5:10 In the Deep A.M

The thoughts that occupy my mind these days are mainly on seeds, growing, transplanting and mowing.  There seems to be little to no time for any sort of non-productive recreation, the time to plant is now and seedlings- much like infants, demand full care and attention.  Thankfully, I arise very early.  My coffee break begins then around 5:10 in the deep A.M, just as the sun peeks over the Pocomoonshine knoll.  I travel to a spot in the yard where I might sit in the finest first sunspot, out by the chicken coop- near the Wysteria yet nearer to the Oak tree.  It is so early that the owl in the west woods still calls and the chickens barely whisper as they must hear too, an early warning of mealtime talk from a great predator’s beak to her babes-

“We are not only nocturnal, little ones.  In this first luster of light, many new and bright young things wander out into the sunrise glow and welcome the new day with songs that announce their position.  Breakfast time chicks, I’ll be back soon…”

The old hens stay put, but the young carefree rooster flies up to crow on a fence post…just like his brothers did and I can’t help but wonder if he wonders where did they go?  One morning, they were here too- the next, POOF- out of the thin air something plucked them up in mid-crow.  This farm does not much need a rooster so if he crows and goes,  I’ll heed to nature’s way and not make a big deal out of it. Although that fine cocksure Bantam is sure a welcome sight with his glistening black long tail feathers and white though dappled plumage.  Truly, I would hate to seem him go but what can you do when there are hungry babies in the woods with a sharp-eyed mama owl always on the prowl, vigilantly feeding her young?

Sip my coffee, listen to the birds- breathe deep and long and never shallow for the work of the day waits patiently as a keen eyed owl and can overwhelm just as quick as her swooping nature- one must be fit mentally, physically and perhaps most importantly to this wide eyed grower- spiritually attuned here by this light, this new day sun to take in each grateful breath and exhale just as thankfully for the opportunity to work with the earth. 

I am one year older- true, but my back is stronger and holds up better or perhaps I move slower and surer- maybe it’s the fluid way I work into the day, no longer rushing head on in but first, adjusting my heart to the love of the doing.  Every day I wonder still…and am filled with just being.

 Here…now.

Take care-

flustered here on the farm last night

In a few days, I'll be railing across America.  Well, half way...from Boston to Chicago and then on down to more central points in a state that is known for it's half dead politicians and dead voters who vote often enough...
I must admit, I am terrified of those large cities- I find little of myself in concrete places, just not my element.  What I do find are stories and the people behind them, folks I would have never met had I not gone to the outer limits of my huge comfort/freedom zone.  I would be deeply remiss if I did not admit that by traipsing off into what seems from the wild wilderness- dangerous territories, I often do find such goodness and kindness- frequently in every person I meet.  I do.  Truly.  Not just friendly bumps and sharing spaces, often enough- we stay in touch, we email and aaaarrrggghhhhh... Facebook, apt name.  Faces, yes- (surface dwelling) but at least, it is a somewhat common connection picture posting world.  But it's a fast connect- a virtual flash.  Not much for memory storage...which for this truewonder, is like eating pie and never knowing what the flavor of the filling is because it gets left out.  A light snack for this voracious eater just leaves me hungrier...


On with the story then!  Oh yes, that's what you come here for- the story.  I've got one...it's wondrous.  It has to do with Mystery Guests and artificial shelters.  Intriguing, no?!  How about screams in the darkness, fumbling for boots that should be burned, feathers flying and stars penetrating a fertile darkness?  Weapons and shovels, ice and mittens?  Do tell you say?!  Well, since you insist...


I read the book, I loved the book, I read the critiques of those who read the book and loved the book but not so much the movie.  I liked the movie.  I loved the actress and the man she fell in love with, well- who wouldn't?
The author of said book is a real gem and I'll always follow her because she's brilliant.  But the book and the movie and the love parts that left more to the imagination than seeing boobs and never.. well- you know whats...they don't show those near enough in my way of thinking.  Goodness sake, there's enough of 'em hanging around- what's the harm if one should be exposed like the booby flashing?  Same difference- body parts that get us flustered and blushing...well, I do get red in the cheeks and I look around sheepishly to see if anyone else is happily embarrassed by nudity.  There I go again, off the subject...little trips I like to take you on, just to see if you're paying attention...


I was watching the movie- Eat, Pray, Love.  Totally immersed, completely alone and still- no boobs, no one-eyed monsters and it didn't matter if I blushed or not and frankly, the imaginative way the romances went, well- I liked that opening into my own mind of what might have been going on behind those closed doors and pulled curtains.  Made myself blush... and then, speaking of monsters- I heard screaming.  The screen scene showed India so I just assumed for a moment it was a peacock in their garden, just off camera.  But then I began to hear Guinea fowl squawking, my head questioned- "Guineas in India?"  And my brain then reasoned, although it is seldom geographically correct-
"No, Guineas do not live there..."
I jumped up, turned the volume down and the Guineas and something else resumed screaming, ever louder- every second.  I stepped out onto the deck.  I hollered,(like before a few posts back)...
"Hey!  What's going on?! Hey, heyyyyyyyy!!!!!" 
It didn't stop the squawking commotion and I didn't like the eerie screams, the curdling kind- coming from the direction of the hoop-house, which is known in winter time as the HoopCoop.
Because I keep the chickens in there...didn't I never tell you that?  Sorry.  I do keep the poultry out there in a Florida-like room.  Since the owl attacks of last week, I've gotten the Guineas to go in too, of an evening.  At first it was like pulling teeth, but after two more of their members were beheaded- they all figured that the artificial clear cave might be better than being sitting ducks in a tall Spruce just next door.


