Between the Raindrops

 

Sunday Stills...in my Bag

 

This challenge could be interpreted a lot of ways I guess. There are a lot of bags in our lives, some of them useful and others preceded with the word "old". 

I haven't carried a traditional woman's purse in decades. However, a camera bag and a utility bag are a whole 'nother story.

From a pocket "chainsaw" and compass, to a portable phone charger, ponchos, sunblock, tasty little mints, and a good, solid, field guide to the birds...oh, and matches. Can't stand not to have matches in case Jack London's To Build a Fire comes true with me in the cast....I have everything I can think of that will fit in these bags.

Plus camera and spare camera and binoculars, without which I would be blind and unable to communicate in my favorite fashion.

Also: fishing license, tick remover, nail clippers, lens cleaners, spare camera batteries, tiny card shaped knife kinda thing, athletic tape and other first aid stuff....and more, much, much more.

For more Sunday Stills....

 

So then, this happened

Yesterday it rained most of the day, so we puttered around the house. Late in the afternoon the rain let up to an intermittent drizzle, so we took a peek at the parks.

I stay well back from this

The river is on the boil, crammed with logs and debris and up to and/or over its banks in a lot of places. At Yankee Hill Lock there is a spot where a huge bite of bank and lawn(!!!) has been scooped out by the rushing water. I walk way inland on the grass when I pass that spot because the ground in a big half-circle around it is noticeably depressed and utterly saturated. I expect that one day soon it will liquify and sluice away down the river like the rest of the spot.

I would prefer not to be standing there when it happens.

Anyhow, the boss sat at a picnic table for a while watching the muddy water swirl by, while I walked my usual route counting birds.

I was just coming down the hill off the bike path when things started to happen.

A police car raced into the parking lot, our sheriff jumped out and ran down to the river bank. Two trucks with volunteer fireman were hot on his heels.

You normally walk down
onto this dock above the lock

We stayed in the car, thinking that they might need to ask us whom or what we saw while we were at the park.

However, after a little time the men returned to their vehicles at a much more relaxed pace, conferred for a short while, and were on their way. The sheriff stopped to exchange a few words before he left...a very pleasant and professional man... we will never forget how very helpful he was the first time the boss's dad wandered off and we had to call for help to find him. 

We soon discovered what had happened.... here is the story. Another video.

Imagine going over that dam or even through the lock and being washed that far downriver. And check out that stack of logs at about 1.30 in the video. I believe that those were fished out of the river. You can see many more bumping along in the waves. I can't imagine trying to boat with all that junk in the water.

Lock 12 is a place where we bird a lot in the winter both east and west of the bridge and dams. There is usually a decent stretch of open water even in the coldest weather and some really nice ducks are found here. (A couple checklists from last winter)

Anyhow, all's well that ends well and a big thank you to our friends and neighbors who risk their own lives to keep people here in the valley safe. Both people involved were rescued safely from circumstances that could have had a much different outcome. 

Sunday Stills...Flowers

 

Sorry I keep doing these on Monday. Sundays are very busy days for us, and this week was no exception.

For more Sunday Stills....

Parking Lot Wars

 

Yesterday the boss had occasion to visit a shopping center near here. As is normal I stayed in the car and counted parking lot birds and watched the tourist season sideshow unfold.

There was high drama.

A murder of crows raced by, the leader making a getaway with a slice of some breadly material en beak. I think it may have been pizza.

Hot on its tailfeathers was a hungry Ring-billed Gull with the menu on his mind.

He nailed the fleeing bandit right in his feathery fanny, right in the center of the lot, square in front of our car.

The snack landed in a well-traveled spot, confounding both gull and bandits. They perched on nearby roofs or sailed in slow circles, peering down at it, but afraid to land 'n' grab.

Meanwhile a little brown female House Sparrow hop, hop, hopped out from under a nearby car and proceeded to taunt them merrily as she nabbed bite after bite.

Not of fan of those nasty little bluebird killers, but it was still pretty funny.

Most of the bread-thing was still there when we left.

Filed under happy dance, we found the Sandhill Cranes that were seen earlier in Broadalbin. Thanks to the boss's eagle eyes we discovered that they were on the opposite side of the road from where I had been looking. I know they are common enough to be annoying in a lot of areas, but here they are rare and exciting.

Made my week.

Happy Birthday

 

Matthew, hope you had a good day and thanks for a nice morning of birding!

Remember the Cardiff Giant

???

 (If not here's a link to his story)

Kids who grew up here in the Mohawk Valley or the nearby Catskill Mountains certainly remember him from field trips to the Farmer's Museum back in the day (my favorite part of those jaunts, back when I had kid teeth, was the rock candy from the little general store).

