My window seat

When we were house shopping 15 years ago, transplanted from upstate New York to southwestern Ohio, we settled upon this old, 1835 brick farmhouse, situated atop a hill in a rural area. It needed a ton of work, as many “historic” homes do, but it offered a unique spot for us, for it snuggles up to a wooded ravine.
Perched between large, old hickories and countless sprouting locusts, we look out over sycamores and redbuds dotting the banks, and down upon a little stream bubbling along in early spring, filled in by summer with bee balm. Almost immediately we began construction on an addition—extending to within 6 feet of the woods’ edge—with lots of glass on 3 sides.
It’s my window on the world.


This morning, a dusting of snow reveals the many tracks of what is usually hidden here—barely visible against the brown, leafy backdrop. Watching, as the morning sun begins to cast long shadows through the trees, I feel as if the curtain is being raised. The stage is lit, the show is about to begin, and I have the best seat in the house.

I’ve done my best in these very cold days, to keep the feeding stations filled. It’s a daily task—and the air still holds the heavy scent of lard, from rendering fat from suet. Muffin tins and cookie sheets are filled with cakes—but think twice before you grab a snack—it’s most likely bird food!

The ground beneath the feeders has been worn bare of snow—scratched by towhees and fox sparrows. But against the snowy woods, silhouettes in the darkness become bright cardinals, purple finches and blue jays—the only spots of color against brown branches.
Three days ago, I looked out to these feeders and found the action frozen in place—the usual flitting of chickadees, titmice, wrens and nuthatches, oddly ceased. There, a few feet away, a sharp-shinned hawk patiently waited for carelessness.



Today, the deer, using the frozen stream bed as their highway from the oakstand in the back woods, have come up toward the feeders to browse the few shriveled leaves of the honeysuckles. Up in the hole of the sycamore, a squirrel peeks out, testing the morning air. A pileated woodpecker hops from tree to tree, spiraling to the bottom of each—then flying methodically to the next. Only the downy, hairy and red-bellied visit the feeders.

Pileated Woodpecker on underside of horizontal branch, 1/4/08

Pileated on dead tree, 1/1/08

I could sit here all day, watching their world from my window.


Birds seen from my window January 1, 2008
Fox Sparrow, Red (pictured)
Song Sparrow
White-throated Sparrow
American Goldfinch
House Finch
Purple Finch
Carolina Chickadee
White-breasted Nuthatch
Carolina Wren
Tufted Titmouse
Dark-eyed Junco, Slate-colored (pictured)
Eastern Towhee
Brown-headed Cowbird
Northern Flicker
Downy Woodpecker
Hairy Woodpecker
Red-bellied Woodpecker
Pileated Woodpecker (pictured)
Blue Jay
Cardinal
Mourning Dove (pictured)
European Starling
Sharp-shinned Hawk

The road we're on

This road I walk, in all seasons, in all weather. I know it will always provide just what I need.

It's the road I've walked with my husband, an after dinner stroll, sharing the events of our days.
It's the road I've walked with my girls, as they grew, hoping to always be the one they'd bring their troubles to.
It's the road I've walked with my dog, to stretch our legs and breathe deeply--2 creatures caged for most of the day.

But when I walk alone, the road is my wide open space. Planted in corn or soybeans by the neighboring farm each spring--in winter, its emptiness allows me freedom from distractions. Freedom to reflect, or wonder, or dream.

If I'm lucky, not a car will pass, as I wander along.
Thinking of this year's accomplishments and hopes for the next.
And marveling that, on the last day of December, when I should be inside, preparing for the evening's festivities, the frosty weeds at the road's edge have me captivated--again.



In this new year, may you see each day as a journey, with hidden respites along the road, beauty abounding to feed your soul.
And may you be rewarded for discovering that it lies, waiting for you, always there.

Seven Random Facts

Long ago, (mid December) I was tagged for the Seven Random Facts meme by Jennifer at A Passion for Nature.
I didn't intend to sit on this for quite so long, just got wrapped up in the holidays and am just unwrapping myself now!

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

My Seven Random Facts (added to the Eight I've revealed earlier) are:
1. I’m old enough to feel that "you're becoming your parent" is a compliment.
2. I’m not as old as my house.
(me— 1959, my house—ca.1835)
3. I eat to live; not live to eat. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy good food, just don’t spend a lot of time or effort preparing it. Except soup.
4. I’ve always loved the Little House on the Prairie series. The pioneer days would have suited me well. Just keep that Nellie Oleson far from me!
5. We don’t have cable TV—never had it; never will. Not that I wouldn’t get some benefit from certain channels, but I tend not to be able to sit and watch for very long without feeling there is something else I could be doing.
(or should be doing) (or could be learning) (or should be learning) (could this be adult ADD?)
6. I find public discussions about PMS about as interesting and appropriate as commercials featuring giant green mucus plugs.
7. I believe much is said about a person by the content of their pockets. Mine typically have: an old receipt, a chapstick and various assorted acorns and pinecones.
So, what’s in your pocket?

