Shalom to Winter . . .

. . . and honor to the squirrels of the nest in the Bradford Pear outside my window---the same nest I wrote about on Dec 13 in "Hey, Hawk!" Usually the squirrels build their nests too high in the trees to observe closely on a regular basis, but this one is low and near enough to the window by which I drink my early morning coffee that I've observed it all winter. I didn't see it being built, and only first noticed it when the leaves of the pear tree fell away in November. Watching a squirrel's nest on any given day could never be considered a rewarding habit, but in the course of a winter of morning meditations over coffee, enough activity has accumulated in my memory to be worthy of comment.

First there was the Dec 13 invasion by the Cooper's hawk who stabbed at the nest and threw out dry leaves amid the outrage of the house finches. I wondered at the time if the nest was active or abandoned, because as far as I knew, the hawk only searched it, and did not find a meal there before the finches chased it off.

The next noticeable activity came on the morning of the third day of continuously below-freezing temperatures after our January ice storm, in an observation that touched my heart. Two house finches were clinging to the underside of the nest, apparently gleaning the warmth that leaked from the nest's interior. I assumed this was an indication that at least one warm-blooded squirrel was burrowed inside the nest, and I liked to think it hinted at a cooperative living arrangement whereby the squirrels lent warmth to the finches in January in exchange for the favor of chasing the hawk from their nest in December. Whether by agreement or random response to a need makes no difference. That it happened at all was a phenomenon I found sweet and paradoxical, given the otherwise brutal nature of life in the wild.

Later we had a week of unseasonably warm weather between our Jan & Feb snows, and during that week two squirrels busied themselves bringing leaves to the nest in an industrious display of homemaking activity that I observed on only one morning. I know not if they were fortifying for another possible cold spell, or preparing for an upcoming birth, but I'm committed to watching them throughout the spring season, which seems suddenly to have arrived, if today's warm air and returning orchestration of birdsong are any indication. dkm

p.s. The photo of the nest in question was taken on the day after the light snow of Feb 9 & 10.

A Winter to Remember . . .

. . . in more ways than one. First, for Georgia's mid-January storm that left us covered with a five inch layer of ice-glazed snow, beautiful to behold, impossible to navigate.

Next, for the early-February blizzard across upper mid-western North America that left a similar but thicker layer of ice over much deeper snow. We happened to be visiting family up north at the time of the storm. On one occasion it dumped us into a ditch on a county road nearBerlin, Ohio. That incident required us to abandon the car and trudge without boots through deep and blowing snow to get to warmth and safety. The ice on Ohio's snow was thicker and tougher and harder to break than Georgia's, and it sliced our ankles as our feet dropped through the surface. Even with a childhood in the blizzard state of Kansas, and later in the snowy winters of Pennsylvania, I can not remember ever experiencing ice of this kind on soft deep snow. It caused the sun to reflect from the rolling hillsides of Ohio farmland in a spectacular blinding glare that looked more like fire than ice.

And then there was the Disney filming that took place yesterday at the house across the street from our house. They put fake green leaves on the bare trees. They painted the grass in our front yard green. They installed over a dozen trees in front of our house, they brought truckloads of equipment, they floated a man in a giant crane and cherry-picker overhead, they parked a two-seater porta-potty in our driveway, they set up a "classroom" in my kitchen for the four child actors who will star in this movie called The Odd Life of Timothy Green, starring Jennifer Garner,,and it was the most astounding lot of unnatural activity seen on our street since it was first cut through the woods in the 1950's. It was beyond exciting for me to host the four charming child stars in my home, but, Pukeko G, I've been worried about the earthworms under the front yard since they sprayed our grass green. It can't possibly be good for them once it washes into the soil. More on that topic next post.

In the meantime, one more memorable winter shot. Last night a light soft snow fell on the fake trees that have not yet been removed from the yard. I'm not permitted to put photos of any of the filming activity on the internet, but this one is permissible, because it has no people in it. I took it to show the difference Hollywood can make---in contrast to another shot of the house after the first snow. Same house. Two snows. One month apart. dkm

p.s. You can google the name of the movie to learn more about the remarkable children that took their lessons in my humble kitchen all day yesterday.

Four Days After the Fall . . .

Snow makes whiteness where it falls.

The bushes look like popcorn balls.

And places where I always play,

Look like somewhere else today.

-Marie Louise Allen

PLACES

You can tell we don't get much snow in Georgia by all the amateur photos that have been brandished around on FB and local blogs. For the record, all that stuff that looks like snow is covered with a hard icy glaze, nearly impossible to walk on. I don't ever remember a snowfall like this in Decatur. These photos were taken today in the yard, a full four days after the storm. Some melt has begun, but it is still very icy. Tomorrow will mark the fifth day schools have been closed. Somehow, the ice didn't stick to the trees, so we've not lost electrical power. For us, it's been a quiet, warm, and cozy four days, though I know it's not been as easy for everyone. Good time to curl up with a good book, and I had one of the best. Cutting for Stone, by Abraham Verghese. Luscious. dkm

To Makayla and Nickolas . . .

