April 2006

April 17, 2006
Northeastern slopes of the Cordillera Tilarán
Costa Rica

Latitude 10 degrees N; Longitude 24 degrees W; Elevation 1600 m; Distance to the sea 50 km. These are the locational facts that by themselves conjure colorful images to geographers and ecologists. Physical realities that establish the conditions that currently surround me and my family: Cool, clear nights, and mild days, despite proximity to the earth’s equatorial band. Moisture-laden air from Pacific or Caribbean rising, cooling and changing to cloud, and subsequently releasing its life-giving cargo as mist. Combined these conditions lead, even during the Costa Rican dry season, to forest vegetation that is lush and alive.

The ecological stage is set by these climatic conditions, but the details of who and what exists here are set by chance and history. In the forests nearby exotic birds like toucans and trogons roam in search of fruits, nightingale thrush and antbirds snatch insects forced into flight by marauding army ants, and scintillant hummingbirds and blue-gray tanagers remove sweet fluids from the flowers of canopy trees. Around the old farmhouse we currently call home are birds adapted to open fields and forest edges. Their evolutionary origins are unknown to me, but their current behavior and appearance reveal their habits and lifestyle. Yellow-faced grassquits flick and flitter in their incessant search for insects and seeds. Clay-colored colored robins resemble their North American cousins in every way but color. Several species of hummingbird make their rapid dips in and out of colorful flowers on trees and shrub. The similarities and differences outside the windows of this and an Oregon mountain cabin reveal a rich history of climate change and evolution, speak of barriers to travel and periods in which those barriers disappeared. A rich story to be read and pondered, hypothesized and studied. A beautiful landscape to behold.

March 2006

Traveling the Interamerican Highway...

March 20, 2006

On this day of nearly equal light and dark, I am migrating south against the northward flow of birds. Traversing by bus from the high plains of Guatemala into the tinder dry lowlands of El Salvador and Honduras, we cross borders and pay fees that the birds avoid. But the political boundaries are real for the birds too. Land-use clearly changes across human demarcations. From one country to the next--forest cover is reduced or becomes non-existent, rivers become silty, ground cover disappears. Changes in infrastructure are also revealed. To the foreign traveler, changes in infrastructure are expressed in the extent to which one's passport is scrutinized and whether critical data is entered into and checked against computer databases. To the people of the countryside, the differences are more profound--the presence or absence of a village water pump, the quality of care at a medical clinic. Crossing from Nicaragua to Costa Rica, the life expectancy of human residents rises. For the flora and fauna, the differences go unmeasured, but as our bus leaves the brown vista around Lake Nicaragua and crosses into the lushness of Costa Rica, I imagine they are equally dramatic.

With a roving eye on nature,

February 2006

16 February 2006 – Antigua, Guatemala

Clear nights at an elevation of over 1000m mean crisp mornings for students walking to school and guatemaltecas starting their days. The long light of morning shines warmly on buildings faithfully rebuilt after each natural disaster, displaying their scars proudly or covering them in bright hues of blue and yellow. School children dressed in uniforms of plaid skirts, white blouses and knee socks (and dark pants, white shirts, and vests for the boys) compete for space with indigenas carrying heavy loads in baskets balanced perfectly atop their heads.

In the Parque Central, men with torn pants and worn shoes sweep the debris of yesterday’s tourists and last night’s leaf fall. Their brooms--constructed from palm leaves and long blades of grass--are effective. The park is ready for another day. Great-tailed grackles bathe in the fountain where water flows from the breasts of women whose stone figures represent the daughters of an early governor who, according to legend, had these young mothers killed for refusing to nurse their newborn babes.

At a second fountain, a woman dressed in traditional garb washes her face, perhaps reviving herself after a pre-dawn ride from a distant village. Her basket, too, is full and carefully balanced on her head, and she slowly bends her knees with back straight to reach the water. Well practiced, the act of balancing seems easy, but the strain of the load shows on her face.

Juxtaposed against this timeless scene a group of cyclists, clad in leather, punctuate the relative quiet of the morning with the sound of speed. They move around the square and stop at one of the several restaurants for breakfast. People from around the world cross paths here in the heart of Antigua. Almost as if time traveling, you see them all. Sights and sounds, actions and voices - a feast for the senses this chilly morning.

January 2006

9 January 2006 -- Western Oregon

The new year rushes in on a flood of precipitation--stream banks
breeched and gullies raging. Above the water, high winds add an
arborist's touch to the renewal. Weak and broken branches litter the
ground; their disappearance shedding light on once darkened spaces.

Safe inside, we celebrate our cultural New Year and welcome another
chance to set goals, establish habits, reach for new dreams.
Outside, nature continues to write its own resolutions. High water
scours new pathways for spring snow melt, breaks old beaver dams to
flush young salmon out to sea, and starts succession of a lowland
forest anew.

And like our own annual promises, nature's resolutions are
ephemeral. High wind pruning of campus trees is quickly cleared by
active grounds staff; fresh herbaceous growth soon conceals old
stream channels. From afar nothing is new and from near nothing is old.

But also like our own annual promises, the mere existence of these
happenings yields growth. Whether large or small, short-lived or
long, the seeds of change have been planted and a new year has begun.

Welcome to a new day, a new week, a new quarter, and a new year.