Opportunist

New green tinges the hills and dogwoods are in full bloom,

their white bracts like spots of light scattered through the woods.  

Lilacs send their fragrance through the air, inviting bees and butterflies, 

and the icy days of winter seem far behind us.  

Aside from all of that, it would still be apparent that spring has arrived, 

because the tufted titmice are coming around looking for nesting materials. 

Early yesterday morning, while I was thinning out the radishes in a big pot near the house, 

minding my own business, 

one of my wide-eyed friends flew in for a visit.  

She made herself quite at home in my hair, 

pausing occasionally to rest on my shoulder or the top of my head, 

but mainly it was all business.  

For all the pulling and rearranging the little thing did, 

I don't think she made off with much.  

If she had, I'd be wearing a hat by now.

Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.





A post script: This may well be the same bird that came around last year.
You can see it here.


Thanks Don, for taking the pictures.

Linking with Camera Critters,
Saturday's Critters
and Wild Bird Wednesday

Long Run

Click on photo for a larger view.

There are a lot of extraordinary birds around here, but the roadrunners are in a class of their own. We're on the northern edge of their range, and we don't see them often, but occasionally one will go sprinting through the yard.  It seems they'd rather run than fly.

A few summers ago, there was a roadrunner at Don's office for four days.  Most of the bird's time was spent in front of the glass door, admiring his spiky hair and wild yellow eyes, and when visitors would come, the bird would run off with a growl.  He didn't seem at all frightened, just disgruntled that someone was disturbing his mirror time.

We saw the one pictured about a week ago on a balmy afternoon.  I've thought about him since then on frigid nights, and hope he's found a warm shelter.  Alternately, he could go south, but in this winter of crazy weather, it would be a long run from here to a warmer climate.

Then again, maybe they do this once every four years, sorta like a Roadrunner Olympics.

Linking with Camera Critters
Wild Bird Wednesday

Cracker

 

Every barn needs a cat or two, and the really good ones have a dog, too.  

At a nearby farm, Cracker, the Border Collie, is quite sure she is queen, 

and the ancient barn is her castle.  

She bosses the cats around, and keeps a steely eye on visitors.

Where sunlight slants through the barn slats and stripes the floor, 

Cracker watches from the doorway. 

It was only after I saw this photo that I realized she was in the barn with me, 

watching for any false move.  

Yikes!

Then again, just possibly, 

she was hoping for another one of those peanut butter treats

that unlock the door of her heart.





Linking with Camera Critters
Saturday's Critters
Rurality Blog Hop

Superheros

Don's sort of a sucker for superhero shows. In 1990, there was a pretty silly one he watched called The Flash. (OK, I watched it, too.) The hero would put on a red suit, and then they'd show him in fast forward mode, doing heroic things. (Actually, the best thing for me was watching him clean house.)

About the time we watched that show, we started seeing a chipmunk near the house, and he was so fast that we dubbed him Flash in honor of our superhero. The next chipmunks to appear were indistinguishable from the first, so they became Flash, too. Since then, several subsequent generations of chipmunks here have all had the same name.

For several days now, a young Flash has been helping himself to snacks on our deck. Most winters, chipmunks stay snugly tucked into their dens in the ground, and we don't see a sign of them for months.

Flash has been here on frigid mornings, his hair standing on end, and when long blue shadows cross the deck, he stuffs his cheeks 'til they can't hold another sunflower seed. Then he's off to hide them away, only to return and repeat the process. It makes us wonder if someone raided his family's cache, and true to his superhero nature, he's out gathering provisions for the larder.

In the basement this morning, a small mouse was caught in a trap. My first instinct was to holler for Don to help. Of course. He loves dealing with wildlife. The frightened mouse was scarcely damaged, so my own personal superhero took the poor thing outside and set it free. Who needs a red suit? (Uh, don't let this get around. My man and protector has his reputation to think about.)

At last report, the little mouse has been eating sunflower seeds, drinking from the birdbath, and hanging out in the woodpile, so we think he's ok. And The Flash is still hard at work, saving the world from hunger.

