Turkey in disguise

I'm off visiting at your places tonight; but thought I should at least give you something to laugh at here. Have a happy tomorrow!

That girl thing

Despite what I love to tell people to the contrary, I do sometimes wish I had a mother to tell me what to do.

I lost my mom when I was just 11, so it was up to my dad and big brothers to look after my growing up. I've had to make do with snippets of female wisdom garnered wherever possible, be it from a neighbor or one of my brother's girlfriends, for most of my life. A lot of the people I might have expected to be there for me as a kid without a mother never were. I like to think of that as a testament to their confidence in my father, rather than proof of their indifference to me.

I figure I turned out to be a pretty good person, but wish someone had taught me to cook and iron and manage laundry properly. My mom must have done those things for my dad, so he had to fend for himself, too, when she passed away. He did his best to learn quickly and even managed to cook for us and was quite inventive in the kitchen. I remember just one occasion that might be considered a *cooking lesson* and it involved pie dough and a rolling pin, and a lot of yelling and cursing. Can anyone make a pie crust without cursing? Anyway, I sometimes feel that I lack a certain finesse for things feminine as a result. Shopping, decorating, hair and makeup - I'm clueless.

The older I get, the more I see the influence of my father in my personality and way of being. I blame him for my obstinacy and tetchiness. These I consider good, strong traits in myself, but I never thought of them that way in my dad. Oh he was stubborn and could hold a grudge for ages! I may be the picture of my mother, but underneath I am all my father, like it or not.

I've been blessed since adulthood by a few older women friends who've taken me under their wing when I needed help or guidance, or just needed help in learning how to do something that comes *naturally* to other women. Carol who taught me to tie pretty ribbons on packages and how to crochet, Joan who listened to me bawl and complain as a first-year teacher, Merry who modeled a life of quiet wisdom and acceptance, Kathy with her urgings to be independent and carefree in my love for the outdoors, Linda who shares recipes and beauty tips.

These may be little things in the making of a woman, but are important to the sense of self and to fitting in among other women. That's not ever been easy for me and for the most part, I won't be bothered with it. (There's that obstinacy, again!) I often wonder though what women cherish about their relationships with other women and with their mothers. I wonder if it's the same things that the tomboy in me as a child saw with such wonder.

I'm sharing another of what my brother calls *cheesecake* shots of my mom. Looking at her there, I'm reminded of something else I never learned: confidence in a bathing suit!

Fall questions

If spring is born at the river's edge and the burning summer in the dust of the highway, then where do we discover fall?

Is it in the mothball-scented chests where the blankets are kept? In the hedgerow that vibrates with migrating birds? Or do you find it, like me, in the darkening sea and the immense sky of an October afternoon. Or in the dunes, scattered among the quick sweep of goldenrod.

I find fall when my shadow reaches out over the waves to meet the moon. In days that shrink before I'm done with them. In this time of anticipation, relaxing and enjoying the change, and the wait.

Yes...I'm still pondering fall while all the neighbors are perfecting their Christmas decorations!

WANTED

LABRADOR RETRIEVER

ALIASES: THE CLOWN, SNEAKERS, CHECKERS, HI-JINX, STINKER, SMOOCHER...

CRIME: STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE AMERICAN PUBLIC AND AN OCCASIONAL TABLE SCRAP OR TWO.

APPROACH WITH CAUTION: LOOKING INTO EYES MAY MELT YOUR HEART AND CAUSE ADDICTION. WATCH FOR TILTING HEAD ("THE LOOK") YOU MUST LOOK AWAY!

ANYONE WITH INFORMATION PLEASE CALL THE PROPER AUTHORITIES

LAST SEEN CHEWING MY SHOES

$1,000 CASH REWARD

Finally a fix!

Boomer and I have a mutually agreeable arrangement on chilly evenings; he keeps my lap warm and I massage his ears and neck until he reaches something like bunny nirvana and rolls softly aside onto the carpet. Then I can go back to whatever it was that I was trying to do with him stretched out beside me. Boomer is a big boy and takes up all of my lap and stretches almost to my ankles if the massage is good. Sometimes if we're in a groove, I'll look up to notice that my feet and his ears are pointing in the same direction.

