Spring Things

Spring means Mack can be out in his run most days and he is a happier dog for it.

It means grubbing mugwort out of everything, everywhere. Stuff is a curse.

 I get to lug all the geraniums I grew from seed last spring down from the empty bedroom to the east and out to the porch and yard. A tedious chore for sure, but I can't wait.

Spring means ducks in trees
Cavity nesting Wood Ducks in search of a hollow tree

Female Common Mergansers perusing the housing market too

It means singing, long, loud, lovely songs from every corner of the farm and yard. All week we have had at least four Wood Thrushes fluting from the corners of the nearby fields and up on the hill as well. Until yesterday the hill roads were dry enough I could hike up there without gathering giant balls of clay on my boots until I walked like Frankenstein. That situation will probably be a while in returning after the weekend downpours.

Spring is the invasive weeds that I deliberately cultivate in the yard coming into stunning bloom for the early pollinators and hummingbirds....which are back in small numbers btw.

I love Deadnettle...so subtly elegant in shape and shading.

Speedwell, the daintiest of delicate, rich, pale blues.

A couple of sorts of forget-me-nots shining in the corners. Stuff like that. I let hem grow where I want them and chop them out where I don't. They are a whole lot easier to control than mugwort. Lord, how I hate that stuff.

A pretty Palm Warbler, just passing through

A mild winter allowed the herbs to winter well and I am grateful. It was a wonderful thing to be preparing the meats and cabbage for golumpki casserole yesterday (I make up the basics and Becky constructs the final product...) and to be able to go outside and clip herbs for seasoning.

Traffic

Even the giant hyssop came up from the roots and is already several inches tall and thriving. Normally it may reseed, but this makes for a much better start.

Anyhow, as I sit here in the living room waiting for it to be time for everyone to start their day, I hear a House Wren right outside the window, a Tufted Titmouse whoo-whooing from the dying ash in front of the house and see the robins shuttling worms to the nestlings on the porch.

I have blackfly bites all over my head from standing still in a little marsh listening to a Barred Owl's inquiries in the distance, but Spring makes it all worth it.

Song Sparrow

Holding Out

I'm holding out and holding on for Saturday. Supposed to go on some kind of bird thing  with a friend and I am hoping I get to do so.

The week impending is full of visits to practitioners of the medical arts and working to understand which guy will be doing what thing in conjunction with which other guy doing some other thing. Also when.

It has come to my attention that if I am not involved nobody communicates with anybody else and nobody understands anything. Thus even though I have the worst case of white coat fever on this or any other planet, I am going to have to get these guys talking to one another and talk to most of them myself.

So I am holding out for birds, before, after, and between. They don't  often fail to redirect my mind when it derails as it does, over and over again. The tracks are not something I seem to comprehend these days.

Hope you have a great week. Thanks for reading.

Eclipse Frenzy

Black-capped Chickadee collecting cattail fluff

Or lack thereof.

My only concern about this massively-hyped event is whether the children in my life, both mature and otherwise, have sense enough not to look at it.

Otherwise, meh. I've seen eclipses before. They fall under the heading of kinda cool but not this cool. 

I guess I will do a bird list or two while it is going on, just to say that I did...

Speaking of birds. Suddenly things are happening. After what feels like weeks of constant north or northwest winds, I could smell the woodstove yesterday. Yeah, a little breeze from the South. We scored four new species for the year in-county yesterday, a Pied-billed Grebe, a Red-shouldered Hawk, some Swamp Sparrows, and the first twittering flutter of Tree Swallows during our travels. I think we found some new ones out of county too, but I don't keep very close track there.

This morning at 530 one or more American Woodcocks were going crazy dancing over the backyard, while the sky turned crystal and orange against the dark blue of almost-dawn. Then the robins, cardinals and assorted sparrows tuned up and drowned them out. It was beautiful but frigid.

I am hoping to see some more goodies today, as the maps are starting to light up a bit.

Oh, and American Robins appear to be building a nest on the pillar on the sitting porch. Yay, just as it gets warm enough to actually go out there, they will start clutching their pearls and gasping in horror every time I go out the door.

Anyhow, keep your eyes OFF the prize today, and have a great day.

Happy Birthday

 

To my favorite son......Happy Birthday, Alan!

Just Plain Nice

On the way home from a particularly stressful morning...if you know, you know...we stopped to get the mail in town.

Included was a small, utterly unexpected, out-of-the-clear-blue-sky envelope. It contained a package of Lion's Ear seeds and a lovely note, from someone who reads Northview, remembered my struggles last summer to get the gangly plant I purchased going, and wanted me to have a better go this summer.