Well, at least his family.

Linking with Camera Critters
Saturday's Critters

Sparkles

Christmas seems to be the season of sparkles.  Years ago, when I worked at Hallmark Cards, artists would groan when an assignment came to design a card with glitter, which appeared to be, at that time, so uncool.  It's quite in vogue this year, however, and is applied generously to a wide variety of cards.  Now we find glitter everywhere, as it spreads from the cards to the table and to our hands, our clothes, to Barley's hair, and beyond.  

Don and Tava and I sat at the kitchen table the other night, and while Don engrossed us with stories from his year in Vietnam, glitter sparkled on his face.

I love those sparkles that come on the inside, too, that sparkly feeling that washes over you, sometimes when you least expect it, that says, "This is Christmas!".  

This year, those sparkles started for me when I was at my desk working and listening to James Taylor at Christmas, and they came again at the Christmas eve service at our small country church. The pastor read the familiar story from the gospel of Luke about God coming to earth in the form of a baby.  In the dim candlelight, we shared communion as a reminder of why He came, to give His life so we could fully live.

In the wee hours of Christmas morning, I got up to put our traditional stew in the crock pot. Barley came padding in softly from the bedroom, so I plugged in the Christmas tree lights and petted him for a few quiet moments while we both enjoyed the sparkles. 

The music played again, this time in my heart:

What then can I give Him, empty as I am?

If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb;

If I were a wise man, I would do my part;

What then can I give Him?  I must give my heart.

James Taylor - In the Bleak Midwinter 


Linking with Camera Critters
Saturday's Critters
Little Things Thursday

First posted 12/25/10

Snow Glory

It's cold out, and Last Friday's snow still lingers on the ground.  I gather Barley's boots from the hearth and he comes to me, wagging his tail slowly and lifting his front paw.  When his boots are cinched, I suit up: boots, coat, scarf, hat, and two layers of gloves.  Then we're off, boots crunching through the snow as we head down to the hollow.

We follow an old path through the woods, marked heavily by deer tracks as well as our own footprints.  Where deer prints diverge from ours, Barley investigates, nose to the ground.

The trail opens into the hollow and we pause, listening to the silence.  It seems to permeate everything until it's broken by a song bird and then by distant crows.  When we continue, a dry creek bed leads us through a broad valley, covered with dried remnants of last summer's wildflowers and on to the edge of the lake.

Barley wades in, boots and all, undeterred by a strip of ice that intersects the cove, 

eases into the frigid lake and treads water, pivoting slowly and taking in the whole scene.

Then he's out.  He shakes, the motion starting at the tip of his tail and working forward to his nose. Suddenly, he's a race horse, running in a wide circle over the loamy soil and through the dried flowers. He was born for this.

Barley's a little like the birds of the air; he doesn't worry about what he's going to eat (Beneful Dog Chow) or wear (blue boots) or what's going to happen tomorrow.  We'd do well to have that kind of trust.

Do not worry about your life, 

what you will eat or drink;

or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?

Look at the birds of the air; 

they do not sow or reap or store away in barns,

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. 

Jesus/Matthew 6:25, 26

Linking with

Camera Critters
Saturday Critters
and Weekly Top Shot

Monarch Watch

Somehow in grade school, 

I missed the part where the students stand around a jar 

and watch a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, 

and I've always felt like my education wasn't quite complete.

So, a few years back, when I saw a monarch chrysalis attached to one of the flowers in our flowerbed, I was delighted to be positioned in the inner circle around the jar.  For several days, I watched the soft green cocoon, with its bright spots of shiny gold, until the small jewel became translucent, and the familiar black and gold of a monarch, though faint, began to show through.

We had to make a day trip out of town, and when we can back, the first thing I checked was the cocoon.  We were only gone the better part of one day, but during that time, the contents of the bright green and gold package had flown away, and all that remained was a limp, empty skin.

It wasn't until recently that I saw one again.  

Last week, six fat monarch caterpillars ate their way 

through the butterfly milkweed plant near the house...

