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A Gulf fritillary rests on a Zinnia in the garden of author Steven T. Callan.

January 17, 2020

An Island of Our Own

Annuals, like Zinnia, attract several species of butterflies to the island, including tiger swallowtails, monarchs, pipevine swallowtails, buckeyes, painted ladies, and this gorgeous Gulf fritillary. Photo by Steven T. Callan.

Over the years, Kathy and I have often dreamed of escaping today’s fast-paced, hectic world and moving to an island of our own—an island of trees, flowers, and abundant wildlife, where we could experience the joys of nature without leaving the confines of our own property. Realizing that buying an island wasn’t a realistic option, we decided to do the next best thing and create one on our three-acre patch of oak woodland in the foothills of Northern California.

Every fall, aspens put on a magnificent display in California’s Eastern Sierra. Photo by Steven T. Callan.

October 4, 2019

in Conservation Issues, Outdoor Adventures

by Steve

Golden Trout and Golden Trees

Every fall, aspens put on a magnificent display in California’s Eastern Sierra. Photo by author.

The first time I experienced the awesome grandeur of California’s Eastern Sierra was in 1975, when, as a rookie Fish and Game warden, I drove there on assignment to work the Crowley Lake trout-season opener. That spring, the majestic mountains to the west were covered with snow, and the entire scene, from Mount Whitney to Mammoth Lakes, looked like something you’d see on a Christmas card. Over the years I’ve visited again and again, sometimes in the spring, sometimes in the summer, and sometimes in the fall. Whatever the season, the Eastern Sierra always offers an eyepopping display of color and natural beauty.

Mount Shasta as it appears from Castle Crags State Park.

July 12, 2019

in Outdoor Adventures

by Steve

Siskiyou County: The Land Beneath the Great White Mountain

Majestic Mount Shasta as it appears from Castle Crags State Park. Photo by author.

When the Outdoor Writers Association of California chose Siskiyou County as the site for this spring’s writers conference, I couldn’t have been more pleased. I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for this unspoiled land at the top of the state since I first discovered it fifty-three years ago.

A herd of bighorn sheep in Valley of Fire State Park. Photo by Author Steven T. Callan.

April 12, 2019

in Outdoor Adventures

by Steve

Just Add Water

What a thrill to encounter bighorn sheep during our visit to Valley of Fire State Park. Photo by author.

When people describe the desert, words like hot, dry, desolate, bleak, bare, brown, inhospitable, and intimidating are often mentioned. Those descriptions change dramatically when water is added to the mix!

Rocio Nesbitt, author John D. Nesbitt, author Steven T. Callan, and Kathy Callan celebrate at the Orland Alumni Association Awards Dinner.

February 24, 2019

in Personal Stuff, Recognition and Awards

by Steve

Orland Alumni Association Awards Night

Just like in the Statler Brothers’ song, the Orland High School Class of ‘66 had its dreams. In June of 1966, all 138 of us spread to the wind and set out to live our dreams, much like the Orland High School classes before us. Some went on to college, some served in the military, some pursued occupations elsewhere, and some remained in this wonderful little Northern California farm town for the rest of their lives.

Wood ducks will leave the safety of the water and the trees to march overland in search of acorns, seeds, nuts, berries, and insects. Photo by Steven T. Callan.

December 7, 2018

in Fish and Wildlife

by Steve

Our Splendid Night Visitors

Wood ducks will leave the safety of the water and the trees to march overland in search of acorns, seeds, nuts, berries, and insects. Photo by author.

On most winter evenings, Kathy and I hike to the hilltop near our home in the oak woodlands of Northern California. We usually leave about 4:00, and if we don’t stop to talk to anyone or get sidetracked, return to the house before the sun goes down. One quiet evening late last December, we heard the whistling of wingbeats overhead as we walked up the driveway at the end of our one-mile trek.