Pieces of home

So Beth in NYC came for a visit this past weekend. She'd wanted a break from "the big city" and, so, came to Atlanta.

; )

This is closer to "city-living" than I've ever known, so her idea made me chuckle, just a little. I'd last about five minutes living in Manhattan. Anyway, I was happy to show her a couple favorite pieces of home...

We visited Arabia Mountain and checked in with the Elf Orpine... still not blooming! I haven't decided what those little white flowers are, yet. Maybe Sandwort?

We checked in with the sunset... gorgeous!

We checked in with each other... we're all doing okay!

We wandered around Oakland Cemetery...


(where Beth had an unfortunate run-in with fire ants!)

and I got to observe a real photographer at work!

; )

I checked in with Spring... on its way!

We wandered downtown for rainy views of some very tall buildings...

(Beth, of course, was particularly bored by this part.)

We took against-the-rules photos of a sand mandala at Emory...

And finished up at a favorite burger joint!

The weekend went too fast, but I was so glad to see her friendly face here.

: )

Trying to be loved

Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk? ~Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982

This tree, somewhere in spring in West Virginia, was totally trying to be loved.

: )

Life is old there

During some "off" time during the first day of the New River Birding and Nature Festival we wandered down a windy single-lane road to the long-forgotten railroad town of Thurmond, West Virginia.

You arrive in Thurmond by crossing the New River over a narrow bridge that doubles as a railroad bridge. It feels pretty old and rickety, but was perfectly safe. I held my breath most of the way across, just in case.

; )

A short walk from the railroad depot, lies Thurmond's old downtown, built right along the railroad tracks. Several old buildings, including a bank with an impressive facade, make up the old downtown.

According to the 2000 census, Thurmond has 7 residents. Back in Thurmond's heyday, more than 500 people lived here and the rail lines carried more than 97 thousand passengers a year, along with 3.5 million tons of freight (most of which was coal).

Making our way back to civilization, we found a small roadside waterfall that demanded a ritual toe-dunking.

: )

8/100

Late in the week at New River, Beth G. and I had separated ourselves for an hour or so from the "serious birders" in order to photograph the Glade Creek Mill at Babcock State Park. It's a very pretty setting and deserved some time of its own.

So Beth set up her tripod and we scrambled around on the rocks in the middle of the creek for a perfect view of the mill... of course I was distracted the whole time by the fishermen who station themselves along the way. I'm always on the prowl for interesting strangers to photograph, but more often than not, my shyness gets in the way of asking for a photo.

So this guy approached us, once we had given up on photography and decided to go back to birding, to ask us what we were doing there that day and where we were from, etc.

We told him we were there to look at birds and his response was, "The birds are all dead."

Huh?

And he told us about, how, as a kid up at dawn, there used to be a deafening sound of song from birds. He doesn't hear that anymore. Doesn't hear birds singing, at all. So they're all dead.

Huh?

Mind you, his accent was pretty thick, so maybe I misheard him.

; )

In my devilishly charming sort of way I suggested that maybe his hearing was just going... that birds were still singing, but his ears were just too old to hear them, maybe.

; )

This was the moment when I asked for his photo. It's one of my favorites.

This photo is #8 in my 100 strangers project. Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at Flickr 100 Strangers or www.100Strangers.com

The full report

The full report on the New River Birding and Nature Festival will have to wait a bit; for now there's just these couple images... of perfect roadside wildflowers, of rivers rushing across bared toes, of ghost towns nestled in the mountains, weathered barns along the way, of impossible to photograph birds, memories of twisty country roads, lush hillsides and scenic saw mills, the laughter of an impossible-to-imagine mix of friends, graffiti as art and, finally, a hug between two beloved Flock-mates for the sake of a little bird colored blue like the spring sky.

The places we go back to

Photo by Nina

To some, the mention of West Virginia conjures images of moonshine, hillbillies and mountains leveled by coal companies. The string of small, almost threadbare towns one finds tucked into the hills in the southern part of the state only reinforces the reputation of the place as somewhat benighted.

