A fence deer will hate…

When we built our home 13 years ago there was a small rustic fence to the south of our property. It was small, just 3 feet tall and quite charming. Yet, it was rotting fast having been placed there before 1980. Over the years I fixed it regularly the best I could, but it eventually passed its expected lifetime and I decided to do something about it.

At first, in 2016, I thought of just replacing it with as it was originally and I even considered doing it myself. I just needed $1,000 worth of wood and concrete not counting my handwork. 

A month or so ago, I finally decided to replace it, but decided I was too old for this kind of exercise and got bids for it that amounted up to six times the amount contemplated a decade earlier, so I thought to myself why not do a complete 6 feet fence around the back of the house, not realizing that it would be be four times more than the short 25 meter fence! 

It would, among other things, put and end to our backyard constant invasion by large animals. So one thing led to the other, and I thought of Trump and his fence on the southern border that for sure would be paid by Mexico. 

So I found a Mexican contractor that couldn’t speak much English, but who gave me a great opportunity to test my nascent Spanish on him and his crew. In a few days a fancy fence was erected and as we finally realized that it would be deer, moose, dog and bobcat-proof, my wife and I congratulated each other. 

Still, just like with Trump’s wall, our Mexican contractor didn’t pay for the fence, quite the contrary! 

More heat, less Aiguille du Midi...

Mountain erosion is not something new, but it seems to be happening much more frequently as the planet heats up and the permafrost that used to hold together high altitude peaks in the Alps and elsewhere in the world is no longer able to hold massive rock formations together. 

On Wednesday, August 12, 2026, a major rockfall occurred on the north face of the Aiguille du Midi in the Mont Blanc massif above Chamonix, France. Over 500,000 cubic feet of rock broke away at an altitude above 11,800 feet (3,600 meters) in the Mallory area, sending a massive plume of dust and debris down the mountain. 

This summer’s extreme heat waves destabilized high-altitude permafrost and rock walls, triggered safety checks by the Compagnie du Mont-Blanc and followed the closure of the peak's famous ice tunnel due to melting. Other iconic peaks are failing structurally too. 

On the Matterhorn, intense summer heat waves have triggered frequent, erratic rock falls. Mountain guide associations in Switzerland and Italy have repeatedly been forced to suspend guided tours on major routes (like the Hörnligrat ridge) as the traditional frost holding the pathways together is simply liquefying. 

Also, right now, scientists and residents are anxiously monitoring the Spitze Stei rock formation looming over the village of Kandersteg, Switzerland. Through decaying permafrost, the mountainside has been actively losing height and parts of it have been shifting by up to 70 centimeters (2.3 feet) per day during peak summer melt. Geologists estimate that if the unstable formation collapses all at once, it could unleash 500 to 700 million cubic feet of rock, creating a landslide that could dwarf the Blatten disaster of May 2025. 

I guess that in the end, what goes up must always go down! 

Altitude and temperature

Being both a mountain dweller and a skier, I’ve always thought that the rule for temperature change in relation to altitude was 3° Fahrenheit per 1,000 feet (or 6°C per 1,000 meters), but I wasn’t too sure and decided to dig a little deeper into a subject that’s becoming more important as we get into full global warming. 

Here’s what I’ve found, starting with what causes that change. Temperatures drop as we gain elevation simply simply because atmospheric pressure decreases and the air expands and cools. Now, let’s talk numbers for what’s called the Standard Lapse Rate.

In Fahrenheit, temperature drops approximately 3.5°F per 1,000 feet of elevation gain (or roughly 5°F per 1,000 meters). In Celsius, temperature drops approximately 6.5°C per 1,000 meters of elevation gain (or roughly 2°C per 1,000 feet). For example, if we climb a mountain 2,000 feet higher up, we can generally expect the temperature to be around 7°F cooler at the top than at the base.) Of course, while 3.5°F per 1,000 feet is the standard average, real-world conditions frequently break this rule. 

Let’s start with humidity and moisture. If the air is dry, it cools faster as it rises, at a rate that’s about 5.4°F per 1,000 feet (9.8°C per 1,000 meters). If, on the other hand, the air cools to its dew point and moisture condenses into clouds or fog, latent heat is released into the surrounding air. This slows the cooling rate down to roughly 3.0°F per 1,000 feet (5°C per 1,000 meters). 