I'm missing the days when I could let the bunnies roam around the house for play. Buddy was mostly scared of getting in trouble for being too near to them; little Luka is all mouth and danger to a bunny. So the bunnies have been kept in their separate room and I haven't had much chance to take pics of them; hence the lack of mid-week bunny fixes lately. Finding the time to exercise a pup is challenging; finding time to exercise 5 rabbits also is impossible! Boomer and Sunshine get lots of time out (though they hardly exercise - the big lugs!) - it's the little bunnies here that aren't getting the attention lately that they're used to.

Presents

A gift from the spring garden.

Cathy at Looking Up is sharing the nicest sort of meme on her blog and I thought it might be nice to play. The idea is that I'll send along some little gift to the first three people that comment here, so long as you continue the giving by posting the same meme on your own blog. I'd like to think up some way for people who don't have blogs of their own to play along, as it seems you all are always left out of the fun, so maybe I'll dream something up for that possibility.

Cathy explains that the gift needn't be of any real value, but should instead be motivated by the beauty of sharing some small part of yourself, or something you make with your hands, or grow in your garden.

Gratitude 11/13/07

I noticed the sad smiles of the nurses and the way they left us finally alone with him; the discarded socks; the empty lobby; the absence of any doctors.

I heard the silence of the useless machines; Sinatra singing about easy street; sirens wailing somewhere off in the darkness; the phone ringing too early, my brother apologizing for the hour, but "Come" he said; the rush of hot water on my heavy head.

I admired his grace and final acceptance; making it easy for us, for me, by not coming home to die; his concern always for someone else, someone worse off than he.

I was astonished by the snow in mid-November; by my brothers surprised faces that I should take my time in getting there; astonished that our last real talking had been about that damned car just a week earlier; that we would end this day scrutinizing his tuxedo and its cigarette burns.

I'd like to see that sunrise again, over the ocean, with the snow falling outside the window; him at the coffee pot or brooding over his computer; that light he kept in his eyes for me; his feet stamping and anger that used to frighten me so.

Most tender was Brian holding his hand and our laughter with the funeral director that afternoon writing his obituary; my friend Cathy standing off in the back, uncomfortable.

His quiet sleep was most wonderful, most deserved; seeing the men from his lodge that came out for him, so many that do this as routine; an end to the pills and eating cardboard; an end to the slow deterioration and loss of him.

I thought it was another setback, not the end. Really, I should have seen what was happening; his tears the day he left here; his fear at being alone in the world; his confusion of my life with another's; his quietness; his surrender.

Mary Oliver fans probably recognize the format of her poem, "Gratitude", borrowed here without any poetry. I had wanted to write something for my dad yesterday and couldn't, but this poem helped me today to examine my memories of the day he died. Last year I had a little more fun remembering.

The long way home

"Or you could be the one who takes the long way home
Roll down your window, turn off your phone
See your life as a gift from the great unknown
And your task is to receive it
Tell your kid a story, hold your lover tight
Make a joyful noise, swim naked at night
Read a poem a day, call in well sometimes and
Laugh when they believe it"
--Mary Chapin Carpenter from "The Long Way Home"

I'm calling in well tonight.

Sightings

Yes, my friends were surprised to see me at 7 on a Sunday morning. I've birded with these two for years, but lately have been very lazy about getting up early enough to do it. Of course I got to Sandy Hook late and missed seeing the day's kestral at Plum Island, but the nice color the early sun brought to the marsh and their faces was enough.
It still looks like summer on the beach side of the Hook; the only giveaway to the morning chill was the fishermen in their wet suits. We pulled a few gannets from the ocean, but no loons yet.
We walked all morning, to North Pond and South Pond, Horseshoe Cove and the Fishing Beach. Off Gunnison (the nude beach,in case Susan is paying attention) we found a nice flock of sanderling and two black-bellied plovers. I should have known them by their size, but it was their fluting toor-a-lee, like a melancholy sea bluebird, that gave them away.
I don't think I could ever tire of watching sanderlings and was glad to see such a large group huddled together against the wind. Have you ever seen sanderlings hop on one foot before the surf, rather than running like they normally do? Funny - that sight was my delight this morning!

