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      January 2012
   
           
 
  January 29

Pescadero Past & Present:
A Special Walking Tour


With special presentations by Pescadero's finest

More Info Here
   
           
      February    
           
 
  February 3

By Train to The Land of Snows
A Special Free Presentation


Images and impressions by the Lydon group that went into Tibet by train in November

More Info Here
   
           
           
           
 
  March 11

San Benito County Backroads
Tres Pinos, Paicines & Cienega


A rare adventure into some of the county's out of the way places.

More Info Here
   
           
      June    
           
    June 2; 9; 16

BayWalk IV – The Big One
with Lydon and Griggs


From New Brighton to Monterey with the region's best teachers.

More Info Here
   
     
Current
Newsletter


Issue No. 14
   
       
         
           
           
           
Coast Live Oak acorns, Aptos, November 2011.

Acorns Falling on our Heads (to the tune of "Raindrops")

Acorns everywhere this autumn. In the roads, on the trails, the sound of their spranging off shed roofs and decks is a lovely syncopation reminding that winter is close upon us. This year's acorn drop is a bumper crop, and three hundred years ago, it would have been a time for rejoicing as the local Indians would know that, whatever winter might bring, they would have full granaries to see them through. It would have been a happy time for the grizzly bears as they would not have had to climb into the oak trees and shake down their dinner. These days, it is the woodpeckers and squirrels that seem happiest, stashing acorns away in their hidey-holes; and the deer are fat and sleek.

What might it mean? Before weather satellites and sea surface temperature monitoring, early settlers in this region were always looking for indicators that might give them a clue about the next season's weather. This was not a casual interest; their livelihoods and very lives were dependent on sufficient rainfall. They didn't know about jet streams or upper level low pressure areas. All they knew was that sometimes—too often—it didn't rain enough. And somewhere hidden in the natural rhythms of the landscape and its plants and critters was a secret code. If only they could learn to read it.

The annual, variable acorn crop must mean something, they reasoned. All those bears and deer and woodrats gorging themselves on the acorns must mean that a wet winter was coming, right? Others concluded the opposite—lots of acorns in the autumn meant that Mother Nature was gearing up for a drought.

But, as it turns out, (and botanists have confirmed it), THEY WERE LOOKING THE WRONG WAY! An abundant acorn crop is caused by what happened a season earlier, not what's going to happen. Botanists now believe that coast live oak crops are most influenced by rainfall during the winter previous. Not the immediately preceding winter, such as the winter of 2010-2011 in the case of this year, but the winter of 2009-2010.

Whatever caused this year's bumper acorn crop, the critters around these parts are happy about it. It also means that we're going to have a crop of tiny oak trees sprouting up all over the place next year. But, apparently we can't use the size of an acorn crop to accurately forecast the weather, no matter how much the early settlers believed they could.

Another weather indicator – An older Miwok Indian was once asked if he had any idea about the severity of the upcoming winter. "Yes," he responded thoughtfully, "it's going to be a very severe winter here in the mountains." Eager to know what the Indian might be using to make that prediction, his interrogator asked how he came to that conclusion. Was it the fur on chipmunks? Caterpillars? Pine needles? "No," said the Indian, "it's none of those things. I noticed that there are a lot of white folks out in the woods cutting firewood."