Then we’ve got the temperature inversions, in which if temperature always decreases with height, during an inversion, the opposite happens as warmer air sits over a pool of cold air. This is very common in mountain valleys (Salt Lake City) during winter or clear, windless nights, where cold heavy air sinks into the valley floor while Park City’s higher elevation stays significantly warmer. 

Finally the terrain topography and wind also influence the system. Dark rock faces and exposed alpine terrain can heat up significantly under direct sunlight, creating warm microclimates high up that defy the surrounding free-air lapse rate. Conversely, strong alpine winds can pull down cold air masses (these are called katabatic winds) or enhance wind chill, making it feel far colder than the ambient lapse rate suggests. 

Now you know all the details about the whole altitude and temperature relationship!

Will the Saudis rescue the ski business?

Faced with global warming, the ski industry should logically turn to Saudi Arabia, based on its rather foolish plan or dream to build a ski resort. You read it correctly, Saudi Arabia has been planning to build an ambitious, year-round outdoor ski resort named Trojena in its mountainous desert region of the country's northwest. 

However, following ballooning costs and shifting priorities within the broader NEOM giga-project, Saudi officials have halted major construction contracts, indefinitely delaying the resort. 

Just for those like me who didn’t know it, NEOM stands for "New Future."It is a combination of two words, NEO: The Greek prefix for "new", while M is the first letter of "Mostaqbal," the Arabic word for "future" or most probably Mohammed bin Salman, the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, who envisioned the project. 

One bad news linked to that location is its low latitude at 28.10° The planned resort is situated roughly 50 kilometers (31 miles) east of the Gulf of Aqaba coast in the Sarawat Mountain range of the Tabuk Province reaching 8,530 feet (2 600 meters) above sea level which is a bit of a stretch in being generous! By comparison: 

• Afriski Mountain, Lesotho, latitude 28.8° S , base altitude 3,050 meters (10,010’). 
• Oukaïmeden, Morocco, latitude 31.2° N. altitude 2,600 m to 3,200 m (8,500 to 10,500') feet). 
• Portillo, Chile, is 32° S, base altitude 2 880 m (9,450’) 

At Trojena, winter temperatures occasionally drop below freezing. The resort was designed to offer 30 kilometers of ski slopes featuring both real snow (via massive artificial snow-making operations using desalinated water) and year-round synthetic "dry" slopes. 

The place’s architecture featured a "vertical ski village," a massive man-made freshwater lake suspended by three large dams, ultra-luxury hotels, and a crystal skyscraper comparable in height to the Eiffel Tower, The project was specifically designated to host the 2029 Asian Winter Games, marking the first time the event would be held in a desert nation. 

Despite several years of heavy construction and the erection of massive steel frameworks, NEOM developers terminated several multi-billion-dollar contracts (including a massive dam project and a major steel supply deal). 

The project's costs reportedly swelled to $38 billion, causing the kingdom to pivot its investments toward core industrial, AI, and logistics infrastructure, pushing completion and the hosting of the Winter Games into after 2030, at the very least. NEOM has stopped short of declaring the project dead. 

So, I guess our nearby low-altitude Deer Valley East expansion will have to wait in order to reap some useful feedback and lessons learned from the Saudis…

Look what I found!

We find a lot of stuff each time my wife and I walk. Today, it was that feather and I wondered which bird it belonged to. At first, I thought it was large enough to come from a bird of prey, but when I asked Gemini (AI) it said that the 12 1/3” (31.5 cm) long feather was a primary flight feather from a Canada Goose (Branta canadensis).

​Here are the key characteristics from the image that point to this identification: ​

Coloration: It has a uniform, dark grayish-brown to charcoal vane, which transitions into a distinctly pale, almost white translucent calamus (the quill) at the base.

 ​Shape: The asymmetrical vane (where one side is much narrower than the other) is classic for a primary wing feather, designed to provide lift and aerodynamics during flight. ​

Texture and Size: The sturdy, rigid structure of the rachis (center shaft) and the dense, interlocking barbs are typical of large, powerful waterfowl. ​

AI also reminded me that a lost feather like that one found in the United States, fell (no pun intended) under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (MBTA). As a result, it’s technically illegal to keep, possess, or collect feathers from protected migratory birds (which includes Canada Geese, eagles, hawks, and songbirds), even if it’s just found dropped on the ground. So now you’re warned !

What’s this cloud?