I apologize for the odd shaped pics, but I had lens issues and had to do some serious cropping. Please do click on the pics for a (somewhat) better view.

Another snapshot

Susan, Delia, Sharon the Birdchick, and Jay of birdJam fame.

One of my favorite pics from a weekend that feels like years ago already. Happy people playing at the beach, each in their own little reverie...

The world is an orange

A visit to the beach at any time should be restful, but at sunset, for me, it's often a time of rest without rest. I'm inclined to lie down in the dunes and read or to watch the sun go down between sleepy eyelids. But my thoughts are soon invaded by memories, by tiny moving clouds, by a trifling and dry rain - a shower of sand that itches behind my eyes. It's a restless, poorly delineated time. I can't concentrate on what I've read, the mosquitoes buzz, the sun is half friend, half foe. And if it rains, the water has an odd murmur that makes me uneasy because I can't understand it. And a fog at the ocean brings the ghost of melancholy.

As kids, a day at the beach meant simply, radiantly, freedom. The adults napped or chatted in their beach chairs high above the tideline. It was our time and kids aren't afraid of the sun. Half-naked, free, oblivious we ran beneath the sun and in and out of the waves like sea creatures. We carried on, stepping on broken seashells, the evil shards waiting among innocent clam shells to pierce our bare feet. The distant dunes full of beach plum and the marsh behind, always the marsh and the bay. Something was always lost in our flight there: a sandal or some small toy. Something that we couldn't go back to look for because we were afraid of repeating the adventure to get there. The marsh grasses were crushed underfoot because the dog was following us, panting with his tongue hanging out and his eyes full of tiny sparks of gold. The neighborhood boys with their jars filled with jellyfish, bottlecaps, found treasures.

Friendship is a great discovery at eight, at nine, at eleven. Larry, the one with the gaps in his teeth. Will and his copper hair sticking up over his ears. Maria with her big round eyes. Lisa, Toni, Greg, John. So many names, the bay behind the marsh, and the sea:

"What is the sea like?"

And we would spread open our arms:

"The sea is..."

The sudden laughter, the punches and jabs. Something pulled from the muck slipped in our unskilled hands, the shirt was lost.

"What is the world like?"

"The world is like an orange..."

The afternoon was coming to an end and the fear was beginning: the lost sandals, the drenched clothes, the scratched knees.

Now, at the beach, I almost don't even think. Voices come to my ears, and even on a fall afternoon there is a distant warmth on my skin, a strong and fresh fragrance on the wind:

"The world is an orange..."

Today

My idea tonight, to mark the passing of two years of blogging, was to select a favorite post from each of the past twelve months. Reading through the archives this evening I found I couldn't possibly do that, as some months were so full of wonderful things and others full of sadness of some sort or another, and other months were filled with posts but empty of any real thoughtfulness... and how do I choose among them for a favorite?

Being easier on myself, and not so much in the mood for making all those links, I thought instead I'd post just twelve favorite photos from the past year, but I can't even seem to do that. Most of the photos I share here are so essentially tied to the mood of the posts that I can't really separate them.

I can say that my enjoyment in blogging hasn't diminished, although my enthusiasm has waned from time to time. I'm still glad you come around for a visit now and again and hope you'll continue to share your friendship here with me. I do wonder what we'll dream up to ramble on about in this next year.

In the neighborhood

Vicki at A Mark on My Wall likes to refer to the people in her blogroll as her *neighborhood* and I'm stealing her jargon to point out some interesting posts you may have missed.

I don't know about you, but when I decide to peruse another's blogroll, I tend to start at the top and may never find my way down to the very bottom of the list. Because my list is alphabetical, I worry that you may be missing out on some fantastic blogs.

