Even at her tender age, this hawkwatcher had the birder’s stereotypical *funny hat* thing down pat.
😉
More skywatch posts here.
Even at her tender age, this hawkwatcher had the birder’s stereotypical *funny hat* thing down pat.
😉
More skywatch posts here.
😉
Maybe you call it intuition?
You know… that little tingle in the pit of your stomach… that something mysterious outside of normal perception?
I do, at least… I think it to be true. I hardly pay enough attention to it, to that part of myself that tries to warn me of something bad looming on the horizon, but I’m trying to learn to trust what my gut seems to sense, somehow.
Flaky and weird, yes, I know.
A most recent example… yesterday. Before the fire.
A routine home visit with a not so routine client of mine. Legally blind and bi-polar. She’s not particularly communicative. Odd, most people would say.
Thank heavens she wasn’t at home when the fire broke out.
She’s okay!
This is, after all, the type of thing that would have my name in the paper, under an ugly large-type block headline.
We did paperwork and then I did my inspection of her apartment. There’s a whole laundry list of things I’m to check for. Safety is foremost, but there’s also cleanliness. Just two things stood out: her stove didn’t work properly; two burners were dirty enough that they wouldn’t light and she needed to do a better job of cleaning up the bird seed her pet parakeets were throwing everywhere. I made a note on my report and suggested that she clean the stove and vacuum her carpets better.
Almost on my way out the door, I backtracked to check the smoke detectors. They’re high on my list, but often overlooked unless they’re chirping away annoyingly with a spent battery. Her smoke detector (one, only) seemed okay, but I couldn’t test it properly, even with a broom, because it was detached from the ceiling, for whatever reason. I tried like hell… even stood on my tiptoes, but couldn’t get leverage on the thing.
Bugged me. That feeling, you know, the one in the pit of your stomach…
First thing this morning my intention was to call that landlord and get him out there to fix the darn stove and smoke detector…
Before I even sat down at my desk, the phone was ringing.
As usual.
A detective from the AP police department. There had been a fire… paper was used to ignite a burner (and discarded carelessly in the trash.)
My client had wandered out to the store after cooking lunch without realizing there was a fire brewing in her trash bin.
?
A neighbor heard the smoke detector going off, though. Called the fire department.
My client’s ok. Her birds aren’t. My name won’t be in the paper, at least.
Check your smoke detectors! Every month!
Photos from Jasper Knob overlooking Ishpeming Michigan. For any of you rock-heads, Jasper Knob is a bald-topped hill composed entirely of jaspilite (banded hematite and jasper).
All along the route
their patience waned
as the roads turned sandier
down to the Jersey shore
when back ways could not avoid
the open bridge
as one slow thin mast
would paralyze the day
and our front-seating it
pushing crowding forward
“not there yet!”
then racing
who’d see the ocean first
pushing towards its vastness
our young lives stretched out
in unending summer
and in one shell
its mystery
“Before the Parkway” by Jerome Leary
The Highlands-Sea Bright Bridge, a 1240 foot drawbridge that spans the Shrewsbury River, is being replaced with a fixed-span bridge that will rise some 30 feet higher than its predecessor.
Gone will be the occasion to put the car in park and step out for twenty minutes while the bridge is open to watch the sailboats go by underneath. Gone will be that instant of panic when the light on the drawbridge turns from green to yellow to red and you wonder if you should chance it before the bells and gates descend to make you twenty minutes late for wherever it is you’re meant to be on the other side of the crossing. Gone will be the convenient excuse of the bridge being up. Gone will be the pause on a summer day.
In the meantime, we have this mess of cranes and a crazy maze to navigate the way from here to there. I can’t help but be discombobulated by the change.
Are drawbridges in your neck of the woods being replaced, too? Will you miss them?
Susan and Seamus came to their first-ever birdwalk without a pair of binoculars between them. As Field Trip Chairperson, I’m supposed to be prepared for this inevitable oversight on the part of the beginning birder with spare bins to loan out, should anyone need a pair.
Of course I always forget the box of loaner bins that’s buried in a closet somewhere. Luckily someone else in our little group had an extra pair to share. Beginners are such fun and really make these walks for me. They’re enthusiastic about every bird and are curious about everything. I think I’m so used to birding with people that know more than me that it’s nice to feel like an expert once in a while.
We birded in the rain, but did pretty well considering the lousy weather. Rocky Point has an interesting history as a coastal defense site and the views on a sunny day can be dramatic. This morning, the ocean and the river and the sky were all gunmetal gray.
The shrubby fields around Battery Lewis held the expected redstarts and cat birds, a baltimore oriole and lots of vocal carolina wrens, plus some massing tree swallows and a lone chimney swift overhead. We had a nice look at a Peregrine and a couple Osprey, too.
Down at the fishing pier at Black Fish Cove, we found a yellowlegs and a couple oystercatchers, plus a very wet and cranky-looking red tail perched along the river.
Our species count for the couple hour walk was only 35, but for these beginners willing to be out in the rain, each was a small, wet joy.
Monmouth County Audubon’s first Fall field trip is this Saturday at 9 am at the Rocky Point section of Hartshorne Woods.
I’m not sure that we can expect to see very many birds, but I think this is the best time of the year to be out looking for them! The nights are getting chilly, beach plums are ripening, dog-day cicadas are in full chorus and goldenrods, boneset, and asters are in bloom.
If you’re in the neighborhood, why not join us!
Out at Sandy Hook the other day, among the clamshells and bits of drift washed ashore, we found this part of a skull that I imagine belonged to a bird. It’s a duck’s bill, I think.
I’m not really even sure which way is up, but the bottom (pictured, I think) has an interesting texture, almost coral-like, that I imagine has happened since the bill was attached to anything living.
I checked in my Bird Tracks and Sign book, which has a section on skulls, but didn’t find anything to help me beyond the guess that it’s a duck’s bill.
Anyone know of a good online reference?
I learned to drink tea with my grandmother. I like it now the same way as when I was a kid – mostly milk and plenty sweet. Tea smells especially delicious, I think, if you’re used to drinking coffee.
A cup of tea shared with grandma was a recipe for happiness, as I remember it. All I need now is that first sip to be carried back to her small kitchen; the clink of spoon against saucer recalling my grandpa in the next room, the parlor, listening to a ballgame on the radio.
I don’t think my grandmother and I ever did anything especially memorable together, but I remember drinking tea and feeling very loved. Her memory is a joy and one that usually surfaces as a surprise. A cup of tea is the only way I know to will it.
In these parts, the highlight of Labor Day Weekend is mostly about what changes afterword; the beaches are free again, there’s less traffic, we “locals” have the place to ourselves again…