Frontier Homestead

One of the things that I enjoy so much in traveling in the S.E. part of Oregon is the obvious fact that things have been very different in the past. Of course there is the rugged beauty that is here today, but it is also apparent that it was not always what we see now. In this area the volcanic activity in the very early times formed the land to what we see today, but it is obvious that not too awfully long ago the climate was very different as well.  Perhaps that is the reason that I have a problem with the portion of the US that thinks that we are the main cause of "global warming, or climate change", which ever you want to call it. Sure we have a part in it, but me thinks that in the grand scheme of things we are pretty insignificant. So far!

Connie again came to relieve me of my solitude, and as a reward I took her to one of the old Homesteads here that is off the beaten path. The weather was quite nice yesterday, not much wind and the temp. was in the mid 70's, so we took a couple of drinks, closed the dogs and cats in the house and hopped on the quad for a ride out to Rattle Snake Creek. I tend to believe it was named that due to the winding course of the "creek", since we didn't see a single snake, and I never have. The flowers are just beginning to show, so there weren't that many of them either.

Again I am amazed at the persistence and hardy nature of the people that lived here, to find the little spots that had the basics to sustain life. With my little plane I can wander around till I blunder into these little spots of water in an otherwise empty landscape. How long did it take for this guy to find his little utopia, and make a home there? Only this one no longer had any water. It used to, but its dried up now, and I wonder at the type of woman that would have the strength to make a life there. Connie looks at the view and thinks it is beautiful, but how many women today would ever have that thought if that was where she was destined to live her life. Thankfully there are some, still. Its obvious that the weather was different then without the influence of our human intervention, other wise there is no way that anyone could have survived long enough to build a stone house there.

The house is located in a small declivity or if you tend towards grandeur in your speech, Canyon, that is not visible until you are right on top of it. The area is other wise flat and unremarkable from all the rest of the Sage covered land. The beginning and the access that I used to get there is a cut, merely 50 feet into the ground where a now dry creek bed once flowed through, with apparent vigor. The drainage is from the Hills to the S.E. towards what is now Nevada. While they sometimes achieve 4500 to 5500 feet of altitude they are not all that spectacular, merely "High Desert".

This rock and many around it are pretty good size and all are scored by what must

have been a lot of water over a long period of time. This stuff is very hard basalt, and not your

usual rhyolite that the wind and water can shape.

The area  now serves as drainage on rare occasions, that blends with Crooked Creek, that I now live on. Crooked Creek is an artesian flow that goes underground a short way below my house and eventually surfaces about 6 miles from the house, flowing on to the Owyhee River and thus to the sea via the Snake, and the Columbia.

The gables of the house are beginning to tilt a bit, but it is still in surprising condition

considering that only mud was used to hold the rocks in place.

There was obviously some modern comforts available at that time as there are "milled" 2X8's inset into the rocks to supply lintels for the windows and coat and hat racks on the walls. As well as nails to hang them from. The well consists of a pipe driven into the ground from which a pump was "obviously" screwed into for water. The house is built with mud and lava rock. The walls are straight and the corners are square. There was obviously a dirt floor and a old early metal box spring that could have been added at a later date of course. The roof was obviously wood, but there is no evidence of any of it now, although those in the walls are in good condition. There is also what I took to be a grave marked by an outline of lava Rocks. It is a small one, that probably contains the bones of a child. I will do some checking with a local "historian" and see what I can learn about this spot.

There are Ravens nests at the top of each gable. Perhaps one is a "summer home"

steel bed springs

Fire place, now a Pack Rat retirement home.

Tucked down under the wind, and out of sight.

Time for an update on Jessie

I am not sure what happened to the blog. I noticed that most of the pictures either did not send or show for a while. There was some type of a glitch in the Blog program. It appears to have been corrected, at least on my computer. Most of the pictures were blotted out for a while.

Jessie,  after I released her,  spent about 6 days somewhere else, then came back to her mews. She spent 6 days there, never leaving and I thought that she had settled in, and things would be OK.

Then I was wakened in the middle of the night by a Horned Owl hooting. As most of you know the walls to my house are of native stone and about 18 inches thick, so it had to be close. I got up and went out to see what was going on, but could find nothing. I did not see or hear the Owl again. Jessie normally slept on an inside perch, so it was not strange that she was not visible. Horned Owls are a serious threat to Hawks and Falcons, and most consider it to be their duty to eliminate all of the day shift if and when they can. The day shift knows this and are very afraid of Horned Owls.

When I arose the next morning, Jessie was gone. I kept watch for the next 8 days looking for her to return. She did not. Last Friday I received a call from the Ontario, (Oregon) Fish and Wildlife, that a lady in Rome had found her body. She had been staying at their ranch just outside of Rome.

As you might imagine I have been doing a lot of thinking about the whole thing and doing a lot of self flagellation as well. My conclusions ( guesses) follows.

I think that I mentioned that the last time I flew her for exercise, she exhibited some bizarre behavior, that I attributed to something like dementia in humans, as well as an inability to regain muscle strength. She seemed to be unable to climb to any height over about 150 feet and showed a lot of frustration about it. That was three years ago. Her level flight and that close to the ground did not seem any different from normal.

