Today it’s in the 90s.
Hot, sweat-inducing weather.
As I walked by my neighbor’s yard, he called out, “Hi, Tracy! Nice day!”
I replied, “A little toasty for my taste.”
His response: “I still remember January.”
Point well taken. Although, who’s to say these starlings weren’t a bit overheated?
Another random photo find on the computer: an American Kestrel, which is a small falcon.
My intent was to find a kestrel or falcon-related quotation to include here, but nothing rang true. Until, that is, I came across this quote from Dave Barry:
My very first car was a Ford Falcon Sprint. It looked something like this (except with an ugly, scabrous paint job):
Mr. Barry’s quote made me laugh even though I don’t remember experiencing acceleration issues. But there are all sorts of things I don’t remember from my L.A. life way back then, so maybe it’s true. At least I made it out of the intersection.
1) While much of Bob Dylan’s HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED is good music to run to, Ballad of a Thin Man is not a song that will put pep in your step.
2) Zebu is binge-watching all six seasons of LOST (and luring me in from time to time), and what pops into my head at least once per viewing is How are none of these people badly burned and peeling?! Yo, Dharma Initiative, you remembered the lima beans but forgot the sunblock!
3) I want to live in a world in which cookies and beer have no caloric consequences.
4) I have SO. MANY. PHOTOS on my computer that haven’t seen the light of day, so here’s a random selection (capture of a Red-Tailed Hawk eyass from the Cornell Labs cam a couple years ago):
5) I recently read T.C. Boyle’s WATER MUSIC and Zadie Smith’s ON BEAUTY (part of this effort), and am trying hard to be inspired by their prowess for description rather than allowing their mad skills to intimidate me so much I take a match to my manuscript.
Glanced out my window to see a dark shape at the suet feeder, and assumed it was a grackle. Instead, it was a bird I’d never seen before: a Lewis’s Woodpecker.
Here’s the one photo I snapped before s/he flew across the yard:
I ran to the other end of the house and took this photo from my standing-desk window:
Such a delightful start to this day. As Tom Robbins wrote in Still Life with Woodpecker: “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”
I submitted the middle-grade of my heart to an editor who was at our local conference last fall and haven’t heard a peep. I just went to my sub timeline and marked it as a No Response = PASS submission.
Closure is good. Not always painless, but still, a good and necessary perspective.
Yes, it’s true the country is being held hostage by temper-tantrum-throwing, batshit-crazy extremists. But it’s also true we still have birds. And for that I’ll be forever thankful.
Picture this: Tracy trapped inside her house, armed with nothing but a camera, as rain pours down outside.
Someone left the Kong out in the rain…
Nothing like waterlogged nut-munch…
So far all this rain in my neighborhood has only added up to really, really soggy ground, but just 20 miles away the city of Boulder is flooding. It would be best if the rain stopped falling. I’ve got no pull, but perhaps the weather goddesses will listen to Batman:
“I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN!”
I believe the rough translation is: KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE RAIN, YO!!!
We’re experiencing uncharacteristically wet weather here in Colorado and are in day four (I think?) of off-and-on-again rain. Dare I say it? Yes, I dare: It’s exceedingly M-O-I-S-T around these parts (apologies to those who loathe that word but I could not resist).
This morning I looked out and saw a member of the typically debonaire American Kestrel species out on the wire. In the rain.
bedraggled American Kestrel
I thought about offering an umbrella, but the always-present-even-under-wet-circumstances imperious kestrel-tude let me know it was best to keep quiet.
Discovered a finch on the deck rail this morning. Eyes closed. Visible, rhythmic breathing and tufted feathers on her head. I guessed she’d hit a window and was recovering from the trauma. As I watched, she opened her eyes and tilted her head before hopping to the edge of the rail. But she didn’t take off. A few moments later, a male finch landed on the rail and hopped closer in order to give her a safflower seed from the feeder.
Baby bird!
I grabbed the camera and documented what came next. Mostly, hopping about and looking around as finches and doves busied themselves at the feeder about ten feet away.
A few minutes later she fluttered down to the deck.
Then she took off for the basketball rim.
After several moments perched there she tried flying toward the feeder. Unfortunately, she didn’t take into account the backboard and hit it (lightly) before dropping to the branch below.
She stayed on that branch for quite a while before taking off and landing on another branch hanging about a foot away from the feeder. This photographic documentation ended there because I didn’t want to startle her by moving closer, but I’m confident she’s doing fine. That little finch did some growing up in a hurry.
Went spelunking in my photo files and found a file from December that I’d forgotten.
Wishing everyone a lovely weekend filled with unexpected treats and no overripe bananas. Unless, of course, you’re in the mood for baking bread . . .
Let’s give it up for the Townsend’s Solitaire!
It’s been snowing wet concrete all day, but after my first shoveling shift I was rewarded with lots of bird action in the back yard. Turns out robins and starlings like to hang together.
The water droplets on the window alter this starling’s appearance, but I still love the shot.
Then there’s this head-on view of a robin. Who knew they could look so menacing?
The European Starling is considered an invasive species, but I’m always happy when they stop by for a visit. Look east, my feathered friend!
Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
AND
To be really great in little things, to be truly noble and heroic in the insipid details of everyday life, is a virtue so rare as to be worthy of canonization. ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe
1) Coco’s acute back pain troubles have greatly improved, but it’s a fine balance between managing her pain and keeping her from feeling so good that she does dumb things like jump from the back of the car before I can stop her. Right after a massage session.
2) Due to lifting Coco and the stress of her ongoing health issues, I’m now experiencing back pain that isn’t alleviated by yoga but is improved by treadmill running. Hooray?
