Life on a family farm
in the wilds of
Upstate New York
Wednesday, April 02, 2014
It was still dark when I walked our little dachsie this morning. Still, a grackle took off from the feeders. Couldn't see him, but I know his chirp. Up early....but then he's a bird, so I guess he should be. A sleepy robin warbled contentedly from somewhere north toward the river. Such a fine, clear music to serenade up the sun. Just now, a chickadee is singing his spring song, over and over, out behind the house. And yesterday I was given a most amazing gift, a solid sign that, no matter how much snow or cold we get in late spring unpleasantness, winter is truly over. Alan picked up his old yellow hard hat on the back porch. I am squirrel-like, or perhaps mother-like, in my picking up after people. It was stuck on the wall among the garden tools and bits and pieces of farm life I have accumulated there over the years. Fence handles, concrete trowels, springs and hinges, surveyors' tape, hoof nippers.....and lots of other astonishing treasure. Inside was the framework of a Carolina wren nest. I know who built this little gem because I have heard them out there, chirping and twittering in their absurdly loud voices. Tried a dozen times to sneak out to see them, but they are too quick and wary.
The male sings and sings and sings from one of the mulberry trees to the east of the house...a spot with a good view of that bright yellow brain protector. I will take this to be a sign. As the wrens made it through the winter...with help from fine people in Ohio and Tribes Hill....we will make it through the challenges. I hope we will sing...well, maybe not...I have a voice like a crow....I hope we will be as bold and brilliant as they are, when all is said and done. And now, as I proofread and add photos to this little thing, the wren is on the back porch...just outside the kitchen door, singing and peeping and chattering. I am blessed....