Wild Morning

Some days just seem to be full of animals. Take this morning. Before dawn the only sound that broke the silence was the distant chant of a whip-poor-will, but four does, their bellies heavy with fawns, grazed at the edge of the north woods. By the time bird song filled the air, the turkeys arrived, just over the brow of the hill to the east, where they preened and fanned out their feathers in perfect symmetry. They were joined by crows, two rabbits and a chipmunk.

The bravest of the rabbits made his way to the front yard, where he preened himself...

 cleaned up a few dandilions...

 and helped himself to clover.

But then, there was the flowerbed, and how could he resist? 

"Not a good idea, you say?"

"I'm really just looking..."

"...until tonight!"

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Phoebe Song

From a branch in the old dogwood tree at the edge of the yard, 

we can hear the Phoebe singing her unique song, calling out her name again and again, 

"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe". 

She has a good reason to sing.  

The construction is completed on her new nest, 

located on a ledge at the top of a pillar under the roof of the front porch.

She keeps one eye on it from the dogwood tree.

Several generations of Phoebes have grown up on our front porch, 

right where we could watch them from the kitchen window. 

They make an awful mess, but a little cleanup seems a reasonable price for front row tickets.

Several years ago, when we had a mason wrap our wooden pillars with cultured stone, 

we asked him to build special shelves at the tops with the Phoebes in mind.

He humored us, and the Phoebes made their preference known by moving away.

For years, we only heard their song from a distance.  

They are finally back, but they ignored our special addition for them,
 and built their nest on the other side of the pillar, away from the kitchen. 

It's made of grass and hair, and covered with bright green moss.

Outside, the Phoebe flies to the supplejack above the birdbath, 

which she has commandeered as her command post, pausing and wagging her tail, 

and then to the top of a tall oak, where her song continues.

And we wait, trying not to count our Phoebes before they are laid.

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Wild Bird Wednesday
Saturday's Critters

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.





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Fuel Crisis

My pulse quickened as I glanced at the indicator on my gas gauge, sitting in the red just above the big E. I had overshot the greenhouse I'd been looking for, and now, I realized, I needed to find a gas station. Soon. It wasn't like I was in danger; it was full daylight on a well traveled stretch of highway in north central Arkansas, in about as friendly of a place as you would ever find. Still, who wants the inconvenience and embarrassment of running out of gas? Before you start recalling blonde jokes, let me mention that the last time I ran out was about 1987.

I estimated that the town ahead of me was closer than the one I'd left behind, so I pressed on, praying that my fumes would carry me to Gassville. With a name like that, I figured they ought to have plenty of gas stations.

It wasn't long until I saw one. I rolled in on fumes, put more gas in my car than I thought it could hold, and got directions to the greenhouse.

On the way back, I stopped to take pictures of a dilapidated barn by the side of the highway. It shared the shade of the nearby oak trees with the cows that grazed nearby. Apparently, this old structure ran out of gas quite a while back.

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Thanks to Kim Klassen for her texture, Pourvous.

Heads Up

Along the roadside, where poppies bloom,

heads hang low, with hair glistening in the sunlight...

then raise toward the sky... 

releasing black and orange treasures.

Visiting ladybugs wear their matching outfits.

Spent petals drop, one by one,

and seeds ripen, promising another year's beauty.

Once again I whisper thanks to the One who made them,

who lifts bowed heads and fills our hearts with joy.

You, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the one who lifts my head high.

Psalm 3:3  







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Anticipation

From my vantage point at the kitchen window this morning, I watch a small feather as it hangs over the front porch, then floats out over the yard, catching an updraft, and drifts toward the sky.  I wonder idly if it was from a Carolina wren.  They've been out of sight the last couple of days after some intensive nest building last week.

The site the birds have chosen is one they have used before, an old fishing creel, hanging from a pillar on the front porch, clearly visible from the window over our kitchen sink.  The top of the basket has a Carolina-wren sized hole, which makes a perfect entrance for those little bundles of energy.  This year, they've decorated it with dried flowers.

Both of the birds were involved in the building project. They flitted from the bricks to the woodpile,  which was only a short hop from their home site.

Last year, the two of them started in on this nest, and it was derailed by the titmice, but the way the wrens were going at it last week, it looked like they had put all of that behind them.

I've told myself that I wasn't going to count my wrens before they hatched this year.  Still, I catch myself figuring; the incubation period is 12-16 days, and the young leave the nest 12-14 days after they are hatched.  It's possible, if everything goes well, that we could see fledglings, at the earliest, on April 29th.

In the meantime, I need to reign in my expectations and be grateful for each day's wonders, like the little feather floating up to the sky, destination unknown.

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Wild Bird Wednesday
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Watching

At my desk this morning, a movement to the right attracted my attention.  On the window ledge, a chipmunk peered at me from the other side of the window, and seemed startled to see me.  They have been underground most of the winter, but they couldn't resist coming out on such a fine day as this.

Later, from the entrance to the chipmunk's den, a toad peeked out from under sleepy eyelids. Life is full of surprises.

About ten deer frequent our place (with additional visitors on occasion).  We watch them from our windows, and we almost feel like they're part of our extended family.

This buck has recently shed his antlers, and in so doing, left a little of his majesty laying on the forest floor.

This morning he scratches, beset by an unseen foe.

One of the yearling bucks, seen here with his mother, showed up with a damaged leg early last week.  He wouldn't put any weight on it at all, and we hoped it wasn't broken.  He stayed close to his mother, who fought off the other deer that tried to crowd in while he was eating.  As of yesterday, it looks like he's improving.

It's always hard to see an animal suffer, and as beautiful as it is here, there are frequent such reminders that this isn't paradise yet.  We watch for the day when the Lord Jesus will make everything new, where

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain,

for the old order of things has passed away.

Revelation 21:4

His invitation is extended to everyone:

To him who is thirsty,

I will give to drink from the spring of the water of life.

Revelation 21:6

In the meantime, we watch, and we're not the only ones.  Eagles leave here this time of year, and the other day, as we were eating lunch, a mature bald eagle soared in our direction on strong, swift wings, and sailed directly over the house, as if to say, "I've been watching you. I'll be back."

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