When I Googled ‘Liebster Blog Award,’ there were many, many referrals to recent posts citing blogs where others had received a similar message from a blog reader. It appears to be an award given by fellow bloggers to recognize blogs that they like and follow. I am honored that Pat thought of me.

I have been following Pat Bean since 2004 when she was still a reporter for the Ogden Standard-Examiner who also wrote a weekly column about birds. I met her when I was visiting Ogden and joined the Wasatch Audubon group as they took a census of bluebird boxes. When I returned home, I began to read her column, “Winging It,” every week online. As an aspiring writer who loved to chronicle my birding adventures, her column provided me with hope that others might be interested in reading about my experiences.

She retired and her columns stopped.

I started writing the equivalent of blog posts, which I sent out to friends each week by e-mail. After I retired, I took a class in blogging and converted my weekly e-mail stories into Judy’s Jottings, which Pat discovered and started following. A short time later, I set up a separate blog, devoted just to birding – It’s a Bird Thing. I don’t post much in Judy’s Jottings these days, since I have been consumed the last two years with writing – and now marketing – the book I co-authored, Birding Hot Spots of Central New Mexico.

Since Pat posts her blog posts on Facebook, I have been reading them regularly – and have been impressed with her commitment to write a post every day. However, I have to admit that in the bustle of other writing, I have not been following other blogs as much lately.

My obligation, upon being nominated, is to acknowledge the person who nominated me and then to nominate five of my favorite bloggers. I read several ‘professional’ blogs, e.g. Cornell University’s Round Robin, the American Birding Association’s, Peeps. However, my sense of the intent of the Liebster Award is to recognize individual bloggers.

So, here is my list:

1) Even though I acknowledged Pat, her blog posts have to be my #1 favorite. The quotes she uses as a preamble to her posts always reach out and grab me – and I love her photography. Pat Bean’s Blog.

2) I enjoy reading Rosyfinch Ramblings, written by Ken Schneider. Although he maintains homes in south Florida and Illinois, he continues his love of the Sandia Mountains and the Rosy-Finch project on his blog.

3) Another one of my loves is photography. I enjoy following the photographic art of Lisa Tannenbaum on NewMexicoPhotoJournal. She taught several classes I have taken at UNM Continuing Education.

4) My fourth pick would go to Natural Moments, Joe Schelling’s blog where he posts his exquisite photographs of birds and butterflies.

5) My fifth is going to a beginning blogger – Historymama. Carole has a keen sense of observing and commenting on human nature with dry wit. This is hoping that the nomination will encourage her to persist.

The Rules are:
1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the blogosphere – other bloggers.
5. And, best of all – have fun and spread the karma.

Mother never felt comfortable asking questions about her family in northeast England – she always felt she was butting against a brick wall. Our grandparents immigrated to Canada when she was a year old and appeared to have cut ties with everyone. “I never knew anything about our family’s past or what motivated them to leave England,” Mom told us in her later years.

In fact, it took her at least five years to get up the nerve to look through the boxes of letters and photos. By time she did, so much was a mystery to her – and prompted Chris to begin her genealogical search to help Mom recreate her past. Bits and pieces of information began to piece together and previously unknown photos and names on letters started to fall into place. Yet many items remained a mystery – and became the basis for our annual summer ritual of looking at things with fresh eyes that now had more pieces to the puzzle.

“I came across this photo,” Chris said as she handed it to me, “when I was looking for some pictures of the girls when they were little. “She had been my pen pal when I was in high school.” she continued. “She was related in some way and Gram told me I should write to her – that we were the same age. She was someone Gram met when she visited England after Grandpa died in 1958. We wrote a few times, but didn’t seem to have much to say to each other; however, she sent me this picture. Although I have thought about her from time to time, I can’t even remember her name.”

It was a girl with a polka dot skirt who appeared to be standing on a ship or dock. We dubbed her ‘the girl in the polka dot skirt.’

The picture prompted us to look through the box of letters one more time to see if there were any clues.

There it was – almost at the bottom of the box – a letter from Gram. It was postmarked from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and talked about her visit.

Since Gram had eight siblings, some of whom we had not been able to find records for, it would be hard to know which niece she might be referring to.

Despite her closed-mouth response to Mom about her family, we discovered that she was in contact with some of her family. In 2002, our cousin Alan who lives in the UK, was able to track down and meet Lyn, the grand-daughter of Gram’s sister, Eliza. When Lyn wrote to introduce herself, she mentioned that when she had looked in her mother’s address book, she found Gram’s name and address in Yucaipa, CA!