I know it's likely these people have been tagged before, but just in case, I'll tag seven more. Of all the memes floating past, I always like the opportunity this one gives for sharing a bit more of ourselves than we would typically reveal on our blogs. (and if it's just not your "thing"--that's okay, too)

T.R. at From the Faraway, Nearby
Carolyn at Nature Art Photography
Swampy at Swamp Things
Kerri at A Little Piece of Me
Diane at Sand to Glass
Caroline at Crayons
Chris at Chicago Nature Lady

Trail of a muskrat

Days of blue skies are an invitation to walk.
And, lacking any breeze to speak of, Christmas morning’s bright sunshine brought a curiosity that I answered with hiking boots, light jacket and camera.
Our pond, far enough from the house to require a short walk, but close enough to catch a glimpse from the kitchen window, always intrigues me. And although springtime’s frog population and the summer months’ basking turtles are far more “exciting” to watch, it holds a certain beauty in winter—
when the surface is stilled by ice, its life trapped beneath the surface.


The lightest layer of ice has formed across the water, smoothing the surface like peering through a glass—the leafy bottom easily seen beyond the icy needles.
Soon, the thickening ice will hide her paths, but the trail of bubbles caught beneath it mark her route in and out of the bank--perfectly round, clustered glassy beads of all shapes and sizes.
Though I haven’t seen her since late summer, I know she is here, beneath the ice, waiting for spring.

Silent Night

Christmas preparations are behind me--and, early enough to be able to enjoy this season, finding a few moments away from the hustle.

Saturday's mildness was whisked away by a chilling wind--tumbling darkly-shadowed, rosy clouds across a winter landscape.


Crawling into a flannel bed that night, I was thankful for the shelter of a warm, brick house--as the night raged about outside my rattling window.
I wondered how anything small could not be blown away on such an unfriendly night.


The next morning a thick blanket of clouds remained--silvery strips, as the sun played peek-a-boo with the wind.



But tonight all is quiet.
It is the silent, holy night.

Morning field

A beautiful sunrise on a chilly, 11-degree morning. The field is frosty. One goat watches me from the shelter of the barn, while the others hunker down in their straw inside.

The colorful sky hints of storminess to come and many travelers' activities.
Last year I spotted an owl perfectly outlined within this tree's branches--a nice perch to survey the grassy surroundings.
I can't look at this tree without remembering her watching me, too.

My gloved fingers beginning to ache with the cold, I couldn't resist capturing this faded, frost-covered grass, waiting to be warmed by the rising sun.

Trash talk

For 10 days I’ve been avoiding garbage cans, discreetly tucking scraps and wrappers in my pockets, and then into my own, personal trash bag. It’s my way of experiencing the Trash Challenge. And although I intended to follow through for the 2-week trial, I’ve seen enough already to know what changes I must make.
It’s not as repulsive as it may sound. In fact, I would bet no one knew what was in that canvas bag beneath my desk. There was no smell—just a bulkiness that grew despite my efforts.

First, some changes were made in our every day basics.
Cloth napkins replaced paper napkins. Maybe not a good choice for barbecued chicken, but for most dinners, I’m not that messy.
And, no more eating a snack off paper towels—grab a plate! It may take longer to clean it up, but it’s the higher road to take.
Food scraps?…Somebody must eat it, so if it’s not right for the compost pile, maybe a possum or skunk will be thrilled with a small treat.
In the habit of grabbing a handful of napkins with that fast food?…Only take 21 if you plan to use 21. (Am I the only one with leftover napkins under every car seat and in the glove box?)

The next thing I did was check the website of my garbage company to see exactly what they would accept as recyclables. Being able to toss a box or jar or can or bottle into their large red bin was wonderful. In fact, I was able to be rid of the majority of packaging this way.
What do I wish they would take from me?….Styrofoam!

Uh oh,…kitty litter—ugh. Clay litter, as I learned, not only takes a lot of room in landfills, its manufacturing process requires it to be scooped out of pits 30-40 feet below the surface of the earth—essentially mined.
So, to satisfy my need to make a more sensitive choice, we’ve changed to a pine alternative, made from the natural waste product from the lumber industry—and it can be composted when finished!
The remaining clay litter I shoveled into the potholes in our gravel driveway.

Which brings me to mention what is probably the greatest discovery as an alternative to throwing something away : use it for something else!
Envelopes make great shopping lists—write your list on the back and tuck coupons or other reminders inside.
And styrofoam can even be ground up and added to planting soil!

Because the longer you can hang onto it, the longer you prevent it from becoming trash. (And the longer you can put off having to buy something for that purpose.)

Here’s what I ended up with:
Public restroom paper towels (most of my “bulk”)
Lint roller sheets
Popcorn bags (paper)
Hot cocoa packets (metallic paper)
Cupcake wrapper (paper)
Ice cream tub (waxed cardboard)
Plastic Bread bags
Potato chip bag (plastic)
Cookie package wrapper (plastic)
Egg noodle bag (plastic)
Cheese slice wrappers (plastic)(good grief, these things are annoying)
Granola bar wrappers (plastic)
Candy wrappers (plastic)
Styrofoam egg carton

Paper napkins (from eating out)
Single serving butter tubs (from eating out)
Styrofoam coffee cups