indigo bunting visited briefly today, just long enough for us to identify it, then was off. our first.
one plum has decided to go for it this year, and is sporting pea-sized plumettes under its wilting blossoms.
walked by the old mills with the dog and the boy today, then onto the trail that crosses the railroad trestle. we watched the fish-scale pattern gliding over the surface of the water in the breeze. watched the baltimore oriole fly over our heads and on to the pines, kept an eye on the fisherman, so far below and downstream. the boy nodded off and i started to head home to study, then realized i needed to be on a trestle in the wind a little longer, and turned back to stand for a few minutes more.
he sleepily gnawed on my knuckle with his new tooth, a little rodent tooth sawing away at my finger, and woke himself up. we continued on.
the trees are such a display in the wind, each one contained within its own design, its own shape and shade, height, each with its own particular movement in the wind, its own art.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Apple
sun again, no rain for two weeks and counting. the plants on the side of our walking trails are wilting, looking tired.
bluebird arrived today and inspected the tree swallows' house and chicks. swallow returned home and chased it off.
sat under the apple tree with my boy. he watched the dog, the trees blowing in the wind; i watched the sky through the apple boughs. it's been a long time since i've lain on the ground and looked up through branches at the sky; it was like snuggling back in to a cozy chair at home, instantly comforting and familiar. friendly apple leaves, so simple in shape, every shade of green with the sun filtering about them.
bluebird arrived today and inspected the tree swallows' house and chicks. swallow returned home and chased it off.
sat under the apple tree with my boy. he watched the dog, the trees blowing in the wind; i watched the sky through the apple boughs. it's been a long time since i've lain on the ground and looked up through branches at the sky; it was like snuggling back in to a cozy chair at home, instantly comforting and familiar. friendly apple leaves, so simple in shape, every shade of green with the sun filtering about them.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Sun Walk
forgot to write yesterday.
almost too much sun today, the world was so vibrant in it.
walking with a new friend and our little ones near an old quarry today, came to a place where a forest stood atop a hill of sand. the world was in colors, laid out plainly for anyone to see: tan sand, green trees, blue sky. broad strips of color across our field of vision, so rich.
hummingbird arrived today, and saw my first eastern kingbird.
our little american hybrid plum, the center and keystone pollinator of our plum grove, has apparently decided to die. we're researching the culprit, and plan to replace it and and hope for fruit next year.
strawberries are leaping their leaves up to the sky, blossoms floating around them. bachelor's buttons, parsnips, larkspur seedlings finally appearing. pea tendrils have found the fence, and lettuce and mustard greens are ready to eat. dandelions are opening their third yellow generation already, as the second gray-haired ones send their seeds out.
almost too much sun today, the world was so vibrant in it.
walking with a new friend and our little ones near an old quarry today, came to a place where a forest stood atop a hill of sand. the world was in colors, laid out plainly for anyone to see: tan sand, green trees, blue sky. broad strips of color across our field of vision, so rich.
hummingbird arrived today, and saw my first eastern kingbird.
our little american hybrid plum, the center and keystone pollinator of our plum grove, has apparently decided to die. we're researching the culprit, and plan to replace it and and hope for fruit next year.
strawberries are leaping their leaves up to the sky, blossoms floating around them. bachelor's buttons, parsnips, larkspur seedlings finally appearing. pea tendrils have found the fence, and lettuce and mustard greens are ready to eat. dandelions are opening their third yellow generation already, as the second gray-haired ones send their seeds out.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Back Home
away over the weekend to be with family.
in recognition of the reality that i've not been making time for my sits for a while, i'm going to stop mentioning them except for the days on which i do sit.
feel overwhelmed by stuff in my life right now. when i don't work daily to keep it organized, our house just fills up with things. every surface right now is covered in papers, books, notes, plants, projects, things to give away, stuff, stuff, stuff! it feels like a torrent of material objects is constantly pouring through the door, and if i don't commit a good chunk of my time to recycling it, giving it away, or putting it all in particular locations in our House-of-Stuff, it will end up all over everything.
