LAKOTA WISDOM PRAYER, THE PAINTED LADY BUTTERFLY SWARMS

posted on Facebook by a teacher colleague who is Native American, Rose Kreuger

Painted Lady butterfly 

John Walker

Interesting old map of the Spanish ranchos

On my lawn daisies

now thought to be Van Gogh's last painting "Tree Roots", July, 1890

Four Directions Prayer

Great Spirit,
Thank you for this day,
for the breath and life within me,
and for all of your creations. 

As I face South, I allow the spirit of All Possibilities to
wash over me.

Wherever I have fear or doubt, I trust that answers will
come...

The West is the direction where the White Buffalo lives.
White Buffalo stands for strength, bravery and courage.

As you breathe in, allow the power and energy of the White
Buffalo spirit to wash over you and awaken your warrior
within.

The North is the direction where the black-tailed deer lives.
This is the direction of the spirit energy of humbleness and
humility.

As you breathe in, allow your soul and spirit to be touched
with humbleness,
knowing that all we are, and all that we have, comes from
the Great Spirit.

The East is the land of the Eagle—the symbol for wisdom
and discernment.

I ask the spirit of the Eagle to be with me.

Sharpen my eyes and ears to hear your direction on my path.
Guide my steps, my actions, and my every word.

Great Father Spirit and Mother Earth.

Thank you for your beauty, and for all you have given me.
Help me to remember to love and feel compassion for all
creation.

Help me to walk my path with joy and love for myself, for
others,
for the four-legged, the winged ones, the plants and all
creation.

Remind me never to take from you more than I need,
me to always give back more than I take.

--Lakota Prayer

Sepulveda Basin Birdwalk, October, 2018

Balboa Park rests in a low area of the San Fernando Valley, the empty lakebed and flood plain for the dammed Los Angeles River, controlled by Sepulveda Dam.  Most of the time, it's dry, except for the controlled drainage from the river trickling through.  

Thus it's the south San Fernando Valley's  locus for outdoor play, agriculture, and wildlife. The flattened lakebed displays chaparral and riparian vegetation, which catch stomach-turning amounts of litter from wind and stream overflow.   And for some years now, it's home to numbers of the city's homeless.  

Cottonwood tree is changing

Mounded, tangled, stained quilts tumble in micro-glens of shelter heaped with debris beneath the beautiful old cottonwoods.

When I bird watch alone there, I walk the north side of the park, near the lake, but avoid the south side, where most of the homeless linger, concerned with safety.

Today on the bird walk, conflicts about the presence of so many homeless in our wealthy city burn in my gut while I attend to the joy of seeing so many bird species.  I wish I were a better example of the charity St. Francis modeled. The birds themselves have done what the homeless do, survive as best they can.

We see a small flock of Canada geese, which live in the park near the golf course.  My husband once killed one with an errant drive, suffering pangs of guilt for months afterwards. They arise from the water as we approach, forming the v-formation beloved in countless wildlife painting.

Great and Snowy Egrets behind Sepulveda Dam, an "elegance of egrets"

I'm reminded of the amusing and odd collective nouns used, mostly in novels, for animals.  A group of geese on the ground is called a "gaggle", but in formation, a "skein". Most familiar, "a murdur of crows", I think.  Some of the terms are poignant, amusing. 

I marvel at the group of egrets, finding later that the English literati have not coined a term for them.  I begin to think:

"an elegance of egrets", "an elite" of egrets? An "attenuation" of egrets?    

Nutmeg Mannikin

I have never heard of this bird, as the guide identifies it.  That's because they are Asian, sold as pets, abandoned by owners grown weary of the responsibility of caring for them.  They are tiny and elusive, and flourish in the leathery tall bushes growing along the river.

Western Bluebird

A delight to see the bluebird this clearly in my binoculars, the best sighting ever.  Two males flew down onto the grass from a nearby tree, the sun shining on them so the blue color shown with an iridescence more beautiful than stained glass.

Say's Phoebe, illustration by David Sibley

Say's Phoebe - note crest and plumped body

Seeing a Says Phoebe supplied the name of a bird I'd seen a few months ago hiking in The  Pinnacles National Park. 

We also saw a Cassin's Kingbird, very similar to a Western Kingbird.  The Western has white tail feathers on each side of the tail, while a Cassin's has a white tail tip.

Cassin's Kingbird

Western Kingbird

10-5-2025 AUTUMN BIRD WALK: SEPULVEDA BASIN

My bird book has sightings going back to 2015, and I know I've been birding in the Dam since  since we moved to Valley Village in 1995.  I had a very good day yesterday morning.  Our guide was perhaps one of the best I've ever had, impressively identifying songs, finding birds camouflages in bushes that I'd never be able to.  

With SFVAS, Alexander guide: South side of Burbank Blvd. 

 

Western bluebird – small flock at beginning of walk, seen there in past years, walking towards lake from amphitheater parking lot 

 

Yellow-rumped warbler – most common bird, migrating now, used to be called Audobon’s warbler

 

Mourning dove – has long narrow tail, it was thought that these birds slept alternating tail/head in groups, giving us the term “dovetailing” 

They are at our bird feeder every day, once I saw them with their ruffs puffed.  Sounds like an owl.