The Big Fish was sleeping like a hibernating bear- chick flicks do that to him, I didn't want to rouse the bear...yet.  So I fumbled blindly in the dark for those damn boots, and that sweet Carhart coat and green  mittens but did not take the time- for time seemed to be of the essence...not for me so much, I tell you- I was a little afraid, wasn't sure what I might encounter out there, uh-hum...didn't take the time to grab a flashlight as the moon seemed ample to brighten up the yard.  Down the stairs I ran, collecting Gideon and Etta as I went- had to pull their teeth too, it was cold- they were warm and saw no need, voluntarily deaf to boot- to go outdoors after dark.


As I rounded the corner out the back door, I spied a shovel sticking out of the snow pile and grabbed it up and carried it over my head like a villager ready to take on Frankenstein.  Screaming, hollering- so just in case whatever was causing all the ruckus might be made just as scared as I was...helter-skelter I continued on.  In opening the HoopCoop door,  nervous soft cluck clucks and low, continuous whistles echoed amongst the Guineas- that is their way of saying to one another-
"The sky isn't falling yet so no worries, because I'll warn you and you'll warn me and we will scream loudly in unison when the time is right, agreed?!"


So to this talk I added,
"Babies, babies, chick, chick, chick, it's OK, it's OK...everybody here?" 
 Real low like- matching the quality of gentle cautious sounds...this always seems the best kind of communication when dealing with the Don Knotts of farm fowl, the every-ready-to-freak-out Guineas.


I looked up then to their roost and counted- they were all there.  I looked around on the ground beneath them for any sign of a weasel or raccoon.  Nothing.  I checked out the chickens in their hay bale home- they were all but snoring.  No nervousness there- the little black tenacious hen had every one calm and in order.  I looked up one more time- I wondered if the Guineas must have just been able to see a shadow flying overhead- perhaps the owl from nights before was searching still, from great hunger- a midnight snack. 


 I could see the sky as if there were no thin veil of a plastic partition between me and the stars.  All the condensation had melted during the bright sun day so there was nothing to frost or freeze causing an opaque screen usually, to look through.  I was satisfied then with the shadow theory, sweetly I whistled my calm goodwill and goodnight to all and I went back inside to finish my movie and warm fire.  Nary a nude scene left- still, I enjoyed the film to it's finish.  Off to sleep went I, dreaming of far away places and islands with four hundred parrots.


My morning chores began earlier than ever, I had to affirm that all was well and that no unknown carnage came to be while I dreamed of carnal pleasures...which incidentally, amounted to chocolate rocks that you could pick up and nibble- I kid you not, that was my dream symbol from last night.

  Eat+Pray+Love= Chocolate...makes sense to me.

Like the mysteries of nudity and love making scenes left to the imagination- I'll leave you with the same.  And...some glorious frost imprints and really quite amazing hints to go on of just who or what had every one flustered here on the farm last night.

A Surprise Barrier to Hungry Claws and Beating Wings

Close encounters of the winged kind.

A few rips and tears to be mended.


Well then, that should do it.  Happy Valentine's Day...I'll be back after my wandering ways have ended.  I hope this long story keeps you well and again, please- I do request- check back on my last post.  Do give a damn, it is as important as roots to a tree and seeds to a sunflower.
Take care-

Mystery Guest(s)

What makes a supposedly sane person or bird for that matter- go out into a storm just to see what hasn't been seen, ever before at the bird feeder?  What strange force compels one to sit beneath a spruce tree with a recently replaced new digital camera that one could barely afford, and risk it's demise in a frigid wintry mix of moisture, snowfall and gale forces?!  Frost-bit be damned to the trigger finger...by golly, let it fall off- I must, I must I tell you- capture this image...

Mystery Guest

Who is this mystery guest?  I was all aflutter when I spied him and he spied me.  I tell you true, he did a little dance for me in the snow, not three feet away.  I believe he may have been as excited to see me as I him.  (Or her...)  It could be the reciprocating glee came from the fact that I was filling feeders in a blinding snow- still, let me have this one dream come true.  Just this one for now...a mystery guest came to these bold Downeast woods, and I am richer for it!


