I've been scarce around these parts and the longer I stayed away,
the harder it was jumping back in.
What to say to make up for the long silence?
How could I justify a return to blogging when the planet kept spinning without my input?
Then it hit me: where would you guys get your red-tailed hawk fix if I wasn't around?
This is a screen grab from May 23.
Zebu thinks it's a nightmare-inducing image, but I like it.
Hope you do, too.
Wishing everyone a lovely weekend.
Been busy in revision cave but wanted to post an update on the red-tailed hawks.
Here is the mother (named Big Red on site) with the three fuzzy-headed nestlings:
And here's a shot of the handsome father (Ezra) taking a break from hunting duties:
Yesterday I was working at my standing desk next to the open window and heard a cry.
I pushed the window open wider as I scanned the sky for the red-tailed hawk
but then realized the cries were coming from the livestream running in the other room.
It was Big Red vocalizing.
Right species.
Wrong state.
A landscaper friend of mine used to bring me
plants she’d thinned from other people’s gardens.
One day she showed up with iris bulbs and
when I asked what color they were she said, “Brown.”
“Brown? Who wants brown flowers?
I’ve got plenty of brown flowers that didn’t make it
through the heat of summer and you bring me
on-purpose brown flowers? Really, Judi? Brown?!”
(We had that kind of relationship)
Fast-forward to this morning when I was waiting in
the driveway for Zebu and Wildebeest.
I looked over at the patch of blooming iris
and thought, “Aren’t they lovely?”
I’ve grown quite fond of my brown flowers.
Most gardens throughout my neighborhood have an iris display,
but I’ve yet to find another showcasing these brown beauties.
My iris are unique.
They aren’t brilliant yellow or gaudy purple or oh-so-delicate pink.
They’re brown.
And Iovely.
Which just goes to show how taste is not only subjective
but also apt to change. And so I draw the inevitable connection
to the writing life. No project will ever attract unanimous
adoration and it would be pointless and silly to have those expectations.
What isn’t silly, however, is remembering that tastes vary.
Sometimes it’s just a matter of locating the right garden.
Know what I’ve been doing?
Watching a pair of Red-Tailed Hawks in Ithaca, New York.
Wait, Tracy. I thought you were in Colorado.
That’s true, but the Cornell Lab of Ornithology has a nest cam on a light pole
about the athletic field where this pair has nested for at least the last four years.
And I’m watching.
(Wildebeest and Zebu think it’s a bit creepy to spy on birds without
their consent and I agree somewhat, but my curiosity wins out).
This is the female (designated Big Red) during her nest shift:
Here is what’s underneath: the first hawklet that hatched early yesterday morning
and the two pipped eggs:
I’m including this second screen save because right then I saw movement in the egg on the left and the already-born hawklet was leaning in and chirping, as if offering encouragement. (I know . . . anthropomorphism alert!)
(Also, I believe that red mass in the upper right is the remains of a pigeon.
Hawks are birds of prey, after all. Apologies for the graphic image but I’m just
learning how to do screen saves and that image was “grabbed” with everything else).
As I mentioned to a friend yesterday I thought my birthing experiences were hard
work (and they were), but I was never rained and snowed upon or worried about
attacks from owls or had to deal with one newborn while two others struggled to hatch.
Whew.
One more shot of the ever-vigilant mama:
(Warning: I’m sure I’ll be back with more shots of the next hawklet . . .)
EDITED TO ADD:
Here’s an exhausted hawklet #2 leaning against third egg in process of hatching:
Here are both hawklets while #1 gets fed:
And one more, just because:
I'm this side of exhausted.
image from morguefile.com
Thanks for asking, though.
Last fall I started using a treadmill desk
but have since stopped walking and writing
due to vision issues.
However, I still use that desk to stand while writing
after coming to the realization my body feels icky-numb
whenever I sit for long periods of time.
This is my writing desk at the window:
This is part of my view:
Along with plenty of fox, coyote, hawk, deer, etc. sightings in the open space, I also witness human interactions because of the many people who walk dogs, teach kids to ride bikes, jog, etc. on the path.
Here’s a man and dog I’ve seen before:
The dog has three legs and shaved fur around the neck/chest area, indicating a recent medical procedure. S/he moves well, hopping along with tail held high. The man is kind and patient, frequently reaching down to pet the dog. Today he waited as she rolled on her back in the grass, kicking her legs in the air. One day last week I had tears in my eyes as they headed home and the dog stopped to rest beneath a flowering crab apple tree. The man stood by for about five minutes, waiting patiently for her to gather the strength to continue. Throughout, he talked and petted his canine friend.
I am grateful for a view of the world that includes both natural wonders and people-powered dramas. Sometimes I do more watching than writing, but I believe these mental snapshots will someday make their way into my stories.
I'm noticing lots of amorous behavior from the male doves in the neighborhood
and admit to chuckling at the way they follow the reluctant females from limb to
limb, wire to wire, hoping for attention.
© Tracy Abell and Zippy 2012
The females will put up with that behavior for only so long before taking wing.
1) Whenever fifteen-year-old Zebu winks at me, I swing between feelings of admiration and intimidation since I’ve never felt confident enough of my winking ability to do so.
image from morguefile.com
2) At my suggestion eighteen-year-old Wildebeest is reading Stephen King’s MISERY, and enjoying himself mightily.
3) Zoey and Coco want me to remember that when I choose to bathe them and
spray them with water, I must be prepared for the relationship to suffer a loss of trust.