Eliza and Matthew Mason

We discovered that the weathered photo was of Mathew and Eliza Mason, taken when their daughter Mary Jane married Isaac Hewitt.

When Chris passed around the photo of the ‘girl in the polka dot skirt,’ our cousin Harry said, “I have seen that picture before.” A couple of others also acknowledged it, but no one knew her name. And, in the past two and a half years, there have been no new revelations.

When Gram arrived in Gateshead in 1958, she first attempted to visit Stage relatives so she could tell them in person that her husband had died. After a chilly reception, she spent time with her extended Jones family. One of those was her cousin Elizabeth. In a letter to our mother she wrote, “you know, she is named after me.” And, in a letter to Chris and me she said, “they have treated me like a queen and just done everything to make me happy.”

When she returned, she suggested that Chris become her cousin Elizabeth’s daughter’s pen pal.

The picture remains a nagging mystery. Since all of the second and third cousins we have met and maintained contact with have helped us connect more dots and feel like we are part of a large extended family, we continue to hope that someone will recognize the girl in the picture and assist us to make contact.

“I am going to write about the girl in the polka dot skirt,” I told Chris recently. “Maybe the notion of the Six Degrees of Separation (a chain of, “a friend of a friend” statements can be made, on average, to connect any two people in six steps or fewer) will help us find her. “I will post my blog story on Facebook and urge people with ties to northeast England to share it with their friends.”
I am counting on the Six Degrees of Separation to help us find ‘the girl in the polka dot skirt.”

It seemed like an impossible task, and I quickly dismissed the idea. However, over that summer, the notion kept popping up when I was exploring one of central New Mexico’s natural environments. I realized that I already had been collecting my impressions when I wrote the story about the week’s birding adventures and posted it on my blog – It’s a Bird Thing. It would be a natural extension to look at each location in a new light. As I roamed through the Sandia Mountains or prowled along the central Rio Grande, I began paying attention to the trails and facilities and started accumulating notes. I noticed what was helpful in other bird finding guides as I traveled to new areas.

By spring, I felt it was a project I could undertake and enlisted the involvement of my friend and birding mentor, Barbara Hussey. She was excited to be a part of the endeavor and has been a wonderful partner in the project. A month later, she and another friend, Sue, traveled to Texas in search of birds. As we wound our way through the Hill Country, down to Corpus Christie, over to the lower Rio Grande and back, we consulted two different guides and made note of what was helpful and what was missing.

After enjoying looks of the Green (Barb) and Ringed (Sue and I) Kingfishers early one morning at Salineno, a remote village along the Rio Grande, we realized we had no clue where to find a rest room – and vowed to include that information in our publication. Most bird-finding guides, we would later discover, are written by men!

Because both Barb and I had traveled to other cities on business trips where we didn’t have a car, but wanted to sneak in some birding, we decided to include public transportation options when they existed.

By the end of May we had decided what sites we would highlight, and the features we would include about each one. By June I started writing in earnest. From northern Virginia, Barb began researching public transportation options, the best travel routes to reach each site, and the closest food, gas and lodging.

I quickly discovered some of the gaps in my notes, and made multiple trips back to each location – a wonderful excuse to do early morning birding before returning to my computer. However, it became difficult to enjoy my weekly trips with the Thursday Birders, since I felt compelled to check out details.

Fellow birders became additional site experts, reviewing and making recommendations to site descriptions where they frequently led field trips or located near their home.

In August, I contacted University of New Mexico (UNM) Press. They were very excited and the Acquisitions Editor felt it would be a good addition to their collection. I told him that we would be able to have a final manuscript to him by December 18. We both wanted to enjoy the holidays without having it hang over our heads.

As I completed each site description, I e-mailed them to Barb for her always excellent feedback. I reached my goal to have all of the site descriptions written before I flew to California in early October. A print-out of each chapter went with me to proof between visits with family and friends and on while away the time on the plane and the airport.

When I returned I began vetting each site with the government agency responsible for the location and researching the prevalence of the bird species we had included in the guide through Cornell University’s eBird online database of sightings. Through their bar graph feature, I was able to determine when migrating species arrived and left central New Mexico.

The manuscript was finished and sent off on schedule.

In early February after returning from a visit with my son and his family in California, I received a package from UNM Press – with the manuscript and a letter saying that it was with deep regret that they would not be able to publish our book; the press was experiencing severe financial constraints.

