Night Creatures

They come when the sun is low in the sky or under cover of darkness, feeling with their sensitive black gloves for morsels of corn, 

rolling each piece over in their hands while chewing on the last one, their hands and jaws in perpetual motion.

These raccoons are startled by any slight movement; it doesn't take much to send them fleeing to the woods or scrambling up a tree.

"No worries, Mate. It's only the gobbler. Ignore him, and he'll go away."

Slow Dance

The lead gobbler in our part of the woods has been putting on a grand show in the mornings, displaying for the hens. With his tail feathers fanned out, he opens and closes the iridescent feathers on his back, body and breast like a polka player's accordion. Below a bright red wattle, he extends one leg slowly, deliberately, then another. Pivoting in slow motion, his primary wing feathers dragging on the ground, he turns a full circle, giving the hens the opportunity to admire each of his shining feathers.

We admire them, too, and feel privileged to see it.

Co-inhabitants

Every once in a while, when we start thinking that this place where we live belongs to us, 

we are reminded that our opinion is not universal.

Most mornings lately, four Eastern Wild Turkey gobblers have been gathering on our back patio.

They like the convenience of fresh water (or sometimes ice) in the birdbath, a chance to admire their reflections in the window glass, and the exceptional acoustics. If volume had anything to do with ownership, when they gobble, they would have the deed to the house in their feathery back pocket. The turkeys retreat a little when we pass by the windows, but seem only mildly inconvenienced by the other occupants of this place, namely us. Their forebears, after all, were here long before ours were.
 
Before dawn yesterday morning, Don watched a skunk saunter away from the back of the house, while a fat raccoon sat in the bird feeder, eating a bedtime snack. We've been wondering why the bird feed disappeared so fast, and now we know that it's been going to two more residents.

              

In the summer, a mother raccoon and her two kits would come in the evenings to eat... 

...before climbing up to their nursery in a large oak tree behind the house. 

In the nighttime, the place belonged to them.

Deer have always been occupants of our woods. 

Of the seven we see regularly, one button buck has taken to the dog kennel, and helps himself to fallen acorns. 

We see the larger bucks less frequently, but in the shelter of the darkness, they may consider this place their own, too.

Barley is the only four-legged creature with a key to the house.

So far.

Linking with Saturday's Critters
and Wild Bird Wednesday

Morning

 

And God saw all that He had made,

and it was very good.

Genesis 1:31

Linking with Saturday's Critters

As Sure as Spring

There's music in the woods at night; the coyotes are singing their spring love songs.  If you get close enough, it can raise the hair on the back of your neck, and around here, it's a good harbinger of spring.  Last week, the ground was in a deep freeze, and with the exception of a few snowdrop blossoms and the music of the coyotes, it seemed there wasn't a single sign of spring's approach in these Ozark hills.

Until Thursday.  The first red-winged blackbird made his appearance...

 ...and in spite of the chill,
kept up his cheery chipping as if he was quite happy to be back.  

Friday we spotted a Phoebe, returned from its winter in the south,
wagging its tail and singing its name.

A spring peeper (aka, tree frog) let out a timid peep from the pond. 

Yesterday, for the first time this season, 

we watched wild turkey gobblers displaying for the hens.

One old gobbler wanted to be sure the young ones, with their short, stubby beards, 

knew who was boss.

Even when it seems like a long wait, it's good to know there are some things you can always count on-- that as long as the earth endures, spring will come again, that somewhere the coyotes will sing, that the sun will come up in the morning, and that God's mercy will be available for a new day.

Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him.  

As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; 

he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rain that waters the earth.

Hosea 6:3

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

to the soul who seeks him.

Lamentations 3:22, 23, 25



Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Prison With a View

It's pretty silly, I suppose, to be trapped in one's house by a turkey, 

but more than once lately, that's what has happened here.  

To the east of the house a gobbler will appear over the brow of the hill, 

often by the old leaning tree, his tail fanned into a perfect arch, 

his feathers displaying their iridescent sheen in the sunlight.  

He takes mincing steps, 

his eyes trained on the hens for whom his display is intended, 

and who, as usual, ignore him.  

We watch, fascinated again by the scene we've witnessed so often. 

Sooner or later, however, one has to leave the house.  

It might be easy to slip out the back. 

Well no, actually, the deer are browsing on the west side of the house, 

and we'd hate to disturb them.

So, up goes the garage door; there's a gobble, then strong wing flaps.

The turkeys clear the trees sail away.

They'll be back soon enough,

amazing us with their beauty.

and in the meantime, we're going to revel in our brief freedom.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday
and Weekly Top Shot

These Good Days

Through our open window, a distant rooster's crow shares the morning airspace

with the gobbles of our resident wild turkey.

Since the turkey made it through the hunting season unscathed,

Don has given him a name, Jefferson, after that other famous Tom.

The week has been beautiful, the mornings cool, 

and the hot afternoons mitigated by gentle breezes.

At day's end, the sun slips down behind the trees

 and spring peepers sing from the pond. 

  High above them in the western sky,

  Venus competes for attention with the smallest sliver of the new moon.

We drift to sleep to the sound of the of whip-poor-wills.

...where morning dawns and evening fades,

You call forth songs of joy.

Psalm 65:8

Linking with Skywatch Friday