stepped out back to give thanks for the day. found the quiet, dark night right there, right outside. it's always waiting for us, just outside the door; space to breath, to reflect, to receive perspective on our lives.
in recognition of the reality that i've not been making time for my sits for a while, i'm going to stop mentioning them except for the days on which i do sit.
feel overwhelmed by stuff in my life right now. when i don't work daily to keep it organized, our house just fills up with things. every surface right now is covered in papers, books, notes, plants, projects, things to give away, stuff, stuff, stuff! it feels like a torrent of material objects is constantly pouring through the door, and if i don't commit a good chunk of my time to recycling it, giving it away, or putting it all in particular locations in our House-of-Stuff, it will end up all over everything.
stepped out back to give thanks for the day. found the quiet, dark night right there, right outside. it's always waiting for us, just outside the door; space to breath, to reflect, to receive perspective on our lives.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Waking Night
no sit.
sewing, walking, studying and the boy.
mc escher sky tonight, the black silhouettes of the pines holding up the clouds and the glowing blue.
horse chestnut in town is blooming. goldfinches are courting and being courted in our porch trees.
as i stood out on our deck tonight greeting the dark, i felt distinctly that a world is just waking. the forest felt very much alive, awake, active, though it was as quiet as usual, just a couple of peepers singing from a distance.
sewing, walking, studying and the boy.
mc escher sky tonight, the black silhouettes of the pines holding up the clouds and the glowing blue.
horse chestnut in town is blooming. goldfinches are courting and being courted in our porch trees.
as i stood out on our deck tonight greeting the dark, i felt distinctly that a world is just waking. the forest felt very much alive, awake, active, though it was as quiet as usual, just a couple of peepers singing from a distance.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Blooming
evening sit.
wondrous day, sun and clouds and rain and sun and breezes. wandered the yard at twilight. such life everywhere, springing up out of the air. the birches across the yard sang the wind's song. my pine's branches, thick with needles, were soft green clouds. the boy and the dog were content to be out eternally, as was i.
tonight i loved the newly open space around our land, the big sky it allows, the communities of trees seen from a distance.
the yellow carpets of dandelions have turned gray, sending their seeds out for the next generation. apples are in full bloom, white petals and all the air around them infused with sweetness.
wondrous day, sun and clouds and rain and sun and breezes. wandered the yard at twilight. such life everywhere, springing up out of the air. the birches across the yard sang the wind's song. my pine's branches, thick with needles, were soft green clouds. the boy and the dog were content to be out eternally, as was i.
tonight i loved the newly open space around our land, the big sky it allows, the communities of trees seen from a distance.
the yellow carpets of dandelions have turned gray, sending their seeds out for the next generation. apples are in full bloom, white petals and all the air around them infused with sweetness.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Well-Being
brief afternoon sit under tree.
felt good to finally take the time to sit today, sink into my sense of my body, the world around me. all the world was green, tan, blue, and white. green grass, bushes, and trees; tan dirt on the roads, tan dirt billowing up and swirling over the land in big gusts of wind; blue sky laying behind patient white clouds.
walking back through the yard toward the house after my sit with a sleeping boy in my arms, i was taken by a happy feeling of well-being. happy, healthy boy, living in the country (relatively), a wide yard to walk through with trees all around, if at a bit of a distance, plants growing in the garden, happy family.
potted strawberries and yarrow today that had been wandering through our garden beds, to donate to our local library plant sale on saturday.
felt good to finally take the time to sit today, sink into my sense of my body, the world around me. all the world was green, tan, blue, and white. green grass, bushes, and trees; tan dirt on the roads, tan dirt billowing up and swirling over the land in big gusts of wind; blue sky laying behind patient white clouds.
walking back through the yard toward the house after my sit with a sleeping boy in my arms, i was taken by a happy feeling of well-being. happy, healthy boy, living in the country (relatively), a wide yard to walk through with trees all around, if at a bit of a distance, plants growing in the garden, happy family.