On two occasions, I’ve observed these particular clouds, first when we drove to California late April, and this morning as we were out on our morning walk. 

At first, I thought it was a cirrus cloud, but cirrus clouds are detached clouds in the form of white, delicate filaments, mostly in patches or narrow bands. They may have a fibrous, hair-like, and sometimes silky sheen appearance. 

Since I don’t know much about clouds, I had to do some research and found out that based on the distinct smooth, lens-like, and somewhat aerodynamic shape of that cloud, it was a lenticular cloud (technically classified as Altocumulus lenticularis). These clouds are famous for looking like flying saucers, pancakes, or lenses. 

The one I photographed has incredibly clean, smooth edges, which happens when the air is moving in a stable, consistent flow (that day was quite windy). The lenticular clouds typically form when moist air is forced upward over a mountain range or large hill. As the air drops back down, a standing wave is created on the downwind side of the mountain (similar to water rippling over a pebble in a stream). 

If the temperature at the crest of the wave drops to the dew point, the moisture condenses into this beautiful, stationary cloud. Even though the cloud looks like it's just sitting there perfectly still, air is actually constantly flowing through it, in fact, condensing into a cloud as it hits the peak of the wave and evaporating as it moves down the other side. 

​These clouds are a favorite for photographers, but pilots generally give them a wide berth because they indicate strong, bumpy turbulence hiding in the upper atmosphere.

Accidental death of a potgut

For those not familiar with the Rocky Mountains region, what's called a “potgut” is a rodent with a popular name derived from their apparent fat looking belly. a so-called ground squiirel. In fact, they are known in scientific circles as Uinta ground squirrels, are primarily herbivorous, and mostly eat grass, seeds, and leaves.

They disappear from view in August and return in April or May. In between, they are supposed to hibernate. Not a bad life! Their only problem is that they’re close to the ground and even though they can stand up on their hind-legs to see a bit farther, crossing a road can be a dangerous endeavor. Many get ran over that way. 

So yesterday, as we were walking, we saw one laying flattened in the gutter. A sad story that made me think “Do potguts go to Heaven?” So, I imagined our flat little fellow, showing up at the Pearly Gates and welcomed by Saint Peter. 

• St. Peter: Hi, who are you? 
• Potgut: I’m what they call a Potgut in Utah 
• St. Peter: Never heard of that… 
• Potgout: Do you speak Latin? 
• St. Peter: Yeah, I used to live in Rome… 
• Potgut: I’m a Urocitellus armatus 
• St. Peter: What happened to you? 
• Potgut: I got ran over by a Tesla driven well over the speed limit! 
• St. Peter: I see, that’s too bad, next time pay attention! Wait a second and let me see what I can do for you… I could put you upstairs, it’s the comfy version of Eternity… Here you go, there’s a tiny vacant corner available for you. 
• Potgut: I need a lot of sleep, is there a good bed there? 
• St. Peter: Well the company that dwells upstairs is pretty boring. not fun at all, so sleeping is a great option! 
• Potgut: Can I do it eternally? 
• St. Peter: Just tell the chambermaid when you get there and she’ll set you up! Let me get you your key...

Who’s got the best Fall colors?

Living in the Utah’s Wasatch back, I’m extremely proud of our wonderful fall foliage with its beautiful reds (mountain maple) and golden aspens. I’m not bashful either to share pictures of our technicolor falls and boost about them with friends and family. 

Of course, this emulates responses from my Alpine friends and relatives that show me theirs in return. This is how I started to wonder, when all is said and done which special places or region can claim to have the best foliage in the world and that led me to this… 

To begin that discussion, we need to understand what makes a region “Best”? Things like tree diversity, with the more species the likelihood of many more color variation. Elevation and climate also play a huge role with sharp temperature shifts enhancing pigment intensity. 

Then there’s the picturesque nature of a place or backdrop, including mountains, lakes, and historic architecture that will amplify the visual drama. Timing is also crucial; some regions offer longer or more predictable foliage seasons. 

Our Utah pride is well-earned with our fiery mountain maples and golden aspens with breathtaking contrast and when it comes to our friendly foliage rivalry with my Alpine friends, this perfectly illustrates how autumn becomes a global celebration of color. 

Sure the best foliage isn’t just about colors, it’s also about context. It’s the way the light hits our favorite trail, the scent of crisp air, and the stories we share with those who see it with us. 

