Category Archives: birds

Our astonishment collects in chill air.

birds, poetry, winter,

PRAISE THEM

The birds don’t alter space.
They reveal it. The sky
never fills with any
leftover flying. They leave
nothing to trace. It is our own
astonishment collects
in chill air. Be glad.
They equal their due
moment never begging,
and enter ours
without parting day. See
how three birds in a winter tree
make the tree barer.
Two fly away, and new rooms
open in December.
Give up what you guessed
about a whirring heart, the little
beaks and claws, their constant hunger.
We’re the nervous ones.
If even one of our violent number
could be gentle
long enough that one of them
found it safe inside
our finally untroubled and untroubling gaze,
who wouldn’t hear
what singing completes us?

-Li-Young Lee

 

I flit and hover before departure.

birds, home, my garden, travel, , , ,
smallage

In the middle of the afternoon, a flock of little birds — maybe kinglets? — flew into the garden and frolicked all over, visiting the pomegranate flowers and the fig tree, but not the fountain. Their zig-zag swooping looked like play, but maybe they were finding various tiny things to eat. In less than five minutes they were gone.

I watched them all that time because I was leaning against the kitchen counter holding one of my favorite Dansko sandals braced against my body, as Shoe Glue cured in the cracks in the sole. I want to pack these shoes in my suitcase this evening to take on a trip tomorrow, and somehow this task got pushed to the last day possible.

So many things got pushed here to today, or were left in a sort of limbo waiting for me to gather my wits — or something. I wish I could be more organized, but today has been fun, for the most part, after I got down to business.

Part of that work was cleaning out the refrigerator, or at least removing produce that won’t keep five more days. I had plans to make soup with whatever was there or in the garden. That would also have been good to do yesterday, but then, there was no pressure…

The initial reason for the soup idea was a head of celery I wanted to use up, but I found lots more in my own garden to add: tomatoes, lemon basil, tarragon, parsley, smallage, zucchini and eggplant. There was only one of the skinny long eggplants, so what else could I do with it but cut it into rounds and plop them in.

tarragon

I watered all the newly planted irises, yarrow, lavender, etc. in the garden, and all the potted plants, and I fed the worms. My worms are doing great! I’ve had lots of vegetable trimmings and even whole leaves and fruits from the garden that were so damaged by birds or insects that I couldn’t use them, so my “vermis” had plenty to eat, and seem to be reproducing a lot. When I dig around a little in the bins I always see at least one big cluster of worms of all sizes, which I consider to be the “nests” of young ones.

The strangest thing about today was that I spent the very middle of it in a literature class online, the first time I’ve ever done such a thing. It’s to study Beowulf, and I couldn’t pass up the chance, and it started today. That was very satisfying. I’m sure I’ll have more to tell about it as the weeks go by.

It really wasn’t until after that class session that my serious flitting began — interspersed with hovering, which can mean to hang fluttering or suspended in the air. Or, to keep lingering about; wait near at hand. Those little birds I’d seen weren’t doing any of that, but then, my garden is not their home. I lingered in the garden as long as I could.

And then, I took time to start writing here, which probably means that I won’t get the floor swept before I go. These days when I live alone, I give myself permission to leave without putting everything shipshape; no one is here to care. I can sweep next week.

[Next morning, this morning]: So, I didn’t finish this soup-and-worm story before bed. Now I’m at the airport waiting for my flight that has been delayed two hours, and I can wrap it up here.

Once I got to the airport, I could calm down. The way from here doesn’t involve a multitude of things to remember or tasks to accomplish. I won’t have much time to think about my garden. But from now until I return, I won’t be fully settling. While my plane flies at great speed, my mind will still be hovering, and I don’t expect it to touch down until I am home again.

My squirrels and owls.

birds, my garden, nature, , , , , ,

“They all cook up in that gravy,” was my friend’s only response when I sent him this article on:  the squirrels of California. He was the one who had prompted my research, when a couple of days previous he looked through the window and drew my attention to an orange-tinged squirrel looking cute as it raided the suet feeder. He continued with stories and recipes from various times he’d shot squirrels and cooked them into stew, from childhood to recently.

Only in the last two years have I ever seen squirrels of any species on my property, though they are thick in the trees along the creek a block away.

Earlier this month the suet feeder was knocked to the ground, presumably by one of these critters. As you can see, I’ve now criss-crossed the S-hooks to make everything more convenient for both of us. It is easy for my squirrel friend to access the rich food while hanging from the stable arbor, and it keeps me from having to clean up a spilled feeder. This guy looks like a Fox Squirrel, which is not native. Only Sciurus griseus, the western gray squirrel, is native to California, and I haven’t seen them in my garden lately.

As I was already in the store buying a new block of suet, I picked up one more suet cage as well, bringing my total to three. They seem to be the easiest way to draw a few more birds here, since I took down my hopper feeder because of the avian salmonella outbreak two years ago. I could put it back now, but I haven’t put my mind to the project of maintaining it and filling it, etc…

I’m happy to report that lots of birds come, too, to the suet feeders, the fountain, to the thousand plants in the garden, and to the tiny insects that live on the plants and in the trees. It’s funny to see the hummingbirds check out the pomegranate bushes, which in this season have nothing for them to drink; it must be the fading red of the rotting fruit that draws their attention. As soon as the flowers come, the hummingbirds (and the carpenter bees) will be there.

I’m always excited when a Nuttal’s Woodpecker drops by, because it’s not very often. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any other species of woodpecker here. They are too quick for me to photograph them, so I took this photo from online.

The Great Horned Owl hooted nearby the other night — it is the most thrilling visitor of all. For years now I’ve thought of having someone build a platform up in my pine tree, to be ready by November. That way, when the owls are scouting around in advance of nesting in January or February, they can take note of it. So… maybe by next fall?

by Carl Brenders

The color of birds and flowers.

birds, home, , , , ,

This morning I confirmed what we suspected: Bluebirds have hatched in the birdhouse! I peeked in, sort of, with my phone, because the angle into the little space doesn’t work for my big head, and there was a hefty earthworm lying on the nest, too. This family has somehow been planned since February, when the mating pair first started investigating my Bluebird House, as it is marketed. It’s the second time for bluebirds; chickadees used it several times, too.

My own house is getting a new roof, a blessing of an entirely different category probably not to be compared with baby birds, but both of those events of the week are happy and uncommon. One way they differ is in longevity. I am pretty sure that this roof will last 25 years, and far “outlive” those tender creatures who recently pecked themselves into the open air. The roofers are making loud clomping, thudding and banging noises, while the baby birds sweetly peep. Also, my new roof is not blue.

In the front garden, I have let the asparagus go to ferning, making food for next year. It looks like a big flyaway bush hiding my car, which I parked on the street so that the roofers could use the driveway:

In the back, I moved all the potted plants away from the house so that they don’t get little pieces of old roofing shingles dropped on them. That’s penstemon in the foreground:

Love-in-a-Mist is growing nicely where I scattered seeds last summer. It is known for self-sowing, so I’m hoping this will happen again and again. Hello, May Flowers!