The Kindness of Strangers

Random Juvenile Double-crested Cormorants posing.

I had a good time at my local Christmas Bird Count this year. Not only was the weather sunny (though cold), I ended up in a vehicle with very good birders. Not all very good birders are generous and helpful; a few are cliquish and arrogant. But on Sunday I felt I was with a charmed group of people--who made sure I got on the bird, who helped me identify Thayer's gulls, and paid attention when I pointed out a find of my own.

I probably will never understand the collector's obsession with listing. I keep lists, because they are a measure of my birding skills and my travels, but I don't care what the numbers are, and I don't care what county the Tufted Duck is in any more than the bird does. I like knowing about vagrants, and why they are around, but I don't chase them. Big days, county lists, all seem a little silly to me. Brain wiring, I suppose.

Insomnia

Bag beg big bog bug
Ball bell bill boll bull
Last lest list lost lust
Mass mess miss moss muss
Pat pet pit pot put
Pack peck pick pock puck

That's all I could come up on that model in one night.

Falcon Treat

A day off. Outside. Not rained on. A miracle.

The Peregrine was the treat of the day.

Hibernation

This morning I woke to the first frost. White crunchy grass, white roofs, droopy lanceolata kale. Dishes cold in the cupboards, storm windows fogged, bed very warm.

I hate November. Rain, dark, cold. That gets worse instead of better. I've always hated November. Every year I have to remember how to dress for damp cold. Boots. Long underwear. Gloves. Hats. Sweaters. Electric mattress pad. At least I'm not in Duluth. Or Edmonton. or Fairbanks. I don't think I'd do well. I chose Portland, Oregon as a home for good reasons. It doesn't get really cold, not for long. Or really hot for long. We get a whole lot of mild weather, and pay with a lot of cloudy, rainy days. But I still hate November.

I make soups instead of salads. And read more. I generally have at least three books I'm reading at once. One that's big and fat, good for the recliner with a cat in my lap. Currently that's The Forsyte Saga, which I've never read. It has a slightly dated, wordy feel, but that's good for November, and makes me slow down. A marvelous mix of snideness and compassion. I understand why Galsworthy won a Nobel.

I also keep a small paperback in my work bag to read at lunch. I know there are people who don't read when they eat alone. I don't understand them. Even as a child I'd read the cereal boxes and vitamin bottle labels if I wasn't allowed a book at the table. Currently my work book is Anne Tyler's Dinner at the Homesick Cafe. It's certainly well-written, and I'm enjoying it, but it's a "secret" book: going back in time and uncovering things from different points of view that the narrator already knows. That the characters know.

"Secret" books annoy me. Just tell me the story. Sometimes the secrets aren't worth the wait. Sometimes they are tricks that overturn everything I've just read. This does not make the writer look clever to me. I feel cheated. Sometimes they are damned good books, like Roy's The God of Small Things, but I still get annoyed. The same way present tense narratives annoy me. I can get past it, but why should I?

Then I have a book or several on my iPhone. I dislike buying ebooks with DRM, but it's so convenient to have books in my pocket I put up with it rather than spite myself. Right know I'm reading Le Guin's Lavinia. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. Ursula K. Le Guin can make any story sound good, the way Willie Nelson can make any song sound good. The font in the ebook is difficult to read, though. Ebooks are just not robust yet. Too much weird formatting. I can't read on the phone when I'm eating. No good way to prop the phone, and too many greasy fingers. But on a plane, in a waiting room, or in the bathroom, hooray.

Stay warm. Get a good book. Make some soup.

Don't Give Up

What a rotten summer. Too much day job, too much rain, not enough birding. Hardly any ripe tomatoes. I've been hanging on with my fingertips over an abyss of depression.

I had a good vacation in Denver in September, but it wasn't a birding vacation. I did see a Dipper in the South Platte, which surprised me, and delighted in the White-throated Swifts chirruping around Red Rocks Amphitheatre. And the SUN.

But I haven't felt much like posting. While checking my teeth, the dentist asked me in passing what else I was doing on my day off. I said, "Just laundry and housework." His reply was, "It's never JUST laundry and housework. Those are important." He's right. Those are my life. They're not JUST anything.

Today among all the Juncos eating seeds in the Cimicifuga was a White-throated Sparrow, my first of the year. I'm inspired despite the rain. If I just hang on, life always gets better.

It's a Hoot.

I bought a garden ornament. It's about 2 feet tall, granite, and well over 100 lbs. It took two guys at Portland Nursery to lift it into my truck. I'm fortunate to have a strong man living in the house. He said it felt about as heavy as a Harley Sportster engine.

And it's an owl.

I don't do ceramic frogs and plastic flamingos and gazing balls or anything cutesy, but a hunk of stone with eyes fits right in with the the stone patio, the geraniums and hostas and the Gourmet Popcorn rose.

A Little Cheese with that Whine, Please

It's so hard to come back from vacation. Same old same old at work, weeds to pull and house to clean, rush hour traffic and appointments to make, not enough time for birding, and not enough money to retire.

On the other hand, it's summer, I'm employed, and I had a great vacation. This is my first (and only) digiscoped picture, hand-held on a borrowed scope, of Ferruginous Hawk nestlings. When I have more time I'll try it out with my own elderly scope. I understand the appeal.

Complaining about not enough time, though, is as silly as complaining about money. I have enough of each so that it's all about priorities. If I wanted to spend my time birding and digiscoping, I would. I just don't want it badly enough. If I wanted to retire, I'd figure out a way. Just as I figured out how to go back to school when I didn't have enough money. Too many interests, and not enough obsession with any one of them, that's where I get stymied.