© Tracy Abell 2012
4) Zippy is reading a library e-copy of 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami, a 944-page
novel, and was thrilled to discover even though his copy is overdue he can
still read it as long as he doesn’t close the file.
5) I’ve been battling flu-like symptoms much of the week but plan to get
on the treadmill in a couple hours for my cardio workout, and hope to feel
those “endolphins” kick in (so I’m, in the words of Zippy, “swimming in the dolphin tank.”)
image from morguefile.com
Wishing everyone a lovely weekend!
I've been missing in action and so wanted to pop in with a quick birdie greeting:
© Tracy Abell 2012
Hope all is well with my friends, both feathered and non-feathered.
(* And now I have the song in my head:
Please don't be long, please don't you be very long . . .)
Out of all the birds that visit our feeders, no one beats the Mourning Dove for mellow.
© Tracy Abell 2012
I can always use a little more mellow.
Comments on my most recent post inspired me to new fashion heights this afternoon.
Anabel, this one’s for you!
Take 1:
Take 2:
Take 3:
Pastafarians, unite!
All hail the Flying Spaghetti Monster!
Such a dapper fellow, wouldn't you say?
Wishing everyone a red-feather** weekend!
**like red-letter, only better!
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
Exhibit C:
I received an email from my birdseed supplier the other day
with an offer for a suet cage that prevents European Starlings
and other large birds from eating the suet.
© Tracy Abell 2012
But where would be the fun in that?
Most days the Dark-Eyed Juncos are chased from the feeders
by the other birds (mostly House Finches) but today the juncos
are holding their own.
I had great fun watching this one hop and dance about the tree
(I know it’s crazy but it seemed as if s/he was clogging).
© Tracy Abell 2012
And now I’m headed back into the revision cave although I’d prefer hanging out at the feeder. . .
Most days the Dark-Eyed Juncos are chased from the feeders
by the other birds (mostly House Finches) but today the juncos
are holding their own.
I had great fun watching this one hop and dance about the tree
(I know it's crazy but it seemed as if s/he was clogging).
© Tracy Abell 2012
And now I'm headed back into the revision cave although I'd prefer hanging out at the feeder. . .
As many of you know,
I am partial to the word PREVAIL.
It is my rallying cry and motto,
my personal talisman.
So it was hard enough discovering PREVAIL
is also a brand of adult underwear.
But now this?!
I have to share my glorious PREVAIL
with these poster boys for All That Is Wrong With This Country?!
(Just to be clear, I’d be equally sickened if it was Obama
or any other enabler of the 1% on the cover).
Ah, well.
PREVAIL means To be or become effective; win out. To succeed. To triumph.
I know what I must do,
and if I begin to lose my way
there’s always a reminder.
As many of you know,
I am partial to the word PREVAIL.
It is my rallying cry and motto,
my personal talisman.
So it was hard enough discovering PREVAIL
is also a brand of adult underwear.
But now this?!
I have to share my glorious PREVAIL
with these poster boys for All That Is Wrong With This Country?!
(Just to be clear, I'd be equally sickened if it was Obama
or any other enabler of the 1% on the cover).
Ah, well.
PREVAIL means To be or become effective; win out. To succeed. To triumph.
I know what I must do,
and if I begin to lose my way
there's always a reminder.
It’s a gray, dreary day and I’m battling weepy-sack-of-Tracy feelings
but am hanging in there thanks to the activity outside my window:
It's a gray, dreary day and I'm battling weepy-sack-of-Tracy feelings
but am hanging in there thanks to the activity outside my window:
**all images © Tracy Abell 2012
Wishing everyone an activity-filled, not-at-all dreary weekend!
I. Must. Stop. Looking. Out. The. Window.
© Tracy Abell 2012
Yes, there's blue sky and sunshine and oodles of birds and crazy squirrels . . .
But I have an opening chapter to rewrite. Again.
Whenever I glance outside and see an empty feeder and vacant plum bushes,
I scan the vicinity for hawks.
This is who came looking for breakfast this morning:
© Tracy Abell 2012
My best guess is Sharp-Shinned Hawk (because of the squared-off tail feathers)
as opposed to a Cooper's Hawk.
However, I'm not going to argue the point.
Do you see that beak?
The Eurasian Collared-Dove was introduced to the Bahamas back in the 1970s
and rapidly spread westward across the United States.
Wonder whether this guy would rather be here in snowy Colorado or
lounging on a warm, sandy beach.
© Tracy Abell 2012
Just finished vacuuming.
Again.
As soon as I put the vacuum away, the floor was already sprinkled with hair.
Why's that, Tracy?
I dunno.
Why don't you ask Zoey?
Anyone know how to attach a shop vac to a dog?
Over winter break, one of Zebu's classmates committed suicide.
I thought I'd cried myself out during the candlelight vigil
that followed three days later but discovered this past weekend at the
boy's service there is no limit to tears.
As I watched Zebu and friends consoling one another,
holding each other,
crying,
I thought I'd break in two.
And for the first time I absolutely, fully and completely,
understood how suicide transfers the pain of one onto many.
Years ago I was in a very sad place that didn't offer much light or hope,
and didn't think I could continue.
This weekend as I witnessed all that grief, I was so grateful
I'd made it through to the light and spared others my pain.
My heart aches for the boy who was unable to, in that moment,
find a glimpse of something to keep him going.
My heart aches for the family and friends left wondering why.
My heart aches for the many people struggling right now to find the light and hope.
And so the tears continue.
© Wildebeest 2012
Tracy Abell 