The Eagle Outdoors

Has it really been a week? Time goes fast, it's said, when one's having fun; and, if by "fun," that means trenching the yard, construction projects, mowing, more mowing, and having to have Julie's black Ford trailered back to the Elochoman from Bunker Hill due to a mechanical malfunction, well then I've been full up with 'fun.' Thank you, Randy Coleman for the lift and the assistance.

Porcupines in June?

I know. Anyone having anything to do with trees, i.e. loggers, tree farmers, and the like, hate porcupines due to the animal's admittedly destructive fondness for young tasty bark, an appetite which leads to girdling the same trees upon which they feed and, ultimately, the tree's death. I get it, and I understand. For me - and because I don't earn my keep via trees, other than firewood - I like the prickly little critters. Not having grown up around porcupines, I find them fascinating. It's silly the way they squint, trying to see what their keen nose will ultimately tell them. It's pretty cute.

But I never see the humpbacked pin-cushions; except, that is, during the month of June. Come June, while I won't say the roads are covered with porcupines that have decided to play a game of "chicken" on State Route 4, there they are; straddling the center line. Napping on the fog line. Dead to the world. Literally.

But why June? Why the uptick in porcupine sightings, albeit dead porcupines, during June? There's a couple of reasons; one is dispersal. Young porcupines, two-year-olds, upon reaching sexual maturity, will leave their 'home range,' per se, and venture abroad looking to set up housekeeping of their own. In other words, they wander and, unfortunately, in doing so, often come face to grill with an eastbound F-150. Reason number two, I believe, has to do with water or the lack thereof. From Cathlamet to Longview, the porcupines I see killed on the highway are almost all heading to the Columbia where, obviously, there's plenty of water. Maybe they need a drink or, maybe, it's a coincidence. I'm not sure, but I'll be sure to keep some notes this month. I'm nerdy that way, don't you know? Bottom line, there's no real lesson here; just an observation over the past ten years. Mother Nature is interesting.

Water for Wildlife

Sunday, June 8, was hot, with the Cathlamet area seeing temperatures above 90. When it's that hot, I drink a lot of water; something I learned – and the hard way – while working a fire on the Yakima Indian Reservation a couple years back. Hydrate. Hydrate. Hydrate. Start early and drink (water, that is) all day.

Don't forget the animals outside. Sunday, June 8, was our first 90+ degree day of the summer, and I'm sure there will be more. When it's that hot, take a minute to make sure all the critters - not just your dogs, cats, chickens, horses, and other domestics - have access to clean drinking water. It doesn't have to be an elaborate system. Just a bowl here and a bowl there. They'll find it; trust me. A clean (and 'clean' is important) basin for the birds. The stray white-footed mouse who visits from time to time has her bowl. Hummingbirds, bees, and slug-eating garter snakes all benefit, as do you, from just a little liquid kindness during these ridiculously hot days.

Warning: Baby deer

It's that time of year again. The fawns have started dropping, and they're aimlessly following mama around. They're easily confused, especially around 'scary' motor vehicles. Be vigilant while driving. Always drive defensively. The Island, as you know, is full of whitetails, many with little ones. Slow down and stay alert.

Male western tanager

Julie and I saw a male western tanager near the house on Sunday, June 8. He (no mistaking it was a male dressed as he was) was feeding on the seeds of a mature 'Red Hot Poker' plant. Gorgeous thing. If you're not familiar, look up western tanager on the U.S. Fish and Wildlife's 'Featured Feathers' page.

The supervisor and the strawberries

The slugs are eating my sunflower plants. The heat's taking its toll on the peppers. Robins are already working on the Lapine cherries, though the fruit isn't ripe yet. Our construction supervisor, 2-year-old Wesley Allen Mace, doesn't seem to mind, as the strawberries are just to his liking. Wesley is the son of Colton and Stephanie Mace and, yes, he has his own fishing pole. Or 'fish pole,' as he says. "Start them young," I say.