Yet I keep wanting to go back.

There are no life birds for me there. As a birder, you can understand the equation necessary between limited travel funds and the possibility of life birds added to one's list.

Birds are not really why I go.

There's some other appeal in the homespun spirit of the New River Birding and Nature Festival that draws me back late each Spring. It's run in such a way that it does end up feeling like summer camp for birders, as Bill Thompson says about it. It's funny to me now to remember a similar feeling before I ever even went to this festival for the first time.

The field trip groups are kept wonderfully small; intimate, even, compared with most popular birding festivals. The trip leaders, besides being experts, are personable and enthusiastic and actually learn your name. Profits from the festival benefit local schools.

These are important things in my book.

This is the perfect festival for The Flock, too. They spread each of us out among the daily field trips - probably so that no one group will be subjected to the bunch of us together - and give us the chance to spend evenings together at dinner and the presentation. Then they secret us away for the night in a farmhouse in the middle of some marsh where no one can hear our silly antics.

; )

I've made lifelong friends there. I've seen gorgeous birds and beautiful sights shrouded in mist. There are hillsides drenched in wildflowers. There's biscuits and strawberry jam at every breakfast. A porch swing and Susan.

Is there any wonder why I go back?

There's still a couple openings for this year's festival... join us! If not this year, do put it on your list for someday soon.

Cape May lineup

Are you in?

So far there's just Susan, Delia and me.

(pout)

That's a very small Flock.

BT3 is speaking on Saturday night.

There's the Hawkwatch and the Seawatch at Avalon.

Heck... there's Sandy Hook on the way from the airport.

The Fall Weekend at Cape May isn't anything like the New River Festival or Potholes and Prairies, but this isn't West Virginia or North Dakota. What NJ might lack in charm or hospitality, it makes up for in birds.

; )

And high prices, I know.

Don't let the registration fees dissuade you. Come for a day or an afternoon, even.

We're making it more affordable this year by staying together in some ramshackle hotel and only paying for a day's worth of programs. We'll spend the rest of the weekend wandering on our own, making up bird ID's and laughing together.

Sounds fun, no?

It's Cape May... THE birding destination. You know it's on your list for "someday"... why not make it this year?

The Flock would love to have you join us.

Cheaper than therapy

Susan and I love that swing at the farmhouse. There's some magic that happens for us there on the porch... we talk lots, of course, and make jokes and giggle like silly girls, but there's something more and whatever it is, it's cheaper than therapy.

;-)

Love ya Ohio!

Bad bird photo of the week

Anyone else think there ought to be a field guide to warbler butts?

;-)

Side of the road

You wait in the car on the side of the road
Lemme go and stand awhile
I wanna know you're there, but I wanna be alone
If only for a minute or two
I wanna see what it feels like to be without you

I wanna know the touch of my own skin
Against the sun, against the wind
If I stray away too far from you, don't go and try to find me
It doesn't mean I don't love you, it doesn't mean I won't come back and stay beside you

It only means I need a little time
To follow that unbroken line
To a place where the wild things grow
To a place where I used to always go

If only for a minute or two
I wanna see what it feels like to be without you
I wanna know the touch of my own skin
Against the sun, against the wind.

A thousand miles there and back to spend a day with friends, old and new, gathered for the New River Birding and Nature Festival might seem crazy to some...

In fact, probably it was crazy to do, but the singing birds, the people, the chance to wander alone looking for wildflowers in those riotously rich West Virginia mountains ... it's all kinda irresistible to me.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Lyrics from "Side of the Road" by Lucinda Williams.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Photos:

(1) Windflower (Anemone sp.) Among my favorite wildflowers, Anemones are heartbreakingly beautiful and delicate

(2) Showy Orchis (Orchis spectabilis) I dragged Jim McCormac out in the near dark yesterday to show me where to find this beauty

(3) A giddy me photographing blooming May-Apples

(4) May Apple flower (Podophyllum peltatum) The parasol-like foliage of May-Apples is cool enough, but the flowers are especially lovely; more so cause you have to lie with your face in the dirt to photograph them where they hide beneath the leaves

;-)

(5) Fire Pink (Silene virginica) So named not because of their color, obviously, but because of the scissor-like notches on the petals... thanks Susan!