Way down at the end of the alphabet is Whorled Leaves, the nature reading blog I contribute to. We've been pretty quiet of late, but I have to suggest a book to the group in another month or two and would love some ideas from you all of a few good, nature-inspired books for our group to read and blog about together.

Walking the Berkshires is written by Tim, a friend at Whorled Leaves, and he recently wrote about a walk in the November woods that I found very beautiful. He's starting a new blog carnival that he's calling Cabinet of Curiosities to showcase the oddities in your attic. Tim's blog is great fun for the history buff and I can also imagine Donna enjoying his occasional tales of his time spent in Africa.

Dave at Via Negativa recently wrote about a golden eagle that dropped into his family's property in Pennsylvania. Check out the curve of those talons in the opening photo - spectacular! Dave stops by here from time to time and of late has been leaving haiku comments on the blogs he favors. Gotta love a poet!

FC at Pure Florida writes about all things.... well... Florida and this post momentarily (mostly that opening photo) made me think he had paid a visit to NJ. I love visiting his blog for the chance to read about *our* birds that have gone away, plus he finds the best things on his adventures.

Did you catch the current issue of the Festival of the Trees at Windywillow? (Scroll down as the there are two posts for this issue). The deadline for the December issue is the 29th of November. Submission guidelines can be found at the festival's homepage.

Lastly, I'm obliged to mention that Mike at 10,000 Birds has a book giveaway offer for Bird: The Definitive Visual Guide which he reviewed here. Stop by to read the giveaway rules.

Whew - it's a busy neighborhood!

Send mittens

I'm working on a theory and need you to play along with me here. Given my history with phone issues, I think there must be some sort of conspiracy at work in my life: I'm convinced that all the phone companies are out to get me, even the cell phone companies.

;-)

Why can't I sit on my couch and make a call on my cell phone? Should I really have to drive or walk halfway to the next town to be able to hear the person I'm talking to? How is that fair?

So tell me. How many bars do you have at home? Do I maybe need to switch providers (again) and hope for better service? Cave in and pay AT+T for long distance to avoid shivering in the cold this winter? Give up my faraway friends?

Do tell. And send mittens.

Fall pond

Long Afternoon at the Edge of Sister Pond

As for life,
I'm humbled,
I'm without words
sufficient to say

how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond,
both of these
and over and over,

and long pale afternoons besides,
and so many mysteries
beautiful as eggs in a nest,
still unhatched

though warm and watched over
by something I have never seen -
a tree angel, perhaps,
or a ghost of holiness.

Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.
It suffices, it is all comfort -
along with human love,

dog love, water love, little-serpent love,
sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds
flying among the scarlet flowers.
There is hardly time to think about

stopping, and lying down at last
to the long afterlife, to the tenderness
yet to come, when
time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,

and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.
As for death,
I can't wait to be the hummingbird,
can you?

Mary Oliver, from Owls and Other Fantasies

With time enough for a long walk in the woods and a visit to this hidden pond, my mind quiets with thoughts of the edges where things spill into each other and become their opposites. Looking at things inside and out there is no concern for success or failure or how to make things permanent. Every moment is the perfect moment. Joy is elusive and disappears as we approach, and oftentimes the distance feels enormous and the effort overwhelming. Yet, joy waits, and longs to accompany us.

I try each day to find some means of joy or comfort or delight. My delight today was in the reflections of fall color in this little pond in the woods. Where was yours?

Mostly wordless Sunday

This was my view for the better part of the afternoon...
and these are Brant. In case maybe, you know, you'd never seen one.

Incoherent, I know, but it'll make sense to someone. Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

Rearview

This is what happens when you put a bored kid with a camera in the backseat while you and her mom drive around looking at scenery. She also took pics of the contents of my purse. And the sandy floor mats. Lots of pics of sandy floor mats.