I was beyond delighted. It has been a challenging couple of months, and not getting easier anytime soon, and to have this wonderful surprise gift from a stranger meant a lot. She had to take quite a lot of effort to track down the address and get the seeds to me and I am much grateful.

So, thanks Susan, I will be planting them inside as soon as I can. 

I did get last summer's version going eventually and it was a real conversation piece. It reached the top of my little arbor and peeked merrily in the kitchen window at me whenever I was at the sink. (Is there anything better than a window over the kitchen sink? I don't think so.}

The hummingbirds were wild for it late in the summer and early in fall when so many other plants were past their best.

I look forward to having this unusual and fun plant again this year!

Cranes

 

Thick muscular wings. Tall, gawky bodies, awkward, gangly, long, stilty legs, with fluffy brown and silver bodies like unshorn lambs. Look like loaves of bread sunning on the levee in the late afternoon.

Delicate and graceful as leaves whirling in an eddy, they dance, skip, and float on the air, leaping over one another in an unworldly ballet, wonder on the water, out there in the pool.

My dear friend Kris took me on an outing to Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge and Cayuga Lake State Park yesterday. We were both up long before o'dark thirty and left my house just before five. We were at the visitor's pool just before seven-thirty.

Northern Pintail drake

The Sandhill Cranes were there as had been reported recently on various Facebook pages and eBird. They danced and sang for us, their songs as uncanny and prehistoric as any Hollywood movie track, only as real and the pools they played in. We stayed as long as they did, then headed out to tour the refuge for the entire day, other than a short side trip to Cayuga Lake in search of the near mythical Red-headed Woodpeckers we had been reading about.

The latter were common during my college days way back in the first years of the 1970s. When I used to sneak out of class to ride the dirt roads south of Fonda, or rode a then-young Magnum on those same dirt roads, I saw them everywhere.

I love the size contrast between these Trumpeter Swans
and the ducks around them. Big birds!

Until yesterday I hadn't seen one since then. However we spoke to a nice gentleman at May's Point Pool, who instructed us right to the exact tree where to find them. As soon as we reached the appointed spot we saw one flitting away and joined an ever changing-group of birders watching a single male plying the trees for luncheon.

 I was astonished how hard it was to see him, what with his bright, flashy, colors and all. I can spot a tiny Downy at considerable distance, but I had to look hard to find this delightful bird.

The whole day was spectacular. Nice weather, decent light, with short periods of the throat catching kind that turns an ordinary landscape into a scene from a Hopper painting, and lots and lots of wonderful birds I only see at the refuge. 

Huge thanks to Kris for being kind enough to include me in her visits to this magical spot and for sharing my enthusiasm for birds, both rare and ordinary. Sure had a great time!

Here is a link to a recording I made of the cranes at the visitor's pool.

Practicing for Jet Lag

 

Because you know it's going to get us all after the time distortion that will come on Sunday. I set the bedroom clock an hour ahead earlier this week, to start getting ready for the misery that is the official Time Change.

So...I got up at ten after four to walk Jill who was way off color yesterday. Happy to report she seems significantly improved this morning.

Since I was up I went owling.

In the backyard.

In my bathrobe and crocs (hey, don't be all judgey now).

A thick frost fell last night, not enough to freeze the water trickling off the hill after all the rain the last couple of days, but the mud was hard enough that I could walk part way to the old cow barn.

There were no owls today....just one lonesome White-throated Sparrow, giving off one sleepy cheep from somewhere under the mulberry trees.

However, as I stared up at the early stars, sparkling even in the light-polluted sky here so near to town, I saw a thin shroud of icy fog slowly folding them into its dim embrace. It felt as i I was watching something private and secret, even with the din of trains and the Thruway just to the north.

I came back in to warmth and coffee, welcome after half an hour in the frigid air. 

No owls in here either.

Gothic Horror Story

 

The sky was threatening. Gloomy, hung over with bulging yellow and grey clouds, pregnant with the promise of fear. She was alone with a grandkid and the dogs in the big gothic spooky house. A storm was incoming. 

She ventured out to the back porch to look east and south.

A thick cable of blackness dangled from the sky like a snaking tentacle, looming close, and coming closer.

She raced inside, screaming for the grandchild to get to the cellar. Grab a blanket. Be quick.

Down the crumbling wooden stair they went, to sit at the bottom clutching the dull red sleeping bag the child had chosen.

But, no! The dogs. They were in the kitchen in their crates.

Stay, small one, stay while I go.

Leash on the white one, where is the grey?

Back down to the kiddo to find the white one tied to a cluster of Easter ribbons and the grey one replaced by a small stuffed toy dog. Weird.

Go back for the grey.

Too late.