. . . after an hour of soaking up your joie de vivre in the simple act of chasing and catching leaves on a breeze:

I have but one request---that in the time it takes for me to grow old and you to grow up, we choose often to sit outside together giving heed to the things of beauty in the natural world---to the shape of a bird’s beak, for instance, or the pattern of its flight, the building and tending of its nest, the care of its young---to the slant of a sun’s ray, or the glint of its reflection on a pine needle, its blinding bounce from a bird’s copper roof, its flash in the birdbath, its dependable reach, its warmth on our knees---to the elasticity of the skin on the back of your hands, the wrinkle of mine---or as we did today, to the fall of one leaf, the single ride of its life, remembering its lime green tenderness when new, its deep green strength when mature, its powerful red seasoning as it nears death, its cleansing brown decay that nourishes the earth long after it is gone, metaphor for you and me---to the wind on our faces and the way it takes the shape of our lungs before it moves on, the breath of the universe. Love, Omi

Hey, Hawk!

"You thief, you! Get outta there!" I think it was a Cooper's hawk---horizontal tail stripes, no red shoulder, no red tail, medium sized. It would not be deterred, no matter how loud or close I was, which was only a few giant steps from the tree where it was ravaging a squirrel's nest--- and no matter how many indignant house finches flitted around in the same tree scolding.

Silent it came at first, unbeknownst to me. I was fluffing bows on window-wreaths across the front of the house, making my own noise in the leaves underfoot, when I became aware of much small bird chatter in the Bradford pear tree above and behind my left shoulder---the kind of chatter that usually signals trouble in birdworld. I can't always discover the source of the trouble, but this time it was easy. By now all the leaves have fallen, so the hawk, the nest, and at least a dozen fiery red house finches were clearly visible.

When the shouting didn't work I tried to stare it down. It stopped long enough to look down on me, but showed not a care. The finches and I were no threat---they for their size, me because I was bound to the ground. I was surprised at the pluck of the housefinches, actually, and wondered why they cared about a squirrel's nest. But I felt solidarity with them as I tried to shoo this hawk away. Its arrogant response was to hop to the edge of the nest to stab at the interior with its talons, far above my reach. Slap slap slap. Rattle, rattle, rattling in the dry leaves of the nest---while we watched!

Never mind the natural order of the Georgia ecosystem, the food-chain and all, or that our yard is overrun with squirrels. It was the idea of tearing up someone else's nest in broad daylight amid the righteous outcries of the little guys that agitated me. I'm tempted to make a political comparison, but have sworn to keep politics out of this blog. So make of it what you will. A better ending to the post would be to quote the Buddhist notion my daughter encourages.

"Know that it is, but do not suffer from it."

Thank you, Sarah. It works for indignations large and small. dkm

Birdly Bird

Big excitement in the limited birding world of this backyard spectator. A single wood thrush. First sighting ever. December 9, 2010, 8:30am. Temperature below freezing, in the 20s. Seems late for migrating. Staying here for the winter? Cinnamon brown head, plainer brown back, distinctively spotted breast, round fat body, long straight beak, pretty pink feet. Foraging for sunflower seeds on the deck floor beneath the feeder. Stayed a long time, hopping around, showing herself at all angles, flipping oak leaves around, unaware of my presence, just four feet away on the other side of the glass. She held me captive for the duration of her visit. An excellent and birdly bird.

8:30-9:00 seems to be the current peak time for coming to the feeder. Other birds at feeder this morning between 8:30 & 9:00: male and female cardinals, house finches, carolina chickadees, tufted titmice, brown-headed nuthatches, whitebreasted nuthatches, my bluebirds (calloo callay), downy woodpeckers, a single female towhee. dkm

Mystery Character . . .

Somebody spent the night in the garden shed for real, and I did NOT stick around to find out who.

I carried my copper bucket full of kitchen scraps out to the compost heap this morning. When I took the pitchfork off its hook just inside the shed door, I accidentally bumped it hard against the wall. Came a softish low sounding groan from the back of the shed that lasted almost two seconds.

This shed, I ought to say, is rickety, and one of these days a small bump will be the one that knocks it over. Assuming the first groan was the shed itself, or some of its contents, shifting as a result of the bump, I deliberately knocked it again to confirm. Came another delayed groan, decidedly animal in nature. Surely not, I thought.

I buried the scraps and returned the fork to its hook. Mooaaaan. I knocked again. Came the moan again. Four incidents of obvious cause and effect were enough for me. I left fast, not wanting to see, hear, or know who was waking up---be it cat, fox, possum, or worse. The mercury showed below the freezing line. Let the creature stay warm and undisturbed. I'd make a terrible farmer.

This, by the way, is a repeat of a similar incident that inspired the beginning of my current manuscript nearly six years ago. dkm

Rainsplash Piano Keys

And speaking of coincidence---let me not forget to recount a lovely one that occurred on a recent rainy day, Mon, Nov 15, to be exact, during my morning meditation, which necessarily took place inside looking out, due to rain.