I learned how to submit a book proposal and started approaching numerous publishers. All came back with a polite rejection – until we got to Texas A&M Press. They were very interested and wanted us to send the full manuscript. We scrambled to make the numerous changes we had decided would enhance the manuscript and sent it on its way.

By the end of June, the editor had sent us the comments from our first peer review and told us she was in the process of contacting the second reviewer. By mid–August, we had the second set of comments and summarized the changes we would make as a result of the reviews. Their perspectives as individuals who had spent time birding in central New Mexico, but who were viewing the sites with fresh eyes, were extremely helpful.

Meanwhile, Barb was busy drawing trail diagrams and my sister, Chris, used her Computer Assisted Drafting (CAD) program to turn them into finished products!

The faculty review committee met on September 22 and unanimously approved Birding Hotpots of Central New Mexico for publication. “The committee members were enthusiastic and completely supportive,” she stated. “We’re ready to move forward.”

It still doesn’t seem real.

Early this week, a box went in the mail with two copies of the final manuscript and accompanying disks of photos, diagrams, etc.

The publishing process is lengthy, but will be worth the wait. The book should be ready to purchase in July 2011. Stay tuned for more details.

It had been five years since I visited Chaco Culture National Historical Park on a University of New Mexico Continuing Education Story of New Mexico trip. I had been fascinated by the information presented by a long-time park ranger on the area’s history as we toured Pueblo Bonito. In addition, I had been amazed by the area’s natural history and was frustrated by the limited amount of time we had to explore the area. Staying in the campground and waking up in this mystical place became a future goal.

“October should be the perfect time,” my friend Donna stated early in the summer when we discovered our mutual desire to camp at Chaco.

We pulled into the Gallo Campground shortly before noon. It was a Monday and few spaces were occupied. We picked a spot that backed up to a small ruin – and close to the restroom. The restroom was being upgraded; two pink and two blue portable restrooms stood nearby – along with a portable sink.

We spent the afternoon walking out to the Wiiji Pueblo ruins. The trail, like a dirt road, meandered along the base of a sandstone mesa. A pair of ravens seemed to dance in the air as they flew acrobatic maneuvers over our head. We could hear the sound of their wing beats as they spiraled around each other.

Wiiji Pueblo ruin

The timbers used for roof beams and door frames came from mountains over 50 miles away and were carried by man-power, rather than carts or animals. Carbon dating of these timbers has helped archaeologists establish the time periods of construction. What might appear like vent holes, also served as calendars – the rays of the sun coming through them marked the passage of time.

Shell fossil

“Oh, look,” I called to Donna. “This rock beside the trail has a fossilized shell embedded on the top.”

The sun was getting low when we returned to the campground from the 3.5 mile walk. There was still time to explore the various small ruins tucked under the cliff behind the camp sites. The air was turning chilly. As I stood under the rock overhang to stay out of the wind, warmth radiated off the rocks.

“The Chacoans that built here, knew what they were doing,” Donna commented. The cliffs across the canyon seemed to glow in the fading sun.

As we fixed dinner snug in the camper, I peeked behind the insulated window covering to see if there was going to be a sunset.

“Will you watch the dinner while I go out and take some photos?” I asked.

A few campsites away, a couple was huddled around a campfire. It looked as though they were going to sleep in the back of their truck. Beyond them, the cliff was a black silhouette against the scarlet sky.

As we were about ready to get ready to make up our beds, the camper lights began to falter, and then the CO2 alarm started beeping.

“Oh, oh,” Donna gasped. “I think the camper battery is going.” We had just turned on the heater to take the chill of the increasingly cold night. “I am so sorry, but this is the end of our lights and heat.”

“Since my sleeping bag is rated for 32 degrees, I should be OK,” I replied, remembering that the campground host alerted us that the temperature was supposed to drop to freezing that night.

I felt snuggly warm once I slid into my sleeping bag and pulled my fleece hat down over my ears. My comfort was short-lived. Every time I thought I had the bag tucked around my shoulders, it would gape a little and I would start to feel a chill.

I slept – or dozed – rather lightly, waking up often when my shoulders got cold. I kept thinking about the two ravens Donna had spotted in a cleft near our campsite. They were nestled up next to the rock cliff to take advantage of the warmth. Even with the radiant heat from the cliff and the ability to fluff up their feathers to form a protective layer, it had to be a cold night for them. I longed to lean against something that would emanate warmth.

I had to make my first trip to the pink potty around 1 a.m. “Did you look up at the stars?” Donna asked when we returned.

“No, I just trudged along,” I grumbled.