 

Song sparrow – common at our feeder, energetic ground feeder

 

Osprey – at very top of a dead tree, present for perhaps ½ hour

Two viewings, white head with black eyestripe, also saw in flight

 

Cedar waxwing- one brief long view after hearing distinctive high “scree” - I’ve never seen them in LA except in our neighborhood tree,

and not in October, only in February or so

 

Acorn woodpecker – in several palm trees near soccer fields 

 

Cassin’s kingbird-good views several times perching in dead trees

Belted kingfisher – several sightings of birds fishing swooping over  the lake, very fast flight, and an excellent silhouette view

 

Red-tailed hawk- one view circling overhead, fine view of coloration and tail for some minutes, a warm creamy-pale honey tone, / noted wing position, slightly v-d upward, unlike vultures commonly seen high and circling; another view in tree: it flapped its wings and then was clearly visible in tree high up for 5 minutes or so, cream breast with spots covering breast and lower breast at the point where it narrows to legs. The tree view added a lot to my memory bank for this bird sighting.

 

Cooper’s hawk- heard distinctive attack call twice, saw one being chased by raven/crow, also flying across low treetops – good views/see one around our neighborhood occasionally, due to the bird feeder

 

American kestrel – perched for a long time on engineering tripod in mowed field, flew off and returned with something in mouth

 

Brandt’s & Pelagic Cormorants mixed group, perched in tree, then another view fishing -I saw one with a fish in its mouth flapping and splashing.

Pelagic Cormorant – smaller,                                 

White outline around beak, this species is ranging north as weather becomes warmer.                                    

                  

Green heron – several sightings sitting in low branches beside lake or on shoreline, blending with shrubbery – one view was excellent – could see colors on head and greenish color, they look grumpy

 

 

 

Great blue heron – one flying, one perched on shoreline

 

Great egret, perched, flying, several birds observed, repeat observations

 

 

 

 

Snowy egret – perched, flying, then a view of 4-5 perched on trees on island in lake, other multiple sightings

 

California towhee – saw several of these, common in our garden

 

Birds I did not see but guide Alexander ID’d:

 

Orange warbler – have seen in yard last year

Black and gray warbler – have seen elsewhere

Ruby kingbird – have seen elsewhere and in yard

Sora – supposedly rare and difficult to see – hides in bankside brush

Savannah sparrow – both of these at our feeder

White-crowned sparrow – seen at feeder

 

Commonly seen, or birds I have not learned

 

Black phoebes - yard bird

House finches - yard bird

Vultures

Gulls

Mallards - ubiquitous 

 

Lorquin’s Admiral – first time I’ve ever seen one in Southern California – I have seen them while hiking in the Sierras, delightful sighting – its wings were open, getting warmed up for the day. Thrilled to see this!

 

PETER DOIG: Memorable Figurative Artists, considered late in his career

 

"Concrete Cabin", 1994

Unité d"Habitation, landmark Le Corbusier Brutalist apartment block in Marseilles

Like discovering Snow White's coffin after 100 years, barriers of trees (time) obscure the magnificent failure of urban housing, the only real option left to shelter the explosion of population until it destroys the Earth.  

SUPER INTENSE, SUPERBLOOM 2023

It wasn't our first superbloom.  Living in Southern California since 1958, sumptuous flora streak the myth with brilliant orange, warm and cool yellow and violet, pure vibrating hues that I cannot achieve in painting.  

The sun and wind on a field of spring wildflowers is like hearing a pure violin solo, the stems swaying and their burden of colored blooms called to glisten and flag in the fresh spring air.

The fields of the Lord await not only our labor but our play.                         

                                                                             Each gifts us needed joy and bestows unrequested grace. 

The poet Frost asks, "...what to make of a diminished thing", but that is not our task here.  The vastness of a superbloom makes an impossible demand upon us, as all natural phenomena do - how to comprehend the ineffable vastness. 

We have been given some means to try, however. I hear distant laughter as the effort continues.  We have our constructed abstract measures: mathematical formulas, maps to scale, instruments to calibrate and traverse, a language of metaphors and similes, the music of orchestras and the artists' and the camera's technical mastery. 

They are roadmaps to the magnificent reality of perception.

Lancaster Poppy Reserve,  Spring 1992

In the beginning, it was whole, and so it is still. 

Our "poor power to add and subtract" leads us to yet comprehend the endless nature of creation. Just go be there.

                                                      The Temblor Range, Carrizo Plain, 2023

 

Grounded

The Garden Years: the 50's

A small town Midwestern childhood gifted me with the assumption that everyone had a garden, like having storm windows or snow boots. It was just done, like visiting the cemetery on Memorial Day and buying a poppy from the American Legion members who sold them on Main Street. 

We didn't really need a garden. We lived comfortably on a street of homes filled with post-World War II families with stable jobs and growing children.  I never heard Mom and Dad, who disagreed on so much, ever quarreling about the garden, however. The two Depression babies would have a garden, cut and print.  

