It's time to play everyone's favorite game...."Where'd THAT Bone Come From??"

Two posts in a month?  Can you keep up?  Can ya?

I went on a trip recently to southern Kentucky, and I surprised myself by getting up before dawn and going on a bird hike.  Those of you who have birded with me can vouch for the incredulity of that statement.

Bird action was quietly promising....some circling red-tailed hawks, a phoebe, sparrows out the wazoo.

As a Junior Science Chimp, I felt that it was my duty to entertain with my scat-chimping and poking around in the weeds for fun and gross secrets.

Okay, fellow Learning Lemurs.  Let's play "Where'd THAT Bone Come From??"








A few shots of a removed tooth (Yes, I yanked one out of the socket)






So.  What do you think, my Chimps?

Owls and Poetry

Oh, if you still come to my poor blog, thank you.  
I think there have been a shortage of really good or funny stories lately, and with it being February now, not much going on in the bird department.
The good thing about winter is the start of nesting season for Great Horned Owls.  I have been checking my local nest every day, but thus far, no eggs.  This got me thinking of a poem by Charles Baudelaire.  Les Hiboux.  


A somewhat haunting poem, yet straining to find light.
Here it is in French (which is the best way to read it of course) and below, with a selection of delicious owl photos, one of many English translations.  
Enjoy.  And go out and look for owls!


Les Hiboux
Charles Baudelaire

Sous les ifs noirs qui les abritent
Les hiboux se tiennent rangés
Ainsi que des dieux étrangers
Dardant leur oeil rouge. Ils méditent.

Sans remuer ils se tiendront
Jusqu'à l'heure mélancolique
Où, poussant le soleil oblique,
Les ténèbres s'établiront.

Leur attitude au sage enseigne
Qu'il faut en ce monde qu'il craigne
Le tumulte et le mouvement;

L'homme ivre d'une ombre qui passe
Porte toujours le châtiment
D'avoir voulu changer de place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Owls
by Charles Baudelaire

Under the overhanging yews, 
The dark owls sit in solemn state, 
Like stranger gods; by twos and twos 
Their red eyes gleam. They meditate. 

photo by Jim Anderson

Motionless thus they sit and dream 
Until that melancholy hour 
When, with the sun's last fading gleam, 
The nightly shades assume their power. 

photo by Doug Sanchez

From their still attitude the wise 
Will learn with terror to despise 
All tumult, movement, and unrest; 

For he who follows every shade, 

Carries the memory in his breast,

Of each unhappy journey made.

photo by Doug Sanchez

.

My poor neglected blog (a.k.a. What I've been doing)

My poor blog.  It used to be like a friend I would visit every day, and I would trip lightly to my computer, switch it on and pour out my rants and share my photos.  I connected with people in far-flung locales, I made friends, I made enemies thanks to the fact that I have opinions....
And now. Seems like I can barely squeeze out three posts a month.  I blame Facebook.
I think Facebook was made for me.  I can sling my diatribes and share my goofier moments, and I get instant gratification.  The blog, well, it's different.  

I'm not going to make a promise that I will post every day, but I think it's safe to say I can try harder.  I can't try any less, can I?

What I've been up to:
I recently went to North Carolina for a family wedding.  I was hoping to see dear Mary, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.  She was out of town that weekend, so I missed her.  A lot.  Though I only spent two days in North Carolina, I fell for the state immediately.  The mountains, the rivers.  I wish I had had more time to really know it, to plumb the depth of its valleys and climb its peaks, to learn its heart.  I hope I can go back soon.  I'm going to try...the Carolina Raptor Center is there!

Big news at the house:  After months of being forced to be Amish, we finally bought a new washer and dryer. I spent a week just catching up to all the towels, blankets, random socks and sweaters that I had been just shoving into the bottom of the laundry baskets all summer.



I got to meet some famous bird people last month....Kenn and Kim Kaufman.  I was invited to bring some raptors to the Ohio Young Birder's Club annual conference.  And I was thrilled to be there.  Even got to hang out a little with Les, which is always a fun time.

(Photo by Tim Daniel)

We had to deal with the eradication of a family of voles who somehow blundered into our house.  Seven of them, all caught and killed by either Hooper, who is an excellent rodent hunter, or one of the five cats.  I hated it, and blocked every conceivable route into the house at ground level.  They need to stay out in the prairie and feed the owls and hawks, not die slowly because one of our cats is "just doing what comes naturally".


