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

Father's Day

 

For my brothers and me this will be our first Father's Day without Dad. It is hard.

It is the same for several of my cousins. We have always been a close family and those dads who were uncles too will be missed painfully today. Too many losses over the past few months, way too many.

However, for our own dear boy, it will be his first Father's Day, and that is what lights up the world for me. His new baby girl was much anticipated and loved long before she joined us here, and now... 

Welcome to the world Bailey Rae... and Happy Father's Day, Alan.

For all of you who read this, if you have your dad, hug him. Then hug him again, and then once more. I'm glad you can.

And if you don't, may the loving memories sustain you through today and all the other days without the ones who raised you.

A special Happy Father's Day to the dad of my three kids...I'm talking to you Ralph.... and to his wonderful son, Scott, who is a terrific dad to his two girls. And to all of you dads who might be reading this...it's your day!

Sunday Stills....Morning

 

For more Sunday Stills....

In Peace

 

Paradise to a city kid

I remember being a little scared when my aunt started dating him. She was a rock in my quicksand world and I was worried that she might shift away from me.

Instead of that he swiftly became another solid place to lean when times got shaky, a mentor, a friend, and like a second father all my life.

The barn where I learned to love farming

I learned to love farming and respect farmers in my deepest heart, running tame on his family's farm, playing in the creek and jumping out of the haymow in late summer. Falling asleep to the call of the Whippoorwills and waking to the songs of the robins. It was paradise to a city kid with a wild love of animals and a deep need for the outdoors and a peaceful place to learn and grow. I loved it there and I loved the people who made it feel safe and welcoming.

After I was all raised up and turned loose on the world, married to my own sturdy farmer and reveling in it, it was a thing of great joy and satisfaction to talk cows and fields and weather with him.

I learned so very much from him, not least what a great work ethic and a real interest in other people looks like. When you talked to him you knew he was really listening and cared about your thoughts and words.

He left this world yesterday after a long, hard struggle and left a lot of empty hearts behind him. It is often said when someone passes that they left the world a better place than they found it....with my Uncle Rich it is true for so very many people....he is going to be missed.

Sunday Stills...Look Up

 

For more Sunday Stills....

Damn the Ticks, Full Speed Ahead

 

Savannah Sparrow

I woke up this morning....very early...with the idea of walking way back in the fields.

Feeding a chick

It was still too dark, but as soon as it was light enough to see the birds...around 6...I started up the hill. I hoped to confirm breeding in some of the grassland birds that we know nest on our land.

Female Bobolink

It was a great walk, although the grass was over my head in many places, hence my concern about ticks. I didn't finish birding until around ten, and then, just as I submitted what would have been my final list, I spotted a male Downy Woodpecker feeding a male juvenile at the suet feeder. They seem to bring their young in every year to introduce them to the wonders of bird feeders and are absurdly tame.

Male Bobolink

Up in the fields I found Bobolinks carrying food, which confirms breeding, and Savannah Sparrows actually feeding chicks. I don't think I have ever managed to confirm them before so that was really cool.

Willow Flycatcher...Fitz bew!

There was an Alder Flycatcher too, and I tried

really hard to record his Free Beer but he was too far away

If you would like to see what I saw, I think you can by clicking the links to my lists below.

Song Sparrow, gleaning bits of hay from the
disc bine for a nest

List one, the walk from the house to the top of the hill.

List two, the 30-acre Lot

List three, the Old Spreader Field.

List four, the walk back down the hill.

Eastern Phoebe

I made a couple of lists at the house as well. The poor boss is sick with a honey badger of a cold, so I am on my own for bird chasing, but I still had a terrific time. I sure hope he feels better soon though...No ticks on me so far, after a couple of tick checks...hopefully that trend continues.

Papa Downy Woodpecker feeding his chick

Another Savannah Sparrow

Summer Days

 

The smell of fresh mowed hay and Riverbank Grapes in bloom, Cottonwood seeds drifting on the wind. Baby robins everywhere, and the relentless singing of the House Wren on the sitting porch. 

Fans and humidity, summer colds, and hard-to-sleep-hot nights. It's here....sometimes I wondered if it was going to make it.....

The Dutchman

 

You know of course that we lost both our parents four days apart over New Years. They were 87 and 89 and had a good life together, raised us, loved us and all the grandbabies and great grandbabies, and left their mark on the world in many ways. 

They never stopped doing and loving and living right up until the end. 

Covid made that end dark and lonely, something which is very hard to forgive at all, ever. Bad things were done and happened that I am not going to talk about here, but they sure should not keep families apart at such times. 

Anyhow, more than they loved all of us, they loved each other. They were more entwined than anyone I knew...utterly dependent on one another. If one was in the hospital the other pined and did all they could to fix things if they could. They never went anywhere without each other, shared hobbies and pastimes and work and play.

Mom was so damned strong that it humbled me. She simply did everything she could to make life right for Dad. She taught me to go after what was needed no matter how hard it might have been to ask.  He knew that he needed her and just how much and acted accordingly. I hope they are rewarded in Heaven for what they went through in their final weeks.

When they went it was as if the center shifted and the light went off in the world. I had them sixty-eight years, my whole life, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

But for three months I never cried. Not a tear, no dampness in the corner of the eye. Numbness and mournful malaise for sure but no tears. 

Then one day I was listening to the High Kings perform the Dutchman on my cell phone playlist, while I washed the dishes. 

Margaret and the Dutchman seemed to personify my parents’ relationship and the way they propped each other up and cherished each other for so many years.

I looked up at their pictures on the wall over the stove and started crying and couldn’t stop. The rest of that day was a melting watercolor of every loss I’ve ever felt, especially over the past 18 months.

Okay, everybody needs that. Good, maybe I will move on now.

Except that every single time I hear the song, no matter how determined I am to not react I do. Same way every time.

Many probably see me as a hard person. Or at least stoic. Farming can bring on the hard, all the while softening the center where no one sees. It certainly fosters stoicism. You just get used to things happening that you can’t control and learn to roll with it and just move on.

However, that song absolutely dissolves me right down to nothing every single time I hear it.

Should I take if off my playlist and harden the old shell, or leave it there on shuffle to sneak up on me with its reminders of all that is missing? 

We lost so many close family members, beloved aunts, an amazing uncle, good friends from all over the world in the past few months……I just don’t know.