Remembering and Remembrance

Remembrance Day Poppy

When my sister Chris and I were waiting in the Manchester Airport for our connecting flight to Inverness, we noticed business men and women with red poppies on their suit labels. We were surprised since it was only Oct. 29.

“Oh, yes,” we were told later. “People begin wearing poppies almost a month before Remembrance Day.”

Veterans Day is a non-event in the U.S. Schools and government offices close on the nearest Monday, and the news provides coverage of poorly attended parades. November 11 is just another day.

In the week leading up to Remembrance Day, poppies began appearing on almost everyone. Since this November marks 90 years since the Armistice of WWI, BBC news provided week-long coverage of one of the battlefields in France and talked about and showed the remains of some of the trenches.

That’s when it really hit us. Our grandfather, a member of the 28th Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Forces, was based at Shorncliffe and fought on the front in France. Our grandmother followed him to England with our mother, aged 5, and uncle, aged 7.

Joseph and Elizabeth Stage and children

In her memoirs, our mother describes an incident when our grandmother was visiting our grandfather at the camp, which was across the river from where they were living at the time. “A German air-raid came over and bombs were dropped on the camp. Mother immediately had to leave, and since there was a blackout, it was not easy to get home. She had to cross a bridge over the river and was stopped three times by sentries with rifles who called out, ‘Who goes there?’”

“One of the stories I remember,” Chris explained to our cousins, “was about our grandfather being buried alive during the war.” He had been wounded twice and then buried in the trenches during an air-raid. He was passed over by the medics the first time they picked up those they thought were wounded. When they returned to dig out the ones that were buried, they realized that he was still alive. Our grandmother received a telegram saying that he was killed in France. Then she got one saying he was injured.

“She assumed that the telegrams had been reversed,” Chris relayed, “so she went to France, left our mom and uncle in a boarding house, and set off to time him.” She thought she would be claiming a body, but found him alive, although injured.

“The trench had collapsed,” Chris continued. “He stayed alive by pulling the collar of his uniform out away from his throat so he could breathe.”

Even though southern England experienced shelling and 703,000 Britons died in WWI, none of the groups of cousins we met with had any stories. One of the common threads of our visits with cousins was the dearth of information their grandparents shared. Even though our mother wrote down the story of her life, there is much we wish we know about our grandparent’s lives. We discovered we are not alone with this sentiment.
An elderly woman interviewed on the BBC revealed that she had not shared information with her children or grandchildren about her father’s participation in World War I. “It was just a fact of life,” she stated.

New East Window - St.Martin-in-the-Fields

On November 9, Remembrance Sunday, we attended services at St. Martin-in-the-Fields church near Trafalgar Square. The vicar announced that at 11:00, the congregation would be invited to stand and face the recently installed new east window, replacing a window installed following World War II bomb damage, for the two minutes of silence. Following the silence, chills went up our spine as bugles played from the balcony.

Remembrance Sunday crowds

While we were observing the silence in St. Martin’s, the whole of the United Kingdom also was in silent observation. Down the street at the Cenotaph on Whitehall Road, the Queen was laying a wreath.

We made our way towards the Cenotaph an hour later. The ceremony was breaking up and we felt like salmon swimming upstream as we walked against the throng. Veterans stood shoulder to shoulder around the wreath-laden area.

Wreaths at Cenotaph

“We keep saying we should attend sometime,” our cousin Beryl told us that afternoon. “It must have been memorable.”

We were at Heathrow Airport at 11 a.m. on November 11. At 10:45, an announcement encouraged everyone at the airport to join them in observing two minutes of silence. The tradition of two minutes of silence has continued since the Armistice in 1918.

At 11:00 the hustle and bustle of the airport came to a halt. Many stood in respect, and the airport became eerily quiet.

It was meaningful to visit at this time and remember the sacrifices of our grandparents.

Sharing our Stories

“We think we have identified which George Brodie was our great-great-grandfather,” my sister Chris and I announced excitedly to Graehm, the director of the Moray (pronounced murray) Family History Center.

“You have been focused on identifying your ancestors back several generations,” he replied. “I want you to think about your stories – what will YOUR great grand children know about you.”

Sharing and recording stories and identifying the threads that formed the rich tapestry of our extended family became the theme of our visit to the U.K. – from Elgin at the northern tip of Scotland where our father’s family originated, to Newcastle where our mother’s family was born, to cousins in Cheltenham, Devon and London.

THE BRODIES OF ELGIN:

Moss Street - Elgin

The air was bracing – barely above freezing, as we pulled our suitcases up Moss Street to our B&B in Elgin. The dark limestone, Georgian-style buildings exuded a sense of history. These were the streets that our Brodie relatives had walked. We had visited Elgin seven years ago and had met some third cousins. We were returning for a visit and to learn more at the Family History Center.

“How would you like to meet one of my cousins who was married to one of your 3rd cousins?” Colin asked.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Wonderful. Her name is Elsie. I’ll be round to pick you up at 12,” he responded.

Thus began an amazing day.

Brodie kin

Colin and I had exchanged genealogy information during the past year and he was eager to meet us. As soon as we got in the car, stories began tumbling out – and didn’t stop for almost six hours. We stopped in Llanbryde to pick up Elsie, and then headed a ways into the country to the home he shares with his partner – Manse Cottage, which at one time had been the quarters for two families who worked at the manse for the nearby parish church.

Colin had been a cellist with the Welch Symphony for many years.