By 5 a.m. when nature called again, I had slept very little. While I headed out again, Donna unearthed a mummy bag and stuffed it inside my sleeping bag. This time I attempted to look up at the stars, but the steam from my exhalation in the near-freezing air clouded my view.

Back in my double bags, I was finally warm and able to sleep for what remained of the night.

We were awakened in the morning by the pitter patter of a Canyon Towhee as it trotted across the roof of the camper. Light clouds covered the sky, hinting of the winter storm that was expected that night. I discovered ice in the top of my water bottle I had left in the cab of the truck.

Fahada Butte

We hoped to hike the Pueblo Alto Trail that heads up the cliff behind Pueblo del Arroyo to the northern mesa. “It passes through a cleft in the rock face,” the ranger at the Visitor Center told us.

As we approached the bottom of the trail, we spotted two people heading down. After watching their descent, I began to have my doubts about whether I could scramble over the rocks, but didn’t want to give up without trying.

“Coming down is the worst. I can tell as I head up whether it will be too steep for the return trip. Let’s try and see how far we can get,” I stated.

The trail immediately involved maneuvering over big boulders; however, even larger rocks on either side of the trail provided leverage. I slowly picked my way up the trail – Donna in front of me in case I decided I needed a hand. All went well until we got to a point where the ‘trail’ went across an almost vertical rock-face with nothing to hold onto. It would mean descending on my rear end, but there would be nothing for me to use to ease myself onto the rock.

This is as far as I can go

Donna went a short ways further so she could see where the trail passed through the cleft.

Even though I didn’t make it to the top, it felt like a major victory to have scrambled that far.

We walked further down the main trail past Kin Kletso and finally turned around at Casa Chiquita.

Chacoan Stairway

We headed out of the canyon pondering the mysteries of the site that had been the center of Pueblo culture between 850 and 1250 AD – and then seemed to have been abandoned.

Will Rogers Elementary

This pilgrimage to my childhood started last winter when I registered with Facebook. I filled in the requisite information, including the name of my high school and year I graduated. As I explored the web site’s possibilities, I discovered that if I clicked on San Bernardino High School ’59 it took me to a page which listed others who had graduated in my class. I started scrolling through the names and photos, racking my brain to remember who they were. This led me to dig through my shelf of memorabilia and pull out the annual from my senior year and my high school scrapbook.

When I moved from San Bernardino to the Seattle area in the early 70’s, I lost track of my best friends from high school. Before the Internet, keeping in touch involved writing letters, which was hard for a busy, working mother to do. Over the years I have felt guilty about not making more of an effort, and was disappointed not to find those friends among the profiles on Facebook.

As the spring progressed, I realized that I had graduated 50 years ago and that there probably would be a 50th reunion. Of course, no one knew where I was or that my name had changed again, so I had to seek out information. A search on the Internet led me to the web site of the company that was putting on the reunion and told me how to register to receive information. I sent them my address and soon received a notice. I still wasn’t sure whether I would attend; I had not attended any other reunions.

My high school annual now sat next to my computer. I started checking the Facebook link to San Bernardino ’59 graduates weekly to see who was new and hoping that the upcoming 50th reunion would spur others to connect. I became more and more curious about the lives of my high school friends.

“You should join Classmates.com,” my sister told me. I had done that when it first launched and hadn’t connected with any friends; the chatter seemed frivolous. I started to protest.

“Since I am a member, let’s log onto your class and see if you recognize any names,” she continued. We started scrolling through the names – and there were the friends I was looking for! One had entered information about herself. She was now living in Las Vegas. So, I went home, registered, and wrote her using my one free message.

Within 24 hours she had responded and we shared e-mail addresses. She had stayed in contact with two others and I began to reconnect. One was on Facebook, but somehow the high school link was faulty. Now I started getting excited about attending the reunion.

I contacted three friends from college with whom I stay in regular contact. “When are your reunions?” I asked in an e-mail to them, since we all grew up in Southern California. Two of them had reunions the week before mine and would be in CA.

University of Redlands friends

And then it was time to drive out to San Bernardino to re-explore the area after a 36 year absence and attend my reunion. The day prior to the reunion was spent birding in the San Bernardino Mountains. I stopped in the town of Running Springs where my family had escaped the heat of the valley at a swim club. I was trying to find a memento and wandered into a curio shop. The owner, who had lived in the town her entire life, perked up when she found out the purpose of my visit and began to drag out old photos of the town. “Do you remember a girl who rode a motorcycle to the club in her bathing suit?” she inquired. “The club is gone now,” she continued. “The property is now a parking lot for a church.”

