Breakfast on the Deck

I hear it’s winter in some parts of the world. I certainly can’t verify that locally. Lana was up before me this morning and when I got up she had the air conditioner running. Then I went out to feed the birds, and though there was some rain last night today’s skies were bright and blue. It was so nice that we decided to have our breakfast on the deck. I made bacon and eggs and toast while Lana set up the table and chairs. We even had a tablecloth this morning. How classy is that?

The primary signs of winter that we could see were, 1) the carpet of dead leaves in the back yard and the steady fall of others leaves, and 2) the types of birds swarming our feeders. Most of these were goldfinches and chipping sparrows, which are migrants that come through here during the winter. A few of the local cardinals came around but seemed rather bewildered at all the newcomers. We counted around eighty birds in and out of the trays in the yard as we ate. I’m sure we missed quite a few.

Sometimes these days I feel pretty tired and old. But a morning like this renews me, centers me, teaches me again the things I’ve forgotten about what is important in life. Good food, good talk, good companionship, and nature.

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Our Yard

It’s Easter Break and I’m at my computer at home instead of at work this morning. That means I get to look out the window at our bird feeders, which I just filled about five minutes ago. I love our yard. The activity is nonstop. In the past few minutes I’ve counted 30 indigo buntings, a beautiful little blue bird about sparrow size, 5 blue jays, 5 doves, 3 cardinals, 2 brown thrashers, 2 red bellied woodpeckers, 1 red headed woodpecker, and 6 squirrels. There’ll be a lot more doves, cardinals, and squirrels across the day.

Last night we had our usual posse of raccoons. At one point after Lana had thrown out the scraps I heard something fall over on the back porch and went to look. A coon was up on the railing and walked right up to the glass back door and peered in while I was standing there. A little later I saw a possum in the yard.

I grew up in the country, of course, and have seen a lot of critters in my life. I think I’m enjoying them more now than I ever did before, though. I’ve spent most of my life either daydreaming or working. And whenever I’m doing either of those things, I do them in an intensely immersed state that doesn’t allow for many distractions. Finally now, in my fifth decade, I’m starting to look up occasionally from whatever has my attention at the moment and just watch the life around me.  I owe Lana for a lot of this. She’s taught me quite a bit about just experiencing without having to analyze. It’s rather a joy.

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The World According to Detail

Outside my window this morning, a Chickadee perches, worrying at a sunflower seed to get it open. I see his little black cap and the white eyeliner he wears. A cardinal, dressed in angry red, lands on the same branch. The Chickadee wisely hops to another.

Lana comes in and points out a female Indigo Bunting in the yard. She isn't brightly colored but if she is here the blue bedecked males may not be far behind.  I see some of our resident doves on the ground near her, in a patch that is bare of grass where we spread seed every other day.

The leaves on the trees are still summer green here.  Mostly. I can see a few brown ones scattered throughout, and at places in the woods I see red and yellow leaves on some of the bushes. We will have a fall, though it will be a brief one. You wouldn't want to blink.

There is much to be thankful for this day. This morning I have a few minutes to think, and it is a joy. And it is our 5th anniversary. Lana and I have a five-year-old, you might say. I'm looking out on the same backyard scene we saw that October day 5 years ago. We were married on our own deck. And this whole last week Lana has been feeling so much better. That, too, is such a relief.

I hope your day is going as well as mine.

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When Evening Closes In

It’s Wednesday evening, a little after 6:00. I’m sitting on my deck with the laptop and the sun is still bright behind me. But the temperature is getting cooler. I know the night is coming. There was a lot of wind earlier today but it is quiet and still here now, as if the air itself is a bit tired and ready to sleep.

Our bird feeders are largely empty except for some doves, which are evening feeders. I hear them calling in the distance and sometimes I call back to them. And now and then I see a Cardinal or Blue Jay dropping in for a last sunflower snack before bedtime. The day is closing up for most of the birds as well.

There is just a hint of yellow in the light over my shoulder, the yellow that to me will always be a mark of evening. I love this time of day. And yet it often makes me a bit melancholy. I cannot say why rationally. The feeling is deeper than that, and I have to wonder if it is not some genetic remnant from a time when night was the bad time, the time of teeth and claws and hunger.

Tonight will not be a bad time. I will eat good food and will have Lana here with me. And later, I hope I will write well. I hope, also, that all of you will be safe from the teeth tonight, and that you will have those things around you that give you satisfaction.