Fire Pink and silly me photos by MevetS.

Images: Barnegat Light

Some more pics that might've been included in yesterday's post...

Beth and her friend Kathy traveled all the way from Pa. and had HAD ENOUGH by the time we met in the parking lot at midday. While the weather was beautiful... usually I think of Barnegat Light as the coldest place on earth... the brisk wind had brought out the apples on sweet Beth's cheeks.

:-)

This would, I think, make a nice quiz photo for those, like me, who are terror-stricken by shorebirds. At least in wintertime, the possibilities are somewhat limited.

Sleepy dunlin (I think... though I was at first convinced they were purple sandpipers), an orange-legged ruddy turnstone, and a sweet spotty-flanked black-belly plover.

(Take all those ID's with a grain of salt, of course.)

I love how tame shorebirds can be in winter and am amazed with how they find comfort together on these wind-swept jetties.

Harlequins... what sweet little sea ducks!

They weren't close in to the lighthouse this time, like they usually are...

Instead they were feeding way out at the end of the jetty, with a happy group of photographers closeby.

(I was a wimp and walked along the sand, instead of on those treacherous rocks.)

Oldsquaw (long-tailed ducks) are a favorite... for their pink-tipped bills and their calls... nothing says winter to me like that sound echoing in the wind.

The day was ended near Manahawkin with hopes for short-eared owls hunting like butterflies over the marsh at dusk.

There were none, but that matters little, really. For all the frigid sunsets I've lingered in to spot one with no success... the couple times I have seen them in the low-slanted light of a winter afternoon serve my memory well enough that the hope of them keeps me coming back to wait, just in case.

Moments: Barnegat Light

Once past the terror of the jetty rocks, a rush of wind and an expanse of space... and ducks.

Birders caught in a quandry about the identity of the long-tailed (or are they pin-tailed?) ducks paddling and diving along the inlet at Old Barney's feet.

(A good enough reason for me to continue calling them oldsquaw... politically incorrect or no...)

The oddly painted costume of the harlequin duck is distinct and well worth the hours long drive to see them.

Random teeterings and dawdlings of dunlin, turnstone and purple sandpiper.

Tears that come at the memory of another visit here, a lifetime ago. I turn around confounded by the wall of wind... heedless of how fast and far I've come.

I try to imagine this place in summer, as most would know it... waves glitter a thousand small suns, the long rhythm of the surf, a herring gull's call like a rusty pulley, the clatter and crunch of periwinkles, scallops and skate egg casings, the sight of a black skimmer slitting the seam between two worlds.

- - - - - - - - - - -

See any good birds yourself this weekend?

;-)

Oh... and I ran into Beth out ogling the harlequins! Small world...

Year in review: birds

2009 was a good year for birds: I added twelve new species to my life list, give or take one or two that I'm probably making up or remembering wrong.

;-)

I don't believe that increasing one's life list has anything much to do with skill; in fact, I've found that over the years as my skills have improved, I've whittled my list down by quite a few birds that were questionable in my memory. Did I really see that Baird's Sandpiper or was I just part of a group that did? Would I know it when I saw it again?

Most certainly not.

So I don't count the Goshawk that flew over our van in the Adirondacks years ago or half of the gulls I could. I've seen them, yeah, but I recognize now that I still don't know them. I was probably a little too generous with myself as a beginner and my life list reflected that.

As it stands, the number hovers a few over 300, which is respectable, I think, considering that I hadn't traveled much to see birds until this past year. Adding new life birds at this point is about money and travel and getting up the courage to do a pelagic trip. Considering how close I am to the ocean, it's almost shameful that I don't know shorebirds well or have many seabirds. Gulls are still beyond me and that's still a point of pride that I'm not prepared to surrender, yet.