“We are going to be gathering for a pre-reunion happy hour in our motel,” Leslie told me when I called her at 4:00 later that afternoon. “They let me post a sign in the lobby.”

I headed over there at 5:00. “Aren’t you Judy?” a man called from the other end of the hallway as I headed towards the elevator.

I recognized his face from Classmates, but couldn’t place his name. It would be like this all evening. It was a person’s smile or gestures that sparked recognition.

It was wonderful re-connecting with Suzy and Leslie. After kibitzing for half an hour, we drove over to the Arrowhead Country Club. “I’ve been taking Tums all day,” Suzy admitted as we made our way to the reunion. I also experienced alternating excited anticipation and anxiety off and on all day.

HS friends

“Are you still involved with algae?” a former classmate inquired. I was surprised that she remembered my senior science project on the potential use of algae as food. “I thought that maybe you were part of the progress that is being made to use algae as bio-fuel and had hit the big time.” My only involvement with algae, of course, is to continually scoop it out of my pond.

“You always were taller than I was,” a man said as he sidled up to me while we were mingling after our chicken dinner.

“Didn’t you live in the flat-roofed house at the end of Mt. View?” a woman asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I drove by it yesterday and it broke my heart, it looked so neglected.”

San Bernardino High School

A man grabbed the microphone from the DJ and asked, “Who is no longer with us?” Name after name was mentioned. It was sobering.

“Everyone who went to Wilson Elementary, gather for a picture,” the DJ announced. A number of people congregated for the photo, realizing that they had known each other for 60 plus years.

I gathered with the group photo of those who attended Arrowview Junior High.

And then it was time to leave. We said our good-byes and slipped out into the quiet evening air. “I’m glad I came, but I am glad it is over,” I stated. We all agreed.

The next day, after attending services at my old church, I headed back to Los Angeles. As I sped along the freeway, I pondered the experiences of the past few days. Many things had endured, yet other things had changed. In some ways fifty years seems like yesterday; in others, it feels like eons have passed.

A friend summed it up, “Isn’t it amazing that we are still who we were then, and yet different.”

This was my fourth visit to the Grand Canyon. I made brief forays to the South Rim when I was much younger, and stopped at the North Rim three years ago, but didn’t have much time to linger. My prior visits provided snapshots of the canyon – each from a single location and moment in time. On my last visit I vowed to return and spend more time. When I found out that my friend Donna had similar experiences and aspirations, we decided to plan a trip after the summer tourist season was over.

Late afternoon view from lodge

It was threatening to rain, which provided additional depth and light patterns. As the light began to fade, we sat mesmerized, not wanting to leave. We took turns slipping away to get coffee from the Roughrider Saloon. Since Donna was going to drive back to Jacob Lake, mine was a Grand Canyon coffee, complete with 3 different coffee liqueurs!

As dusk approached and the sun sunk towards the horizon, it peeked through to highlight selected cliffs. I took deep breaths of the cooling air and sighed in contentment.

All of a sudden, we looked through the windows of the lodge and saw a bright glow on the western horizon. Everyone on the porch got up en masse and headed through the lodge to the porch on the opposite side – just in time to capture the brilliance of the fading sun.

It was raining as we wound our way along the road to Cape Royal the next morning. The aspens were starting to turn. We passed through two different burned areas – one of them quite recent with the pungent smell of damp ashes. The National Parks Service had several educational signs discussing the benefits of lightning burns to rejuvenate the forest.

Angel's Window

At the point, we discovered that this location jutted out into the canyon making it the closest distance to the south rim.

“Visiting this location really gives me a better grasp of the size of the Grand Canyon,” I told Donna. As I gazed in awe at the ripples of color, I couldn’t help but think of Haydn’s oratorio, “The Heavens are Telling,” that our choir had been practicing before I left on the trip.

Colorado River from Angel's Window overlook

Least Chipmunk

View from Bright Angel Point

On the way back to the campground on the Bridle Trail, I pondered that I had achieved another goal on this trip – the opportunity to hike on a variety of trails.

We lingered over breakfast the next morning enjoying the views from the picnic table outside of the camper and wanting to savor our last moments on the plateau. And then it was time to head towards Flagstaff for our final night before home.

We didn’t have to go far before the flat desert landscape became hilly. Piñon pines dotted the red dirt and we began to notice unique rock formations.

Red Mesa

Owl Rock

Our RV park was nestled in a canyon just west and over the border into Utah from the Monument Valley Tribal Park. We got settled into our space, conveniently located not too far from the rest rooms and then set out to explore the surrounding area.

