Cathedral willows

Between meetings and workshops and deadlines and goofy weather... not a whole lot of bloggable natural history or art going on around here lately. One day last week my car and I celebrated some milestones together: the car turned its 100,000th mile. I turned significantly more miles than that. We (the car and I) were headed back home from Colorado Springs meetings, so I stopped for a mocha granita to celebrate before turning up Bighorn Sheep Canyon for home. The car will get an oil change. Whoopee!

Yesterday morning it was snowing and raining. (See below.) Miserable. But this morning! (See below also.)

It's always good to get out the day after a storm and see what the wind blew in. Avian arrivals today included hermit thrush, common yellowthroat, a Wilson's warbler.... and some peeps which I am pretty sure were least sandpipers. But, SHEESH. I struggle to ID those little buggers.

At the "peak" of the trail (farthest point from home) I found that the wet snow and wind had pretty seriously battered a large willow tree. Branches and catkins littered the trail, so I carted a chunk home to draw. (You know what a sucker I am for catkins.)

I'm not a particularly good identifier of tree species-- at least not past their obvious family names: pine, willow, cottonwood. This particular tree species may or may not be related to two other large willows near Sands Lake... but in my own personal field guide they are the same. They are enormous, graceful, luminous. They inspire a hush and a reverence and compel me to look up. I dunno what an arborist would call them, but I like think of them as "Cathedral Willows."

Pre-dawn catkin pinching

As I was walking home yesterday I spotted a lovely tree covered in catkins and deliriously happy bees.

I lusted mightily for a little branch to take home to draw (the catkins were too far overhead to manage them well in situ), and was considering the perfect stem when I noticed a young girl raking leaves in the yard. We smiled at each other and I immediately felt guilty. I mumbled something inane about happy bees, and slunk away with what I hoped resembled only passing interest. Truth was, I was a woman obsessed. I wanted those catkins.

I walked past again in the early evening, but it was still broad daylight and all the windows of the house had their curtains flung wide.

They're on to me. I know it. They can see my black, tree-envying, catkin-nicking heart.

The problem is that, in addition to being an envious twig-desirer, I am also a law-abiding, property-respecting, tree-loving wimp. People have been known to cart off entire gardens without permission (just ask Snail). Me, I can't summon the courage to pinch 3 inches of twig dangling over the sidewalk.

When I woke this morning it was still dark. Damp. Cloudy. And the theme from "Mission: Impossible" was running through my head. By the glow of the computer monitor I pulled navy blue sweats over my pajamas, stuffed the kitchen shears into my pocket, and eased into the pre-dawn grey.

Faint smell of skunk musk, damp earth. Squeak of my sneakers across the wet deck. I practiced my technique on a tree at the edge of my own yard: Reach for the closest branch, snip! and into the pocket. Smooth. I headed for the target, five blocks away.

At this hour most houses in my neighborhood still slumber, although in a few the muted yellow glow behind curtains signals morning routines underway. I turn the corner.

Wouldn't you know it? The house is the only one in five blocks with a porch light blazing and all the interior lights on. But I am not to be deterred. I summon my best "casual" demeanor and reach up for the nearest branch, bracing for floodlights, sirens, and a shout from the house. I pull a twig toward me slowly, hoping anyone glancing out a window will believe I just happened to notice tree buds in the dark. Reluctant to reach for the kitchen shears, (it seems so premeditated now) I gently pinch the little cluster of catkins into my palm. I hesitate another moment in a continued attempt to look casual, then turn towards home and paintbrushes. I'm halfway there before I remember to breathe.

(I think it's safe to cross "life of crime" off my list of potential career moves.)