Anyhow, the air today feels just like you might imagine his heart would. It's heavy and unyielding, clumsy, and hard to breath. Makes you feel about as lively as a giant carved from stone.

Thunder is grumbling and rumbling like you might imagine his footsteps if he was lumbering up and down the towpath, stepping over bridges so as not to break them, scaring dogs and little children willy nilly.

Jill the Border Collie is afraid of either thunder or stone giants and is quaking in her crate, causing metal food bowls stored on top to tumble to the kitchen floor, clang, bang, crash.

The little solar lanterns (Hummingbird and Peacock) Becky gave me are flashing on and off in jittery counterpoint to the stuttering of the lightning.

It is grey and gloomy and stiflingly muggy. I don't imagine much is going to get done outdoors today.

Ah, summer in NY. I think Peggy might benefit from a trip to the Farmer's Museum someday when the lightning bolts aren't pitchforking all over the place. What say you?

Sunday Stills...Red, White, and Blue

 

Friends and family know I have always wanted a cannon...

For more Sunday Stills....

I Know Where I Was

 

...Sixty-nine years ago today. I was in the delivery room of a now non-existent hospital in a town to the north where they made a lot of gloves....being delivered. (It's not Di Giorno, it's Delivery). I guess it was hideously hot. Poor Mom.

Having heard the stories of that fateful event...first grandchild on BOTH sides of two large and vigorous families...(spoiled much?)...so many times, I feel almost as if I was there.

Oh, wait, I was. However, I don't remember a darned thing until a birthday party on Grandma Montgomery's side porch I think either one or two years later. Don't know how old I was for sure, but I do remember a large, brown, stuffed dog I loved on until he was so skinny in the middle that I could drag him around with one hand clutched on his center with his head and butt hanging down in true hangdog fashion. (Later followed by Fluffy, a blue stuffed dog donated by a beloved aunt, that I hauled around with me until I was in my twenties, and he was dingy grey rather than pale blue). And cake. I swear there was cake.

Anyhow, the story goes that my imminent arrival was celebrated the day before with much imbibing of locally grown, homemade, wine known as  ethnic slur-red. Guess I was late or something. Pretty punctual now as a rule, but hey.

My mother was not impressed and said she insisted, "That's not my baby!"

Squashed head and all plus kinda red and wrinkley and downright unruly. However, she eventually had to admit that there was a certain physical resemblance and was forced to claim me and take me home.

She told me often over the past year or so that I turned out to be a lot of fun. She was just a kid, not yet twenty when I was born, so I guess I was like a large, noisy baby doll. There was the tale of how much I liked baby food beets and ate WAY too much of them with predictable (and purple) results. That must have been a LOT of fun!

I was the smaller one in this pic, along with 
that favorite auntie. (Stolen shamelessly from FB)

And holding me up to the window to see outdoors. I already knew what I liked. 

First discernable speech-"Ffft Ffft" while pointing at a fly. Could not say milk to save my life even though I loved the stuff. It was "Nup" to me. Grandpa Lachmayer, who also taught me about raising currants and rhubarb, used to tease me at the Sunday dinner table...where, as the spoiled rotten oldest grandchild, I got to sit between him and grandma. He wouldn't give me any of the wonderful moo juice until I said it right. Think it may have warped me into becoming a dairy farmer in later years. Or maybe not.

Etc.

There have been a lot of birthdays since, perhaps the most memorable being when I was thirteen. The folks took me to the artist's town where the concert of the same name later made the place iconic and turned me loose. 

Woodstock, with all its book and art shops and galleries, plus searching the cemetery with Mom for genealogical material, was certainly fun and memorable. The frying onions at the Colony Arts Center, where the antique show where they had a booth was held, are another family staple story.

There were horses
Magnum, my first one, in the middle

 Mom baked me dozens of banana cakes with white frosting over the ensuing years. How she made a simple Betty Crocker recipe into something so tender and delicious is beyond me, but I loved them all....there was always cake...

And dogs
threecollie...after these guys

We probably won't do much this year. Not even cake. Stuff holds little interest for me any more. I have a lot of it, although I can surely remember not having it. Once during my poverty stricken younger years when we were living on home raised rabbits, Mom brought us a care package that contained bread and ketchup and such. Ketchup was an incredible luxury at that time. Good stuff.

Birds!

We birded a lot yesterday and the day before, pretty much using up all the ration of gas allotted for such activities, and then some really.

However, I am on the right side of the grass still, although I admit that it needs mowing pretty badly, there are grandbabies, although I don't imagine I will see any of them today...unless maybe by facetime...so all is good.

I can bird the yard and play in the garden and be grateful for all the amazing things that happened between that first dramatic birthday and today's much more low-key example.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, America. It's pretty cool to share a name day with something so great. 