potted strawberries and yarrow today that had been wandering through our garden beds, to donate to our local library plant sale on saturday.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Blank Day
no sit today.
woke up late, studied a lot, felt disconnected from my boy, nature, my passions. each time i saw the clock, felt that the day was flying by. like a missed-day. need to start making something every day, i think; knitting, sewing, creating something, to see at the end of the day that i accomplished something.
realtor says our house is not as valuable as the farmhouse we saw, so we will be staying here for a while longer.
garden is growing, plums are playing at making their first puddles of shade on the grass. planted two long rows of bachelor's button seeds, and a couple of zucchini and summer squash.
feel drained. have not been giving time to myself for some weeks now. spend most of my time studying, caring for the boy, or keeping on top of the house, garden, and communicating with my family. need to stretch, pray, meditate, take a bath, anything just to feed myself.
woke up late, studied a lot, felt disconnected from my boy, nature, my passions. each time i saw the clock, felt that the day was flying by. like a missed-day. need to start making something every day, i think; knitting, sewing, creating something, to see at the end of the day that i accomplished something.
realtor says our house is not as valuable as the farmhouse we saw, so we will be staying here for a while longer.
garden is growing, plums are playing at making their first puddles of shade on the grass. planted two long rows of bachelor's button seeds, and a couple of zucchini and summer squash.
feel drained. have not been giving time to myself for some weeks now. spend most of my time studying, caring for the boy, or keeping on top of the house, garden, and communicating with my family. need to stretch, pray, meditate, take a bath, anything just to feed myself.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Celebration
brother engaged today! good day, new sister joining family, such happiness for them starting their life with each other.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Plants & People
no sit today.
several days of promised rain have come and gone, with none falling. but watering the garden is such a pleasure, the intimate daily moment of visiting each little bed, each community.
gardening day. apple blossoms are appearing. our little plum saplings, planted last year, are all in blossom except the american variety, the cornerstone of the whole grove; perhaps we'll have to wait another year for our first harvest. re-planted larkspur today, none having come up from the planting a couple of weeks ago - a miscommunication of watering necessities while i was away. sleepy little son in his wrap fussed as i bent down to mark the line, lay the seeds in, and cover them over, but was content when i stood up.
husband planted potatoes in the bags today; three bags, four potato seeds per bag. each potato seed can give up to 20 potatoes, so that's a potential harvest of 240 potatoes to feed us and family this coming winter.
visited a friend today. harvested creeping phlox he didn't want, nestled it into our compost pile for now. lovely pink color, lovely scent. a handful of lily-of-the-valley came along with it, an old friend.
while we gardened, chatted, played a board game, people in myanmar and china starved, struggled with untreated injuries, infection, their hearts broken from losing their loves, their families, their communities.
as i wrote this, my little son cried out in his sleep, a wail from deep within that comes to him sometimes in his sleep, never awake. i talked to him, nursed him, and he was soothed. i understand these sleeping cries to be mourning for the life he left before he came to us. this heartache, here in my house, in my life, is one i can help to mend. what do we do for the people on the other side of the world? donate money for supplies is all i come up with.
several days of promised rain have come and gone, with none falling. but watering the garden is such a pleasure, the intimate daily moment of visiting each little bed, each community.
gardening day. apple blossoms are appearing. our little plum saplings, planted last year, are all in blossom except the american variety, the cornerstone of the whole grove; perhaps we'll have to wait another year for our first harvest. re-planted larkspur today, none having come up from the planting a couple of weeks ago - a miscommunication of watering necessities while i was away. sleepy little son in his wrap fussed as i bent down to mark the line, lay the seeds in, and cover them over, but was content when i stood up.
husband planted potatoes in the bags today; three bags, four potato seeds per bag. each potato seed can give up to 20 potatoes, so that's a potential harvest of 240 potatoes to feed us and family this coming winter.