“I sold my cello to buy a typewriter for college,” I told him.

“And I sold my cello to buy a pub when my health prevented me from continuing the rigors of musical performance,” he replied with his contagious laugh.

Elsie, a hearty and active Scottish woman in her late 70’s, bantered back and forth with Colin who is two years older than me, about life in the Elgin area when they were growing up.

Our heads were swimming by time Colin dropped us back in Elgin. What a wonderful opportunity it was to spend a cold, rainy afternoon in the home of a local family – who also happens to be ‘kissin’ kin. It was a unique opportunity to soak up the essence and history of the area where our Dad’s grandfather grew up.

Susan and her mum, Marie, picked us up the next afternoon. We had met Marie and her twin sister Daphne on our visit to Elgin seven years ago. Marie’s infectious smile greeted us.

“What would you like to see?” Susan asked us.

“How about Lossiemouth?” Chris replied – and we were off. We were interested in visiting the village of Lossiemouth since that is where our newly discovered George Brodie married Margaret Anderson in 1791.

Third Cousins

The winds off the North Sea were dashing the waves over the sea wall at the mouth of the river. Susan drove around to the west beach area. The car park where she stopped so I could take photos was along Stotfield Harbour, the area where George and Margaret were married.

Afterwards, Susan drove us along the coast and through many of the small villages we had read about as we researched our Brodie relatives. We stopped for tea and scones in Findhorn and ended the afternoon at Susan’s ultra modern home that overlooks a farm of Highland Cows.

“These are my 3rd cousins, once removed,” Susan announced as she introduced us to a friend who stopped by.

We sampled the local single malt whiskey, Glen Moray, and she sent us on our way with the rest of the bottle.

We left Elgin with stories of both the past and the present.

THE JONES OF NEWCASTLE AND DURHAM
It was an all-day journey on three trains to arrive in Newcastle for the next leg of our family history adventure. Our train arrived 15 minutes early at Newcastle Central Station, so Lyn and John weren’t there yet. Would we recognize them from the photos they had sent six years ago? Lyn had the same worry and had made a sign to hold up. Our fears were unfounded as we recognized each other instantly.

John and Lyn

Back at their home we began to share stories and had to force ourselves to go to bed at 12:30 a.m.

“I don’t know very much,” Lyn started out, but as we began exchanging family information, it would prompt a memory she didn’t know she had.

In preparation for our visit, she had restored her grandmother’s photo album. Her grandmother was our grandmother’s next oldest sister.

“That looks like gram,” I said pointing to a picture. Of course, it wasn’t; it was HER grandmother.

At one point Lyn told Chris that she looked like her own mother. “I always wondered who I resembled,” Chris replied. “I didn’t seem to look like anyone else in the family.”

She took us to the cemetery where her mother and grandmother were buried. Also in the plot are our mutual great grandparents – Thomas and Christiana Jones.

“It was very emotional for me,” Chris told us, “to see the name Christiana on the grave curb. That is who I am named for.”

As the stories continued, we became aware of more than physical resemblance. The Jones women were smart, over-came obstacles and were highly motivated for their families to have a better life.

Jones cousins

On another day a roomful of eager faces awaited us at the home of Bill and Jean in Blaydon, a suburb of Newcastle. Bill and Chris had been exchanging family information over the past several weeks after they discovered we were 2nd cousins. When Bill learned about our visit to Newcastle, he gathered 10 nearby Jones descendants to meet us.

Our common ancestors were Samuel and Mary Jones. The folks gathered in Bill’s living room were descended from Samuel’s oldest daughter, Eliza Ann, and we from their oldest son, Thomas.

After introductions, we began passing around pictures.

“This is my grandmother, Charlotte,” June said as she passed us some photos.

“Wow, she really resembles gram,” Chris and I both said at once. They agreed when we pulled out our pictures of gram.

“We really want you to look carefully at this photo,” Chris urged as she started it around the room. “She now would be about our age. She was my pen pal in the late 50’s when our gram stayed at their home on a visit to the U.K. Her mom was our gram’s niece.”

“I’ve seen this picture before,” Gordon, Bill’s brother said. His wife agreed. “But I can’t put a name to her.”

By mid afternoon, June, Ivor and Donna had to leave to drive back to Middlesborough at the south end of Durham County. “I will send you information about your 2nd cousins in Australia,” June promised.

“And we will try to find if there are any links to our Graham families,” Donna, the family researcher stated.

Finally it was time to go. “Come and stay longer next time,” they all urged.

Gordon and Rose promised to dig out the old photo albums to identify the mystery girl and we all agreed to stay in touch.

STAGES OF WALLSEND, CHELTENHAM AND EXMOUTH
“They only cost 50 p,” Gladys said with a twinkle in her eye as she laid a bouquet of flowers on her husband’s grave. “Joe will appreciate the bargain.”

It was a bittersweet visit with Gladys, our mother’s cousin she never knew about. Her husband, Joe, had passed away since our trip seven years ago.

“Do you want to go with me to get the fish and chips?” Alan asked. “You can wave at your ancestor’s ghosts.” On our last visit Alan told us he had discovered that our Stage ancestors at one point lived in the flat over the spot that now houses the fish and chips shop.

After dinner, Alan, Chris and I compared our latest genealogical discoveries. As Alan thumbed through his folder looking for some information, he whipped out my posting he had printed from the Stage genealogical bulletin board in 2000 – the message that brought us together and led to our visit in 2001.

