It’s early Sunday morning. The sun is not up. I’ve been up doing chores, feeding animals, opening windows to allow the cool air, laden with scent, into the house. It is barely light, getting lighter. The birds start to sing. First one chirp, which leads to two then it all begins. I step into my boots, dogs at my heels and head out – pulled, then lightly pushed by the cool air now gently swirling in the house.
The ground is soaked from the dew. My boots collect the moisture along with leaves and purple pedals from the thousands of small flowers, close to the earth, lining my path. I check the milkweeds. They are stretched into the air bolstered by days of sun as they break through the invasive grasses that block the light. I examine the space to see if more are there. They are, and I breath, grateful for the resilience of these plants.
Heading down the hill with the symphony of birdsong the nectar of those thousands of flowers hits me. The grass nut flowers, tall with trumpeted light purple petals in a starburst formation cover the hillside. Among them are hints of dark purple, tall and narrow larkspur. Yellow Mariposa lilies are beginning to dot the hillside – more than I’ve ever seen here. The popcorn flower has nearly abated making room for more purples, filaree and small lupine – the large ones almost ready to burst.
As I get closer to the drainage, the temperature turns cooler, a function of the cold water that soaks the earth and continues to trickle. Walking along the drainage there is more larkspur, orange fiddle neck and now some new yellow seep monkey flower. The birdsong is penetrated by the flap of wings. A single bird flies overhead. Even though it is small, it is quiet enough to hear the displacement of the air with each flap. This is why the morning is magic.
I cross the swale pond and walk into the grove. The bullfrogs floating on the water surface dive beneath the murk, and those on the banks give a chirp as they jump into the water. The nectar scent is replaced by the sweet smell of wet bark and earthen musk. With every step, I stir up more smells of wet soil. The oaks are green, and full of leaves, which I hope portends of a mass of yummy acorn in the Fall. They look happy as I examine the check dams. The soil is still moist in the drainage fork. Good. The water is still running in the spring creek with some nice deep holes. Good. I note invasive thistle growing in my mini wetland and make a mental note to bring the weed eater down there later. With my mother-in-law, I planted milkweed seed. I am hoping to make this new sedimented area more diverse, not just a thicket of Italian thistle. Thistle is nectar rich, and the pollinators love it. There thousands of stalks allover the ranch. Taking out this little section will not impact nectar availability. I hope to get a glimpse of the quail I saw the other day, but I don’t. It is too early for some.
I exit the grove to check the open section of the spring creek. My boots are wet up to mid calf. Despite the work of the cows, the grass has grown taller with last week’s rain. The first section of creek is still running, filled with grass and small, open stands of water. More seep monkey flowers emerge. About halfway down the open section of creek the water stops. I hear the last drips into a small pool just downstream of my old, small, rock check dam. The flow is underground now. It leaves a creek bed of moist soil the rest of the way to my property line.
As I veer back to the trail, turning west now on the open grassland, the sun is up over the east mountains and hits my back. The warmth is a familiar hand across my back comforting me as I walk. I notice the humidity now, so thick. The full force of nectar is back, clinging to the water molecules in the air, which fill my lungs. I think of all those molecules that comprise this Spring cocktail of life and know that my body will know what to do with all the constituent elements as my lungs expand and contract. I breath even deeper now, filling myself with this ancient food.
There are still no raptors, ravens or vultures in the sky. This time is for the songbirds to flit and sing with less concern of being a meal or their eggs being a raven’s meal. I link up with the cattle road and make a turn north, fully surrounded by the large expanse of grassland. I hear the unmistakable song of the meadowlark, deeee, de de de deee, then as the sky brightens, coyotes begin to sing. As I get closer to the driveway, there is the distant rumble of cars on the road, which is a quarter mile away. The sun has woken humans up too. I continue the last leg of my walk, Millie by my side and Beatrix taking the short-cut through the grassy hill. I feel grounded and filled. This walk is a ceremony of connection, an acknowledgement that we are all together, living for one another.
Monarchs Are Back with Babies!