visited a friend today. harvested creeping phlox he didn't want, nestled it into our compost pile for now. lovely pink color, lovely scent. a handful of lily-of-the-valley came along with it, an old friend.
while we gardened, chatted, played a board game, people in myanmar and china starved, struggled with untreated injuries, infection, their hearts broken from losing their loves, their families, their communities.
as i wrote this, my little son cried out in his sleep, a wail from deep within that comes to him sometimes in his sleep, never awake. i talked to him, nursed him, and he was soothed. i understand these sleeping cries to be mourning for the life he left before he came to us. this heartache, here in my house, in my life, is one i can help to mend. what do we do for the people on the other side of the world? donate money for supplies is all i come up with.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Rain Coming
brief night sit on the porch by myself.
chill breeze again, this one from the south, carrying the rain we're expecting later tonight. again the smell of flowers on the wind.
looked at a house today, out in the country. a farmhouse, a barn, a small orchard, a forest of 12 acres. old cemeteries up the dirt road, coyotes, barn swallows. a walking trail that passes through the back yard on its way to canada. the house has seen births and deaths, has hosted visiting musicians, and was very inviting to us.
chill breeze again, this one from the south, carrying the rain we're expecting later tonight. again the smell of flowers on the wind.
looked at a house today, out in the country. a farmhouse, a barn, a small orchard, a forest of 12 acres. old cemeteries up the dirt road, coyotes, barn swallows. a walking trail that passes through the back yard on its way to canada. the house has seen births and deaths, has hosted visiting musicians, and was very inviting to us.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Memory
brief night sit on the porch by myself.
chill air moving slowly through the dark, carrying the scent of flowers from somewhere. the moon, a waxing gibbus, commanding the sky, lighting the clouds into a painting, illuminating everything. i thought of the path we walked today on the other side of town, thought of each leaf and tree stump, each curve in the trail, each moist patch of earth, all bathed in moonlight. all of our world, surrounded by the moon.
a bird sang from a tree nearby. why do they sing at night? not simply a call, but a song.
the stars held their places in the sky.
our pond, having dried up for lack of rain, has lost its peepers to other places. we aim the leak in our hose into it, but haven't been watering the plants enough for it to fill up.
looked over our land tonight from the porch, noticed not for the first time how all trace of our trees has been cleared away, wiped off the land. they are very much gone. as our boy grows, if we stay on this land, we'll tell him about the trees that stood there; these stories will be his only memory of them. the stumps-cum-seats from my friend and the clump of trillium and trout lily, dug up from under the trees the day the machines arrived and moved to safety under our porch, also attest to the reality of the trees' existence. they were part of that forest, that miniature ecosystem. without stories, without physical evidence, do things disappear forever? do traces remain? where is their energy? i used to talk with them when they stood, sit by them, the birds lived in them; where does the energy of these interactions reside now?
my little son is sleeping beside me. i watch him, my love for him swelling inside of me, pouring, i am sure, onto and into him. i wrap my hand around his little one and notice how enormous my hand is to him; i am a giant. is this what creator is to us? a being which towers over us, can carry us, give us life and death, guide us with lessons as we need them, and who loves us uncontrollably and infinitely?
chill air moving slowly through the dark, carrying the scent of flowers from somewhere. the moon, a waxing gibbus, commanding the sky, lighting the clouds into a painting, illuminating everything. i thought of the path we walked today on the other side of town, thought of each leaf and tree stump, each curve in the trail, each moist patch of earth, all bathed in moonlight. all of our world, surrounded by the moon.
a bird sang from a tree nearby. why do they sing at night? not simply a call, but a song.
the stars held their places in the sky.
our pond, having dried up for lack of rain, has lost its peepers to other places. we aim the leak in our hose into it, but haven't been watering the plants enough for it to fill up.