When they were quite satiated, they made their way off, one by one.  

I located three of them later,

 hanging limp on the underside of leaves of nearby plants.

The transformation came overnight.

We woke in the middle of the night Thursday to the sound of pounding rain, 

and I wondered about those small green treasures,

but in the morning they were fine.

It's supposed to take about ten days for a butterfly to emerge,

and I have my calendar marked.

Stay tuned.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot

and Camera Critters

Late Breakfast

By nature, he's not a creature of the light, but on this particular morning, 

a young raccoon's hunger overcame his caution. 

He made his way, nervously, along the deck railing toward the bird feeder. 

Sans bark, it was a bit tricky to hang on...

but the black oil sunflower seeds made it well worth the effort.

"Is that my mother calling?"

The small creature went to dismount, 

and found that getting into something can be easier than getting out of it.  

It was a long way down.

He managed, finally, to navigate to the deck and down the steps

before making a dash for his den tree, 

late to bed.

We're leaving him with a poem Don wrote for our grandson.

The little raccoon might want to study up.








All Night Diner

The eastern sky, with crescent moon,
is solid black, which suits the coon.

He hunts at night, and finds his snacks
little creatures must watch their backs.

His menu's long; he does not fuss
his diet is omnivorous.

Some crickets now, with some wild plums
then some birdseed, before light comes.

More bites, a burp, and then he's gone
to his den tree at early dawn.


Don Smiley

Linking with Little Things Thursday, 
Weekly Top Shot 
and Camera Critters

Nine O'Clock Hero

Yesterday, as Don was leaving for work, he called to me from outside.  "What do you make of this noise?" he asked.  That was a fair question, since he left some of his hearing in VietNam.

Close by, overhead, there was a loud rhythmic sound, not quite like anything we'd heard before.  At first I suspected that something was going wrong with the garage door mechanism, but we soon realized that the sound was coming from the gutter in front of the garage.  By the time we were able to set up a ladder, the cadence of the sound had slowed, and then stopped altogether.

Don let me go first, as he held the ladder.  One glance filled in the blanks.  Inside the gutter, in a little water, a cicada was laying upside down.  The gutter had served as a sound chamber, amplifying its struggles.  I picked it up carefully and, righting it, set it free.  It flew without a backward glance.

My delight was undiminished by the lack of a thank you.  After all, how often does one get to be a hero before nine?




Note: The photo above was taken on another day, when a cicada was drying its dew-laden wings. The little thing yesterday didn't hang around long enough for a portrait.

Linking with Camera Critters,
Weekly Top Shot, 
and 5 minute Friday

Swing Shift

The sun's almost up over the hill, 

and four young raccoons, their shift nearly over, forage under the bird feeder, 

their busy legs still wet from a romp in the birdbath. 

They look straight ahead, 

their small hands in constant motion as they grope for another morsel, 

a black oil sunflower seed that the birds left behind.

A slight disturbance sends them scrambling up the nearest tree, 

before they reverse their direction and run for the shelter of the woods.

The sun is up, the night crew gone, and the day crew has started their shift.

Linking with Camera Critters
and Weekly Top Shot

Morning Gold

There's something magical about a summer morning

just after the whip-poor-will has silenced its strident song

and before the glowing sun has appeared over the hill. 

It's then that we see some of the more reclusive creatures that inhabit our forest,
 like the bobcat that appeared recently.  

Yesterday, at first light, a family of raccoons scrambled down one tree 

and up another, four small masked fluff balls following a larger one, 

their striped tails broadcasting their identity.

It's only early in the morning that we see the big bucks; 

they visit occasionally,
and long before the sun comes up they melt back into the woods.

The Italians have a phrase, "Il mattino ha l'oro in bocca" 

which corresponds loosely to our adage "the early bird gets the worm".  

Literally, it translates, "the morning has gold in its mouth".

I like that thought, and I think it's true.

There's another thing that's golden about the morning.