Don't forget to set your clocks back tonight. (Yes, I'm doing the happy dance because of that extra hour of sleep!) Although now that I think about it, it means that Luka will have me up at 4 to pee.

;-(

I'm at the bird observatory tomorrow so there'll be beach pics for those of you missing the shore.

Are we there yet?

The others may be done talking about our weekend in Cape May, but I'm only just getting around to sorting through my photos from the trip. Most are dreary and awful because, well, the weather was, but maybe I can salvage enough to offer up something that you haven't already read about on their blogs.

I'd intended to get down to Cape May early in the morning on Friday, but decided instead to take my time and stop at a few places on the way south that might make the best of the stormy weather. I visited The Wetlands Institute in Stone Harbor to dry out some around lunchtime, but mostly because I knew there'd be nice congregations of great and snowy egrets feeding in the salt marshes along the causeway. I took this pic from their parking lot; you can see through the gloom the type of development that is typical on the barrier islands of the Jersey Shore. The habitat loss has destroyed nesting sites for birds and other critters. The Wetlands Institute does a lot of work to restore habitat for diamondback terrapins and it was this that interested me. Just out of sight in the foreground of the photo is an artificial nesting site created for them as an alternative to nesting on the embankments along the causeway.

About the time that Susan was making a wrong turn on the Atlantic City Expressway and heading for Camden of all places, I was at the Sea Watch in Avalon. Seawatching isn't for everyone, especially in the pouring rain, but the scoter show was phenomenal on Friday - 158,000 birds passed the counter, most of them scoters! Of course I couldn't really see them through the rain and the foggy windows of my car, but wave after wave of migrating seabirds is spectacular, no matter the weather, really. I also spotted some newly arrived brant; they've been here at Sandy Hook for two weeks or so, but I'm not ready to hear their wintry calls just yet.

Bird bloggers gone silly

I dont know, maybe Delia can explain what we were doing. Me, I think we're both a little camera obsessed.

A Halloween pupdate

No, there's no costume for Luka this year; he's cute enough without one. Scary is how quickly he's growing and getting near strong enough to pull me off my feet if he so chooses. At almost 5 months, he's a big boy; all bony elbows and long velvet ears. Most of his growth this past month seems to have been in the torso; he's gotten longer rather than taller and looks like some sort of hound dog rather than a Lab most times.

His favorite spot to perch is still in the windowsill behind the couch. I took his photo there this afternoon while we waited for some trick-or-treaters to arrive. None ever did and it's just as well because there's no candy in the house. I'm not sure what's going on with the kids in the neighborhood, but we haven't had trick-or-treaters for a few years.

Keeping this pup exercised enough to behave himself is still a challenge. I'd have him at the dog park every day if he didn't get filthy dirty at every visit. There's an acre of grass, but the dogs romp and play in the dirt at the entrance. Most days it's near midnight by the time I get around to a good long walk with him and we wander through the quiet neighborhood and slip into the park to watch the moon and listen for screech owls or the neighborhood great-horned pair.

He's a great shoe thief and gets an inordinate amount of joy from removing the laces on a pair of sneakers. He's been scolded for that so many times, but it only seems to add to his joy at doing it.

An angry blue darter

Susan pretty much stole my thunder, but I'll go ahead anyway and torture you with more about the Cape May Banding Project. Part of the fun in watching hawks is learning to identify them in the field. Most often we get only a fleeting glance that offers little more than a general impression of the bird's size and shape, with little or no detail visible as it disappears into the distance.

The banding demonstrations at Cape May Point State Park offer those of us who are drawn to birds of prey the chance to see some of those details up close. Birds of prey have become a popular study among birders and there are plenty of books to help with identifying them, but can't compare to the thrill of seeing one up close. The point of the banding demonstrations is to engage the public and generate support for the project; the purpose of the banding itself is a bit more far-reaching and long-term.

Last fall when I wrote a bit about the monarch tagging project, a commenter here questioned the ethics of tagging butterflies. I think the same criticism might be made for banding hawks if we fail to consider the importance of the science behind it. The capture of migrant hawks is routine at many hotspots throughout the world; Cape May isn't unique in that respect, and the numbers banded through the years are quite large. The data gained can help to answer important questions about population dynamics and provide insight to understand why some species are in decline.