Gladys relaxing in her flat

Gladys was watching the Liverpool football match, but also keenly listened to our conversation. She jumped in with stories, e.g. “You know, they always said I resembled Auntie Florrie,” when we mentioned Florence Stage.

As we gave Gladys a parting hug, we were painfully aware that in all probability we would not see her again. She also was aware of it. “Don’t stay away so long next time,” she entreated us.

The next day Alan drove us to his home in Cheltenham where we had the opportunity to visit with his wife, Lizz, children and grandchildren, including the most recent Stage descendant, 8 week-old Alex.

Stage cousins

Alan and Lizz drove Chris and I to Exmouth in Devon to meet Tony, another Stage 2nd cousin, and his wife Steph. Tony’s grandmother, Bea, was one of our grandfather’s younger sisters. Bea and her husband Frederick managed various hotels in Devon, including The Moorlands at Haytor.

“My parents divorced and my father left for Africa when I was a boy,’ Tony shared, “and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents.”

Stories of the past and present were inter-woven with walks along the estuary and beach and a drive to Haytor Rock.

BRODIES OF SOUTHWEST LONDON
Our final family visit was with Brodie 3rd cousins Janet and Beryl. While they both grew up in the Battersea area, their grandparents, who were cousins, were not in contact with each other. Family history research enabled them to connect with each other in the past year. They are descended from one of our great-grandfather’s brothers.

Brodie cousins

Chris rolled out the Brodie family tree and Janet began placing photos of family members alongside their blocks on the chart.

“Close your eyes,” Janet instructed Chris and I as she placed a small book in each of our hands.

“Wow,” I said when I looked at the one she handed me. It was a book given to her great-great grandmother, Mary Brodie, in Llanbryde, Scotland when she was in the 4th form. It was dated 1883. It made one person, our great-grandfather’s niece, a real person.

It was then Beryl’s time for a surprise. “I have something for you,” Janet said as she handed Beryl a book.

Beryl began to weep. “It is my father’s Bible,” she whispered. “My father’s prized possession was his violin which my Mum kept until her death 13 years ago. Sadly, my stepfather sent it to auction along with Mum’s which was heartbreaking. The bible is something I can now treasure and will hand on to my daughter.”

- – - – - –

Our two weeks of stories was summed up succinctly on our last morning in London by Ann Sullivan, who was quoted on a BBC segment about family history research, “Even very short stories define a part of who you are.”

We have returned aware that seeking information about the past has enlarged our circle of family and enriched our lives in the present. By writing our stories, we are providing information for generations to come.

After the Balloons – Bandelier National Monument

What better way to spend an October day than to explore Bandelier National Monument.

Cartoon-shaped balloon flanked by multi-colored balloons

Sue, a former college roommate, and her husband were visiting from Colorado during the Balloon Fiesta. We had enjoyed a cool crisp morning as we munched on breakfast burritos and watched over 600 hot air balloons, along with thousands of other fiesta-goers, for the October 4 opening day Mass Ascension.

Balloon Glow

Sunday’s rain gave away in the late afternoon allowing us to enjoy the magic of the Balloon Glow.

On Monday morning it was time to sample some of New Mexico’s treasures and we headed to Bandelier National Monument.

Located north of Santa Fe near Los Alamos National Labs, the 33,000 acre federal monument consists of mesas, mountains and canyons. The main part of the park is tucked in Frijoles Canyon. It took us back in time as we explored the remains of the ancestral pueblo dwellings whose descendents now live in Cochiti Pueblo. We also were awed by the geology and natural history of the park.

As we descended from the Pajarito (little bird in Spanish) Plateau, where Mountain Bluebirds and Black-eyed Juncos cavorted under statuesque ponderosas, we were awed by the grandeur of Bandelier’s tuff-consolidated volcanic ash that forms the pock-marked cliffs and canyons.

We ate our lunch at a picnic table off the parking area under a canopy of fall leaves, and then headed out on the 1.5 mile Loop Trail – starting where it ends. While the trail is not one-way, at times when we were going UP a narrow pathway along the cliff dwellings while others were heading DOWN, we felt like we were swimming up stream. It is recommended that park guests start at the Visitor’s Center where they can familiarize themselves with the archaeological sites and view native plants before setting out on the tour. We took in these sites at the end of our walk.

Cliff dwelling ruins

An accessible, paved trail runs along the base of the cliff dwellings. We opted to climb the narrow stone stairways and explore the ruins up close. The eroded adobe bricks at the base of a cliff provided a sense of how the ancestral puebloans constructed their dwellings. When we looked closely, we could see where multi-story ‘condos’ were tucked against the rock face. The rows of viga holes remain, and now often are utilized by bats and cavity-nesting birds for their nests.

Descending from a cavate

As we wound our way on the narrow pathways and stairs between the groups of cliff dwellings, there were ladders that led to cavates, or rooms that were dug out of the tuff cliffs. Even though the tuff is not as hard as sandstone, it was mind-boggling to think about what it took for them to chisel out these cavities with the tools that were available in the thirteenth century.

Canyon Wrens popped in and out and called from the boulders at the base of the cliff dwellings – always too quick to be photographed.

Ruins of Village of Tyuonyi

From the cliff dwellings, we could look down and across the valley. The village of Tyuonyi, nestled next to a grove of cottonwood trees, was occupied concurrently with the cliff dwellings and was constructed more in the style of modern-day pueblos. After winding our way back down the cliff, we followed a path allowing us to walk through this village and peer down into the remains of the kivas.