looked over our land tonight from the porch, noticed not for the first time how all trace of our trees has been cleared away, wiped off the land. they are very much gone. as our boy grows, if we stay on this land, we'll tell him about the trees that stood there; these stories will be his only memory of them. the stumps-cum-seats from my friend and the clump of trillium and trout lily, dug up from under the trees the day the machines arrived and moved to safety under our porch, also attest to the reality of the trees' existence. they were part of that forest, that miniature ecosystem. without stories, without physical evidence, do things disappear forever? do traces remain? where is their energy? i used to talk with them when they stood, sit by them, the birds lived in them; where does the energy of these interactions reside now?
my little son is sleeping beside me. i watch him, my love for him swelling inside of me, pouring, i am sure, onto and into him. i wrap my hand around his little one and notice how enormous my hand is to him; i am a giant. is this what creator is to us? a being which towers over us, can carry us, give us life and death, guide us with lessons as we need them, and who loves us uncontrollably and infinitely?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Busy Day
rich days with my family. i grieve their closeness now, back home away from them.
did a lot today, was not present a lot.
i have been feeling and thinking a lot about the people of myanmar and china. when i eat, when i drink water, when i look at the people i love, my home standing sturdy where it belongs. we have so much. so much that we don't think twice about, to be thankful for.
did a lot today, was not present a lot.
i have been feeling and thinking a lot about the people of myanmar and china. when i eat, when i drink water, when i look at the people i love, my home standing sturdy where it belongs. we have so much. so much that we don't think twice about, to be thankful for.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Night Wind
no sit again.
stood on porch tonight, letting the dog out. dark and wind, just like where i grew up beside the ocean, where there was always a wind, the way it should be.
peepers are abundant, calls ringing from all across the land now. clouds hiding some of the stars, others shining through.
continue to reflect on the notion of living our days as we live our lives. i've come to look at my days like they are my entire life: the morning is youth, through to evening when my life will be ending soon. when i 'wake up' to myself being caught up in something that i know to be unimportant, i remind myself of this idea and it has an immediate effect of releasing me from the mindset. if i get overwhelmed with the number of tasks i'm trying to get done and i happen to wake up in the midst of them, it becomes instantly clear to me which are important and which can be left. in this way, it is as valuable to me as the tasks from gurdjieff's work.
stood on porch tonight, letting the dog out. dark and wind, just like where i grew up beside the ocean, where there was always a wind, the way it should be.
peepers are abundant, calls ringing from all across the land now. clouds hiding some of the stars, others shining through.
continue to reflect on the notion of living our days as we live our lives. i've come to look at my days like they are my entire life: the morning is youth, through to evening when my life will be ending soon. when i 'wake up' to myself being caught up in something that i know to be unimportant, i remind myself of this idea and it has an immediate effect of releasing me from the mindset. if i get overwhelmed with the number of tasks i'm trying to get done and i happen to wake up in the midst of them, it becomes instantly clear to me which are important and which can be left. in this way, it is as valuable to me as the tasks from gurdjieff's work.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Grosbeak & Orioles
no sit today.
i didn't set any time aside for quieting today, but my husband and i did enjoy visits from two lovelies. bear with me as i figure out how to use our camera...
feeding at their feeder:
and at the hummingbird feeder:
i didn't set any time aside for quieting today, but my husband and i did enjoy visits from two lovelies. bear with me as i figure out how to use our camera...
feeding at their feeder:
and at the hummingbird feeder:
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Sun Gallery
morning sit.
bright, breezy, gorgeous. our pine was holding the sun lightly on the end of a branch as we sat, cradled like a small, shining creature in a great hand. the needles themselves were galleries of the sun's light, catching and showing it to every direction.
baltimore oriole arrived today, investigating our feeder stations. last year, i put a screw in a porch railing and speared orange halves onto it when we saw them come by, and they and little red squirrel shared. this year we have a snazzy new oriole feeder from family, so today i cut up a grapefruit my mother conveniently "forgot" here during her visit last weekend, speared it on either side of our oriole feeder, and placed it outside. i put the hummingbird feeder up last week, not remembering exactly when they return, but haven't seen any yet.