There is no more gratifying symbol of the success of the work here than the habitat being used. This is especially true when monarch caterpillars are present. On Monday, 4/22, I walked the steep hillsides to check on the California Milkweed plots. Fortunately, I had friend and biologist extraordinaire Deedee Soto at the ranch visiting. It was warm that day, even at the end of the day, so we sweated as we made our way up. The first plot, all the plants looked healthy, but there was no evidence of monarch use. We made our way down hill, crossed the drainage, still spongy with water, and then started our ascent. Again, this is a steep slope. Deedee and I walked slowly, taking breaks. Mille and Beatrix were with us, but about halfway up, I turned to say something and did not see Beatrix. Where was she? Evidently, she gave up, went back down to the spongy drainage and laid in the coolness of the grass and soil spectating our ascent. I rolled my eyes, slightly jealous, and the rest of us continued upward.
At the plot, our efforts were rewarded. Six of the 13 plants had caterpillars. I screamed with joy to Deedee. It just came out. Fortunately, she understands and doesn’t think me strange to be so excited about this tiny yellow, black and white creature. Because of Deedee’s high skill, and youthful eyes, we counted 28 caterpillars of varying ages, from the first instar to the third. Caterpillars go through five caterpillar stages, with #5 being the largest, before they transform to chrysalises. Twenty-eight is a great start! There could be more though. Caterpillars are very crafty, having the super power to hide in plain site. Two other plants had evidence of monarch use, but we could not find any caterpillars. I whoo hooed from the hilltop. The monarch mamas had found this patch of California Milkweed a hospitable home once again, trusting this place with their future.
All Oaks Planted
If you are a regular reader of this blog, you may remember that my neighbors, Ric and Kim, are extremely generous, allowing me to use their electric Polaris for my habitat restoration work. Those vehicles are extremely expensive, and we are so grateful for this kindness. It makes life much easier. I was reminded of this last week when Ric had his vehicle back with him for some work, and I was still engaged in blue oak planting. Undeterred, I regressed to using my cart and hand dragging around my tools and plants to continue planting. I got three more blue oaks planted, but goodness, I was sweating.
The good news is that two of the earlier oaks are thriving, and the seedlings I’ve been protecting in the Spring Creek area for 15 years are finally appreciably growing.
Wildflowers and Wildlife
Fire Keeping
Nellie, the previous Pollinator Program Coordinator for the Southern Sierra Miwuk Nation, attended a traditional cultural gathering the other weekend and educated participants on pollinator plants. She gave the group a packet of milkweed seeds with tobacco and sage as part of the mix. Nellie said that when we planted the seeds we would be making an offering at the same time. I nearly cried I was so proud. I agree. Planting is a sacred act; it is bringing us closer to fulfilling our responsibilities as stewards of where we live and connecting us to place in a way that is intimate. She is keeping the fire of knowledge of traditional practices, values and connection and sharing those with others who are continuing on their road back to a reciprocal relationship with all our relations.
Five Years and Three Months
It has been five years and three months since I read the New York Times article about the plummeted numbers of monarch butterflies. It made me sad and angry that monarchs could very well be lost in my lifetime. I did not want to imagine a west without this beautiful and important native animal. I still remember that day in January when I read that article. I thought, “Ok, I am not willing to let that happen without a fight. What can I do about this?” So, I got to work learning as much as I could about monarchs, their migration, lifecycle, what they needed to survive. I learned who the key organizations were leading the charge and that there, gratefully, was a significant focus on this issue. I knew I had seen monarchs before, but it made me consider how long it had been since I’d seen any at the ranch, or even in town. I went back through photos. It had not been for ten years – not since before the 5-year drought.
The first people I reached out to were the Southern Sierra Miwuk tribal elders. I asked them about the monarchs and the western slope of Mariposa County and what they knew of the populations, plants and timing. I then reached out to some older ranchers to gauge how often they had seen monarchs and what they remembered from their grandparent’s stories. It was clear. The elders shared about times of abundance, with fields of butterflies, including monarchs, all over the milkweeds that particularly grew in the riparian and marshy areas. There were more flowers then and more milkweed to support hungry caterpillars and butterflies. The ranchers told me of less abundance – of having seen them as children, but not as many now. With this information, I knew this area had supported flocks of butterflies, and that it could possibly be that way again – at least Taawe Bwia, my ranch, could be an oasis.