After touring the visitor’s center, we headed down the Falls Trail, which followed the path of Frijoles Creek as it descended the canyon. We walked through several types of habitat on the mile and a quarter that we hiked to the upper falls. At the upper level we could still smell the damp ash smell of the prescribed burn that had taken place a week earlier. Further down the trail, the trees hung over the path, which were carpeted in fall leaves. I was grateful for Don’s hand as we stepped gingerly on wet stones to cross the creek. A flash flood had come through in August, leaving a bridge that crossed the creek in another location tilted at an angle.

Falls Trail view

As we rounded a corner, we had a view of the multi-colored canyon opening up to the Rio Grande far below.

By time we reached the upper falls it was 4 p.m.and we had to head back since the park closed at 5:00.

We had spent the weekend enjoying the man-made wonders of hot air balloons. Today we reveled in the natural and ancient wonders of Bandelier National Monument

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Documenting the Past

“They really loved each other, didn’t they?” my sister Chris commented. We were looking at postcards that our grandparents had sent each other during the war.

Some of the postcards have a sepia photograph of a soldier in front of a picture of a child that had been partially colored in. Others are decorated with pictures of flowers and contain maudlin verses, and a couple of them have folded sections of handkerchiefs and were promoted by the post office as embroidered valentines. My grandmother saved the postcards she received. What is amazing is that my grandfather also saved his postcards from basic training in Manitoba, to the army base in Folkstone in southern England, to the front lines in France, to the hospital in Westcliffe, and back to Canada.

My grandparents moved many, many times – always seeking better opportunities for their family. By time my mother was 14 year old, her family had moved 13 times, sometimes to a better house or apartment, but other times to entirely new cities. Consequently, she had not been able to keep many mementos.

On her 14th birthday they decided to move once more – from California to Florida. In her memoir she wrote, “All we could take with us was packed on the running boards, which ran along each side of the car.” Somewhere along the plank road that crossed the deserts of Arizona, New Mexico and Texas, the car had a flat tire and the boxes stored on the running boards were taken off to fix the tire. Evidently when they packed up again, the box containing her meager childhood possessions was left by the side of the road.

Even though my mother’s belongings did not survive the trip, amazingly the World War I postcards made it safely to Florida – and each subsequent move. They were among my grandmother’s possessions when she died, and my mother saved them. Today they are 84 years old.

Since she essentially had lost her childhood, my mother saved everything and became an excellent documenter of the minutiae of my and my sister’s growing up – information that would make a historian salivate.

In the box with the post cards I found a notebook page where my mother kept track of the payments to the doctor prior to my birth – $5 each month when she went for a check-up and $96.16 to the hospital on the day I was born. With it is a list of individuals who received my birth announcement, with notes about gifts that were received. Another list itemizes baby supplies purchased, including 1 gown for $1.03 and four dozen diapers (cloth of course) at $10.25. An interesting commentary on costs during World War II.

It is a weighty burden for someone who has always been of the “when it doubt, throw it out” school of thought. While I am grateful to pour over mementos of my mother’s and grandmother’s lives, somehow, it is hard to view the details of my life in the same way. Will my grand-daughter be grateful that remnants of my early life are available to peruse, or will she be exasperated that such trivia was kept?

For now I put everything back in the box. I’ll make that decision another time.

Collaboration to Save the Belen Marsh

Eight members of our “Belen Marsh Task Force” gathered at the wetlands this past weekend, with Julia Dendinger, a reporter with the Valencia County News-Bulletin.

Task force members showing the marsh to Julia Dendinger

As we headed down the road towards the marsh, four Cattle Egrets rose up and flew away. At the edge of the first pond, we immediately spotted Kildeer and Cinnamon Teal in eclipse plumage.

The summer rains had created a thick carpet of grasses around the ponds, the seed heads were amber, and the cattails had grown tall. It was a pleasant late summer afternoon with a slight breeze.

“Let’s look and see what kind of sandpipers those are,” Rebecca commented as she set down her scope and peered through it. “They are Least Sandpipers. Come look. They brownish, have yellowish legs and a thin bill.”

“They are migrating,” I explained to Julie. “Areas such as the Belen Marsh are critical to the survival of shorebirds as they travel from Alaska and the northern Canadian provinces where they breed to their wintering grounds in Mexico and South America.”

Black-necked Stilts and American Avocets, which had nested at the marsh, foraged in the main pond, along with a migrating Western Sandpiper and a Semi-palmated Sandpiper. A Wilson’s Phalarope, also migrating through, spun in circles on the far side of the pond as it stirred up crustaceans. A Common Yellowthroat called from the reeds.

Black-chinned Hummingbirds danced around the grasses.

We trekked across south of the pond to the access road along the irrigation ditch. From this vantage point we could see Ruddy Ducks – and also some of the discarded junk that had been hefted on the back side of the pond.

Dumped Refuge

By time we had completed the loop around the marsh, we had spotted 20 different species of birds.

The Belen Marsh Task Force, or ‘Marsher’s as we are affectionately referred to, is made up of a collaboration of a number of organizations, including the Central New Mexico Audubon Society, Audubon’s Thursday Birders, Our Tomorrow for Belen, Tierra Bonita of Valencia County, Dare to Dream, Albuquerque and New Mexico Wildlife Federations, local residents, and the family of Ryan Beaulieu. Through the group’s outreach, several other groups recently have agreed to sign on to support the initiative, including Hawks Aloft, the Xeriscape Club of Valencia County and Friends of the Whitfield Wildlife Conservation Area in Belen.