a lot of garden work today, most of it weeding. thinned mustard greens, weeded peas, which are about an inch and a half high now. planted kale, parsnips, cabbage, a second successive planting of lettuce, and 150 onion sets. trying to make it further through the winter with our vegetables this year than last. just got some yukon gold and red potato seeds from a friend, will be trying a new technique with them this year: growing them out of trash bags. admittedly not an elegant idea, but it will free up garden space and make hilling them easier.
bright, breezy, gorgeous. our pine was holding the sun lightly on the end of a branch as we sat, cradled like a small, shining creature in a great hand. the needles themselves were galleries of the sun's light, catching and showing it to every direction.
baltimore oriole arrived today, investigating our feeder stations. last year, i put a screw in a porch railing and speared orange halves onto it when we saw them come by, and they and little red squirrel shared. this year we have a snazzy new oriole feeder from family, so today i cut up a grapefruit my mother conveniently "forgot" here during her visit last weekend, speared it on either side of our oriole feeder, and placed it outside. i put the hummingbird feeder up last week, not remembering exactly when they return, but haven't seen any yet.
a lot of garden work today, most of it weeding. thinned mustard greens, weeded peas, which are about an inch and a half high now. planted kale, parsnips, cabbage, a second successive planting of lettuce, and 150 onion sets. trying to make it further through the winter with our vegetables this year than last. just got some yukon gold and red potato seeds from a friend, will be trying a new technique with them this year: growing them out of trash bags. admittedly not an elegant idea, but it will free up garden space and make hilling them easier.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Priorities
brief afternoon sit.
warm, sunny day, cool shadows.
during our sit today, the wind made things dance. the boy spent the sit studying our pine's trunk and the blackberry stems growing around it, just now sending out leaves.
planted larkspur seeds today, in preparation for my cut-flower garden. i'm planning to make bouquets from the garden this summer and sell them at the end of our driveway, to try and earn a little extra grocery money. strawflower, dahlias, statice, mexican sunflowers have been growing on our plant shelf inside.
(sorry about the messy state of this next paragraph; i'm tired and don't have the time to edit it now. yes, i see the irony...)
a few weeks ago, a church in town posted a quote regarding the notion that we spend our lives the same way we spend our days. I've been reflecting on this idea for a while, and it's motivated me to make a couple of small changes here and there. i've been struggling a lot lately with accomplishing the things that i need to do each day before the day is over. of course, this is always a struggle, but lately it's been heightened for me for a variety of reasons. after having an argument with my husband last night fueled by my stress over the situation, i woke up today with a new idea, a furtherance of the church's quote. i remembered reading tuesdays with morrie, being struck at how powerful it is to learn the lessons that a dying elder has learned; in particular, i was reminded today of the practice of imagining that i one is on one's deathbed and is looking back on their life, reflecting on how they spent their time. this practice always helps me get clearheaded about what is truly important to me in life, and helps me to shake off the things that i get caught up in day to day that don't really matter to me in the long run: keeping the house clean and organized, worrying about what other folks think of my decisions and lifestyle, etc. i practiced this today, and it jarred me out of my eternal struggle to organize our house and made me focus instead on so many more moments with my son, times when i was present with him instead of blindly moving through them because of my mind being elsewhere.
warm, sunny day, cool shadows.
during our sit today, the wind made things dance. the boy spent the sit studying our pine's trunk and the blackberry stems growing around it, just now sending out leaves.
planted larkspur seeds today, in preparation for my cut-flower garden. i'm planning to make bouquets from the garden this summer and sell them at the end of our driveway, to try and earn a little extra grocery money. strawflower, dahlias, statice, mexican sunflowers have been growing on our plant shelf inside.