Beans, tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, corn, radishes. The beans and carrots were canned for winter.  The beans were bitter, muddied green, and mushy. The carrots just mushy.  I hated radishes, and didn't care much for tomatoes either.   How could the labor-intensive process of home canning have left them with any vitamins? 

We were subjected to rhubarb pie- a Midwestern thing of sour stalks and a sweet sauce in pie shells. Like making celery into a dessert.  I rejected that too.  I will try it again when I return to the Midwest this late spring.

Much much later I learned to gently steam vegetables, bring them to the plate with structured softness. And fresh, yes; living in California meant I'd never have to eat a canned vegetable ever again. 

I must discuss Midwestern sweet corn! My little brother and I were child-greedy for summer corn and watermelon in their short and bountiful season. Fresh corn seems to fill bins at the local market almost all year, though, and food seasons, major culinary events in cold climates, are minor here.  

Best of all were the zinnias.  My mother loved them.  So we always had staunch, crisp, bouquets on the dining table, their colors shouting like fans when Henry Aaron hit a homer.  If my mother had been a flower, she would have been a zinnia. 

There are roses on our dining table in December now, zinnias decimated by garden snails that wouldn't go away. In December the Nativity crèche along the shoreline drive nestled under palm trees, and gentle Pacific waves rolled onto a wide gentle beach, instead of snowbanks and pines. The way it must have been.

The earliest garden memory is from my father's childhood home. When we came to visit my grandparents, their chicken coop provided us with many family dinners, and the huge garden besides the usual veggies, had asparagus and a strawberry patch, berry bushes, and a huge swath of summer flowers, especially dahlias, my grandmother's favorite. 

When we visited in summer, we loved to go for an evening drive, hopping out of the car to pick wildflowers from the roadside ditches for her.  How she smiled when presented with a bouquet of them, though it was a twisted thing, caused by a serious stroke which left her dour face partially paralyzed. 

Then we'd stop at the Dairy Queen - a popular dessert, made with sugar, corn syrup, whey, mono and diglycerides, artificial flavor, guar gum, polysorbate 80, carrageenan and Vitamin A Palmitate.

This in a state with more dairy cows than people.

The County Fair awarded prizes for the biggest pumpkins and squashes, the fattest pigs, the best flower arrangements, best home-sewn clothing - Mom's coat won a prize one year, as did my blueberry muffins. 

My childhood ended at age 12, like most do, but not with puberty, but a reset from middle earth to seacoast, small town intimacy to bursting urban expansion. Instead of dairy, it was about oil production and aircraft manufacturing.  We would not need a snow shovel, snow tires, storm windows, nor fear tornados. Mosquitoes would not plague us, nor extreme humidity. The flora and fauna were strange, semi-tropical and international, with a kind of monstrous flair and showmanship.  They left me with a sense of malaise that fitted the experience of my adolescence that began in Southern California.

I thought parsley was the only herb there was. Mom, remembering her cafeteria work as a WAC, always placed a sprig on our plates, which my brother and I ignored. you could get abalone at the market in those days. 

The produce shelves were abundant, with all-year supplies of the greenest lettuces, strange fruits and berries from Mexico and Hawai'i.  And there were all the fresh flowers, citrus, avocados, and beef, and strange vegetables like jicama, eggplant, artichokes, chilis, fennel, radicchio; I still haven't stopped discovering them.

Today, sweet basil remains my favorite, along with tarragon, chives, and lemon thyme.

Snails ate our flowers, and mid-western favorites we tried grew listlessly, no doubt trying to tell us how confused they were. My father, stunned and confused by the magnitude of California, its  lack of rain and the warm dry climate, overwatered mightily, causing shrubs and trees to grow stunningly fast.  He seemed to spend all his time struggling with the unknown shrubs and hedges that enclosed the envelope of yard we had. My mother worked again, and we were now teenagers. Life was busier here, somehow.   We never had another garden.  

We had a white birch tree that I loved; its branches weaved, its leaves danced, turned golden and then finally released themselves in November. Perhaps it remembered that it was supposed to do that back where it really belonged. My parents cut it down, for unknown reasons though I begged them not to. 

Many years later, I planted a birch tree in the front yard of our tiny California bungalow, the first house that was truly all mine.  It lasted 25 years, overly large because I watered it so much.  It too, had to be taken down, its lifespan completed.

I plant zinnias again, and find to my joy the snails don't seem to eat them, though the caterpillars do.  And they are magnets for the butterflies of summer, monarchs, fritillaries, swallowtails, painted ladies.  My mom would have been so pleased.

Butterfly Visitations, continued

 9-11-2022  

Today as I worked on my infuriating sprinkler system, I saw a Painted Lady. The first one this year.  I remember the wonder of Spring, 2019, when millions of them flew through the streets of southern California.  It was a very good year. Rains at just the right time made possible a historic hatch of these fast flyers.  Strangers bonded over a phenomenon that was grace passing over us all.