To get plants, I reached out to Mariposa Native Plants (Ron Allen and Bev Andalora). I knew them in the community, and Ron had already been gaining a reputation as a “milkweed whisperer”. From the information I gained online, to Ron and Bev’s knowledge, we created milkweed plots. I started with two diversified plots, and both were ravaged by gophers. I started over, placing the plants in mesh baskets instead of chicken wire cages. That worked, but it was expensive. While I was committed to the project, I could never have scaled it as big as I have without the Mariposa County Resource Conservation District (Melinda Barrett). She was a wealth of knowledge, and I changed the composition and structure of the milkweed plots to “pollinator islands” based on her guidance. She was able to help because there was significant funding from the Wildlife Conservation Board, and the California Association of Resource Conservation Districts, as the intermediary administrator.
I was fortunate to have the thought partnership of Xerces Society partner biologist Deedee Soto, who shares my passion and commitment to conservation work. Truly, without her expertise, I would not have as much success. She is a genius with plants – propagation and ID. At this time, Xerces also began their very useful habitat kits (Thank you to Jessa Kay-Cruz and Angela Laws!). Not only did it provide all the plants needed for a successful pollinator island, it taught people about the plants, bloom timing and diversification. I still have the very first plant list with bloom times. It was such a great resource, and what a great idea.
I received tremendous support from the National Resource Conservation Service (NRCS) John Grimes, Jesse Baum, Prospero, and so many others in the NRCS ecosystem. Farm Advisor Fadzayi Mishari provided input on conservation issues early on in my land stewardship and organized important educational opportunities for the ag community where I was able to learn a great deal.
Point Blue Conservation partner biologist Elena Kromer wrote my first conservation plan. While it took a very long time to get done, she listened carefully to what my concerns were and designed a plan that addressed many of them. This process connected me further into Point Blue, where I was able to join their carbon sequestration and wildlife resources study project and access their Roots grant program (Cati Mong). Also of essential help were the classes and resources from Monarch Joint Venture. They offered the first online class I took that brought me from knowing almost “0” to knowing much more. I was able to take that knowledge and advance it through the Pollinator Partnership Pollinator Stewardship Certification program, where I earned my certification in Summer 2023. Most recently, I was also able to qualify for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife Partners Program with many thanks to biologist Rosie Gonzalez and her colleagues for smoothly navigating me through the process.
Last, but not least, I want to acknowledge my dear family, friends and readers of this blog. My dad, Alan, and dear friend Daniel donated funds early on that helped me purchase more plants and supplies. My mother-in-law Sheila sends me fun butterfly-themed gifts. My brother Vance, and sister Sarah, who actually read this blog early on, encouraged me. My neighbors Ric and Kim who let me borrow their Polaris, and early on Ric helped considerably with fencing labor. My nephew Ashtin and niece Desiree have helped with the branch fence early on. My other mother-in-law, Liz, has helped me work the ranch each visit, planting seeds, digging channels and holes. Dear friends Melanie, Molly and Jen have worked side by side with me to build rock and log check dams. Friends in the community and on social media, readers of this blog who have sent words of encouragement, recommendations, shared knowledge, ignored my typos, and encouraged my writing, you all kept me going especially when I had set-backs. Finally, my beloved spouse, David, who without him nothing is possible. From his emotional support to physical labor, and financial partnership, he has been there for me and this dream of changing the course of monarch survival, to create a place where they can be assured of food and shelter along their epic journey. Chiokoe uttesiavu. Si se enchinakiavu. Thank you. I appreciate you all.
Free T-Shirts?
To commemorate my 100th post, I am having a PolliNative t-shirt giveaway. If you like what we are doing here and want to represent via a beautiful organic cotton shirt with a heartfelt message, here is how:
- Make a comment on this blog with no more than three sentences sharing about what you are doing to help our pollinators thrive.
- Everyone who submits a comment will be entered into a random drawing for a tee-shirt. They are expensive, so I can only give a handful away.
- Comments must be in no later than May 24th.
Thank you, reader, for everything you do to make our planet a healthy place for our children and for all our relations. Si enchi nakiavu (I appreciate you all).
Heather Bernikoff 