So while Vermont or Kyoto might win on postcard perfection, my biased Wasatch technicolor landscapes, shared with the people I love and echoed by the Alpine kin are fully part of a global tapestry of autumn wonder.

Are Canadian geese flying back already?

As of July 20, Canadian geese were seen in our Park City skies much earlier than usual, and I kind of wondered why their migration South began so early. The kind of observation that makes people say things like “This year the winter is gonna come early” or popular saying along these lines.

In fact, what seems to be an early fall migration period compared to a more traditional late September to November time-frame could be attributed to several factors. To begin with, studies suggest that climate change is affecting bird migration patterns, leading to shifts in timing, altered routes, and even changes in physical characteristics like body size and wing length. 

The specific timing of goose migration can be influenced by local weather conditions, food availability, and day length. Even if not undertaking a full migration, geese may make local movements or stopovers to find suitable feeding and resting areas, particularly if their usual habitats are disturbed or food resources become scarce which could be the case in the unusually dry summer we’ve been experiencing all over Park City and Utah this season. Also, a significant portion of Canadian geese, especially in urban or suburban areas, have become non-migratory and remain in the same location year-round. 

Finally, there’s what is called “Molting and Flight Training”. Molting means shedding old feathers to make way for a new growth. Adult geese undergo a molting period in the summer (June-July), during which they shed their flight feathers and are temporarily unable to fly. As new “pilots”, goslings also begin their flight training during the summer months, taking short, awkward flights in preparation for the upcoming fall migration. These activities might result in increased aerial activity during July. 

With these new facts I’ve just learned in mind, I’ll be a little bit more circumspect the next time I see Canadian geese flying over Park City as to their reasons for doing it. Between us, I’m a tad skeptical of the training necessitated by new feather or for educating new pilots… Frankly, I thought they were trying to cross over to Mexico before Trump had finalized his hefty tariffs, but that might just be another good reason among many!

My Solstice

Where I live in Park City, the summer solstice is happening today. Of course I know that it doesn’t always fall on June 21. For instance, this year it’s on June 20 for me and can go to June 22, while happening simultaneously for all of us. Weird, isn’t it? 

This variation is due to the difference between the calendar year and the Earth's orbit around the sun. As you astronomers know perfectly well, the summer solstice is the moment when the sun reaches its northernmost point from the equator. 

So why in the world do I celebrate it at 8:42 pm on June 20, while my friends in the European Community get it on June 21 at 4:42 am and the folks from Sydney, Australia enjoy it at its fullest on June 22 at 2:02 am? Just because it happens precisely at 2:42 am in Greenwich, and all the other places see it at their own respective local times! 

What else can I say? Obviously, that it’s going to be downhill from there in terms of daytime length, except of course for my friends living in the 32 countries located entirely or partially in the Southern Hemisphere. They can expect longer days! To make the matter even more complicated, thirteen of these countries straddle the equator, meaning that they’re in both Hemispheres.

As I was told when I was younger, life is complicated, so instead of wringing my hands, I wish everyone a good solstice, just make it summer or winter depending on where you live and how hot or cold you feel!

The risks of mountain living

Having been raised at the bottom of a steep mountain valley in France, I’ve always been conscious of what hangs up above my head and quite cognizant of the saying “What goes up must go down...” After what happened recently in Blatten, Switzerland or last year at La Bérarde in France, one logical question is whether there are more alpine villages, or for that matter, mountain villages the world over, running a very high risk of meeting the same fate? 

These communities are naturally vulnerable to disasters due to their locations in deep valleys below steep, unstable terrain and the increasing results of climate change. For one thing melting glaciers destabilize mountain slopes, leading to landslides and rockfalls, like what happened in Italy when the Marmolada glacier collapsed in 2022. 

Permafrost thawing not only caused the Blatten slide as it weakened the rock faces, increasing the risk of massive collapses but it’s close to what also happened in that same country during the 2017 Piz Cengalo landslide. Other Swiss communities like Gondo, Randa, and Saas-Balen are also at risk due to historic landslides. On the French side, towns in the Écrins Massif (like La Bérarde) and the entire Chamonix Valley face glacier and rockfall threats. 

