January 30th, 2010 Evan
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January 23: . . .and Falcons
By halfway through Friday I was glad I had rested up the day before. Alexia took our learning group out to the Skagit valley. In one day I saw more assorted raptors than I see in most years.
Four species of falcon danced on scimitar wings: harriers flew lazily by: hawks stared at flocks of geese and waterfowl from the top of every telephone pole. Flocks of dunlins flew like a single organism, a swirling orb, streaked with silver as they flashed their bellies to the sun. Merlins swooped after sparrows: our clunky van raced a rough legged hawk. Trumpet and tundra swans flocked and preened: eagles built nests. Thanks to friendly fellow birders and their spotting scopes we were able to see a prairie falcon and Harlan’s hawk as though at arms length.
We saw birds in all their moods through every part of their day. Arriving home in the after noon I pried my fingers from their white knuckle grip on my binoculars and lay down for a nap taking a few hours
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January 30th, 2010 Evan
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January 22: Skulls, Twigs . . .
In our third week of the winter quarter we continue the pattern; each day something completely different, hardly time to breath as we continue to learn. To be honest, the pattern is beginning to drain me a bit. While I have enjoyed charging through such a variety of subject matter, it would be nice to slow down and take time to absorb more of what I am seeing. We spend a day on baskets or animal morphology; it is exciting and volumes of information are unloaded, but then I have a month or more for the details to fade as new experiences are packed in on top. No time for wishful thinking however; another adventure awaits!
We first spent a very full day pouring over skulls at the Burke Museum of Natural History, examining the details of their structure and observing the adaptation of each skull to the pressures of its environment. I love having things in my hands where I can see them, turn them over, put pieces together and see how they move. From the pictures, it seems others did as well.
Feeling a bit tired from out day at the museum, I choose to take Thursday easy. When the class split into interest based learning groups I went with Merilee who led a handful of us off to a sunny field where we sketched dormant twigs and buds collected on the land.
It was good to have a calm day in bright sun to practice some of the more time consuming naturalist work with no distractions. After shaking hands with a dozen or so physical skills the past few weeks, it was refreshing to sit down and do some brain learning at an unhurried pace. The elaborate calls of the Melospiza melodia and Spinus pinus made the day all the more enjoyable.
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January 30th, 2010 Evan
First a test of our identification skills. What does this creature eat? What is it’s dominant sense?
Working as a team sped things up.
The antlers on this skull help narrow the list of possible creatures.
This one proved to be trickier. Here is your hint - note the size and the distinct sagittal crest (the ridge of bone under Bob’s index finger)
Here kitty kitty kitty.
After the identification challenge we were let loose . . .
to sketch,
photograph,
and discuss.
Here is one of my favorites. These zig-zag teeth let you know the taxonomic family, the size tells you the species: Behold Ondatra zibethicus, the Muskrat, largest vole on the continent!
Alas, poor Yorik. I knew him, Horatio . . .
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January 26th, 2010 Evan
A warm yurt and plenty of fiber: a good place to wait out the rain.
Cattail basketry for those tired of twisting
Beneath the mountain said to be the last home of Star-boy in Native myth, we gathered to follow the signs of elk.
Old tooth scrapes: every tree we passed had at least some mark.
As we moved along their trails we began to understand the elks’ view of the world more and more. We began to BE the elk . . . some more than others.
Fresh rubs still held hairs in a wood cleared of undergrowth.
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January 25th, 2010 Evan
<>E
January 16: A week of Rain
A medley. We started the week Tuesday, one day early, in a steady drizzle, with our bows; drawing outlines or, for those of us starting from a stave, pulling a draw knife through the wood learning to see the difference between one years growth and the next. Wednesday was dedicated to cordage (in the yurt and out of the rain), and Friday to willow basket making.
Though I have made cordage before, I rarely take an entire day to practice, so even though the first half of the day was not new, I still found a lot of value in the lessons. As the day drew on those who grew bored of twisting any of a half dozen fiber types by hand twined cattail baskets, played with a drop spindle processed nettle stalks . . . The list goes on.
Friday morning we roamed the sand bar gathering willow switches in the rain. By mid-day we were all thankful for rain gear and the wood stove in Cedar lodge, where we went to take shelter for our weaving. By the end of the day I had a complete basket - plant to functional art in eight hours. I have always found a certain magic in creating useful and durable items directly from the natural areas around me without intermediary, Friday’s project was no exception.
And you may notice I skipped Thursday. Thursday was the capstone of the week! In the midst of our otherwise sedentary activities, we took one day to run with the elk, sign tracking in a nearby preserve. Antler gouges, chews, distinctive hairs, tracks, runs and trails in a tangled web. These were our teachers for the day. As much as one can logically understand that large ruminants interact with a variety of resources and micro habitats - food, water, shelter, seeing the space where they live, roaming their trails (even mapping the loosely), smelling live elk on the air, puts this knowledge in a more intimate perspective. I haven’t just heard about the habits of elk, I have seen first hand how the land shapes their movements and how over time the land in turn is shaped by the presence of elk.