I am guessing that the Owl scared her badly enough that she fled the next morning as soon as it got light enough to do so. She flew about 10 air miles from the house to the ranch that I mentioned. Perhaps she did not know how to get back home because of her suspected? likely? dementia, or that she no longer felt safe there. Who knows.

It has taken this long for me to come to grips with her loss,  and my feelings of guilt. This is not Disney land and as my mother used to quote " If wishes where horses, we would all never have to walk again".

I know a lot of you felt as though releasing her was a noble idea, but to me it feels like a betrayal of trust.

Weather

This has been a very interesting spring for us, as I am sure it has for you as well. I was exchanging emails with a "fellow" flyer, Artie, and she mentioned that she was going flying. I told her that I would also like to do the same, but the weather was a bit too "western" to do so. She didn't understand the phrase and asked me to elaborate. I sent her a picture and then it became clear to her.

I have never seen so many "lenticular" clouds in my life, as I have this spring. It seems to be blowing storms by us almost every day. If they would dump some of their load on the way things might be just a little better, but they seem to hang on until they get to Idaho to drop their collection of moisture. We have had winds in the 30's for almost a week.

Jessie went back into her mews yesterday and seems content to stay out of the wind. I don't think she has left her mews at all since last evening.

Crooked Creek carvings

The weather is improving and during Connie's last trip here we were able to get a few things done  at the house and take some day trips as well, but first a Jessie up date!

After her "fly about" where-in she was gone for 6 days. She seems to have settled in a bit more. She did go back into her mews for a couple of nights and I went out to feed her just as I always had, through the wire at her window ledge.

Two days ago she was gone before I got up and I didn't see her all day long. Then in the evening she was sitting on top of Hope's weathering area roof. I got a glove and offered her some food. She played coy and flew around a bit before settling back on the roof, and came down to eat off the fist. She then came back in the evening and settled on the window ledge to the shop at the corner of Hope's weathering area. I think she wanted to go into the shop, but didn't want to walk to get there.

When I woke this morning she was still sitting on the window ledge. I went out and put her food on the rock jack at the end of the yard and she ate there.

I am going to put a board for feeding her on the Rock Jack today.

Connie likes to go for drives in the desert, and its one of my favorite activities as well. I had taken her for most of the major trips prior to her heart condition, but there were a few little "short" places of interest that we had not visited. 

In the late 1800's a Cavalry troop had camped where Crooked Creek now crosses Hwy 95 for a couple of weeks during the "Indian troubles" in this area. I had heard that one of the troopers carved his initials into the Rhyolite cliff face. I had been there once quite a while ago and didn't think that it was all that far away from the road.

As with most of the rock formations around here these are of Rhyolite

As you can see in these cross sections there were long periods of change

in the deposits laid down.

This dark deposit is small river worn rocks and pebbles.

Most seem to be Obsidian in nature. 

The water has shaped the Rhyolite to look like little

diarama's set on shelves in the rock faces.

There are little "wonders" to capture your eye and imagination every where you look.

Of course the Pack Rats take advantage of the cracks and crevices.

Perhaps there were other carvings, but if so they have fallen from the cliffs.

Nov 23 1864

Perhaps there were other "Taggers", but I didn't find them.

For what ever reason the Eagles have not nested here this year.

While we were trying to find out if any Eagles were home this Prairie

popped out of a hole about 50 yards from the Eagle nest.

The Prairie is using the hole with the "chalk" marks.

I was a bit surprised that she was here. I had not seen one 

hanging about the area before.

The trip turned out to be a bit tougher than I had thought, but Connie held up well. Both of our feet suffered due to the side hill walking and the small "rolling" pebbles underfoot.

We were both surprised at the lack of bugs, and wildlife. I think we only saw two beetles, One had been captured and eaten by a Say's Phoebe. We only saw some Ducks, Ravens, Northern Harrier and the Prairie Falcons. 

Jessie!

As most of you know from past years Jessie is a captive bred Tundra Peregrine that I have had since 2005. I picked her up from her mother and siblings at 28 days old. I choose her from her siblings because of her attitude. There is a lot to choosing one bird over others, and I could probably write a book about it. With enough exposure to "baby" falcons one soon learns that some are exceptional given the right exposure and training, others just fill a space. Not all birds are equal, and the difference is due to its attitude toward life and eating.

Earlier than 19 days and a falcon will be imprinted if you take it from its mother and siblings. Twenty eight days seems to be the sweet spot for Peregrines. At that age they still know that they are a falcon, but can still learn to be happy with their life, since they have known nothing else but being with a falconer. Its still easier to screw up than get it all right. However when it clicks it can be magical.

It was for the most part like that with Jessie. When I plopped my butt down on her nest ledge her siblings ran to the furthest corner. Jessie

sat there and looked at me. She accepted my presence quicker than her siblings. That trait has stayed with her all her adult life.