The cellar windows were man-high, laid-up stone tunnels reaching out from the cellar to shallow, root and vine-grown trenches in the ground. Through the frame of dangling vines and roots they could see blackness coming and the horrible mouth of the thing open and sucking.

She tried to call 911 but the phone only showed video games in violent reds and purples. No key pad. No contacts list. Though she had memorized the sheriff's phone number a long time ago there was no way to call them.

She tried the small one's phone but it was the same.

The mouth of the maelstrom hovered outside one of the window tunnels, howling in rage.

Then, just like that, it was gone and the house still stood.

Next strangers came, strolling through the cellar, lying down on platforms of boards, looking into nooks and corners. She tried everything to make them leave, even hitting them and dumping water on them. They would not go and more and more of them stumbled down to join the peering throng.

Then I woke up.

 And thought, "Holy crap! That was the most vivid and realistic dream I have ever had!!" Weirdest too and I've had some doozies. 

A lot of stuff going on around here and I guess I am realizing that there are things I can't control, no matter how much of an excessively controlling person I am.

But, man, oh, man, I wish I could bottle my imagination...it's got to be worth something. LOL

The Cats

 

Are rearranging the furniture again.

I don't know how they do it...or why

But you can hear them at it.

Early morning pills and bills

Dogs for walking

Wrens are talking.

Just another winter day 

Cold bright sunrise 

Cold dull routine.

But, wait, what light through yonder window breaks?

Migration is starting...

Yeah, it is!

Yesterday a Wood Duck

Tuesday a Great Blue Heron.

Who knows what today might bring?

Anticipation is the spice of everything!

Five Bald Eagles in one spot

Encounter

While not much else is going right, birding has been awesome lately. Finding Short-eared Owls has been one great treat, but today it was Bald Eagles.

Short-eared Owl

There was one sitting on a log in the pool at the boat launch today. Although I tried for a photo, something unseen blew all the ducks off the Schoharie and spooked him too, just as I aimed.

He flew over to the tree at the confluence, where eagles often perch. Then he landed by the pool and strutted around for a bit. I think he may have left prey near the log, as his crop looked full.

Back to the tree he went. 

Suddenly another one bombed in (probably what scared the ducks) and started going after him in the tree. A third came after that one and the two of them flew over to land in a tree near the aqueduct.

Sure was fun to watch them until they all flew off.

The ducks, however, were not impressed. 

Recycling Part II

 

Some weeks ago, on a section of road we call "Raptor Row" because it is a great spot to find several species of hawks and owls, we passed a road-killed White-tailed Deer.

It was a big one, fresh and mostly intact.

Soon it looked much different

 Many creatures had their way with it. Friends reported Bald Eagles stopping by to feast. Coyote tracks surrounded it on many occasions and something dragged it from the roadside out into the surrounding fields. We saw Red-tailed Hawks and the corvids, jay, crow, and raven, frequenting the field. A pair of Rough-legged Hawks started hanging around.

Rough-Legged Hawk

Soon there was really nothing left to see. Snow covered whatever bones were left, and to be honest I had mostly forgotten about it.

Then yesterday, my best birding buddy and I were out hunting photo ops and good birds. It was a day for it, with snow clinging to every blade of grass, twig and limb. Every curve in the road revealed another calendar-worthy view of Winter's best beauty pageant.

We stopped to photograph a lovely Rough-legged Hawk that floated up out of the corn stubble to land in a nearby tree, glaring at us most frightfully.

We were ready to drive away when I realized that almost next to the car was a flight of nearly forty Horned Larks, skipping and scrambling around after something in the corn.

Click me! Click me!

They did not fly. If you are a peruser of "Field birds" or "Road Birds", the Horned Larks, Snow Buntings, and Lapland Longspurs, you know how skittish they are. Approach with your car...they flit away only to land behind you, or depart altogether. Get a nice shot lined up and another car will spook them. Get out of your car with your camera and they vanish as if someone was standing by with a magic wand. Hey! Presto! Gone in a flash.

Who? Us? Never happen

However, we hadn't even seen these birds, right next to the car, as they were not flying away. They stayed all the while we shot dozens of photos and were still there when we went off in search of other goodies. They were still there in late afternoon when we headed out owling. My friend figured out what was going on... I'm sure you have guessed by now. They were rummaging around in the corn for bits of that poor deer.

It was amazing to watch them squabbling and scuffling over tufts of hair, which must have had something nourishing still clinging to them. Their jingle bell calls belied their grisly business.

Nothing is wasted out there in the wild world. Not one tiny morsel of something that can feed something else in the food chain goes to waste. By Spring there will be nothing left, except many a lingering scent, just enough for a Border Collie to take a nice roll, and come back indoors reeking of puppy perfume.