The name Blue Darter is an old nickname for the Cooper's Hawk and refers to the bluish-gray on an adult hawk's back. This cranky one is a juvenille showing the typical brownish-streaked breast and belly.

I felt about how this bird looks going back to work today until I found out that I had won $50 in the baseball pool for the World Series!

Touchstone

Most important is the sea and a beach empty of people. Shorebirds wheel in the far distance trailing their shadows along the shoreline. The haze at the horizon suggests gannets or scoters tumbling into themselves above the breakers. Somewhere behind is the dune forest with its hollies and bayberries. The autumn sun vaguely warms the chilly salt air; you wish for another layer but the car is too far off to go back. A walk along the shore is a sustaining ritual for many. The elemental beauty of the sea's edge captivates the newcomer just as readily as it attaches itself to the memory of those of us who call it home.

Someday soon I'll be in the mood to share pics and tell stories, but for the moment I'm caught in that melancholy state of post-vacation-let-down.

Two hours and a world away

It isn't easy explaining the *Cape May Experience* to someone who hasn't been here. If you've gone to other birding festivals, you might have an inkling, but I doubt it's comparable. The first time I came for an Autumn Weekend and then had to leave and go home, I was almost in tears for most of the long drive up the Parkway. Granted, I don't get out much and was new to birding, but really, there's something special about Cape May.

I hope that Susan, Susan and Delia got an idea of that special something and can maybe convey it better than I with their posts about the weekend. It's not just about the spectacle of bird migration that's so obvious here. Part of it is that there are so many familiar faces and a sense of connection, even among strangers, and the easy way we find common ground to share a laugh, a story and the simple comfort of a warm car at dusk beside the hawkwatch.

Snapshot from the Cape

"In the sweet by-and-by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore."

Thinking of Lynne at Hasty Brook

Please send some love Lynne's way. Her mom passed away today.

Greetings from Cape May!

We've all arrived safely - a bit wet and bedraggled - but we're here. The wireless connection at the hotel is painfully slow, but I wanted to share this less-than-stellar shot of the first bird that found me this afternoon. Now can someone tell me what variety of bittern this is, before I unpack the field guides?

More later...

Autumn in our hands

Thanks to everyone who took the time to send pics! We've made a lovely mosaic of fall color, don't you think?

Hand and leaf ID's are as follows (clockwise from top left): Redbud, I think (from the Net), Piracantha berries from Donna who doesn't have much color yet, Maple from Nina, Pin Oak from Mary, Locust from John, Maple from Ruth, Maple leaves (from the Net), Striped Maple from Al (also called the Moosewood Maple or the Goosefoot Maple which I can totally see - thanks Mojoman - I learned a new ID with that name!), Staghorn Sumac from Ruthie J., Larch needles from me, Sourwood from Jayne, and Dogwood from Larry.

If I weren't going to Cape May...

The Breeder's Cup is coming to town, and if not for the Cape May Weekend, I'd be there! This is the first time the event has been held in NJ, and it's practically in my backyard, but I'm gonna miss it.

;-(

I've never been to a horse race in my life and would probably hate it. But I'd still love the chance to go and see the horses and be a part of the excitement.

Photo from the Asbury Park Press

You might want to pack that bikini

It's warm here at the Jersey Shore! I snapped this pic around 10 am this morning at Ocean Grove (that's Asbury Park in the distance) - this lady had the perfect spot on the beach for her workout. The locals all know that September is THE month for perfect beach weather without the crowds, but late October?
The sky is that perfect shade of blue and it's just warm enough for a nice nap in the sun. One nice thing about my new job is that I have *field days* when I have to make home visits. I don't much enjoy poking around in client's homes, but I do really like the chance to be out of the office a few days a week. In between appointments this morning I took a walk on the boardwalk and enjoyed the warm breezes with Monarchs floating along the dunes. What a beautiful day it was.
The rugosa roses are still blooming and I was tempted to pick a bag of rose hips for jelly. Ocean Grove has a long history as a religious camp town and Sunday services are still held in a little pavilion on the beach with a view of the dunes and the sea.