3) We’re gathering estimates for a roof replacement and already feel enormous pain in our bank account that is further exacerbated by the fact that the roofing materials we can afford are bad for the planet. Asphalt shingles = nasty.
4) This morning while removing Zebu’s bread from toaster oven, the slice fell onto the heating element and burst into flames. Ouch.
5) Okay, that last one was just silly. It’s not as if I burned my hand or stabbed myself with the knife I used to remove the flaming bread. Who am I trying to kid?!
And on that note, here’s a dapper little House Finch on this late-February Friday:
Wishing everyone a wonderful, pain-free weekend!
Sometimes a photo is exactly as it seems. 
In this case, an Eurasian Collared-Dove dipping its tail in a heated, slushy bird bath.
Other times, however, photos contain bonus details the viewer might miss. Take a look at this picture: 
If you’re like me, you didn’t immediately notice the safflower seeds falling from the pointed beak of this Northern Flicker.
How about this photo? 
Did you notice the incoming finch in the upper right-hand corner? Or how about the finch suspended in flight in this next one? 
Pretty cool, huh?
I have gazillions of feeder photos taken over the years, and I’m loathe to delete any of them because it seems there’s a surprise hidden in each if I take the time to see what’s there. I’m having a similar experience in my writing life as I work with a fast-drafted manuscript I wrote and put away for four years. I’m creating a bookmap (an analysis/breakdown of each scene) and am tickled by the little gems hidden in the rough of that first draft. Granted, there’s a lot of not-so-good and, of course, the distractions of various plot and character possibilities. But I’m trying hard not to be blinded by the obvious so that I’m open to all possibilities. I want to honor everything: the written, the implied, and the subtle-yet-powerful details dancing on the periphery.
“Water is life’s mater and matrix, mother and medium. There is no life without water.” ~ biologist and Nobel laureate Albert von Szent
© Tracy Abell 2013
Wandered over to the window, and what should I see? A Red-tailed Hawk on the wire not far from my feeder. Watching the activity below.
But what about the finches, chickadees, and juncos? Surely they recognize the danger and are hunkered down? Or not.
Oh, no! Is he about to make his move?
He’s moving, all right. In the opposite direction.
And I’m pretty sure he took off because he noticed me taking pictures. I’m afraid neither one of us was behaving in a very stealthy manner.
Happy Solstice! Happy New Year! Happy Happy!
I’ve been hard at work on revisions and had The Plague for about ten days. I’m just now easing back into life. One good thing about being ill is I could keep a close eye on the feeders and bird bath, and so caught lots of fun activity. Here’s a finch-in-flight in front of a fellow finch.
Here’s a Northern Flicker:
This is our first winter with a heated bird bath and it was the best investment for our feathered friends, especially when temperatures were below zero early this week. I’m always so happy when someone drops by for a drink.
The other day I was working at the table next to the window overlooking the main feeder, the many finches, chickadees, juncos, etc. chirping away, when I became aware of SILENCE. I looked outside and there was not a bird to be seen. Not a one. I scanned the power lines for a predator, and finally located a hawk at the very top of our old maple tree at the other end of the yard. I was craning my neck for a better view when it took flight. Within a minute, birds began to reappear out of the plum bushes behind our fence, reminding me of the Munchkins in Oz.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are . . .”
I glanced out the window this morning and saw a bird high up on the wire.
It was partially blocked by the bare branches of a red maple and power
lines, feathers fluffed against the cold wind.
Kestrel, I thought.
I grabbed the binoculars and, sure enough, it was an American Kestrel.
© Tracy Abell 2012
I smiled and thought about Simon Barnes who wrote one of my absolute
favorite books HOW TO BE A (BAD) BIRDWATCHER.**
Simon Barnes wrote about jizz*** (I know, such an unfortunate term), defining it as “the art of seeing a bird badly and still knowing what it is.” The more you watch birds, the more information you internalize, and as Mr. Barnes points out, “Familiarity enables you to process scanty information and interpret it in a meaningful way.”
When I see a bird in flight, one moving in a bouncy up-and-down pattern,
I know it’s a finch. If I catch a glimpse of a bird on the ground, scratching in the
leaves, I identify it as a spotted towhee. If a bird flaps past me, trailing long tail
feathers, I recognize it as a magpie.
This makes me happy. Because no matter what else is going on in my life —
parenting worries, frustrating quest for publication, search for part-time
employment, etc. — I am a bad birdwatcher and I’ve got jizz.
It’s a life-long condition and no one can take it away from me.
** From the opening chapter: “…[that’s] what being a bad birdwatcher is
all about. It is just the habit of looking. Born-againers talk about bringing
Jesus into Your Life; this book is an invitation to bring birds into your life.
To the greater glory of life.”
*** Apparently, it’s inadvisable to search Google for the etymology for jizz
so I’m content to accept the one theory suggesting it’s a contraction of just is.
As in: “How do you know the lower bird in the photo below is a northern flicker?”
“Just is.”
© Tracy Abell 2012
© Tracy Abell 2012
Every single day I am grateful for the birds on this planet.
© Tracy Abell 2012
© Tracy Abell 2012
© Tracy Abell 2012
It seems only fitting I would interrupt today’s revisions of BIRD BRAIN
to photograph this American Kestrel hanging out behind my house.
The feeder birds probably weren’t too thrilled when the predator flew into the
neighborhood, but I feel as if this little falcon brought me some good revision karma.
There’s a certain clarity of vision that accompanies hooked beaks.
I've been feeling disconnected from the online community.
I haven't been posting much and the longer I stay away,
the harder it is to jump back in.
This morning I was pondering how to get going again when I looked out the window.
Of course.
A Grackle.
Tracy Abell 