(sorry about the messy state of this next paragraph; i'm tired and don't have the time to edit it now. yes, i see the irony...)
a few weeks ago, a church in town posted a quote regarding the notion that we spend our lives the same way we spend our days. I've been reflecting on this idea for a while, and it's motivated me to make a couple of small changes here and there. i've been struggling a lot lately with accomplishing the things that i need to do each day before the day is over. of course, this is always a struggle, but lately it's been heightened for me for a variety of reasons. after having an argument with my husband last night fueled by my stress over the situation, i woke up today with a new idea, a furtherance of the church's quote. i remembered reading tuesdays with morrie, being struck at how powerful it is to learn the lessons that a dying elder has learned; in particular, i was reminded today of the practice of imagining that i one is on one's deathbed and is looking back on their life, reflecting on how they spent their time. this practice always helps me get clearheaded about what is truly important to me in life, and helps me to shake off the things that i get caught up in day to day that don't really matter to me in the long run: keeping the house clean and organized, worrying about what other folks think of my decisions and lifestyle, etc. i practiced this today, and it jarred me out of my eternal struggle to organize our house and made me focus instead on so many more moments with my son, times when i was present with him instead of blindly moving through them because of my mind being elsewhere.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Bird Meeting
afternoon sit. my brain didn't want to be quiet today, so very few observations. the boy talked about the world as we meandered through the yard on the way to the sit spot, then was quiet and just looked and looked around, until his little head slowly drooped and he ended up asleep in my arms.
three-legged gray came by today with a mate! the mate was larger and fatter than gray; i haven't done the research on squirrel gender sizes yet, but i'm guessing that the mate was larger because it's a male and fatter simply because it has one leg more than gray does, and so can access food more easily. three-legged gray experimented briefly with breaking in to our black oil sunflower feeder, but gave up shortly.
normally we have one or two kinds of birds at the feeder at a time. during a span of five minutes this rainy afternoon, we had at or on the ground under our feeder: little red squirrel, four mourning doves, four red-winged blackbirds, two juncos, a male & female cardinal, goldfinches, sparrows, a grackle, starlings, male & female purple finches, and a downy woodpecker. towards the end of it, my husband and i were just chuckling. it was as though all the birds in the area decided to hold a meeting at our feeder for five minutes.
three-legged gray came by today with a mate! the mate was larger and fatter than gray; i haven't done the research on squirrel gender sizes yet, but i'm guessing that the mate was larger because it's a male and fatter simply because it has one leg more than gray does, and so can access food more easily. three-legged gray experimented briefly with breaking in to our black oil sunflower feeder, but gave up shortly.
normally we have one or two kinds of birds at the feeder at a time. during a span of five minutes this rainy afternoon, we had at or on the ground under our feeder: little red squirrel, four mourning doves, four red-winged blackbirds, two juncos, a male & female cardinal, goldfinches, sparrows, a grackle, starlings, male & female purple finches, and a downy woodpecker. towards the end of it, my husband and i were just chuckling. it was as though all the birds in the area decided to hold a meeting at our feeder for five minutes.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Mist
afternoon walk with my mother out back.
light mist as we walked, raw chill in the air. grass, lush and thicker every day now, was covered in a gray mist. pines misty-green, everything softened from the rain. sky steel gray, but such birdsong from all about that the ground itself seemed to be singing. i'd imagined that we'd miss the birds' songs once the trees were cut down, but instead i hear not only the birds from our remaining trees, but even from the forest on the far side of the opened land.
a red-winged blackbird visited the ground beneath our feeder today, as did little red and the usual doves and sparrows. so good to see that our old friends are still finding their way on this land. still hoping to see our three-legged gray sometime.