Monument Valley vista

“There’s a bat,” Donna said later in the early evening, pointing at a fluttering object drift by. The fading light reflected off its translucent gray wings and it resembled a large butterfly.

The back side of The Mitten from trail

The patch of dune sand which had seemed easy to traverse on the way down, was a killer to trudge through on the way back up to the parking area.

Totem Pole rock formation

And, then we were off to spend the night in Page and be ready to head to the Vermillion Cliffs in the morning.

View of Colorado River from Navajo Bridge

A clerk in the Visitor’s Center reported that one had visited the bridge area the prior day and also suggested we check the Vermillion Cliffs as we drove towards the Grand Canyon, as well as stop at the release site.

California Condor wing span

We stopped at the viewing station adjacent to the Peregrine Fund’s release site. A large sign provided us with a better perspective on the condor’s wingspan, compared with a Golden Eagle and a Red-tailed Hawk.

condor roosting sight

Donna and I were grateful we both had the opportunity to view these majestic birds on prior trips to the area.

We had enjoyed our three-day trek across northern Arizona’s red rock country, but were excited to be heading to the north rim of the Grand Canyon.

Well, I thought, I suppose I could walk over to the soccer fields in the Sepulveda Basin Recreational Area, just a block from my son’s house. I could explore the edge of the fields that backs up to the Los Angeles River. Maybe, I could even walk over to Lake Balboa, where Carolyn from the San Fernando Audubon Society had suggested I might find a Tri-colored Blackbird.

Tri-colored Blackbird

I thought about all of the times I had walked across this park to the children’s play area with my grand-daughter, barely paying attention to the Brewer’s Blackbirds that are always foraging in the grass!

Things were looking up – and I only had walked a block.

While I stood there, a Bullock’s oriole flew into a tree near the blackbirds, its bright orange plumage contrasting with the green foliage. Barn Swallows swooped back and forth across the fields.

Before I knew it, I was at Balboa Blvd. I crossed under the road on bike trail, side stepping as a bicyclist whizzed past me, and then scrunching along the edge of the trail where a group of nine moms were doing exercises on one half of the trail, while their strollers were parked on the other side.

Double-crested Cormorant

Great-blue Heron

“How do I get to Woodley?” I asked a grounds-keeper who was taking a break from blowing leaves.

“Follow along this path until you get to the bridge over the creek,” he replied. “Then you walk along the road leading from the golf course. It is probably a mile.”

Undaunted, I walked on, making note of the restaurant sign on the side of the club house in the public golf course. Before long I was on Woodley; however, I was just south of Victory, so it was further than I thought to the entrance to the Sepulveda Wildlife Area. But, I had walked this far, so I kept going. The tubular flowers of the Desert Willows lining the parkway were in bloom, and I checked them for hummingbirds, hoping for an Allen’s. I did see an Anna’s.

Fortunately, a median divided the busy road just beyond the entrance of the wildlife area, which made it possible for me to cross four lanes of fast traffic.

The wildlife lake was quiet and felt even more subdued with the gray skies. I began to scan the bushes where Carolyn suggested I might find an Allen’s Hummingbird, but none of the flowers were in bloom. As I started down the trail, one of the bushes was alive with the chittering of Bushtits. They began to exit one by one and seemed to follow me down the trail, picking off insects as they went.

juvenile Coot

Further along Song Sparrows hopped out from the underbrush and bobbed along the trail before ducking back under cover. A couple of scruffy juveniles popped out above it, and then quickly disappeared. They looked as if they were surveying the outside world for the first time.

Great Egret

A flock of Cliff Swallows flew round and round near the edge of the water, sometimes darting into the woods – one almost clipping my head.

Further along the trail, a Yellow Warbler popped out of the under brush, a bright spot on a dull day.

A woodpecker flew across the trail, recognizable by its ‘breast-stroke’ flight pattern. When it landed in some bare twiggy branches, I focused my binoculars on it – a Downey Woodpecker.

I worked my way back on the trail that borders the area of natural grasses, sages and wild flowers. The smell of damp sage filled the air. Lesser Goldfinches buzzed and mewed in the sun flowers. As I crossed the cricket field, a Bullock’s oriole flew into a nearby tree. Red-winged Blackbirds and European Starlings foraged in flocks on the grass. A Western Kingbird flew on and off its perch at the edge of the picnic area.

It was time to head back.

I trudged up Woodley, stopping to scan the Desert Willows. Nada. As I walked along the trail bordering the road into the golf course, I was literally picking up one foot, then setting it down, and repeating with the other foot. I kept the club house in view, knowing I could soon stop and rest my legs.

