(And then he signed his name)

————

On a different note, my sweetie tripped over the cord to the charger to my laptop last week and pulled it out of the socket. I plugged it back in, made sure he was okay, didn’t think much of it.

Today I picked up that laptop and noticed for the first time that right where it snaps into the Air it was bent tightly–and not only bent but the plastic coating was actually pulled open so that the wires inside were exposed.

And they were sparking. Tiny little–ongoing–sparks. Smallest fireworks show I ever did see.

The laptop still works, the charger is out of here, and the house didn’t burn down starting in our bedroom. We are really, really, really, say it again, really, lucky.

I have Googled, I have read a ton, I have learned that Africanized honeybees were found in Lafayette, the other side of the San Francisco Bay from here, for the first time just last month. Oh joy.

But I still didn’t find anything explaining this, and the beekeeper friend who happened to drop by tonight hadn’t ever heard of such a thing either. So here goes.

The last few days I’ve found dead honeybees outside my door to the patio, eight or ten or so. When most of them disappeared I figured the Bewick’s wrens had hit the jackpot–I’ve seen them eat spiders.

This afternoon I saw a single honeybee fly in to where the others had died and, curious, I stopped what I was doing and walked over to my side of the glass to watch.

It looked like it was attacking another honeybee! I missed the first part so I don’t know when the other got there but the aggressive one was not letting it up, it clearly seemed to be trying to subdue it till finally the other one seemed to lie still, but the aggressive one was still at it. Finally–and this is what is really weird–it *picked it up and flew off with it*! I saw its feet holding onto the other’s dangling abdomen, and if he left any parts behind I missed it.

Now, a ready queen will fly up in the air once to a waiting congregation of drones prepared to mate with her for her to collect a lifetime supply of sperm, but this was on the ground and a one-on-one fight.

Reading, it seems the flight patterns of Africanized bees are more like yellow jackets than European honeybees, jerky and faster, not the slow, gentle whistling-a-tune stroll of our familiar honeybee. Yup. But this was no yellow jacket.

I may be wrong (and please tell me if I am!), but I think I just saw my first Africanized one. Right at my back door.

So what would you do with a volunteer tomato taking over the yard, flowering month after month but never setting a single fruit while the other tomatoes do? Keep waiting? Rip it out before it takes any more nutrients from the cherry tree above?

So that’s what was on my mind as I stepped out the door to start the Tuesday watering.

I’d noticed the little junco for a few days now.

Clearly I wasn’t the only one.

There it was on the box again, right next to me as I stepped onto the patio. With one eye gone and the other warily watching the sky, it didn’t take off till after I went past it and turned back again.

That post yesterday about being the boss of this place?

There, up on the telephone wire. I mentally apologized to the Cooper’s hawk for wrecking his breakfast and quickly got back in the house and out of the way.

He stayed there patiently another minute or so, feathers unruffled but a sure thing gone.

For now.

I finished the watering tonight and went off to the first night of a new knitting group; Alex found herself with a copy of my lace shawls book as a thank you. May there be many happy memories there to come.