On the Italian side of Mt. Blanc, a town like Courmayeur and further away, Valfurva near Passo Stelvio, are also significantly exposed to glacier instability. In Austria, Galtür is threatened by avalanche and Heiligenblut by glacial floods. Up in Norway, Longyearbyen (in Svalbard) faces landslides due to permafrost melt. In North America there’s the Alaska’s Barry Arm landslide threat and in Canmore (Alberta) the town is at risk of rockslides. In the Himalayas, many villages in Nepal, India (Uttarakhand), and in Bhutan also face glacial lake outbursts.

Natural catastrophes have happened in the mountain for centuries. It’s called erosion. In my hometown of Montriond, its pristine lake was formed by a massive collapse of the “Rocher de l’ Échelle” a limestone cliff standing 2,500 feet higher that obstructed the local brook (Dranse de Montriond), creating a natural dam 600 feet high that formed a mile long lake, 100 feet deep. 

 

This incident dates back approximately 500 to 550 years. Over time, the lake has experienced significant fluctuations in level between spring and autumn. To stabilize its water level, sealing work was carried out in 1990.  

In the majority of cases, all these villages or places are visited by tourists and rely on skiing, hiking, and mountaineering for survival. Once a catastrophe hits, like it just did in Blatten, relocating the entire villages elsewhere isn’t always feasible. When it is, it often proves to be costly and logistically difficult. As temperatures rise, glaciers retreat faster, and as jet-streams tend to get stuck in place for a much longer time, extreme rain or snow falls increase leading to more intense landslides, floods, and avalanches. 

This means that many alpine and mountain villages worldwide are at risk, particularly those near glaciers, steep cliffs, or unstable slopes. While mitigation efforts (like early warning systems) help, some communities may eventually need to relocate—or face tragic consequences.

Another record from Park City’s urban forest!

Complaining about our urban forest getting out of control has become a recurrent subject. If we needed to be reminded about it, this year’s record setting pollen is one very valid reason! It’s a fact that evergreen trees don’t necessarily shed the same quantity of pollen every year. 

Their pollen production varies due to a bunch of environmental and biological factors, like the warmer spring we just had in the Rocky Mountains that has caused more pollen production. Our windy conditions have done their part by dispersing it much more effectively than usual. The situation is also exacerbated by trees planted 40 to 50 years ago that now produce more pollen as they’re reaching maturity. 

Pollen production varies also from year to year as many spruce species show synchronized, intermittent years of high pollen and seed production, followed by lower-output years. Quite obviously, this is a record breaking year! Our mild winter has seen evergreens pollinating earlier and more intensely than ever before. Higher atmospheric CO₂ may have also played a role in increasing their production.

Our pollen covered deck at the end of May

Finally, I’ve always asked myself if pollen production was sex-oriented, and I found out that evergreens like pines, spruces or firs produce both pollen and seeds on the same tree, but in separate structures (male cones vs. female cones). For instance, male cones (small, often clustered) do release pollen, while female cones (larger, woody) just develop seeds after pollination. 

Now that I’ve learned all that stuff and shared it with you, will you give me a hand cleaning my deck when I’ll get to doing it around the middle of June?

Is it really spring in Park City?

Now that the daffodils are out and white pelicans are stopping over in Park City on their way to Canada, it looks as if winter is officially over and it might be time to dress the part.

This morning was still frosty, but we seem on the path of nicer and warmer weather. 

At least it generally happens during the month of May! In fact, after looking and comparing the night and day temperatures at our home from January 1 through April 30, I found, to my great surprise, that our winter temperatures in these four months were 2.5% colder this year than last, when my perception was totally the opposite. In contrast, that same period in 2023 (record breaking snow year) was 18% colder than this year. 

I’d guess it pays to keep a note on temperatures in order to talk intelligently about them!

A strange looking magpie!

The Eurasian magpie (Pica pica) is a species from the corvids family (Corvidae). Magpies can be found over almost all of Europe and north-western parts of Africa. For a long time, the Eurasian Magpie and the American Black-billed Magpie were considered the same species (Pica pica). 

However, in 2000, based on their vocalizations and behavior, significant genetic divergence were found between the two, the American Ornithologists' Union officially recognized the Black-billed Magpie as a separate species (Pica hudsonia), which is the one abundantly found in Park City. While they look very similar with their black and white plumage and long tails, subtle differences exist. 

Some sources note differences in the gloss of their feathers and the amount of white on their plumage. Black-billed Magpies can also reach a slightly larger size, mainly due to a longer tail. Their calls are also distinctly different. Further, there are differences in their social behaviors and nesting habits as Black-billed Magpies sometimes nest in loose colonies, unlike the more spread-out nesting of Eurasian Magpies.