Let the night close in. But may it not close upon you.
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A Change of Pace

Nothing really about books or writing today. It’s Sunday. Clouds are building high, with thunder muttering behind them. We’ve already had a good sprinkle. It’s not as hot as it has been the past few days so I’ve headed out on the deck with my laptop and the book I’m reading currently, Boy’s Life by Robert McCammon. I’m watching the birds, and trying to keep the squirrels from eating all the bird seed. We have a wealth of cardinals and doves hanging out at the moment. I just saw our rat friend rushing from the yard into the high grass that borders it. I couldn’t tell if he had seeds in his cheeks but I’m betting he did.

Life is so amazing, so elegant. A chickadee sits in a nearby tree pecking open a sunflower seed. How does such a tiny thing survive? Blue Jays dart in and away, so blue against the mass of greenery that fills the woods not twenty feet from where I sit. Nature paints with both delicate and bold strokes, and the human mind, itself a product of nature, responds.

There is no steady wind, but errant breezes stir first one tree and then another, giving them for the moment the power of motion. Those same breezes bring me melodies reaped from the throats of dozens of different species. I hear a rasping call that I cannot place. And I know, there is great mystery left in this world.

The Birds of Summer

I’ve mentioned our back yard bird sanctuary a few times here. Now it’s become a multigenerational gathering spot. At least three pairs of Cardinals raised their broods nearby and they’re bringing their young ones to eat at our stump buffet. You can tell the young from their lack of red feathers and their behavior. They flutter their wings and give a little plaintive cry until one of the parents stuffs a seed in their mouths.

We also have baby Blue Jays, and cutest of all, baby woodpeckers. A pair of Red-bellied woodpeckers have been frequent visitors over the past several months. I think they should be called “blushed bellies” myself because the red on their stomachs is not prominent at all. They also have red or rosy-feathered heads. The male has red all the way over the head to the beak while the female just has red about halfway across her head. The young ones have no red yet but will cling to the side of a tree or a stump while the mom or dad lands above them, gets a seed, then turns around and puts it into their offspring’s mouth.

One thing I’ve noticed is that the “babies” certainly aren’t little anymore. They’re all flying, of course, but most are as physically big or bigger than their parents. I guess this is a combination of being fed with little effort on their part, and of their parents losing weight from the hard labor of raising their families.

Oh, and this morning for the first time I saw a Box Turtle crossing our yard. You’re probably saying, “be still my heart,” or “how did you stand the excitement?” but I thought it was pretty cool. I used to love what we called “terrapins” as a kid but you don’t see them too often anymore. From reading about the Gulf Coast Box Turtle's habits I probably wouldn't have seen it if our back yard had not been flooded. It apparently loves to wade through shallow pools of water in search of insect larva. I hope it eats some of our mosquitoes.

Squirrel Head Terror

I've just run off six squirrels who were in my backyard. Why you wonder? Well, it's because they are greedy little destructive bastards. We've been putting out food for all kinds of animals, including squirrels. We especially like to see the birds. We have cardinals, chickadees, blue jays, buntings, doves, thrashers, woodpeckers, hummingbirds and many more. There are several stump pieces in our yard and we started out by pouring seed for the birds on those. But the squirrels started eating all the seed, or scattering it about, and running off the birds. We bought a bird feeder. The squirrels tore the top off of it, even though we still had seed on the stumps. We bought a supposedly squirrel proof feeder that hung on a thin metal pole. The squirrels climbed the pole and began tearing holes in the feeder. We bought a supposedly better squirrel proof feeder. They tore it to shreds.

So now I run them off when I see them. They ain't very scared, even though I have stated in plain English to them that I've eaten squirrel before and don't mind doing so again. They still ain't scared. But maybe I should be. Two of them are looking in the window at me even as I speak. They're chattering something in their own lingo. I hope it's not: "Who does he think he is? I've eaten human before and don't mind doing so again."

Whippoorwill

The whippoorwill is a night bird, although sometimes you hear them in late evening. They nest in wooded places and are seldom seen. Thus the picture, which was taken from our deck of the evening woods around our place.

I grew up in the country in Arkansas and grew to love the sound of whippoorwills. It's a lonely sound; it makes you ache. But it touches you. In the last couple of evenings I've begun to hear whippoorwills around my house in Abita Springs, and the memories and feelings aroused by the bird's call have come surging back. I had been lamenting to Lana only a few weeks before that I'd not heard the whippoorwills and that I missed them. I'm listening each night for them now. I hope they will stay.

The name of the wipoorwill comes from the sound of its call, although my mom always told me that the bird wasn't saying "whip poor will" but said instead, "Chick fell out of the willow." That's always how I hear it.

The whippoorwill is supposed to be able to sense a soul departing after death, and that's why they call. Lovecraft used them for this purpose in some of his stories. So did August Derleth. I don't know about that. I know only that their sound renews my soul. It lets me know I'm alive.