Through the intervention of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife, backfilling was stopped in accordance with the Migratory Bird Act that protects areas where migrating birds nest.

Advice has been sought from a number of state and federal agencies, information has been obtained on geologic reasons for the high water table, mosquito control methods – a concern to many of the neighbors and fair-goers – has been researched, local businesses and political leaders have been contacted, and initial conversations have begun with the fair association.

The fair association is busy until the end of September. At that time the group hopes to meet with them to develop a solution that will meet their needs and still preserve the unique wildlife habitat.

We continue to be hopeful that a positive outcome can be achieved.

Shakespeare Under the Moon

Dress rehearsal of Mackbeth

Not everyone can peer out of their living room window and see Lady Macbeth plotting with Macbeth on their neighbor’s front lawn. However, if you live on Wish Street in Encino, California’s San Fernando Valley, you can enjoy Macbeth or Taming of the Shrew this summer without having to leave home. The dress rehearsals for this summer’s two productions of the INDEPENDant Player’s Shakespeare Under the Moon are taking place on the front lawn of one of the actors.

Shakespeare Under the Moon is one of more than 20 groups that are performing the bard’s plays outdoors throughout Southern California. Most are performed in parks, although Shakespeare in the Vines performs in a Temecula vineyard and winery, and Shakespeare in the Cemetery, whose productions are temporarily suspended due to financial difficulties, performs in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

Shakespeare Under the Moon strives to bring classical Shakespeare to communities of all sizes around California. It is the only California Shakespearean company that takes its productions on the road. This summer they will perform in diverse towns as Twenty-Nine Palms, Redwood City, Pismo Beach, Ridgecrest and Paso Robles. In addition, they invite local aspiring actors and actresses to apply to be part of the production in their home town.

On the night of the first dress rehearsal we carry our lawn chairs around the corner and down the block. As we find a spot on the grassy parking strip, three performers in their plaids practice a dueling scene. In the driveway, one of the witches finishes assembling her costume before she dons her rubber mask with its exaggerated nose and chin.

A technician finishes his beer and begins adjusting the color lighting disks, while scanning the script for his lighting cues. “I haven’t read Macbeth since high school,” he tells his assistant.

“Ten minutes to start,” shouts one of the actors, who also appears to be directing the operations. He also lives at the Wish Street house where the stage is set up on the front lawn.

One of the actors walks out of the open garage carrying a big pail with red goo. “Must be their supply of blood,” my son BJ comments.

“When shall we three meet again. In thunder, lightning, or in rain?” shrieks one of the witches as they slither across the street behind us and onto the sidewalk next to where we sit. A man and woman from the neighborhood out walking their dog stop to watch. Fog billows out from under the platform. And immediately we become involved in Shakespeare’s poetic, yet brutal, dialogue, set in Duncan’s palace in Forres, at the northern tip of Scotland – where my great-grandfather had a jewelry business – and Macbeth’s castle in Inverness.

“I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry,” Lady Macbeth tells Macbeth after he kills Duncan and has Banquo, whom he views as a threat, murdered. The wispy clouds over the house turn the orange-red of a southwest summer sky as dusk creeps in. A breeze rustles in the neighbors trees lending a foreboding ambiance as Macbeth walks from behind a partition, his hands covered with Duncan’s blood.

Before we know it, someone behind the stage yells, “Intermission.” We wish we could stay to see the second half; however, I have a flight to catch the next morning and need to pack.

As we walk down the street we ponder the age-old question of Macbeth: is the story one of despair, or of hope? While the answer always remains the interpretation of each audience member, we decide it is hopeful that the neighbors on Wish Street have the opportunity to be part of the story in their own front yards.

Following New Mexico’s Southwest Birding Trail

We exit Interstate 25 at Caballo Lake and head south. The aroma of onions wafts through the windows of the car as we pass fields ready for harvest. Yellow-breasted Chats call from the Russian Olives as we ease the car down the access road to Percha Dam State Park, our first stop along the Southwest Birding Trail (#34).

At the state park, which is nestled among the cottonwood trees along the Rio Grande River, we plan to look for nesting and juvenile birds. We spot a number of silky black Phainopeplas perched in trees laden with mistletoe – one of their favorite treats. Their crest gives them a perky appearance. When they fly, we can see the white wing patches on the tips of their wings.

One of our target birds is the Vermillion Flycatcher and we don’t have to wait long. A female whose belly and flanks are washed in pink sits in a small tree in a grassy area. On the ground below her is the dead body of her mate, its bright red feathers still glistening against the grass.

“Blue Grosbeak,” I call out quietly, but it flies off before the others can see it.

The tinny calls of Great-tailed Grackles provide a tropical ambiance, even though the area is fairly parched. Robins, Western Kingbirds and House Finches are everywhere. When someone starts to discount House Finch sightings, Karen tells us that they are endemic to New Mexico and a sign of a healthy ecosystem.

Further along we are startled when a flash of red and orange shoots from the foliage and lands briefly in the branch of a cottonwood before heading across the river. As we pull out our field guides hoping it is a Flame-colored Tanager, we are equally delighted to identify it as a first spring Summer Tanager.