Lots of cows.
Broadway, a great favorite

Merlin

Virginia Rails

 I have a lot of bird apps on my phone...In fact I just counted and there are eight. I use three of them pretty much daily, eBird, iBirdPro, and the Hudson-Mohawk Bird Club's What'sApp. 

The others are RaptorID, Ducks Unlimited, BirdNET, Audubon Birds.....and Merlin, the latter of which I rarely opened until recently, but it just seemed as if I should have it.

That all changed when Merlin began to offer bird song ID and I took the time to download the package and figure out how to use it. What an incredible tool! 

I think most birders have nemesis calls that they just can't pick out from the local fabric of bird song. For me some of the hardest fall among the not-a-robin complex. 

After years and years I can finally tell a Baltimore Oriole's song from Turdus Migratorius quite reliably. And as long as I hear the chick bur of a Scarlet Tanager mixed in with the song I can get them pretty regularly too.

However, a Rose-breasted Grosbeak sounds enough different from a robin to notice that it is different, but not always enough to be sure what it actually is. 

Enter Merlin. Twice in the past two days I have turned on the sound ID feature to discover that one of the unseen singers near me was a RBGR. 

Cool!

Indigo Bunting, a song I do know well

I have a similar problem with Yellow Warblers and Chestnut-sided Warblers. I rarely mistake a CSWA if I hear one, but often think I am hearing one when it is actually a ubiquitous YEWA. (We have several pairs around the house and there are at least a couple singing from dawn to dark.) 

Merlin set me straight every time.

I think I love this new feature. 

Mourning Dove "MYOB!"

Additionally it is possible to add the recorded audio to eBird lists which saves a lot of steps. Normally I record with the camera, then have to put the audio on YouTube, export it to have it reformatted to a WAV. file, download it, then upload it to a list. Nice not to have to mess with all that.

Alas, yesterday when those cute little Virginia Rails at Sara Lib Quarry obligingly came out of the cattails to scurry around and come right up to my feet, my phone was overheating and I couldn't record their awesome calls. I think I may have a new favorite bird. Move over Carolina Wren, hello Rallus Limicola.

In other news I am pretty sure that the bird George and I heard up on Logtown Road was a Sora. He suggested that at the time. Heard something similar at the swamp where the rails are yesterday. Cannot wait to go back there on a cooler day in hopes that the critter that was calling will do so again and I can record and identify. It would be a lifer for me if so, and an awesome bird for the county as well.

Anyhow, if you struggle with songs sometimes, I heartily recommend the updated version of Merlin. I am really excited about using it.

We went to Yankee Hill Lock to check out
the new tent cities the
governor is promoting. Doesn't look as if
the tents will impact the park experience
as much as we thought when we read about them
Not sure I would want to camp among that much goose poo
though. There is a LOT!

Sunday Stills....Outfit of the Day

 

On Monday because we were birding hard on Sunday.

This Ruffed Grouse is a master of camo in this subtle, yet elegant, outfit of feathers.

Meanwhile, Sir Baltimore Oriole is clad in his clown suit today, enjoying a nice, juicy mulberry.

Tufted Titmouse has no interest in fashion, today or any day.

For more Sunday Stills.....

Happy Birthday Middle Kid

 

And next younger brother. Love you! Hope your special day is very special.

I Ran

 I was astonished to discover that, given sufficient incentive, I still could.

See, we have been too busy to bird as much as we used to, plus....you know...gas prices....

So we took a short trip down to the Schoharie Crossing boat launch, just to get out a little bit.

It was raining lightly, warm, sticky, and buggy, but there were a few birds around, and as usual I climbed the steep ramp up to the base of the aqueduct. You can't see the top of the slope from the bottom and it is steep enough to be a bit of a challenge on the slippery grass.

However, from the top you can see down into a sort o a slough where I have found everything from broods of assorted ducklings with their mamas to otters and gigantic cart cavorting merrily as they spawned.

This time though,  as my head popped up over the edge, I stopped instantaneously.

Holy cow! That'll put a halt on ya!

It had its head buried in the dirt under the grass, foraging for something yummy. I snapped a couple of quick....really, really quick...photos, and then realized. If that thing lifted its head I would be in trouble and most likely walking home....

....for the next several months.

So I got outta Dodge.  I actually ran. Down the slip-and-slide of the ramp and off along the edge of the woody strip between the river and the parkland.

As I said, I was utterly astonished that I could in fact, still run. Even when we had the cows and were working them, or corralling escapees or something of that ilk, I almost always relied on knowing where to stand and how to look and sound intimidating to get them to go where we wanted them. When you reach a certain age and embonpoint, judgement beats agility all hollow. 

However, even though they are both black-and-white, skunks have a certain something that even the fiercest Holsteins lack.

 I am glad to have escaped unscathed. 

I don't think even this would have helped