Palouse Outdoors: The Ebb and Flow

The old cliché "The only thing constant in life is change" was coined by Greek philosopher Heraclitus. This epiphany struck him around 500 B.C. I assume taxes were not a thing at the time, otherwise, that little tidbit would likely have been included, as folks like to claim today.

While Heraclitus was correct, that time is like a flowing river, and you will never step into the same waters twice, there is an ebb and flow to events among the seasons and years – the past approximately 15 months presenting a solid case in point. Coronavirus continues to adapt against human immunity. Extreme heat and drought have struck once again. U.S. Society took another shot at imploding by casting the light off day on racism. Still, life goes on, and these events have calmed slightly.

Life on the homestead may be somewhat sheltered from the bigger picture of society, but notable change remains constant in our little mesocosm. And, because every organism is affected by one another and our environment, this relationship that appears chaotic on the surface works to strike a balance between positive and negative. What that balance looks like and what it means for the future is not always obvious but tracking changes from year to year is an interesting study, particularly with wildlife – birds, bugs, and blooms being prime examples.

Typically, a handful of Rufous hummingbirds visit us each spring and hang around for a week or two until the Black-chinned hummers swarm in and force them out. This year, however, we only had one rufus drop by and he stayed less than a week. Additionally, we only have a few Black-chinned hummingbirds, where we typically have more than a dozen. The hatch didn't seem to go as planned either. Did the smoke and fire last September affect hummingbirds as they migrated south? That could explain fewer birds returning this year.

Continuing with birds, a strange, yet simultaneously familiar cry carried through the alders this spring. A familiar enough sound from the Appalachia of my youth that I didn't actually give notice until my wife Ali asked if I had heard it – the raspy "mew" of a Gray Catbird. Catbirds inhabit a large range in the U.S. and southern Canada and are a permanent resident in the eastern hardwoods. Eastern Washington is the western border of their breeding range, and we were lucky enough to have a breeding pair this year.

What brought the catbirds to our homestead remains a mystery, but likely factors include a combination of thick woody cover and mature trees, green peas being planted around the homestead, and the abundance of yellow grasshoppers that we've experienced this year. Broadleaf plants like peas attract insects with their flowers and succulent leaves. Environmental conditions may have been favorable for grasshoppers as well. And what are grasshoppers good for? Bird chicks. Teenage quail and pheasant are beginning to appear in excellent numbers, and the grasshoppers providing forage for rearing broods may have something to do with that this year.

Another exception was the presence of Bullock's orioles. While one or two orioles always show up on the homestead, they appear transient, offering fleeting glimpses in the yard as they cruise between shrubbery. This year, however, several females remained regularly visible and hatched at least one clutch of chicks. Was it because we have increased berry and fruit-producing plants on the property? Not likely, due to another late April frost wiping out the blossoms from the majority of our fruiting plants. Their presence may tie back to the grasshoppers as an important food source, and the alders towering over the drainage along the property providing nesting habitat.

The excitement of increased and varied bird activity was tempered by the extreme June heat. The hottest week of the year coincided with the fledging of many species, taking a toll on fledgling survival. One evening, a sparsely feathered finch chick struggled to reach a low fork in the crabapple, where it hunkered in the shade behind the trunk. It sat for hours, beak agape, breathing heavily in the 115-degree heat. Many chicks left the nest, helpless to the full sun exposure that week. Nevertheless, a few pulled through and will hopefully return next year.

Change may be constant and extreme environmental conditions expected on occasion, but when change results in a "new norm", species – humans included – must adapt and redefine a natural balance. What change did you notice this year? Are we on the forefront of striking a new natural balance with Mother Nature? Only time will tell, but plant flowering records in the Pacific Northwest suggest an earlier bloom trend over the past 100 years. In the meantime, as we adapt to the ebb and flow, I will take a diversity of songbirds warbling around the house as a small consolation.