Other Trees, Other Places

Weather and trees ruled the long weekend in central Oregon. The weather was cold and we watched the skies for sun, rain, wind, hail and even snow. They all happened. A three and a half mile walk around Suttle Lake had us casting our eyes upwards many, many times. The sun was glorious; the rain was minor; the hail and snow were bothersome at the end of the trail. Greg and I brought up the rear with me in the very rear listening to the squeak of his pants and watching the ground in front of him so I could warn him about any obstacles. His trick Achilles tendon was a concern. He didn't seem bothered, though, and we finished the hike not all that far behind the others. We pretended we were lost and snowbound and played the "how will we survive?" game.
We all commented on the trees on the sunny part of the walk where we could see the results of the Sisters fire from a few years ago along with the trees that had been devastated by the beetle infestation. The burnt trees were obvious and they looked like charred ghosts sadly come to rest on the forest floor. It was difficult to tell them from the bug infested ones. At one point Greg wanted me to take a picture across the lake where the sun had cast its shine on a large V of ghost trees that were topped with fog. It was an eerie and fascinating view but seemed sad to me. I didn't want to take the picture.
Everywhere there were signs of growth and rejuvenation. That was heartening. At the midpoint of the trail when the sun was out in an almost summerlike way, I studied the trees. Wouldn't it be something if I could find signs of owls? I looked carefully and then spotted a tree and some nearby bushes covered with white poop but it didn't look like owl poop. I was disappointed but cheered myself with trying to figure out what kind of bird would pause long enough up above to leave so much poop. Whatever it was, I think it was waiting to dive into the lake for a meal. Osprey, maybe. That's all I can be sure of. My sister and I watched an osprey dive from just such a location on the golf course at Widgi Creek last summer. I didn't see a repeat of that but I was proud of myself for stopping long enough to study the little drama of nature presented there on the trail.