So that pretty long explanation serves as introducing the unusual encounter we had a few days ago, when we stumbled upon a white magpie, next to a normal one. My first reaction was to say “It must be a case of albinism!” 

But after checking it, I had to conclude it was a more common case of leucism instead (partial loss of pigmentation, leading to white or patchy feathers but normal-colored eyes, not pink). Albinism in birds is far less frequent (roughly 1 in every 10,000 to 30,000 birds in the wild) while leucism is a bit less rare as it appears in 1 for every 1,000 to 10,000 birds). 

According to what I’ve read, leucistic birds have normal eye color (not pink) and may have mixed white and normal feathers. Will we ever see that unique bird again? I’d love to, but I doubt it!

Family disagreement!

 Ever since I was a tiny little kid growing up in the Alps, I was told that frost was causing leaves to change colors in the Fall and I suspect still many of my contemporaries and even younger inhabitants of my remote valley of origin have maintained that belief. 

My big sister, who is 9 year my elder, not only has lived through the German occupation of France, but has seen and learned many things during her long life. Yet, since she stayed in my hometown all of her life, she still subscribes to the popular belief that that deciduous trees change colors because the frost makes them. 

The other day as we were having our regular phone conversation, I challenged her belief by saying that this change in color was because the photosynthesis. Naturally, she disagreed vehemently and forced me to go into some basic research to build up my argument. 

I found out that both of our perspectives are partially correct, but the primary reason for deciduous trees changing color in the fall is actually due to a combination of factors related to photosynthesis, which as you can guess, made me feel very good.

Still, to be fair, my sister's observation about frost is partially accurate. Frost can indeed contribute to the browning of leaves, as it can damage the cells and cause them to die, however, it's not the primary reason for the color change. My understanding about photosynthesis is closer to the mark. As the days get shorter and temperatures drop in the fall, trees begin to prepare for winter dormancy. 

Gradually their photosynthetic activity is reduced, which is the process by which they use sunlight to produce food. As photosynthesis slows down, the production of chlorophyll, the green pigment that gives leaves their color, also decreases. 

When chlorophyll production declines, other pigments that were present in the leaves all along become more visible. These pigments include carotenoids (which give leaves their yellow and orange hues) and anthocyanins (which give leaves their red and purple colors). 

The combination of these pigments creates the stunning fall foliage we see. So, while frost can play a role in the browning of leaves, the primary reason for the color change is the reduction in photosynthesis and the visibility of other pigments. Both my sister and I have valid observations, but I’d (humbly) conclude that I won that family debate!

Aspen’s brightest season !

On its southwestern corner, our property has four aspen trees that are rather precocious, they’re first at bearing leaves and first at turning yellow. Each fall season, the quartet always displays a spectacular, colorful sight. 

These trees, native to cooler areas of North America, are one of several species referred to by the common name “aspen”. In fact, it’s commonly called quaking aspen because their leaves attach to branches via a long and flattened petiole, so that even the slightest breeze causes the leaves to flutter. 

This gives the overall tree the appearance that it's quaking or trembling. They generally have tall trunks, reach 80 feet tall, with smooth pale bark, scarred with black. The glossy green leaves, dull beneath, become golden to yellow, rarely red, in autumn. 

The species often propagates through its roots to form large clonal groves originating from a shared root system. The aspen tree “Populus tremuloides” is the most widely distributed in North America, being found from Canada to central Mexico. 

My wife doesn’t like them much as they leave many residues like catkins in the spring and as they often ooze sap from their trunk or branches when wounded or when infected by fungal diseases. Of course, they become a recurrent piece of work when they shed their many leaves and we have to remove them before the first snow falls. 

On the other hand, I’m a fan, so autumn never fails to excite me!

Goodbye summer, hello fall!

Fall ushered in a couple of days ago, and with it, Park City began putting on its most colorful dress. 

Our summer has been terrific, not too hot, with some occasional rain showers in August and September and we have been enjoying it to its full extent. 

While the rest of the world seems to be beating summer heat records, ours was quite bearable. 

We’ve had air-conditioning since 2004, but only used it 5 times this year to cool off our bedroom, a record low! This said we reached a record 91 degrees heat once, just like last year. 