Many birds at the feeder drew my attention away from meditation, causing me to wonder why they didn't take shelter in the rain. Housefinches, cardinals, titmice, chickadees, and yes, my pair of bluebirds, filled all six feeding stations, aggressively vying for the available perches, chasing each other away for their turns. It was as if they thought it was their last meal for a long time---maybe because of the storm?

Steady rain fell vertically in the absence of wind, and I sat watching through glass doors, pondering the birds and the rain on the deck banister, which was at eye-level. Tiny splashes raced back and forth across the flat-topped banister at random intervals, reminding me of piano keys under an able pianist's fingers. As I watched, I became aware that beautiful piano music was playing on WABE radio's Second Cup Concert. I did not recognize the piece, but noted how like these birds in the rain it was. I listened, consciously willing the rainsplash to synchronize with the piano, mesmerized by the visual and aural mix of the moment.

I don't know if the confirmation that followed was due to mathematical odds or cosmic choreography, but remarkably, Lois Reitzes's distinctive voice announced at the end of the piece that it was Franz Liszt's piano composition titled St. Frances of Assisi Preaching to the Birds.

In the words of Dave Barry, "I am not making this up." I was only paying attention. dkm

Mathematically Speaking . . .

How is it that so often after one gives pause to anything new, the same new thing comes across one's path again in a different context, seemingly too soon to be a random coincidence?

It happened again today. While reading The Heart of a Distant Forest, by Philip Lee Williams, I came across a literary reference to the glistening of the sun in the pine trees---a reference that would have escaped my notice had I not recently written two blog posts about the same topic. (Oct 22 & 29)

Mere coincidence? Yes, I think so. I used to think it was an indication of some cosmic force at work, but in the course of keeping this nature blog, I've come around to the coincidence theory.

Mathematically, millions of bits of information present themselves to us in a day. The odds are pretty good that once in a while, two of them will be similar, and if we're paying attention, we'll notice. THAT's the key element---IF we are paying attention. Just one more pleasure to derive from the simple act of being mindful. Yay.

It's also likely that we increase the odds of the kind of coincidence in question by our self-selected behavior patterns. That is, a person who chooses to sit in the backyard for at least an hour a day is way more likely to be reading a book by Philip Lee Williams than one by, say, Michael Crichton. dkm

"And so today I praise the strength that still courses through my hands and the joy of seeing the sunlight scattered on the pine needles."

---Philip Lee Williams, in The Heart of a Distant Forest

Pinestraw Welcome

The seat of the John James Audubon swing was covered with a four-inch deep fluffy mix of pinestraw and leaves when we returned from our trip to the west coast. Beautiful colors. Twelve days away. A thousand observations worthy of blogposts. No way to catch up. Unless---a list---a name-only list---as a way at least to trigger my own mental reflection, however incomplete. Oh joy---I relish a good bulleted list. An efficient short-cut.

• The Los Angeles homeless population and I, waiting together for the downtown L.A.Public Library to open/we lined up in orderly fashion when the security guard opened the doors/entered in single silent file/we shared the second floor/I in my carrel, writing/they in theirs, sleeping or reading/a kind of solidarity/we did not disturb each other/I love that public libraries are open to the homeless/more open than most churches/how is that?
• Big Sur/OMG/Big Sur
• The thing about Big Sur: that its carved rugged beauty, ever moving, has been there for millions of years, since long before we evolved to admire it/we're not the reason it's there/why the beauty?
• Sunset over the Pacific Ocean/view from Nepenthe/nice photographer
• Torrey Pines/cone from Moe's golf outing/this pine cone deserves its own blog post/as does Big Sur/but I cower in the face of their magnificence/the pine cone's one-in-a-millionness/Big Sur's one-and-onliness/my pencil goes still
• The Redwoods/OMG/and the Sequoias/like Elaine of Seinfeld again/describing hell:-)
• Olallieberry Inn/olallieberry jam/the word as delectable as the fruit/a berry's berry
• Biking across Golden Gate Bridge with eight revised chapters on my back to give to editor in Sausalito at Cibo
• The views from the bridge/the sun on SF/on Alcatraz/on Sausalito/a fogless morning
• The good pinch of muscle/leaning into SF hills
• The sea lions on Pier 39
• Savoring the food in Chinatown and North Beach
• The woman who wanted only 25 cents/her scratched and bleeding throat, her twisted limbs/her rheumy eyes/her Chinese accent/her satisfaction with a quarter/A QUARTER/when my wallet was full
• The vast table of clouds from the Airtran window/BEING above the clouds/IN the poetic welkin/not the first time/yet the first time
• Yellow cast of fall light through the color-turned woods welcoming us home
• Leaves/green when we left/red on return
• Air/transformed from mushy to crisp
• Pinestraw cushion on the swing
• dkm