I'm such a book dork

The people at Barnes and Noble must love me. I think they dig out the oldest and least-likely-to-sell books and pile them up in a pretty seasonal display in some far off corner of the store just hoping for someone like me to wander by. I zoom past the popular fiction-of-the-moment and go right for the dorky nature books.

This little book is my latest find and it's been getting a fair amount of use for the last week or so. It has nice pics of leaves, berries, and nuts to help me know what I'm seeing out in the woods. I'm not very good with trees and thought the fall color or seeds of certain trees might give away their identity more easily now than in the summer when everything is just so much green.

Fall color

"A tree in Autumn is a lovely sight. One tree alone can concentrate the beauty of a whole woodland, leaf by leaf and branch by branch, as one flower can give the essence of a whole garden. The beauty of the turning woods is not alone in the scarlet of a maple grove or the sun-gold glow of a hillside stand of beeches. It is in the subtle change that creeps along the leaves themselves, from point to point and vein to vein. A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least; but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.

Watch even a single branch outside a certain window, and you are watching the color of change. One morning there is a spot of yellow on a certain leaf, yellow which has not yet quite achieved the glow of gold. Another day and that glow may be there. It spreads. The spot becomes a splash of gold, edged perhaps with a thin line of scarlet. It creeps down the leaf between the veins, and then across the veins; and the scarlet edging widens into a band and then a border. Meanwhile other leaves have begun to turn, some to gold, some to dull bronze, some to blood-red beauty. All on the same branch, yet no two alike either in pattern or coloration. And finally it is a branch as full of color as the whole woodland.

Thus comes Autumn, leaf by leaf and tree by tree; thus the woods become a hooked rug flung across the hills with all its folds and all its colors as they came to hand. But pause beside one tree and look, and you can see Autumn on all the hills. Pick up one leaf of those already cast adrift and you hold Autumn in your hand."
--Hal Borland, Sundial of the Seasons. Image grabbed from the Web and tweaked.

Do me a favor, will ya? Find a tree that you admire dressed in fall color. Take a pic of your hand holding a fallen leaf and send it to me. I'll post them here to make it feel like Autumn despite the 75 degree temps. This'll keep me occupied for the next few days while I anticipate the weekend in Cape May. But do it quick - deadline is Wednesday at 6 pm. Use the close-up setting on your cameras. It'll be pretty. My email is lc-hardy at comcast dot net.

Wild geese

"There are voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Is it Autumn for you yet? Have you heard the geese calling as they fly overhead in the night?

Luka, the graduate

We passed! We passed! We made it through puppy school! Without ever having to sit in the corner with the dunce cap!

Tonight was our last night of puppy class and we had our big test, every pup got a bully stick for passing with flying colors, got a silly graduation hat, and then had their pic taken. What fun!

We'll be going back in another month or so to start the intermediate class and until then I think we'll have some practicing to do. We really enjoyed the experience and I can't say enough good things about the program at PetSmart. I'm not so nuts about other things they do, but this was worthwhile and fun.

I'm sure Luka will miss the doggy friends he made (especially Whiskey), but hopefully some of his classmates will be in the next level. The opportunity for them all to socialize and play in a safe environment was the most important aspect of the class, I think.

This last is a pic of all of us - just five dogs, but lots of people! Really, it was great to see the kids working just as hard as their pups.

Blog Action Day

Today is Blog Action Day when bloggers are writing about one important issue - the environment. All our blogs have different agendas and readerships, but the idea is to write a post which pertains to some environmental issue. To learn more or read other Blog Action Day posts, just click on the image to the left. Some friends from the blogroll who are also participating include Pure Florida, Hawk Owl's Nest, and Dharma Bums.