Barn and Cliff Swallows are alternately swooping over the irrigation ditch catching insects and then flying into their mud nests under the bridge. I can see their tails peeking out from beneath the bridge supports.

We stop briefly below Caballo Dam where Yellowthroats are calling, and then head to the boat launch area at Caballo Lake State Park, both #32 on the Southwest Birding Trail. The lake is quiet; however, we pause on our way out to watch a Curbed-bill Thrasher tentatively stalking a Tarantula Wasp. Two Swainson’s Hawks are circle overhead.

Then we head west on state highway 152 through fairly barren terrain as the road slowly climbs to the foothills. We stop briefly in Hillsboro, glad for a brief respite under the large cottonwood trees that line the street in the main part of the former ghost town.

The road curves and winds its way up to Emory Pass at a little over 8200 feet, and we take the turnoff leading to the Forest Service lookout, stop #31. While the view over the valley and ghost town of Kingston is spectacular, it is birds we are here to see. A Mountain Chickadee is busy in the trees adjacent to the parking area. We catch glimpse of a warbler-sized bird flitting from branch to branch.

We park in the pull-off across from the forest look-out road to watch a Violet-green Swallow going in and out of its nest in a secondary cavity high up on the dead trunk of a Ponderosa Pine. Several of us walk along the trail where we hear a Hermit Thrush singing.

Our next stop is the Iron Creek Campground (Stop #30), a pine-oak habitat. A man sitting on a lawn chair at one of the sites reading a magazine spots our binoculars and tells us that he has just seen “a red and black bird that flashed white on its wings,” – a perfect description of a Painted Redstart.

Even though we can hear the Redstart calling, it will have to wait. A flycatcher grabs our attention with its ‘tail quiver’ each time it lands. Those darned empidomaxes! We began the group detective work to make our ID. Short-notched tail, eye ring, very short, narrow bill. “I can see the yellow on the base of the bill,” Mary says. When we narrow it down to a Hammond’s, we play the song and call note on Nancy’s iPod to verify our conclusion.

Then a Painted Redstart flies in, which is a life bird for some of our group. It flashes its tail at us and sings its melodic whistle each time it moves from branch to branch. As it finally flies off, a Red-faced Warbler lands in the tree in front of us. How good can it get!

We linger in the campground, following the road along the creek. More Painted Redstarts dance in the trees. Hermit Thrushes sing, House Wrens scamper in the brush along the creek, and Northern Flickers and Acorn Woodpeckers fly to their nesting holes. A male Western Tanager pops by for a visit.

I see a flash of gray and white, and then red as a small bird flies down into the still dry weeds. Pretty soon it flies back out – a Red-faced Warbler. “They hide their nests in the weeds along creek banks,” Ray tells me.

As we are about to leave we notice a bird with gray wings, white wing bars and a yellow head. Is it the Olive Warbler we are coveting or is it a female Western Tanager? The bill is too long and slender for a tanager and when it flies, we can see white under the tail. We conclude it is an Olive Warbler – a life bird for me!

We spend the night in Silver City and head out at 6 a.m. for the McMillan campground beyond Pinos Altos, #23. A Dark-eyed Junco is singing its heart out at the top of a ponderosa where the sun has reached, and we can hear a Cordilleran Flycatcher’s high pitched peet. We can’t see it yet in the shaded foliage.

As the sun begins to warm patches of the road, a large hummingbird flies by, and briefly lands on a nearby branch. Its green throat and purple crown flash. “A Magnificent (Hummingbird).” Karen gasps.

We admire the blossoms on the New Mexico Locust growing profusely along the road.

Reluctantly we head for our next stop – Mangas Springs, located about 18 miles northwest of Silver City. We exit off of US 180 onto a stretch of the old highway where cottonwood trees tower alongside Mangas Creek and adjacent wetlands.

Nancy plays the call of a Virginia Rail and two answer her, but don’t come into view. Male Red-winged Blackbirds are calling on territory. As we wander down the road, we notice a male and female Vermillion Flycatcher flying in and out of a tree and surmise there must be a nest. After a while we locate a mossy nest with a female just settling down.

We hear a Northern Cardinal singing and soon spot him amongst the foliage. A first year Summer Tanager flies by and we easily identify it this time. Then we see a male Western Tanager and soon afterwards a Black-headed Grosbeak. Western Wood Peewees are present and Yellow Warblers are singing.

Gary beckons us down the road where he has spotted a Great-horned Owl sitting on a low branch in the shade of the cottonwoods. Dave sets up his scope so we can get a good look.

We drive down Bill Evans Road until it dead ends at a riparian area along the river, #20. Cliff Swallows are sailing over the area adjacent to the parking area. We head down a trail to eat lunch under the trees.

We finish birding for the day at the Catwalk National Recreation Trail, #15, a few miles northeast of Glenwood. Some of the group heads up the trail before the rest of us and make it all the way to the hanging bridge.

We start up the paved trail through the picnic area where children are splashing in Whitewater Creek. We stop to admire a Collared Lizard sunning itself on a burl.

When we cross over to the ‘easy’ trail, we scout the rapids for signs of a Dipper, but didn’t see one. Karen spots a male Hepatic Tanager and points out its grayish flanks, compared with the more brilliant Summer Tanager. Further up the trail we find the female, which is more orangish-yellow than the pale yellow Summer Tanager.

We gather at the Glenwood Fish Hatchery, #14, at 7 a.m. the last morning and enjoy watching the Belted Kingfishers gather and begin feeding. Northern Cardinals and Acorn Woodpeckers announce their presence.

