
Crawlies with Cri – Black Bear Pt. I
This week’s crawly is a big un! They’re a mammal you may have seen, or you may not have seen. One you may want to see or one you may very much not want to see.

This week’s crawly is a big un! They’re a mammal you may have seen, or you may not have seen. One you may want to see or one you may very much not want to see.

This week’s Rogue falls under the category of, “How? Just…HOW?”
A few days ago, I went out onto my upstairs balcony to grab the hummingbird feeders for a refresh. I knew there was still nectar in them, but it had been 90° the day before and hummingbird nectar should be changed daily in heat like that.

This is probably the most difficult column I’ve ever had to write. Just because it’s so personal. I was at the Eagle Point Senior Center the other day when one of the regular attendees pointed out a box on a table in the back that she said had been there for weeks and asked if I knew anything about it. So, I went back and opened the box and couldn’t believe what I found.

This week we’ll explore tree fruits we can grow in Oregon. We’ll be a bit selfish this time around and focus on our own area.

Spiraeas have been staple landscape plants for at least the last century and a half. They are mostly deciduous shrubs with showy flowers in spring. The reason for their popularity was the ability of shipping distances during late winter and early spring.

One of our native orchids that is somewhat similar to and nearly as beautiful as the ladyslippers is the shy and fascinating stream orchid, or chatterbox. A water lover, sparsely located about the valley along stream banks, only a fortunate few wildflower admirers have the privilege of encountering and enjoying this trim and lovely orchid.

This week’s crawly is yet more proof that Nature never runs out of awesome! In fact, this crawly might be the coolest looking caterpillar ever – and it 100% has the best common name in the history of common names.

I was watching a show on TV the other day and one character was splitting wood with an axe while another sat maybe two feet away. As the axe came down and splinters flew every which way, I cringed and became my mom. It was bound to happen.

I can’t explain how it happened, but I managed to survive another 4th of July celebration. This particular holiday is a marathon for me, and it begins the night before. It started about three years ago when I asked the kids in my apartment complex what they were doing for the fourth and was told all they could afford was a box of small sparklers.