Isabelle has a new pet.  A small, adorable little leopard gecko named Griffin (I sure hope he's a boy):


I found very fat chickens and a donkey who needs extreme dental care:




We had a marvelous and fattening Thanksgiving dinner, which was capped off by my four pies:



I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of Lake Isabella's resident Great Horned Owls, and their sweet fuzzy babies:



We watched Isabelle's basketball team lose their first game (Boo!):



A massive flight of Sandhill Cranes invaded Ohio the other day, and a few flocks coursed through the sky over our house:




And just yesterday, I got up close and personal with a Bald Eagle.  This bird (we assume it's the same one) comes into town every year around this time and even sits in the same tree every day.  A very cooperative and calm bird, it doesn't mind humans being nearby (and the tree in which it sits is right next to a busy, noisy road).



So I might not get back to my every-day, every-moment-of-my-life sharing. But I can occasionally give out these long, rambling posts that encapsulate a month and a half.

You're good for me

Cape May Post #3: Three Little Birds

Cape May 2010 Post #2: A Jeff sandwich on Flock bread. With a Liz pickle (and a hell of a lot of name-dropping)

Let's go back to Thursday.  I had gotten into town late (12 hours in the car and punchy as hell).  Delia and I were in our jammies when a text came from Jeff asking if we were staying up late.  We were invited to Mark Garland's house where Jeff, Liz, Bill and a few others were happily imbibing some Scotch.

There were introductions all around...I don't remember a few of them, but one stuck in my head.  But not until later when Delia started hollering about it.  The one that had us cussing and squealing was Richard Crossley.  Yeah ,the Richard Crossley who writes field guides.  Well, we geeked out totally and for the rest of the weekend, we called him "Richard Freakin' Crossley!".

I didn't really want to drink, having come off a twelve hour drive, but as the Scotch was poured and re-poured, I thought I might like to try it.  I didn't like it.  So I sipped a little more.

It was so, so, so very cool to be sitting in a living room with all of these massively talented birders and authors. (Delia told me later that I looked like a kid at Christmas, sitting on the floor just smiling at everyone.)

A call came in.  The words "massive flight" were used.  Everyone got up.

Into the cars and down to the boardwalk on Beach Ave.  We looked up, and there were hundreds of birds overhead.  Now, remember...this is 11 o'clock at night.  The birds were lit up from underneath by the street lights and they resembled fireflies...blowing leaves....embers from a camp fire.  Hundreds and hundreds of them.  Some were falling into the street, exhausted.  I got my lifer Savannah's Sparrow right there on Beach Ave.  In the dark.
Robins.  Chipping sparrows.  Yellow-rumped warblers.  Woodcocks.  And many others that were not identified. The biggest bird spectacle I have ever seen.


I have never birded at night, unless there were owls involved.  This was something completely different.

Wow.  I don't know who has the better legs, Jeff or Delia.



We were right outside Morrow's Nut House. Seemed fitting.

The lights were getting in the way...


We moved behind the convention center to get out of the light.

There in the dark, it was much easier to see the birds.  They were lit up but the lights were no longer in our line of sight.
My neck was getting sore, so I had the brilliant idea to lay down on the boardwalk to enjoy the birds in comfort.  And everyone else eventually joined me.

Somehow Delia and I were lucky enough to snuggle up to Jeff for warmth, and Liz completed the dish.
A Jeff Gordon sandwich on Flock bread.  With a Liz pickle on top.

Cape May 2010 Post #1: Also known as "Singing Karaoke with Sweet Caroline, the Town Lesbian"

Back from Cape May and reeling around trying to find "real life" again...because what happens in Cape May isn't real.  It's a fantasy that birders fall into every year and the time comes, too soon, to wake up and go home.
My posts are not going to be in chronological order...I'm starting with Friday night, since it's the easiest.
The scene:  The C-View, a little sports bar in town, which proclaims to be the oldest tavern in Cape May
The people:  Delia, Laura, Beth, me, a few of Beth's friends and a local or two
We were sitting there drinking, having a great time.  Delia explained "jammers" to me:  Someone who "looks" gay but isn't.  We were puzzling over a woman at the bar, and at one point the woman came over to us drunkenly and started chatting us up.  Turns out she was puzzling over us too.
She described herself as Cape May's "Town Lesbian" and proceeded to lead us in a searing rendition of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline".  And gave us grief for not singing louder and more robustly.  
Sorry, drunken stranger. 

But check out Beth....she even got the "Bah Bah Bah's" right!