Mourning Dove

Thanks deer, for the lesson and the chance to get some goodish photos of elusive and challenging birds. You've done your part.

Recycling

Drainage holes bored with a screw setter

Hinged lid

The wait begins

 An empty kitty litter jug.

Germination
Now, if only they don't damp off on me

My life as a Sous Chef

 

Yesterday I found myself browning chopped up sweet Italian sausage, ground venison, celery, and homegrown garlic on the small burner on the stove, in a bath of butter and herbs.

In the oven a tired head of cabbage was roasting, coated in dark, rich, olive oil, sprinkled with everything from fennel to Italian seasoning, with a bit more butter on top.

The basic recipe was not my idea. The methods and flavorings were.

See, I work under Becky now, as a sous chef. She works under the big yellow sign down in the village so she has no time.

I have nothing but. When she got home she assembled my contribution into deconstructed golumpki casserole, and let me tell you, it was awesome. We came away with ideas of how to make it better next time, but we really liked it. (More cabbage. Fresh cabbage. Less rice. Different, fluffier, rice) 

I have cooked since I was small, pestering at the elbows of my family in the kitchen when barely tall enough to see over the edge of the table....Uncle Larry, do you remember the horrible-looking cakes we made in Grandma Lachmayer's kitchen, all purple and green, with runny, weird-looking frosting that nobody else wanted to eat? Man, were they ever good!...

My brothers and I grew up tasting the Great Depression in the kitchens of our grandparents who lived it. We learned food from the ingredients up and how to substitute what we didn't have and enhance what we did with what was in the cupboard. Both grandmas, all the aunties, and many of the uncles, knew how to make do, and still make tasty and nourishing meals.

My next younger brother and I were cooking when we were just kids. We got off the school bus, ravenous as kids tend to be, but both parents worked, so we were on our own. Sometimes there were snackie things around the house, but that was not a major industry then, (I think there was only ONE kind of potato chip then) so we either made popcorn on the stove top, or corn meal muffins, and devoured same.

 Every single person in my immediate family cooked all through my childhood. Dad was a master at his own special bread recipe, which he would not, and never did, share with the rest of us, alas.

But it's all right. I can make bread. My brothers can make bread. My kids can all make bread...and pizza crust, rolls, muffins, etc.

Counting back, I have made at least fifty Thanksgiving dinners and many unofficial turkeys, including wild ones over the years.

However, when Becky started to get serious in the kitchen, I was admittedly in a rut. We ate good, wholesome, cooked from scratch food, but it was boring, same stuff, different day.

Now, she sees a recipe and wants to make it. No time for elaborate preparations, as she works most days. Enter mom, who is sick of thinking up stuff, but knows how to sauté and season, and has had a lot of practice. We did a whole chicken the other day, stuffed with a large onion, garlic, thyme from the garden, and sundry other spices, seasoned with sage and that kind of stuff. Made soup from the leavings. That one bird fed us four days and well. We made chicken stock, which bammed subsequent soups and sauced up a notch, big time. 

Our brainstorming and cooking by committee has produced all manner of new kinds of cookies, great (and interesting!) meals, and a lot of fun. I like it.

The other two kids have always cooked as well. Being deeply stuck in the stereotypical rut of my youth I did not expect my son to become a homegrown chef. However, since his early teens when he made lemon bars for school, entirely on his own, he has been a master in the kitchen. As a teenager he taught me things about seasoning meats and cooking wild game that I still use every day. He sends me pictures of things he cooks....and I know from eating at his house that they are spectacular. Wish we lived closer...

Liz feeds her farm family with special dietary needs things that sound fabulous to me and keeps them happy and healthy. It's her pizza crust recipe that helps us feed Ralph well, while keeping him within the boundaries of his diabetic diet.

Anyhow, I am liking this new role as a sous chef. I know how to do my part and i don't have to do the other part.

As the Barred Owl says, who cooks for you? And what do you like?

I don't usually do This

 But....

It might help ease the grim January weather...

Nesting Season

 

We saw a Bald Eagle carrying a big stick to the Sprakers nest today. It was the first time Ralph had ever seen that and perhaps the third for me. It almost felt like Spring despite the foot of snow on the ground and the winter field birds thronging the roadsides.

Much more exciting were the events of January 5th, when the nesting season gave to us a brand new granddaughter, Riley Mae Friers. She is a beautiful baby and joins her delightful sister Bailey Rae, and lovely cousins Peggy Ann Marie, Madeline, and Claire, to give us a full house of grandbabies.

It won't be long before the owls are hooting sweet love songs in the night, but none will be as wonderful as all those little girls.