She spent most of every evening lying on my chest and in my lap till she was able to fly. Her first year I think that she killed about 12 Ducks. That was good for the place that I had to fly her. Lots of the days that we hunted were nothing more than learning experiences for her in what she needed to do to be able to catch some of these Ducks. Its not as easy as it looks.

In essence she gave me 12 years of some of the best falconry that I ever had. After that first time out, she never failed to come back and almost all of them with a Duck to her credit. She would not give up, and she feared nothing. With most falcons it is a one shot deal. If they don't kill on the first try, they quit or go off sight seeing. Not Jessie, she would set down on the ground and wait until she caught her breath again and then she would mount up to what she thought was a good vantage point in the sky, spread her wings as if she was saying "pull"! Then she would take another shot at them. If they made the mistake of flying over the ground she would knock them out of the sky.

She differed from other breeds of falcon in that she did not sit on poles. If she got tired, she would sit on the ground. She was not afraid to go into cover either flying on on foot. Ducks that hid in the briars were not doing them selves any favors.

She killed four Geese in her career, but mostly took Ducks. The year she was two, we moved to Jordan Valley. I didn't have enough time to build a Mews for them at the time and she chewed the knot off her leash and flew off. After I crashed my plane looking for her she came home three days later and demanded that I pick her up. She had decided that she didn't like sleeping outside at night. She had a full crop when she came back to me, so it wasn't for food.

White Front Goose.

Mallards were her main prey.

Betsy my English Pointer was her back up, and ran with her, and stayed with her when she killed.

She had no fear of cover. It took me about 30 minutes to find her in this Sage.

In her 13th year she decided that she didn't want to wrestle with Ducks any more. All her family from Parents to siblings did not live more than 13 years.  I decided that she had earned her retirement, so I have fed her in her mews every day.

I had originally thought that she would soon die as all her siblings had by 13 years of age. Well, the stubborn old broad didn't die. This last year it began to bother me that she was just sitting there day after day with nothing to do or look forward to. I remembered that she had come back home when I had lost her so many years ago, and thought that there should not be a reason that she would not still do that.

So then I was left with the chore of rationalizing whether it was a betrayal of trust to  loose her shackles of captivity, or was it my responsibility to free her to whatever fate rules the lives of wild birds. While she, in her prime was capable of killing a Canada Goose on her own, and drive a Swan out of the sky by herself, The normal life span of most falcons is about 6 years. She is twice that and more. Roughly the same age as myself. There fore she is stiff and not as maneuverable or strong for that matter. After all she hasn't flown for two or three years. However if she is smart enough to base here, I can feed her when she isn't able to catch any thing. That of course was the big "IF".

I had been wrestling with this decision for most of the winter. The one thing that helped was my experience with Jasper, Tami's Kestrel that lived here for six years, and raised a family every year. He lived here on the place and wasn't above looking me up when he was a bit hungry.

I finally decided that she deserved the chance to decide her fate. That perhaps dying free was better than a retirement home with no one to play checkers with. The one thing that gave me hope was that if I did it right she too would stay here and come back when she needed food. After all, there are no distractions or down sides to being here. She has hunted here and had been flown here for at least 12 years. So I bit the bullet and fed her an entire pigeon, then took the window off her mews, so that she could come and go when ever she decided to. I crossed my fingers and went back in the house to get a book and beer and see how she would handle it. By the time I got back with my chair she had eaten her fill and "flew the coop"! I looked for some sign of her the rest of the day, with no luck.

That evening she was back sitting on her log in the mews. I got up around 7 am the next morning and she was gone. That was the fifth of April. As you can imagine I have been looking for her every where that I go, and flogging myself every step of the way.

A Peregrine has a pretty fast metabolism and prefers to eat every day. I had fattened her as much as I could prior to her release, but she had to be too soft and out of shape to be able to fly anything down, and her inability to get in shape the last time I tried to fly her, left little doubt that she was not going to be killing anything for some time.

With every day that went by I became more convinced that she had somehow gotten too far away to find her way home again. I cannot tell you how many times I went to the window or the door to look for her over the last week.

I order my Dog and Cat food from Amazon, and I had a big box on my back porch, that needed to go to the hanger so I could burn it. I also had some other stuff that I was taking out, so I was dragging the box. I drug it into the shop, and scared the hell out of Jessie who had spent the night roosting in the shop. I hadn't closed the door until just before dark, and she had apparently walked into the shop and found her perch.

I hurried to the house to get some food for her, and tossed her the lure with a big chunk of meat on it. Needless to say I am ecstatic about her return. I have no clue where she has been, and while it is possible that she hasn't killed, it is not likely. She was flying as strong today as I have ever seen her. While she was hungry, she didn't act as though it was anything more than breakfast for her, not salvation as if she had not eaten for 6 days.

When she finished her meal, she flew to the Motorhome and "chupped" her thanks for her breakfast. Connie and I were up replacing the windsock when she flew by and landed on the hillside. There is no way to guess how long her freedom will last before she succumbs to inevitability. I just hope that she enjoys each day as long as she can. I'll be here for her if she needs me.

As I write this now she has flown back into her mews through the back window and is sitting on one of her outside perches.