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January 22nd, 2010 kathrynh
::K::
I started making my own bow last week. It . . . was . . . quite . . . a . . . process. Beavers occasionally abandon an inordinately large tree mid chomp. Sometimes the exhausting effort is just not worth the outcome. As I sat holding my hickory board, rasping off a fine layer of wood dust with each stroke, I nearly pulled a “beaver.” My bow was taking its time emerging. I had covered Gandhi’s autobiography, Frank Herbert’s Dune, Estudio no. 4 for guitar, Japanese vocabulary words for each season, the plight of the grasslands, the flight pattern of Pipilo maculates, relationships, death, my quest in life, eighty’s fashion (thank you Mathew for wearing that sweatshirt), and countless other topics in my head. By the time I thought about living life on Pandora, I noticed my bow could actually bend a bit! Finally! Like endorphins hit a runner in the 14th mile of a marathon, I experienced my first woodworker’s high. Unfortunately, this elevation in spirits came on day three, the last day of bow making. An additional long day of tillering (shaving off wood at specific locations to perfect the bow’s bend) should complete my bow.
Every shave of the wood reminds me that I am constructing an object that solely depends upon my skill for its accuracy. This bow is not a seventh grade tech. ed. project. If I work patiently and steadily, rasp with care, I will produce a tangible object that I can actually use (none of my tech. ed. projects functioned properly). It will not just be a wall hanging. I am always caught off guard, however, that sometimes the simplest looking objects, like a smooth, streamline piece of wood, are the most difficult to make. Wood, in particular, has an inherent simplicity that makes it unforgiving of blunders. A wrong move with the rasp could mean a misshaped and, hence, an inaccurate bow. If all goes according to plan, and impatience does not get the better of me, I will have a functioning hickory bow that I will be able to use for years to come. I look forward to giving a deep sigh of satisfaction.
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January 14th, 2010 kathrynh
::K::
All travelers have a story to tell. When a tall woman named Lynx from the east side of the Cascades visited the Anake program wearing buckskin clothing (purse included), I knew she had some unique tales to share. Those stories lay hidden within a homemade basket the size of a barrel. Out of that basket arose a buffalo hide blanket, stone shards for cutting materials, rawhide containers, wooden bowls, a pump drill, various oil lamps made from shells, rocks, and tallow, and several bone tools (knives, needles, and awls). It became clear that this woman was dedicated to resourcefulness while not only out in the woods but in her everyday life as well. Lynx was at school to give us a taste of the independence that comes with learning how to construct our own tools using primitive technology.
Lynx provided two materials for each student: a deer leg and a flake of obsidian to use as our knife. From one deer leg, we were told that we could make a handbag, a bone knife, cordage, an awl, needles, and even a rattle. I had my work cut out for me. I decided on a stylish deer hock handbag. It took me two hours, but I eventually skinned and dissembled one deer leg with only a piece of obsidian. This glassy rock started to dull toward the end of the processing and I decided to switch to my knife. I jerked through the deerskin and quickly realized that modern technology does not always trump primitive ways. My small obsidian shard glided through deerskin far faster and smoother than my recently sharpened steel knife.
Working with primitive tools was time consuming, but not aggravating. Instead, it provided a refreshing opportunity for ingenuity and problem solving. Pounding sinew proved an effective way to form cordage. Scoring metatarsal bones in half and then pounding them against rocks enabled people to produce the beginnings of two knife blades. A handmade pump drill made holes in deer hooves so that they could be used as rattles. This experience made me realize that there is no excuse for waste. It just takes a bit of creativity to make a use for any part of an animal or plant. Remaining open to this creativity is the key to independence while either out on a survival trip or while simply trying to have a sustainable relationship with the land upon which I live.
Some of Lynx’s bone tools. Photo by Evan Adkins.
A deer leg that is about to be made into a knife. Photo by Kathryn Hansen.
Randall really immersed himself in the Stone Age theme. Photo by Evan Adkins.
A deer leg processed using obsidian. Photo by Evan Adkins.
Marion making a deer skin purse. Photo by Evan Adkins.
Lynx (right) helping Mathew drill through a leg bone. Photo by Evan Adkins.
Two days of hard work produced knives, rattles, awls, purses, and sinew cordage. Photo by Evan Adkins.
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January 10th, 2010 Evan
<>E
14 November: Olympic Peninsula
Sea otters and seals lounged in the surf; the remains of an entire sea lion washed up on shore, the scattered bones of another lay hidden in the sand; translucent sand fleas leaped into your hand - chew well or they’ll squirm on the way down; anemones, and shore birds; the vertebrae of a whale. These lessons and more found us on a long beach ramble in a fresh breeze and bright sun. Bear and river otter left tracks to show us what drew their attention before our arrival. Eagles kept a watchful eye overhead. Far up on shore a dead fish with a face like a space alien stared out from a pile of seaweed. After several classes of discussion and thought it was invigorating to move for a whole day; to explore, discover, and engage the observational part of my mind.
This one day spent roaming the rugged coast of the Pacific (which, by the way, smells and tastes entirely different from the Atlantic) was worth weeks in the classroom.
No book can explain the anatomy of a sea lion as well as uncovering it’s bones in the sand, feeling them with your fingers and lining them up on the shore. No picture can convey the physiology and sheer mass of a sea lion as well as personally helping to roll over a dead one on the shore; peering at its teeth; feeling the coarseness of its whiskers; spreading its flippers to see their structure . . . Ok, a book and picture might smell better, but I say it was worth it nonetheless. For those hours we stared in fascination at the world around us, drinking in all we could. This type of learning exemplifies the Anake experience - personal, and intense: each lesson a story you will never forget.
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Photos by Kathryn Hansen