While I was sitting by the window over looking the gold course, I was rewarded with an Allen’s Hummingbird that flew into a bird of paradise type of plant right outside the window. It hovered long enough for me to get a good look. Another life bird!

Only another two miles back to BJ’s house. That evening when we added up every where I had wandered; BJ figured that I had walked at least six miles. In a land of endless freeways, I had walked most of the distance of the 2,000-acre Sepulveda Basin Recreation Area, enjoying a cross-section of its natural wonders. A delightful day indeed.

Plain Chachalaca

The Plain Chachalaca is native to Mexico and Central America. Its range only extends to the tip of south Texas.

The Sabal Palm Audubon Center, identified as a Globally Important Bird Area, also is one of the wildlife corridors that has been developed and nurtured along the southern part of the Rio Grande River to allow non-flying wildlife to move freely back and forth across the river – important to maintaining the gene pool and wildlife diversity. It also contains one of the only remaining stands of Sabal palms.

I recently returned from a trip to the Lower Rio Grande Valley with my friends Barb and Sue. We knew that the sanctuary was at risk and wanted to visit before it was cut off by the impending border wall.

We visited just in time. A recent news release issued by Texas Audubon announced that due in part to the impending construction of the border wall they “will be forced to curtail public access to the Sabal Palms Audubon Sanctuary.” The sanctuary closed on May 15; the situation will be reassessed in mid October. Projected construction of the border fence, being built along the levee all along the Rio Grande, will effectively cut the sanctuary off, since it is located between the levee and the river.

Green Jay

We watched a vireo flitting in the foliage. Barb got a good look and checked her field guide – a Yellow-green Vireo – a bird that almost was extirpated in the United States; however, a few have nested in the Brownsville area for the past few years.

As mandated by the Secure Fence Act passed by Congress in 2006, almost 600 of the proposed 670 miles of fencing have been constructed along the 1,947 miles of border. Since it removes large swaths of vegetation, the fence makes a 60 foot wide impact in the areas where it has been erected.

The path of the fence follows a staccato line along the border. It is not clear how the segments were selected. Some private land owners have had their land seized (although many are fighting back in the courts), while others are left untouched. According to a February 2008 article in the Texas Observer, the wall has stopped short of some gated golf-course communities owned by prominent Texas business people – and political contributors to the prior administration.

We worked our way north along the Rio Grande, stopping to sample the diverse wild life at several of the numerous state parks and wildlife refuges. To further protect the environment, visitors can either walk the trails, or tour the facilities via a tram.

Our next stop was at the newly created Resaca de la Palma State Park, part of the World Birding Center complex and located north of Brownsville. It is one of the places where Altamira Oriole’s nest.

“A pair of orioles just finished building their nest outside the visitor’s center,” the helpful ranger told us when we purchased our day pass. “You can see the wildlife from our 3.2 mile tram ride through the park,” she continued. “When the tram returns to the main parking lot, the driver will show you the oriole’s nest.”

Common Moorhen

Back at the parking lot we saw the pendulous nest of the Altamira Oriole hanging from a tree adjacent to the parking area. The female must have been deep inside. We watched the brightly-colored orange and black male furtively fly into a nearby bush, pop into the nest, and then emerge and fly off.

It was mid-afternoon when we arrived at Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park and the hot sun beat down on us as we walked from the parking area to the visitor’s center.

“You just missed the tram,” the park staff informed us. “You can start walking and pick it up the next time it goes by. It makes its loop every 30 min.”

We trudged along the edge of the road, trying to stay in the shade, which, due to the humidity, wasn’t very cool. Since this area of Texas has been in drought conditions, the grasses and shrubs on either side of the road were parched, and most birds also were taking respite from the heat.

Hooded Oriole

We left just as the park was closing at 5 p.m. Since there are so many birding hot spots along the Lower Rio Grande Valley, we didn’t want to stop for the day. Even though we knew it would be closed, we headed for the Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, another refuge that would be impacted by the border fence.

Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge

We traveled back towards our motel in Brownsville on U.S. 281, the “old highway” which connected the original land-grant settlements along the Rio Grande. We passed through tiny villages between agricultural areas. It was here that we got a good look at a segment of the border fence that already had been constructed.

The next morning we headed north towards Salineno, just south of Falcon Dam. We drove slowly through the village, which looked as if was from a by-gone era, and down the dirt road about a block to river.

