Midwinter Freeze

On a recent morning before the freeze, 

a yellow-shafted flicker was hard at work punching holes in our yard, 

the red heart on the back of his neck pumping in rapid fire motion 

with every thrust of his beak.

If he was looking for a fat grub for breakfast,

he didn't come up with one while I was watching.  

It wasn't for lack of trying.

In this 10 second video, he strikes the ground about 30 times.

A couple of days later, the cold came, and the ground, hard as stone, locked up its treasures.

Deer, dressed in their winter coats, dug through the snow for food...

and made way when the Prince of the Forest appeared.

Birds fluffed out their down coats to obtain the highest possible insulation.

Steam rolled in from the lake at the Theodosia Marina...

turning every surface into a confectioner's masterpiece.




He supplies snow like wool, scattering frost like ashes.
Psalm 147:16





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Saturday's Critters

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.

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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 


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Saturday's Critters
Little Things Thursday

First posted 12/25/10

Early Birds

It was still dark on a recent morning when Don stepped out on the front porch on his way to feed the creatures, as he does early every day.  Even before he glanced up, he could sense something watching him.  On the top of a rock pillar about 12 feet away stood a screech owl, still as a statue, peering down.

Don backed slowly into the house and woke me up to tell me about it.  Suddenly wide awake, I stepped into my slippers and grabbed my camera.  I flashed one shot from the doorway, took a few steps, and flashed another.  As I moved closer, the beleaguered bird granted just one more portrait photo before flying silently into the darkness.

Our visitor a few days earlier had not been so quiet.  The rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker had called me to investigate. At close range it sounded like a jackhammer on the front porch.   To my relief, I found a downy woodpecker snatching goodies from a mud dauber's nest that we should have cleaned off after the first frost.

In the summer, mud daubers, a kind of wasp, build nests of mud and lay their eggs, then stuff the chambers with spiders that they have paralyzed.  When the eggs hatch, the larva find their Big Macs already packaged and ready to eat.  This time, however, the woodpecker had beaten them to the take-out window.

Meanwhile, from the stands, 

a normally noisy bluejay watched silently
and was probably wishing he had called in his own order.

Oh well, an acorn would have to do.

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