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

Like a bird in the air...

Good morning.  I was excited to come on here and write about my snowmobiling adventure yesterday...but, the fire had other motives...like not wanting to catch this morning.   It took me all of 30 minutes to get the blaze lit.  I made my way to the bottom of the kindling box and scraped up all the little splinters of wood to establish a mini fire, finally- starting oh so small, I got the flames to feed on the bigger pieces.  The weather here has been warmer than usual, humidity a bit high and those things together make starting that first morning fire all but routine.  So- where was I?  Oh yes!  Snowmobiling...

The seed order lay still unprocessed as of yesterday morning, the bed hadn't been made, morning dishes in the sink- not piled too high.  Why, I hadn't even changed out of my warm jammies and bulky morning sweater- slow start to another slow day of no farming, dreaming about it, scheming and then some- just a midwinter lull in spirit.
Out of the blue, the telephone rang- a neighbor called to see if I was up for a ride.  I looked at my surroundings, knew I had things to attend to, made excuses and finally thought- "Oh what the hell, why not?!"
Threw on my old trusty Carharts, wrapped my feet in some warm luxurious wool socks, scowled at my inappropriate for this climate boots- tugged them on anyway and out the door I stumbled into the hazy sunshine.  Snowmobiling!  I had never been before...

The experience at first was one of haste, then trepidation- I barely knew Joanne, yet I was willing to climb on board and let come-what-may... come.  I like this lady.  She has been an outdoorsy type all her life, grew up in Grand Lake, knew the woods and trails like she knew her own hallways at home.  Snowmobiling is an active adventure here in Maine, seems just about everyone does it, lives for it and makes the best use of the all to ready snow supply.  There are many, many miles of trails- perfectly groomed for the "sleds" and their riders.  Our ride took us up Wabas mountain trail, down through woods and hollers, past lakes and streams.  A mighty bald eagle greeted us at one turn in the bend, coming upon a slew off one of the many great lakes here in this area- we were met by an instantaneous-suck-your-breath in-now-breathe sight.  I see eagles here all the time, but never had I come so close to that wing span, that great whump-whump and up he rose, slowly- majestically soaring above us now and then off to the cover of the greater woods beyond the trail.  No time to unzip the pocket where the camera lay in it's moisture proof pocket...but I won't forget.  Had I taken my eyes off the scene, I would have missed too much- would have spoiled that instance with fumbling and focusing.  I felt my face full of smiles, the whole ride- to be out there in the middle of intersecting trails through a vast wooded area, sharing the atmosphere with a scene stealing majestic eagle, I couldn't help but just be there...with John Denver's "Sweet Surrender" playing in my head.

Take care-

hush, hush, wish, wish....

Good morning!

Most days find me lacking a communication device...when the south wind blows, it takes away the satellite.  Matter of fact, should the wind blow at all- disconnect. I throw snow balls at the roof top disc, angrily, impatiently- trying to smack it back online, doesn't necessarily work- but it helps with my frustration levels.

Ah yes!  Snow!  I read some good advice the other day- for one to survive the winter in Maine- one ought to accept the truly winter way instead of trying to endure it.  A strong athlete might be able to train for a marathon I suppose, with the end in sight of 26 miles, and learn to endure- with  only 4 miles to go...but trying to endure a seemingly never ending, no end in sight Maine winter, well I suppose it could make one batty, delirious for Key West and points further south. 
 My metal will be tested for sure come April, but for now I accept the sounds of Maine- snow crunching, crispy under each step I take.  Snowflakes falling with a whisper, landing softly on pine boughs- from the dark and day sky, they tumble from some unseen shaker up above.  And when it seems the lid has been removed, the flake's fall comes in a hush, hush, wish, wish...all around, that loveliest of sounds-snowfall.
On my walks I see so far and wide- white.  Bright in it's avalanche of glow, but deeper in the snow, in the pockets- blue, snow blue!  As if the great unseen's hand passed over the landscape with sno cone syrup, adding a blueberry richness to the flavor of one's senses.

"I am in Maine and the snow is gentler now, coming from fewer clouds perhaps than it was showering down from bulked up fronts earlier.  Snow- from my first winter here in Maine, is a constant presence in the landscape.  Walking my two mile a day trails, I often find myself gazing upon a great Pine up the road a ways- I stand in the road, transfixed as the tree that holds my attention.  I often wonder why I’m drawn to it’s presence- maybe it’s twisted, gnarly branches remind me of my own troubles, maybe it’s upward growth despite the weather’s wickedness inspires me.  I think the real reason I stand here as it stands there is because of it’s solemnity in the landscape...  This area is alive with wilderness- moss hangs from the branches of the smallest to the greatest, even in winter time- the jungle never slumbers.  My tree sees all, knows all, feels all and stands upright yet pliable enough to take the calm with the storm.  Yes, I see myself in that tree and am remarkably proud of us both...."

 Walking A Ways 2010

Take care-

the sky and cloud

Good morning. How you all hanging? Good, good...I hope. It is a snowy morning here in the great central Midwest, the dogs do not like walking in the snow unless I'm out there with them. Then it becomes a wonderland to romp and play and eat snow... and of course, turn it yellow. I bundle up like an arctic explorer, silly hat and all and make the best of it. And of course, ever at my side is my trusty camera. You just never know what one might come upon, what small detail might speak volumes to another soul here on the net. Most of my pics come from right here on this farm, it amazes me to no end that the landscape of very little acreage showcases extreme natural changes almost daily. Imagine what my focus might be on vast acreage and mega waterways. Although, I think my shots would still be of the most intimate things, I can't help it- I'm not a power junkie but a precious treasurer.