We watched a Golden-fronted Woodpecker scrounging for insects in the tree which provided some shade for the car. Since they prefer the clear waters and inlets below the nearby dam, this is one of the few locations where Green and Ringed Kingfishers can reliably be found. Dense willows hugged the shore and shaded the water – their favorite haunts.

A Great Kiskadee called from the trees and White-tipped Doves quietly flew back and forth.

“We have to see the kingfisher on this side of the river,” Barb reminded us. “It doesn’t count towards our North American bird list if it is in Mexico – a stone throw across the Rio Grande.”

A birder from New Jersey emerged from wooded trail. He had seen the kingfishers further up river and offered to lead us. In our haste, we forgot to tuck in our pants legs and woke up the next morning with chigger bites.

All of a sudden we heard the clatter of two Ringed Kingfishers, and then we saw them chasing each other across the river and into the trees. We didn’t get a very good look, but at least now they were on the ‘countable’ side of the river. Before long, they flew out in plain view in front of us.

Back by the car, Barb was able to see a Green Kingfisher as it flew from one tree to another, the white outer tail feathers obvious as it flew. “I have been waiting 30 years to see it in the U.S.,” Barb exclaimed.

As we left Salineno, we worried about what would happen to the town with the advent of the border fence. The village, which has been there for centuries, surely would be cut off – along with one of the birding hotspots of the area.

Perhaps there is hope for the wildlife on the Lower Rio Grande Valley. Rep. Raul Grijalva (AZ) has introduced The Border Security and Responsibility Act (H.R. 2076), which would provide a new approach to securing the border, while at the same time protecting our borderlands wildlife and wild place. It would repeal the REAL ID Act waiver authority, which gave the Office of Homeland Security the power to waive all federal, state and local laws in the process of constructing the wall, including the Endangered Species Act, Clean Water Act, and others. It also would require meaningful consultation with private landowners, as well as public and private wildlife managers.

And, since I have returned, news has come out that Obama’s budget has eliminated the funds to build the remaining 70 miles of fence, which would protect 30 years of inter-agency partnerships and international cooperation to protect the native habitat and its wildlife.

As we headed to Laredo and then on to San Antonio, I pondered the fate of wildlife, as well the economy of the Lower Rio Grande Valley, which has been enriched by the thousands of birders who visit each year.

I was experiencing the new millimeter whole body imaging machine, using technology developed at Los Alamos National Laboratories, and available in eighteen airports, including one security line at the International Sunport in Albuquerque.

According to TSA, the machines will speed up the screening process while thoroughly detecting weapons, explosives and other threat items.. The magnetometer that passengers currently walk through detects only metal objects.

The machine took an electronic picture of me “without clothes.” Some have referred to the procedure as lewd, and other critics have decried the machine as overly-intrusive. However, they are undoubtedly people who don’t get patted-down routinely.

While some people might object to having security technicians view their body, this old body doesn’t mind. It is far less intrusive than the pat-downs I experience each time my knee replacements set off the buzzer.

To deal with privacy concerns, TSA provides protections on whole-body scanning, including blurring the faces on images of passengers being screened, examining the images in a remote room and assuring that images will not be stored, printed, transmitted or reproduced.

I was motioned to stay momentarily until the technician gave the signal to the screener waiting as I exited the enclave.

Instead of motioning me on, she asked, “Are you wearing something around your knee?”

I raised my pant leg to show her the compression wrap I wear around my right knee where the tendons must have been misaligned during the replacement procedure.

“I need to pat down your knee,” she continued.

Still, a knee pat-down is better than my normal security experience where the hook on my bra triggers an upper body pat down, and new screeners sometimes are intrusively thorough.

And then I was free to gather my belongings and put on my shoes.

Just one more hurdle. Another screener had taken my CPAP machine to be tested for explosive residue. This is normally a routine experience.

When I approached the Explosives Trace Detection station, I was informed that my machine had ‘failed,’ and the technician would have to pat me down. I lucked out – the technician was a woman. I didn’t need to wait for a ‘female assist.’

“Oh, no,” I replied. “What would be on it that caused a reaction?”

“I don’t know,” she responded.

“I thought that for once I could go through security without a pat-down,” I said.

The pat down was not intrusive, only symbolic of the on-going hoops I jump through to travel during these uncertain times.

Next time I will remove the compression wrap before going through security and clean the exterior of my CPAP machine prior to putting it in my carry-on bag. I might even be able to wear pants with a hook and zipper closing, rather than an elastic waist!

I am grateful for the work of scientists that will make travel safer for all of us and easier for those of us with bionic parts.