Seeing as I'm not much in the mood for preaching at you about something you hopefully already feel is important, I thought I would instead reminisce a bit about one of the ways that, as a kid, I was introduced to the great outdoors. I grew up in the 70's and most years we took family vacations that revolved around the water - either the ocean or a lake up north, often in Maine or upstate New York. There were no fancy hotels that I remember, just a cabin in the woods or, most often, our pop-up camper. Just looking at these pics brings back happy memories. I loved that camper! The drive to wherever we were going seemed to last forever, as did the anticipation for the trip. The morning of leaving, my dad always seemed to leave all the details of getting the camper ready to the very last minute - hitching that thing up to his beautiful shiny Cadillac was quite a feat and never seemed to go right. He was always very grumpy starting out on vacation.

I don't remember very many specific details about any of these trips - only the feel of the sun, the sand that was always in my kid-sized bed in the camper, the year we drove to Florida in the rain with the leaky window in the Cadillac and those huge bugs! My mom loved to sunbathe and spent days by the water slathered in oil, while dad with his freckled-skin had to be careful. I tagged along with my big brothers, building sandcastles or tooling around in this big orange boat. Fun times!

When I was older I went camping with the girl scouts or later with friends. I haven't been camping in years, but have all the gear in the attic, purchased years ago in hopes of getting the DH to give it a try. I love camping and think it's a great way to spend time together as a family and enjoy the outdoors. There's something about sleeping outdoors with all the sounds and smells of nature that is a great learning tool, I think, in that it replaces fear for the outdoors with comfort and curiosity. A good thing for kids today who spend so much time indoors or glued to some electronic gadget. Leave all the stuff behind and sit around a campfire and tell stories instead!

The NWF sponsors the Great American Backyard Campout each year in June. Pitch a tent or set up that old pop-up in your driveway and get a kid playing outside for a change.

One more from the decoy show

Apparently, even dogs are sometimes fooled by the decoys. And yes, I'm proud to say that this is not Luka!

Night sounds

Fall is slowly disrobing summer of her great green canopy and hushing the symphony of bird and insect life. Night sounds have diminished; there is only the slowing drone of crickets and the occasional soliloquy of a moonlit mockingbird. Instead of singing to an intended mate, as he did at night for most of the summer, his outburts now seem to be of complaint. I find myself wondering what it is that wakes him up like this, so indignant and bad-tempered. Is it the chill wind or is he startled awake by some unseen predator?

Very early in the morning, before dawn out with the pup, I sometimes hear the soft contact calls of the neighborhood cardinals and chip notes that come from the sky - no love songs these; they speak of cold and coming hunger. Within an hour the first chickadee is at the sunflower feeder and the mockingbird in his appointed place in the holly tree. Only the odd angle of the sunlight gives away that it's no longer summer, no longer the season of growth and abundance and love songs.

Just dropped in

This carving was our splurge at the decoy show this year. The Blackburnian is my favorite spring warbler lately and I like the way the bird is perched on this old tool, looking like it just dropped in there. I can't remember if I saw a Blackburnian this spring - it's kind of nice to have one there on the mantel.

It might be hard to appreciate from this darkish photo, but the whole carving is of wood, even the tool parts that are made to look like metal. I think it's called a *block and pulley* and is some sort of antique nautical tool. Neat, huh?

Help me understand this

I'm not a cyclist, so I must be missing something, but can someone help me to understand why the *serious* cyclists won't use the multi-million dollar bike path at Sandy Hook? It's plenty long and wide and has wonderful views of the bay and the holly forest and the ocean dunes. They even routed it through some of our favorite birding spots at the Hook - yet those darn people won't use it and instead insist on putting themselves out in the middle of traffic like they own the road! Do they have some sort of a death wish? Is playing in busy shore traffic part of the allure of cycling?

Please help me understand.

Buckeye

"This curious world which we inhabit is more wonderful than it is convenient; more beautiful than it is useful; it is more to be admired and enjoyed than used." - Henry David Thoreau