Now, on the flip side of that coin- the morning found me screaming at the top of my lungs, running through three feet of fresh on top of compacted snow with the most horrendous, useless boots on.   And wave my arms I did, and gestured hugely hollering and yelling towards the culprit who just moments earlier had knocked one guinea off it's roost by ripping it's head off from above pine branch and then zeroed in on another while this intended second victim tried to makes it safe way through showering snow and little light.  I saw this mystery unwanted guest pounce, grab, shake, rip- I heard the guinea scream to no avail while all others scattered, screaming too.  I rounded the pen and in the ten second time frame blind spot- I lost sight of the killer.  By losing sight yet never hearing the exit- I realized...an owl had just visited the tranquil forest's edge and reduced my guinea fowl population by two...
The one left on the ground, head still intact but...well, I won't go into detail -  there was just enough life left that I held her and stroked her, gave her thanksgiving and farewell.  My only regret- that the owl would have at least consumed these birds, instead- it came like a cat- dismembering, disenchanting the rest and me and now the safety in numbers and homestead is innocence lost to the not yet year old brood of the most nervous birds on the farm.   This same fellow or female came back at end of day to perch upon the tallest Spruce in the yard- viewing, waiting, ready to do the same as it had done in the early A.M.  In admiration, in joy- I would have grabbed my camera again to take THE photo of a great owl.  But at that time, I had no welcome in me- I only wanted this guest to leave and never come back.  So from a safe distance on our second snow covered story deck- again, I waved and screamed.

"Go away!!!  Get away you bastard...leave them alone."

And then, after it seemed I had no affect on this wild forager- I pleaded with him-
"Then just take one to feed on, but only one.  I know you're hungry, I know you need to eat too...but such waste you left in your wake this morning.  If you are such a great hunter, prove it.  If you are so wise, be that too.  Don't take more than you need, don't kill just to kill.  Surely you are a better bird than that."
I know...but when you're left with the only weapon that truly can make a difference, if only to your self- appealing with reason, if only your own- at least it brings a bit of peace to the situation.
From that lofty perch, where the owl remained and swiveled that magnificent head then- towards me...silently, swiftly and oh so very elegantly- he left.  Up, up on open wide wings towards the deeper woods from where he came.   And I was thankful, again- for a time.
Later I put on those awful boots, adorning myself as well with scarf and mittens, Carharts and an umbrella and waited with the rest...the guineas in their secret other perch, me underneath.  We heard the who-o-o-s and fretted almost silently, so as not to give off the new position.  But I thought I heard nervous talk among the survivors- and finally came the call from the new leader-
To me this is what he said to the clan, "We are safe as long as we remain together, quietly- until one feels truly endangered.  Then by all means, speak up so that the rest of us might know what we are up against.  Otherwise, quiet yourselves- be still..."


I went in then, to my warm fire- leaving the way of the world and the wild to the forces greater than I.
This morning finds me and the guineas, the Redpolls and Chickadees safe and in sunshine.

 The owl?  I do not know...he did not take me up on my offer, his ways are not my ways and as we both acknowledge each others predicaments, I guess one might say we live in peace at this telling- each on our own terms.

Redpoll

Back to the feather

If you observe a really happy man you will find him building a boat, writing a symphony, educating his son, growing double dahlias in his garden, or looking for dinosaur eggs in the Gobi desert. He will not be searching for happiness as if it were a collar button that has rolled under the radiator. He will not be striving for it as a goal in itself. He will have become aware that he is happy in the course of living life twenty-four crowded hours of the day. --W. Beran Wolfe


The quote above hit me this morning like a ton of....feathers! Observing people is a favorite past time of mine, happy, sad, bitchy, gloomy-it does not matter, a story teller everyone. As BAM so eloquently commented, "the barely perceptible stars" among us. Very few people, I have observed, would fit the reference in the quote-but! at some point, in conversing with folks-their eyes do shine. Almost always, it is when they speak of their loves: children, family, beer, pets, gardens, music, sunrises, sunsets, a kiss, etc.
And most times, these are never present happenings, generally they are past experiences or hopeful future ones.
Hmmmmm. Speaking for myself, I am most happy in the present moment-when my mind turns off,my mouth shuts up and my ears and eyes, and sometimes touch-brings me the joy I often seek, but come to realize-to seek is often to miss out on discovering.

I'll go outside once I've finished here and chop ice, feed the animals, and say "good morning sun!" Happy, happy, joy, joy. Perhaps I'll discover a feather and marvel at it's intricacies, and wonder-which bird left this treasure? Or perhaps, out by the corn crib-I'll find owl scat with remnants of a late night snack and hope that my guineas, chickens and cats are all still accounted for. If not- well, I'll say something like,"Hey buddy!!! You've got fields galore and woods to boot, a smorgasbord of field mice await you! Knock it off." I'll think about shooting him, of course I know that's illegal-but still, I'll think about it...and realize eventually, he has as much right to exist as I do. I'll accept his habits-acknowledge he is no more trespassing on this land than I am. He's just doing what owls do...and I am thinking too much how to level the playing field for all the creatures here. AAAAARRRGGGHHH! There I go, thinking too much again! Back to the feather. A gift, a beauty- a souvenir of serendipity.

A slow-down-and-smell-the-icicles to you today, take care-