I notice on the walks I take that I'm often looking down as opposed to straight out and all around. All the experts and heck- even our parents tell us to look up and out, with head down implies cowardice and fear. I don't buy that anymore- maybe that's why I'm such an excellent mushroom hunter! (I am. Really, I am...) And with looking down, you'd think my steps would be sure and I'd never stumble. Quite the contrary- I'm not a very graceful sort, it's not a clumsy way to be- I'm just often so mesmerized by what I'm experiencing, that I stray off course and trip over and into ruts. But while I lay there, usually laughing at myself- I'll notice the sky and cloud formations. And I click, click some more...

And always the sounds around me transform the experiences as well. Every day, subtle harmonies form- different tunes mixing with the same old house sparrows songs, geese flying over head honking like tubas over the string sounds of the wind through the trees. I hear a symphony when I'm outdoors, all I hear is heavy metal inside. It's always a raptorous experience for me when I'm out in it. So attuned to nature am I, I just feel right out of sorts when dwelling inside for too long. But try to explain this to tax collectors, or even a pastor. Nobody buys it, I have been told in my life that it is a sin to connect so strongly with nature. But I ask you- every time I look at a twig, the grass, hear the sky bellowing with thunderous laughter, close my eyes and follow the scent of wetlands- those things aren't manmade...just who the heck brought it all to my devout attention?!

Just wondering...be well, take care-

into an eternal Spring

WITH THAT MOON LANGUAGE




Admit something:



Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”



Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise
someone would call the cops.



Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.



Why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is
always saying,

with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in
this world is
dying to
hear?
By: Sri Chinmoy

Good morning. I just had to bring that verse to your attention. How beautiful! "Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye..."
Why not?! I came across Sri Chinmoy's writings only recently, how they have moved me from February, from winter- into an eternal Spring. I stumbled upon Poet Seers and became immediately, immensely immersed. Stumble Upon is a new search engine(perhaps it's not so new...but it is new to me.) I recommend it. The websites are an alternative to the landscaped sites elsewhere...just my opinion. Folks travel around the web, and share to their liking more than quirky stuff. Satire, humor, counter culture- it's interesting to the point of all engulfing one's time. I stumbled in by looking up Dignity Village- a homeless community outside Portland, Oregon. That is another story all together- but such stories make up for the emptiness sometimes of the web. As you travel through their pages, you can thumbs up or thumbs down, sometimes navigating through sites that have not been recommended yet, you then are asked for a review. Others with interests similar to your own can then see where you've been, why you went- why on earth you'd encourage others to participate. Pretty cool for a hayseed like me, a hippy kind of tech chick. Yep. I sure say yep alot, how improper English is that?! I could never be a writer, a love child of critics...they'd pick me apart! And that's ok, I certainly do not write for anyone in particular, just grazing through my own experiences and trying to be relative to some. Ahhhh- the connections. That "sweet moon language"...again, isn't that a beautiful thought? Hopeful romantic signing off here- hope the wind blows some bliss your way today. Take care-

Blanket White Everything

An e.e. cummings kind of title, I write like that you know-an in way an out way and all around the words way. A full spectrum if you will, of words. It was suppose to snow here last night, I was prepared, and giddy and a bit melancholy...in reference to the "Blanket White Everything"- first snow is purity, a covering, an insulation. Though it did not snow, I suspect it will as my sinuses often react dully to barometric changes, and the chickens were all gathered in a mobile bunch. My butterscotch girls give me eggs everyday, no artificial lighting for my birds, no! I just talk to them, they are my production team so I try to stay on top of their chicken coop politics. I have one old gal that stays on the nest just long enough to
to give me hell when I reach in to collect the brood of eggs under her. I admire her tenacity, though I do not like her pecking and clucky aggression. She scares me and she knows it. I mean-a butterscotch bird with a brain no bigger than the eggs she lays, but she stands up to my minor annoyance with the threatening attitude of a wolverine, yikes-I could never do a reality show on my little farm-I fear the main idea that people would hold onto is that chickens are really meat eaters (given a chance, this one takes chunks out of me!) and that I am not at all as plucky as I seem. And, well...I don't watch TV all that much and the only reality of those shows is the world will suffer fools, call it entertainment, stack their own experiences up against the show and belittle the story. The reality of most lives, I think-we do our best, our lives are like quilts with many peices stitched together, circumstances in life can rip us apart, but being the sole seamstresses, we find ways to mend our tattered blankets, sometimes offering a covering for others who are not quite experts at stitching yet. Or unable to pull it all together to even begin to mend, some have no thread at all, for them, the most calico among us-we offer assistance, well, we should anyway. Sorry for the analogy-drives my kids insane! This is why I write, to drive my teens crazy and to well, display my beautiful quilt, though worn and quite tattered...and wrap it around them in such a way that they might learn the stitches of life...the ins and outs and all around thread that connects us all. And if I may quote the great Paul Harvey, "Good day!"
Take care