The ancient Jewish prophet Jeremiah wrote,

"The faithful love of the Lord never ends!

His mercies never cease.

Great is His faithfulness;

His mercies begin afresh each morning."

As long ago as those words were written,
they are just as true today,
just as they always will be.




Linking with Camera Critters
and Weekly Top Shot

Sent With a Kiss

Click on any photo for a larger view.

My husband, Don, is a real estate broker, and one of the perks of being married to someone in his profession, is that we often go together to photograph his listings, and I get to see some beautiful places.

It was a cool morning when we went to shoot an acreage he has listed for sale, eleven some acres near the lake, mostly wooded, with a good-sized field in the front.

We met the owners there, a retired couple who like to do a lot of trail riding with their three beautiful Missouri Fox Trotters.  We followed the owner lady to the field where the horses were grazing in the shade.  She made a kissing sound and pointed, and the horses started running away, their legs barely touching the ground.  And then they flew, or so it seemed, their manes and tails giving form to the wind.  They went in a wide sweep around the long field, and when they returned, another kiss sent them around again.

When they returned the second time, I almost missed what the owner said; it was spoken in such a soft voice.  It was only when I saw the horses react to her that I understood she had been talking to them.  "Ok," the owner had told them, "now you can settle down and graze". And that's exactly what they did.

When I asked about the training, the owner mentioned that they follow the training principles of Clinton Anderson from Australia, which, from where we were standing, appeared to be highly effective.  She said that the horses listen to her and watch her body language.  When she kissed and pointed, it was the "sending exercise", which told the horses to go away, and then turn back toward her. Such a signal might be used to send the horses through a gate, or to a trailer. When she told them to graze, her dropped arm and relaxed posture reinforced her words. 

I haven't been around horses much, but it was quite amazing to see these powerful animals controlled by the body language and quiet voice of a woman who is a fraction of their size.  

I might be remiss if I didn't mention that if you'd like to see more about this property, you can check out the details on my husband's website by clicking here, and scrolling down to the forth property.

The first photo was taken by Don.

Linking with Camera Critters

Peaceable Kingdom

It was hot yesterday morning, and as I hurried to fill the bird bath and feeder before work, there was a surprise waiting for me. From just behind the bird feeder, a bobcat sprinted a short distance away and laid down.

We watched each other warily at first.  I was ready to run for the house at one false move. These creatures are extremely fast, and a rabid one should not be taken lightly.  Then the bobcat settled down to his business, and I to mine.  He stayed when I went in the house, came back with my camera, and took some shots.  

After a small yawn, he thumped his short tail on the ground several times, then settled in for a good cleaning up.

I got out the hose, scrubbed the bird bath, filled the feeder, and watered the raspberries while he was cleaning up, then turned back to wrap up the hose.  When I looked again, he was gone.

My first guess, of course, was that he was sick, though he appeared to be well fed; bobcats are very nocturnal and have a natural fear of humans.  We're not excluding the possibility, however, that, since we were gone much of last week, he got used to this place when we weren't around and considers it part of his hunting grounds.  I can only speculate how often he may have watched us from the shadows.

We impact our surroundings, sometimes in ways we don't intend.  We feed the small creatures, who congregate, and at times, by this, become more available to predators.  And though we always root for the smaller ones, we have no illusions that we have any control over the outcome.

A wild hen turkey has been coming around lately with one darling poult, a far cry from the average hatch of twelve.  This bobcat may have warmed his belly with some of the eggs, or the small poults.

Such is life on our beautiful planet, and things like this remind us that there's something broken about this world, that, as hard as we try, we can't fix.  As Christians, we anticipate the day when Jesus will reign as king and all of nature will be at peace.  

The wolf will live with the lamb,

the leopard will lie down with the goat, 

the calf and the lion and the yearling together;

and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear,

their young will lie down together,

 and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

The infant will play near the cobra's den, 

and the young child will put its hand into the viper's nest.

They will neither harm nor destroy 

on all my holy mountain,

for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord

as the waters cover the sea.

Isaiah 11:6-9

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