Purple Finches!

The snow of yesterday has given way to a dripping landscape. The creeks run muddy brown--runoff from the fields added to a day's rain. Not a good day to be out. So, resigned to observing from behind glass, and determined to make the best of a day at home, I sit looking out, puttering at online shopping, making soup and catching a few glances at the feeders.

There's nothing more intimidating to a beginning birder, than knowing you're looking at a bird that is easily confused with another in appearance. And comparative descriptions only work if both are sitting side by side. Helpful hints like, more stout, shorter bill, larger head, ...are code for, "be careful what you call this."
So, imagine my appreciation for a finch tutorial like this from Cornell's Project Feeder Watch.
And birds that agreed to sit side by side!

Purple Finch and House Finch, both males

Purple Finch, male

Purple Finch, females

American Goldfinch and female Purple Finch

Purple Finch, male

A winter day

I fell in love with snow as a child.
Bundled in snow pants and the bulky hand-knit hats and mittens that grown-ups chose to do without, as they race from their warm homes or businesses to snowy cars in no more than a sweater and street shoes, becoming miserably chilled from scraping ice off a windshield with a credit card or bare hand—I delighted in the wintry world.
Dragging toboggans or with saucers tucked under our arms, we’d trudge through the woodlots behind our homes and spend the day sledding on the sand hills, covered with snow. For months, every radiator in our house was piled high with a continuous stream of the day’s icy, shed garments. The neighborhood basketball courts would be flooded for ice skating, and every yard sprouted a smiling snowman.

Now, in our more southern home, snow is light and infrequent.
I wait eagerly for the forecast of flurries, hoping it will necessitate a reunion with my favorite woolens—tucked away in a cedar closet for ten months, waiting for their few weeks of service.

The morning light is just beginning to filter through the trees.

Last night's frosty air settled on the few blades of grass and leaves not beneath snow.




And as soon as the ice is thick on the pond, we will hurriedly shovel paths.
There will only be a few days to play Fox & Geese.

Just enough

This morning we awoke to snow--
not much, but enough.

















Enough to experience the stillness it brings when it blankets the world in a layer of soft, clean, cold, whiteness.


Enough to preserve the lifetime of one snowflake suspended from a spider's silken thread.


Enough to slow us all down long enough to appreciate the little things.


Tomorrow this gift will seem like a dream.

Ruminating

I’ve been thinking a lot about a piece I heard on NPR several weeks ago, the Trash Challenge—carrying everything you generate and would normally throw in the trash with you in a bag for 2 weeks. You may recycle whenever possible and compost vegetable matter. The rest is yours—to haul wherever you go.

It’s all too easy to drag that trash can (or 2 or 3) to the curb and never give it another thought. Out of sight, out of mind, after all.
But, if when you threw something away, it never really disappeared--would we behave differently?
If our waste really was our problem--would we be more careful?
(Because it never really does disappear, and it really is our problem.)

And, although I tell myself that when it comes to generating waste, I’m being “responsible” by recycling and composting as much as possible, could I do a better job with the choices I make? Wrappers and disposables pile up pretty fast. The price we’re willing to pay for these conveniences is far greater than the pennies they add to our shopping bill.

So, how am I doing, really?

I’ll try it, and let you know! Anyone else?

The results of this experiment are recorded here.

Annie

Annie and Katya were friends from the start.
The little orange cat, afraid of the big world she’d stumbled upon at the top of a steep, gravel drive off a narrow, winding road--
and the 8-year old girl, a new resident of the old brick farmhouse situated atop that hill.
Miles from nowhere, it seemed they were. And perfectly suited to each other’s company.


Soon, the two traveled as one, exploring together—Annie swaddled in Katya’s woolen shirt, shed as the sunshine warmed the summer mornings. By fall, her accommodations in the barn were upgraded to an accumulation of blankets at the foot of her little girl's bed.

The years flew past, from tea parties to slumber parties to high school graduation—and the now very large orange cat, present always, kept her many secrets, as a best friend should.



Last week, Annie and Katya, now 23, spent their last night together.
Then the quiet orange cat passed on.

We are very fortunate to have a vet who cares for people as tenderly as he cares for their pets.
For the last 2 years, Annie has required shots twice a day for diabetes.
Monday, she began experiencing seizures, and for several days, underwent testing and treatment in his office for what was thought to be encephalitis or a stroke, unrelated to her sugar levels.
When it was clear that she would not recover, he medicated her to prevent further seizing, tube-fed her a substantial meal and released her to us with instructions for “Going Home”.
Our daughter, Katya, arrived home from out of town that evening to be with her friend. Annie died the next morning.

Happy Thanksgiving, neighbor!

He was on my mind as I was working last week--our raccoon and his crafty ways.

Anything that is attractive to him, whether as food or trophy, must be fastened securely. And I was sure to wrap the new suet feeder several times with a metal chain and squeeze the hanger closed with pliers. I’d made some wonderful suet cakes that were waiting in the fridge—tasty morsels containing assorted leftover bread heels, stale cereal pieces, random odd nuts and berries and peanut butter.
The woodpeckers would love it!

I had taken a good part of an afternoon getting it situated in a small buckeye which stands just off the kitchen windows—between hanging finch feeders, platforms and tubes. One stop in a semicircle of seven stations. And for nine days, Harry (hairy woodpecker) visited us often to extricate his favorites from within the mesh cage.

This morning it has disappeared.

I can imagine how tempting it must have been—luring my neighbor from his bed—the fragrance of peanut butter wafting to his loft in the hollow tree in the ravine on a balmy night. And I can almost picture him stealing the feeder and retreating to his post to enjoy its delicacies safely within.

Next time, I’ll have to remember he has tin snips—the brand new pair he stole from the barn a few years ago.

UFO

Window strikes are never pretty--somebody always gets hurt.

But, whoever left this "fingerprint" upon our kitchen window yesterday, picked himself up and fluttered away.

It shows such detail--from individual feathers, down to distinct toes! And its size is surprising--each wing measuring 8 inches.
Could it be a waxy film or fatty residue of a suet feeder? Or is it just the feather dust from such a strong impact?

I'm inclined to leave it for a while. The subtle shading catches the afternoon sun--and, perhaps will prevent others from doing the same.

Any idea who left it?