We wander down to the other end of the property in search of the Black Hawk’s nest and are rewarded with a female sitting on her nest high in the ‘V’ of a dead trunk. Both Western and Cassin’s Kingbirds are perched on a nearby fence awaiting insects, which gives us a good opportunity to notice the differences. A juvenile Say’s Phoebe is also scouting insects. Its wing bars are a light orange, as opposed to the two-toned gray wings of an adult. A Bullock’s Oriole calls from a sycamore tree and then we see two American Kestrels perched nearby.

Our final stop is the Apache Creek Campground, just past Reserve. As we cross over the creek, we spot a Great Blue Heron standing along the creek bank. After we alight from our cars at the campground we see Lewis’s Woodpeckers flying between various Ponderosa Pines. Spotted Towhees and Western Wood Peewee’s are calling. As we explore the campground we find Western Blue Birds and Acorn Woodpeckers. A pygmy Nuthatch flies in and starts scaling one of the ponderosas.

As we pull out the last of our provisions to eat lunch, Ray notices Wild Turkeys wandering between the trees at the edge of the campground. While we eat lunch we go through our lists and are delighted to tally up 80 different species – a delightful three days following the Southwest Birding Trail.

Earth Day 2008 – What a Difference a Year Makes

This is the first year that Earth Day has been front and center. When I glanced at the advertising inserts in my Sunday paper and most touted their green products in recognition of Earth Day, I knew that eco-awareness had moved beyond those of us who might be called ‘tree-huggers.’ While I normally scorn the way advertising blitzes try to take advantage of holidays, I was heartened that large multi-national corporations have begun to take heed of their need to address this important issue.

A year ago very few people toted reusable shopping bags. Today, most stores produce their own bag – and many gave them away free this past weekend. I knew that reusable bags had come of age last winter when I spied cloth bags with Macy’s logo on each stacked on a cashier station. Many stores and communities are doing away with plastic bags or charging a fee for using them. Others are rewarding customers who bring their own bags. When I forget to take my reusable bag into a store and only buy one or two items, I am asked whether I want a bag. Of course, the answer is ‘no,’ – and I always make sure to thank them for asking.

Morning news programs have had features to help listeners ‘Go Green,’ and have included information about environmentally friendly paint that does not contain volatile organic compounds that emit fumes, green cleaning products, biodegradable peat pots for bedding plants, and wooden toys. Some have gone so far as to suggest checking to see where grocery items are manufactured and produce originates, and then recommend purchasing items that are local in origin.

Personal responsibility is certainly the first step. As consumers change their purchasing habits and demand products that don’t lead to deleterious consequences for the planet, corporations will respond. Of course, that isn’t the whole answer. Policy changes are necessary to make the big changes that will spur development of new energy sources and prevent the ‘out-sourcing’ of damaging business practices.

You have seen the television commercials for the We campaign. The We campaign is a project of the Alliance for Climate Protection, founded by former Vice President Al Gore in 2006. It suggests, “You can’t solve the climate crisis alone. But if we all work together, we can.”

United Nations General Secretary Ban Ki-moom, writing in Time Magazine, eloquently summed up the challenge: “The basic building block of peace and security for all peoples is economic and social security, anchored in sustainable development…it allows us to address all the great issues, poverty, climate, environment and political stability – as parts of a whole.

Bathroom Tissue Wiping Away Boreal Forests

I stand in the paper products aisle pondering the most environmentally-friendly toilet tissue to purchase. How can I tell whether a particular brand is truly made with recycled content or bleached with a clean, safe process? Many products that are labeled as using recycled materials, I have learned, contain as little as 10% recycled content. Adding to my consternation is the fact that I have tried some of the earth-friendly brands before and was not satisfied with the quality. Perhaps it is not worth it.

Then I think about the Yellow-rumped Warbler that flitted around in the tree next to my driveway this past winter. Its bright yellow rump patch flashed as it darted from branch to branch. It is one of the first migrating birds to arrive at its nesting grounds in the northern Rockies and the western Canadian boreal forests, where it nests high in mature conifers. The Yellow-rumped Warbler is one of over 300 different species of birds that nest in the Boreal. While the Yellow-rumped Warbler also nests as far south as the southern Rockies, for a number of species, the Boreal is their only nesting place.

The Boreal ecosystem, named after Boreas the Greek god of the North wind, is spread across 2.3 million square miles of land that circles the northern portion of the globe. It includes forests, lakes, river valleys, wetlands, peat and tundra. North America’s portion of the Boreal Forest is one of the largest intact forest ecosystems remaining on earth.

However, the integrity of the Boreal Forest is at risk. Over 30% already has been designated for logging, energy and other development, resulting in millions of acres being clear-cut each year. Surely household tissue products are an insignificant part of this problem.

However, consider the following information provided by the Natural Resources Defense Council: If every household in the United States replaced just one box of facial tissue with 175 sheets and manufactured with virgin fiber, with a box manufactured with 100% recycled content, it would save 163,000 trees. If every household replaced just one 500 sheet roll of virgin fiber toilet issue with 100% recycled ones, it would save 423,900 trees. If every household replaced just one 70 sheet roll of virgin fiber paper towels with 100% recycled ones, we could save 544,000 trees. And if every household replaced just one 250 count package of virgin fiber napkins with 100% recycled ones, it would save 1 million trees.