peepers have been singing every night from our frog pond. from within the house, i only hear the usual predictable chorus, but when i go outside to take in the night, i'm able to hear the quieter ones that are not quite getting it right. it sounds like there are two of them, and they make funny little bubbly peeper sounds. in amongst the "dwee!", "dwee!", "dwee!" of the peepers, there erupts a sudden "per-der-der-der-dwee!" , a rising call just like the usual ones, but with a kind of bubble in his throat. i heard them like this two years ago as well, when we had enough spring rain to support a peeper population in our pond, and i wondered then and now whether these could be a different kind of frog. but because they started singing on the same night as the peepers, and because they sing the same notes, i'm guessing that maybe they are simply peepers with some mild deformity that makes it harder for them to get the words exactly right. actually, that's a little worrisome; aren't frogs indicators of environmental health, being prone as they are to develop deformities from toxins?
light mist as we walked, raw chill in the air. grass, lush and thicker every day now, was covered in a gray mist. pines misty-green, everything softened from the rain. sky steel gray, but such birdsong from all about that the ground itself seemed to be singing. i'd imagined that we'd miss the birds' songs once the trees were cut down, but instead i hear not only the birds from our remaining trees, but even from the forest on the far side of the opened land.
a red-winged blackbird visited the ground beneath our feeder today, as did little red and the usual doves and sparrows. so good to see that our old friends are still finding their way on this land. still hoping to see our three-legged gray sometime.
peepers have been singing every night from our frog pond. from within the house, i only hear the usual predictable chorus, but when i go outside to take in the night, i'm able to hear the quieter ones that are not quite getting it right. it sounds like there are two of them, and they make funny little bubbly peeper sounds. in amongst the "dwee!", "dwee!", "dwee!" of the peepers, there erupts a sudden "per-der-der-der-dwee!" , a rising call just like the usual ones, but with a kind of bubble in his throat. i heard them like this two years ago as well, when we had enough spring rain to support a peeper population in our pond, and i wondered then and now whether these could be a different kind of frog. but because they started singing on the same night as the peepers, and because they sing the same notes, i'm guessing that maybe they are simply peepers with some mild deformity that makes it harder for them to get the words exactly right. actually, that's a little worrisome; aren't frogs indicators of environmental health, being prone as they are to develop deformities from toxins?
Friday, May 2, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Quiet Night
no sit today.
still in a little bit of my funk from yesterday. recognized that it's akin to the feeling i used to get during summer vacation from school; after the thrill of endless free time passed, i would sometimes get a sense of excessive laxness, all of the tone gone out of my days. aside from using the boy's nap time to study, the rest of my time is unscheduled. there's no lack of things around the house and the yard that need to get done, but having endless time stretching out in front of me leaves me feeling like i'm in a swamp of time, nothing solid to work off of for the forseeable future. though it may not explain it entirely, this somehow contributes to the feeling of dullness i've been having lately, like there's a veil between me and my life; i see everything happening, but nothing really touches me.
actually, i remember this being one of the feelings i had after we miscarried our first two babies; like life could just go on and on, but none of it really mattering. so perhaps, then, some of this is grief. grief for our land as it was, for the animals and plants, for the trees, the beauty and companionship that was lost with them.
in that light, here is a picture in celebration of what we had:
the little roundish pine standing alone and our apple, peeking in from the right, remain.
still in a little bit of my funk from yesterday. recognized that it's akin to the feeling i used to get during summer vacation from school; after the thrill of endless free time passed, i would sometimes get a sense of excessive laxness, all of the tone gone out of my days. aside from using the boy's nap time to study, the rest of my time is unscheduled. there's no lack of things around the house and the yard that need to get done, but having endless time stretching out in front of me leaves me feeling like i'm in a swamp of time, nothing solid to work off of for the forseeable future. though it may not explain it entirely, this somehow contributes to the feeling of dullness i've been having lately, like there's a veil between me and my life; i see everything happening, but nothing really touches me.
actually, i remember this being one of the feelings i had after we miscarried our first two babies; like life could just go on and on, but none of it really mattering. so perhaps, then, some of this is grief. grief for our land as it was, for the animals and plants, for the trees, the beauty and companionship that was lost with them.
in that light, here is a picture in celebration of what we had:
the little roundish pine standing alone and our apple, peeking in from the right, remain.
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