Up on Top of Cathedral Rock

Cathedral Rock is another vortex site in Sedona, Arizona. People say that the junipers grow in a spiral at vortex sites. They were spiraling like mad here.

I was attuned to the crazy spiralling vortex energy, but probably too excited by the prospect of climbing Cathedral Rock to fully feel it coming up through my feet the way it did at Red Rock Crossing.

These trees amaze me, the way they seem to be able to sprout living needles out of what looks like dry driftwood.

This one was situated so as to be a handhold for a steep bit of trail. 

I marveled at its smoothness, at the human hand grease that had waxed it to a fine patina.

The summit grew ever nearer. Well, "summit" is a negotiable thing. I am not the sort of person who would consider the heads of these hoodoos a "summit." For me, the summit was the first saddle in between them. High enough for Zick, you betcha. Not a crampon/piton gal.

The view got pretty dizzying in a very short time. 

It was a most rewarding climb.

Russell had told me about a mystery plant they'd seen that looked like an evergreen with tiny needles, but with white five-petaled flowers.

My first thought was that it looked like a potentilla, or a rose, with those five petals, that puff of yellow anthers.

Looking more closely, I found a seedhead that clinched its membership in the rose family. These plumy seeds are reminiscent of prairie smoke (Geum triflorum), also, surprisingly, a rose family member. 

I was unsurprised to find the "flowering evergreen" in a quick online search. Cliff Rose, Cowania mexicana.

I'd see it growing all over the South Rim of the Grand Canyon the next day!

Cowania mexicana seedhead

See the similarity? 

Prairie Smoke, Geum triflorum

Near Chase Lake, North Dakota. This photo makes me weep. 

Plant Taxonomy at Harvard taught by Carroll Williams is without a doubt the most useful course I ever took. I recall someone telling me that, while exhorting me to take the course, and I was a believer after about two classes. Plant taxonomy is not only fun to learn, it's surpassingly useful for the rest of your life.

We had been passed on the way up by a very fit older German gentleman in little shorts who said he climbs it most days. Well, that would explain his speed and thighs. He got up to the saddle  well ahead of us (see what I mean by its being high enough for me?) The view went on forever. Wow.

When Russell and I got there (Barbara was nursing a healing knee down below), this man was seated and in deep conversation with a woman with long gray hair whom he'd apparently met on the climb. He was saying something about a race of people from another planet who have been here before and will return in 2060. She said, "Oh, cool. Wow. Huh. I may not be around then."

Ya think? I started to chuckle silently, trying not to snort. I tried to imagine a conversation like that happening in Ohio, and failed.

I also tried to imagine myself climbing out on this ledge like these young people (see the red shirt?) with their selfie stick. Failed at that, too. We Ohioans are neither very imaginative nor tolerant of great heights. Speaking strictly for myself. 

But I sure enjoyed climbing Cathedral Rock with Barbara and Russell. I mean to do it again someday soon.

Thanks to my sweet friend Maria C. for the tips on where to go and what to do in Sedona!

Bob's Bluebirds

It is a rare privilege to be shown a place that is special to someone. Visiting Bob Niebuhr's mountain bluebird trail not far from Great Falls, Montana, I think we may have seen the most beautiful bluebird box trail on the planet.

The Man himself, author of beauty and grace, written on the land in bluebirds fledged from his boxes.
A caravan of cars snaked from the Mountain Bluebird Trails conference site to Bob's turf, and we hopped out to check boxes along the way. And to breathe. Oh, the air was so sweet and cool.


Mountain bluebirds are bigger than either western or eastern bluebirds, and they often lay clutches of six pale blue eggs. Being broad of shoulder, they need an entry hole that's 1/8" bigger than their smaller relatives, too.

Some three-day-old mountain bluebirds.


Mountain bluebird babies are lovely, smoky brown and even-colored, unlike our dappled gray eastern bluebird babies. These are about 13 days old.

I loved seeing my first mountain bluebird babies, but I was blown away by their surroundings. What heaven it would be to have an excuse to drive Bob's route once every week.

We compared notes on development and predator deterrents. The Science Chimp always loves to talk shop with other bluebird box landlords.

And of course, she had to get her nose into every box.

As did Science Chimp Junior (this was taken in North Dakota.)

Everywhere on Bob's trail, wildflowers nodded in the breeze. This was the finest stand of prairie smoke I'd ever found. A few lupines add their blue.

Not sure what this is. It looks a lot like a Gaura I planted in my garden this year, but it's much denser and more compact. Yoo-hoo, Caroline from South Dakota?

A natural garden.

Ever dream of having that Montana ranch, brushing out a brood mare's tail, and riding out each morning to watch the sun ascend over the rolling hills?

Me, too.

Tree swallows were gettin' busy, too, enjoying Bob's lodgings.



Mountain bluebirds hovered and dove on grasshoppers.

Heavenly, the only word for their blue. Well, maybe celestial. Same meaning.

Wonder if anyone would pay me to live out here and run these boxes when Bob got tired of it? No, he already has good volunteers who help. Rats. And he doesn't show any signs of getting tired of it.

I'd do it for nothing, anyway.

A northern checkerspot stops in its meadowbouncing.

More prairie smoke.

A shy larkspur

and some lupines.

A neighbor brings two little grandsons, still in their jammies, on his four-wheeler, to chat with Bob, who seems to know everyone. Liam looks on in envy.

Bill of the Birds gazes out over the expanse.
I try not to imagine this place in the dead of winter

preferring summer meadows and birdsong to howling blizzards.

And so it will stay in my memory, always June, with the song of warbling vireos

and lonely barns against the sky

and Bob fixing a loose roof on a bluebird box

sending thousands of new bluebirds out into the Montana skies

making the world a more beautiful place with every mile he drives.

I salute you, Bob Niebuhr, and all those who work for bluebirds. Thank you for bringing our little family to Montana, to find ancient runes and hunker down in tipi rings, to float down the Missouri River. You've made a place in our hearts that we will always come back to. Thank you for all you do to bring beauty to the land. You are appreciated.

last two photos: Bill Thompson III