Country Music

It's only February, and already, the air is filled with music.

Flocks of robins have been here for over a week now. 

 They settle on the birdbaths  in the mornings...

...and perch on the supplejack.

  The trees and sky overhead are alive with their flights.

Winterberry trees, above the edges of the lake,
have been almost stripped of their shiny red berries,
and in the woods, the cedar berries are nearly gone.

In exchange for this food, these birds enrich everyone's lives with their melodies.

Robins aren't the only birds singing just now, but I think they started it,
and the others have been emboldened by their example.

At night, coyotes sing a varied repertoire.
Soon, the screech owls will join them with their eerie music,
as they search for their mates.

Last night, as I walked toward the pond, I heard a solo peep from a spring peeper,
one of those small vocal tree frogs, and then an unmistakeable trill.
A second frog backed up the virtuoso, and then another joined in,
before the full chorus saturated the night air.

When I first moved to this quiet place from the city, I thought I would miss the concerts.

Little did I know.




Linking with
Wild Bird Wednesday.

Chorus in the Forest

At first light, a flock of robins crowded the birdbath.

They often arrive with cedar waxwings, and today was no exception.

They came by land and air...

...drinking deeply, and lifting their heads in praise with each swallow.

It wasn't a bad way to start the day,

this reminder of our Father who cares for the birds, and cares for us.

The afternoon held certain frustrations, 

and it was late before Barley and I headed out for our customary walk.  

By then, I was looking for another sign of God's goodness.

It didn't take long.  Before we entered the woods, we could hear music.  

Scores of robins and waxwings flitted overhead in the shelter of the trees,

forming a great chorus.  As we stopped for a few minutes to listen, 

the sound filled the woods and spilled over into my heart, 

pushing aside the pressures of the day.

It wasn't a bad way to end the day,

this reminder of our Father who cares for the birds, and cares for us.

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?  

Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Jesus/Luke 12:6, 7

Give me a sign of Your goodness...

King David/Psalm 86:17

Linking with
Wild Bird Wednesday

Camera Critters
The Wellspring

This or That Thursday

Nestlings

This week at Cookie's, 

our favorite local restaurant,

the regular patrons aren't the only ones being served.

In the back room, just outside the window,

tucked under a retro green awning,

4 hatchlings are getting their meals from Mom and Dad.

Last week, recently hatched, 

they already knew how to order what they wanted off the menu.

They kept their parents busy with their appetite,

and a varied menu ensued.

The babies are noticeably bigger this week, and, with the first feathers sprouting,

they're starting to look a bit like robins.

It won't be long before they're on their own,

but I imagine they'll always carry with them

fond memories of their first meals at Cookies.

Dogwood Berry Breakfast

We've had a cool snap lately, with pristine air and high barometer skies, the change we've all been waiting for. Our recent hot, wet  summer has been producing a lavish harvest for the wildlife.  Hickory nuts have fallen in abundance, persimmons are ripening early, as did paw paw, and acorns are larger than any in recent memory.  The dogwood tree in our front yard, recently loaded with berries, is now nearly devoid of them and their faded remains carpet the ground.

In my journal of two years ago, I note that the berries from that same tree didn't ripen until late November that year.  Two days after Thanksgiving, on a cold gray morning, as Don and I were just getting ready to pour milk on our Grapenuts and granola, we heard a raucous commotion in the front yard.  We looked out to see a Pileated Woodpecker squabbling with some squirrels over a tree full of ripe dogwood berries. It seemed to me that there were plenty to go around.  For the next half hour I stood transfixed by the window as birds and squirrels feasted on this late Thanksgiving dinner.

Two Flickers arrived for the feast, decked out in their finery, right down to the bright orange triangle on the back of their necks.  They looked like little stuntmen, as they twisted and turned, and reached over backwards to grasp the tasty Dogwood morsels.  They were followed by a flock of Robins, who bolted the berries down in one quick gulp.  Blue Jays were next.  They would carefully pick the berries, one at a time, then fly to a sturdy limb where they would dismantle them, discard the shiny red exterior, and eat out the center seed.  Then the squirrels were back, running along the limbs and stretching out to reach the berries and doing a flip-turn back to their branch, were they savored their treat, before diving for the next one.

One year, a flock of Cedar Waxwings swooped down and stripped the tree of berries in one day. At that time I assumed,  since they knew where this great tree was, they’d come back for the harvest every year, but we never saw the phenomenon again.

I'm not sure what the creatures will be having for Thanksgiving this year, but chances are, they'll have plenty in their pantry.