By Louie Ferrera

There’s a monster living in our backyard. It only comes out at night, catching and devouring its prey in an elaborately constructed trap. This monster strikes fear into our hearts; a primal dread that sends shivers up our spines.

Ok, this “monster” is actually just a spider, an Orb Weaver spider to be exact, who my daughter Denali and I have affectionately named Junior. A month or so ago we literally stumbled upon it. Junior has chosen to weave its web across a narrow pathway between an Asian pear tree and a jasmine bush. Denali and I were walking into our backyard when I saw her recoil and shriek in fear. She had walked right through Junior’s web! Judging by what was left of the web, we figured it was one of those enormous garden spiders that we’ve seen from time to time in our yard. Right then and there, we hatched a plan. After dark we would head out with flashlights in hand to investigate. What we saw both horrified and fascinated us. Junior had completely rebuilt its web and was sitting in the center of it waiting for some unfortunate insect to fly in. This was by far one of the largest spiders either of us had ever seen. From its huge bulbous abdomen to its smaller head, Junior was at least an inch and a half long. Add in the legs and we were looking at one big ass arachnid!

Junior’s web is a marvel of engineering, it measures nearly two feet across. Of all the beautifully constructed homes in the animal world, from bird’s nests to the honeycomb inside a bee hive, I find a spider’s web like this one to be the most exquisitely designed of all. I think it’s pretty special having such a uniquely beautiful creature like Junior make its home in our backyard. We’ve since strung caution tape across the walkway so that Junior can live in peace and we can avoid the horrifying experience of walking through his web again. A spider like this is best left alone.

I think there’s a little bit of arachnophobia in all of us, especially me and Denali. Her paternal grandmother was an extreme arachnophobe, so perhaps that’s where we get it from. There’s just something about spiders that evoke a kind of primal fear in people. Except for species like Black Widows and the Brown Recluse, spiders are shy and harmless creatures that benefit humans by eating insects that we don’t want around. So, Denali and I go out every night to check on Junior. We shiver and we laugh at our squeamishness but keep our distance. We don’t want to tempt fate.

By Louie Ferrera

Carol and I recently spent a week traveling around Colorado. Here are a few of my impressions 

Wildflowers

Crested Butte, Colorado is the self proclaimed “wildflower capitol of the world” and the Snodgrass Trail on the outskirts of town is its epicenter. It’s a lofty statement to claim to be the world capitol of anything but after experiencing the riotous outburst of color, shape, form and abundance that are Crested Butte’s wildflowers, I doubt that there’s anyplace in the universe that could begin to match them.

I’m a Californian, I’ve seen amazing displays of wildflowers, I know about wildflowers, but after Crested Butte I realize that I’ve seen and know nothing. We took photos, so many photos but photographs can’t even begin to describe what Carol and I experienced on the hillsides and ridge tops surrounding Crested Butte. It’s a vast canvas painted from God’s palette: oranges, pinks, yellows, reds, blues, purples, lavenders, whites and all shades and hues in between. Complimentary colors appear like magic; I never saw a shade of yellow without a shade of purple nearby. The predominant flower is a large, popsicle orange variety of daisy, in knee-high patches that cover entire hillsides. Mixed in are small, delicate, five-petal blue and purple blooms atop slender stalks. There is lupine and paint brush, wild rose and Queen Anne’s lace and of course there’s columbine, the Colorado state flower, larger and more spectacular than the kind that grow in my backyard. The sheer abundance and variety of flowers literally took my breath away! At certain spots along the trail, the colors went on as far as the eye could see. The feeling I had on our hike was similar to seeing the Grand Canyon or Yosemite for the first time, this wildflower display was on a scale that I simply had nothing to compare it to. These are WILDFLOWERS! It was awe inspiring. When Carol and I spoke to one another the only words we could muster were wow and amazing, whispering as if we were inside a cathedral.

I could look up the latin and common names of all these flowers and bore you by listing them, but what would be the point of that? Seeing these flowers is not about naming and categorizing but rather just being among them and letting their beauty wash over you. I felt great joy but small and humble too. I was just grateful to be here. I have no idea who or what “god” is but I do know that among the wildflowers of Crested Butte, I felt the presence of the divine.

Aspen Trees

The trunk of an aspen tree is bone white and telephone pole straight. The surface is marked by dark concentric rings that run the length of the tree and darker circular spots scattered among them. An aspen’s heart-shaped leaves are two-toned, the underside being several shades lighter than the top so when a breeze kicks up a shimmering light dance occurs. Countless millions of leaves flicker in time, their swishing sound is similar to that of waves receding from the shore. It is quite the experience to hike through an aspen grove while this dazzling show of light and sound is on display. In Colorado entire mountainsides are covered solely in aspen trees.

Waterfalls

waterfalls, waterfalls, waterfalls!

roiling ribbons roar

the hillside sings

Birds

As an avid birder, seeing a familiar species while traveling is like running into an old friend. On one of our hikes in the mountains a diminutive kinglet flashed its ruby crown for me and I briefly heard the unmistakable summer song of the elusive Swainson’s thrush echo through the aspen forest. A dipper did its river dance, bobbing up and down and under the water’s surface in search of aquatic insect larvae. For me, spotting a new species of bird  is one of life’s simple pleasures. In Colorado I added the spectacular Lewis’s and red-naped woodpeckers to my life list as well as the brilliant mountain bluebird, broad tailed hummingbird and blue grouse, the latter skittering through the underbrush with four babies in tow. The next time I visit Colorado, these too will be old friends. 

By Louie Ferrera

Some things never get old. Snorkeling with Hawaiian Green Sea Turtles is one of them.

When I’m underwater, turtles usually appear out of nowhere, gliding into my view frame when I least expect them to. I’ll be checking out the coral or some colorful reef fish when out of the blue, literally, here comes a honu (Hawaiian for “turtle”). Honu can fly, did you know that? They propel themselves through the water by way of the graceful, wing-like motion of their front flippers, it is truly poetry in motion! I sometimes imagine a turtle breaking through to the surface; its flippers become wings as it lifts itself from the blue of the sea into the blue of the sky and beyond.

This species of turtle is endangered and thus federally protected. It’s always a thrill to see a honu from the shore, especially when it comes to the surface to breathe. Their faces are oddly human-like. But to really experience these majestic creatures you’ve got to get into the water with them. If you’re lucky enough to encounter one while snorkeling, stay at least ten feet away, these aren’t zoo animals. My most memorable honu meetings and the ones I always hope for are when we get to swim together. The turtle will either be swimming below or beside me. I try my best to keep up with it by way of my puny human propulsion. If the turtle is moving at a leisurely pace this tandem swim can last a minute or two. During these brief encounters I can feel honu’s energy; this creature is ancient and wise and knows more than I’ll ever know. And just as suddenly as it appears, the turtle is gone, it simply melts into the blue at the limit of my visibility.

While on the beach in Maui, I always see fellow tourists getting super excited over the sight of a turtle, they’re calling their friends over and snapping photos with their phones. I’ll sometimes engage these folks in conversation, usually this is their first honu experience. The joy on their faces is still the joy on mine… every time I see a turtle. Like I said, some things never get old.