We’re keeping track of our daily and night temperatures since 2007 and have created this table showing the ranking per year for both sets of temperatures in decreasing order. 

This summer’s average day temperature was the seventh warmest one, white the average night temperature was just second, which is in keeping with global trends and an obvious harbinger of bad things to come...

A ten-days goiter?

For those of you who don’t know it, a goiter is an adaptive reaction of the cells in the thyroid gland to any process that blocks its hormone production. While the most common cause of goiter is iodine deficiency, other conditions can cause it. 

I just got one after being stung by a wasp just below the chin, into my neck area. Unbeknownst to me, being stung in that area so close to the larynx and the trachea may swell rapidly, potentially obstructing the airway and causing difficulty breathing. 

All this might lead to shortness of breath or even respiratory failure. To make matters worse, if one is allergic to wasp venom, there might be a severe allergic reaction called anaphylaxis that can be life-threatening. In addition to breathing difficulties anaphylaxis can include swelling of the face and throat, hives, and a rapid heartbeat. 

The morning following my being stung, as I brushed my teeth I was stunned to see a massive mass of flesh dangling back and forth in my neck area. My wrinkled neck was now smooth and well-rounded! I immediately realized that, by stinging me, the wasp had done some major damage to my usually good looks. I don’t know if the sting hit the thyroid gland but it created a massive swelling, similar to the goiter pictured here.

This incident will have some lasting effects, some ten days of swelling I’m told. Hopefully, I’ll soon recover my wrinkled neck and return to being my true self!

Magpies’ flying school

Magpies are our local birds, from early January through December, they keep us company, survive a tough winter and are part and parcel of our daily lives. In the late spring, they have their offspring, and in June these little ones must fly out of the nest, like it or not. 

The following short video attempts to show how hard it is to let go and glide on brand new wings. While it takes about 18 months for a US air force pilot to earn their wings before ever flying a fighter, it takes about 6 months, minimum, to learn to fly and fight the fighter the pilot is assigned. 

Young magpies in my backyard don’t have this luxury and their trainers are neither as dedicated nor patient as our military pilots. First, a certain amount of patience is required as no birds can fly as thy hatch. They don’t have feathers. It takes about 2–3 weeks in the nest, after hatching, for magpies to develop the feathers needed for flight. 

Then, they attempt to leave the nest (generally a less than controlled fall to the ground) and spend 3–6 days there (below or near the nest where I shot that video) still being fed by the adults, while they further develop the muscles and skills for their first real flights. Like all young birds, magpies learn to fly through trial and error. 

They'll make short, clumsy flights at first, gradually increasing their distance and control with practice. As their skills improve, fledglings become more adventurous, venturing further from the nest on their own, to explore and find food. Parents may continue to provide guidance and support during this process. That’s why we see young magpies seemingly unable to fly, stuck on the ground. 

Yet, if they appear healthy and their parents are nearby, it's usually best to leave them alone. The parents will guide them back to safety or the fledglings will eventually find their way back to the nest or a safe perch. Very soon, they’ll fly like seasoned pilots! 

Shrinking days are back!

Somehow, I missed yesterday summer solstice. I’m so conditioned in thinking it happens on June 21, that my persuasion blinded me once more. I’ve added a calendar to illustrate my recurrent mistake. 

Most of us know that the summer solstice happens when one of Earth's poles has its maximum tilt toward the sun. It happens twice yearly, once in each hemisphere (Northern and Southern). 

For those of us who live up north, the summer solstice is the day with the longest period of daylight and shortest night of the year, when the sun is at its zenith. 

This also means a continuous daylight at either pole on that very day. The opposite is obviously the winter solstice, which we’ll discuss before Christmas. Now, the summer solstice holds a variety of meanings across cultures and history. For us, in the North, it marks the day with the longest period of sunlight. It's the official start of our summer, a time of warmth, growth, and abundance. 

Many cultures view it as the triumph of light over darkness. As days begin to shorten after the solstice, it’s also a reminder that summer's light won't last forever. In Europe it’s time for Bonfires, feasting, and maypole dancing. In Peru it’s time for ancient Inca festival honoring the sun god Inti and celebrating the agricultural year's midpoint. 

It’s also Litha in pagan traditions celebrating the sun's strength and the abundance of summer. For me it’s time to work on the family skis, repair their scratched bases, sharpen their dull edges and wax them with tender, loving care!