The impact is even greater when we consider that although the population of the United States represents only seven percent of the world’s population, we consume 50% of the tissue paper products.

As I study the descriptions on the bathroom tissue packages, I become confused. What is post-consumer content? Contrary to what the label implies, it is not made from toilet tissue that has been recycled. The conservation group Conservatree responds to this myth as follows: “Are you kidding!? Think that one through for a minute. Where does used toilet paper go? Right…down the sewer to sewage plants, where it turns into sewage sludge.” The recycled content in tissue products comes from the types of paper we put in our recycling bins, e.g. newspaper, advertising flyers and copy paper. These products are washed and scrubbed several times before they are suitable to make tissue products.

I decide to purchase a package of each of the three brands available where I shop: Seventh Generation, Earth Friendly and 365 Whole Foods Brand) to compare their softness, durability and cost-effectiveness – and then asked two friends to join me in my research. They each had house guests during the test period that willingly completed my questionnaire, giving me a total of seven respondents besides myself. Each roll had a code marking, so the testers did not know the names of the brands.

Interestingly, the three men participants were the harshest critics and seemed the least likely to be willing to switch from their current product.

Seventh Generation (100% recycled paper, with a minimum of 80% post-consumer material) – 62% rated this brand as feeling as soft and strong as the product they currently used. Only one person indicated they used more sheets than with their current product.

365 (100% recycled paper, with 40% minimum post-consumer content) – No one rated this brand as soft as their current product. 50% rated it as strong, while almost 40% said they used more sheets.

Earth Friendly (100% recycled paper, with a minimum of 10-25% post-consumer content) – No one rated this brand as soft as their current product. One group of three summed up their feelings in this area by declaring it “sheer torture.” While two individuals indicated it was as strong as their current product, I found that it tended to disintegrate during use.

Most major consumer brands, e.g. Charmin, Angel Soft and Cottonnelle are made from 100% virgin fiber. According to the Natural Resources Defense Council, Kimberly-Clark, one of the world’s largest tissue paper producers, including the Cottonnelle and Scott brands, uses more than 1.1 million cubic meters of trees from Canada’s boreal forests each year, in addition to purchasing pulp from companies that harvest trees from the boreal forest.

While it is hard to think about spending premium dollars to purchase environmentally-friendly bathroom tissue, especially with the spiraling cost of consumer goods, I can’t help but be influenced by the following statement from the Great Law of The Iroquois Confederacy, which is printed on the wrapper of Seventh Generation bathroom tissue, “In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.”

Impact of Catalogs on the Environment

I shuffle through my mail as I walk towards the house. None of it is really personal – a flyer addressed to Resident, an invitation for a credit card from an airline where I accumulate miles, a letter from AARP announcing a ‘great deal’ from their auto insurance affiliate, and a couple of catalogs.

I set the envelopes on the table. Later I will have to open them and shred a portion of the contents to prevent identity theft. It is always such a tedious chore – especially since it is unsolicited information.

The red cover of the Coldwater Creek catalog with the photo of spring poppies lures me and I start flipping through the pages. The spring outfits call out to my winter-weary emotions and my eyes linger on a navy and white pantsuit.

And then I get mad. While my navy pants and jacket may not be the latest style, the reality is I don’t need this outfit. And what is this catalog doing in my mailbox? I opted out of this and many other catalogs last November. I suspect the company did not immediately respond to my request, hoping I would not be able to show restraint when faced with their dazzling array of merchandise.

I have to admit it is fun to ‘window shop’ with catalogs. And, my browsing has led to impulse purchases. However, it is sobering to realize the impact of catalogs on the environment.

According to a fact sheet prepared by the Environmental Defense Fund, the catalog industry used 3.6 million tons of paper in 2001, which accounted for 12% of all printing and writing paper consumed in the United States.

Ten percent or less of the paper used to print most catalogs comes from post-consumer recycled content. For instance, the paper used in the approximately 395 million catalogs mailed each year by Victoria’s Secret, contains only 10% post-consumer content. Post consumer materials are those that end up in your recycle bin, rather than the landfill.

The impact of using post-consumer recycled paper is spelled out by Ms. Magazine in their Environment Benefits Statement. Ms. Magazine, which publishes four issues a year using New Leaf Paper that is 85% de-inked recycled fiber, 20% post-consumer waste, and elemental chlorine free, reports saving the following resources annually: 211 fully grown trees, 71,468 gallons of water, 48,568 pounds greenhouse gases, 254 BTU’s energy, 25,091 pounds of solid waste and 65 pounds air emissions.

It is mind-boggling to consider the amount of resources consumed by each catalog which arrives in my mail box every three to four weeks. According to information provided by the Boreal Songbird Initiative, the average U.S. household receives 59 catalogs per year.

There is an alternative. Catalog Choice is a free service that provides consumers an opportunity to reduce the amount of unsolicited catalog mail and to promote the adoption of sustainable industry best practices. Sponsored by the Ecology Center, Catalog Choice is endorsed by the National Wildlife Federation and the Natural Resources Defense Council, and funded by the Overbrook Foundation, the Merck Family Fund, and the Kendeda Fund. According to their home page, 657,987 persons already have opted out of 8,589,019 catalogs.

Does it matter? It would be easy to say that my opting out of 22 catalogs makes a real difference. However, corporations will only change, if we as the consumer demand the change. Each act of consumer responsibility sends a message to the corporate community that people care about the environment.