;-)

My first life bird of 2009 was close to home; a sweet Orange-Crowned Warbler that I saw with a sweet friend at Sandy Hook in January.

April's trip with The Flock to the New River Birding and Nature Festival netted me three warblers: Swainson's, Cerulean and Yellow-Throated. I most wanted Cerulean on that trip and was glad to get it, though the light was horrible and rainy and I still hope to see one whose color matches the sky like they say it does.

Late June found me, on a whim, in Michigan for Kirtland's Warbler. Most would consider this a once-in-a-lifetime bird and I was lucky enough to stand among a small group of them singing and feeding young on a summer day.

Wow.

October at the Colonial Coast Birding Festival brought many wonders and six new birds.

I spent a couple days with crazy dream birds, like this Roseate Spoonbill, flying over my head while I wondered how anyone could possibly concentrate on anything else!

Huge pink birds with ridiculously-shaped bills... just crazy.

Mind you, there was a Spoonbill here in NJ at about the same time, but nothing could've compared to the sight of groups of them, mixed with Wood Storks and White Ibis floating over in the unbearable heat.

The Brown Pelicans on that trip nearly drove me to distraction, too. And fits of uncontrollable laughter.

;-)

There was also a less-than-satisfying look at a Loggerhead Shrike and what I remember to be a Common Moorhen.

Probably I'm making that last one up, though I do somehow remember a purplish bird that reminded me of a chicken.

Probably I shouldn't count that one yet, right?

The last life bird of the year was sort of a nemesis bird for me: a Golden Eagle. There'd been a couple speck sightings of them through the years, mostly at the hawkwatch at Cape May, but nothing I ever felt really comfortable counting. This one, flying over the road in late October I'll count for now, until I spot one out west somewhere, perched close enough that I can see the wash of gold across its shoulders.

So... what birds did you add to your life list last year? Which are you hoping to add in 2010?

Good things and W. Va.

things with feathers, susan and the laugh that breaks free and gets loose, barred owls that talk back, dessert with every meal, curvy busrides, porch swings and the secrets they gently coax out of the dark, breakfast with bats, kathie's meticulous journaling, mountainsides that leak water and are drenched in wildflowers, the happy sound of laughter late at night, round hay bales and curious cows, a dry set of clothes before dinner, fitting in easily, small brindled dogs, ramps, nina's quiet smile, the squishy sound of mud underfoot, buttercups in the side yard, the first sweetcorn of the season, ovenbirds that court under a blanket of stars, a bowl of pistachios shared over the day's photos, ironed-dry jeans, biscuits with everything, cowbell on the fly, people who imitate the drumming of grouse, morrells with scrambled eggs...

Help me to remember more?

Such singing

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves--
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness--
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree--
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing--
it was the bird for sure, but it seemed

not a single bird, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky - all, all of them

were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then--open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.

"Such Singing in the Wild Branches" by Mary Oliver

Just a gentle reminder that Spring is passing, birds are migrating, wildflowers are blooming... get out and find it before it's done!

Skywatch Friday: Devil's Courthouse

Devil's Courthouse from the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. Elevation 5720.

Even the vocabulary is unfamiliar to me: ridge, gap, valley, pass, switchback, hollow, notch. There's been very little in my upbringing to acquaint me with a love for the mountains or the many words used to characterize them. I grew up in another place, with other treasures.

I've played in the High Peaks of the Adirondacks as an adult, where instead of sweeping views, one gets mostly strained glances at the sky through bare branches. These mountains are not so jumbled and rough; instead they're all curves and circles, bulges and dimples and woods that go on forever uninterrupted.

For all that it felt exotic and alien, my spirits were lifted by the visible rush of spring as it crept up the mountainsides and the sweet light of sunset polishing the days. The throaty croak of ravens flying in tandem in a valley below, dark woods shot through with gleaming white dogwood blossoms, tiny hemlock cones and banks of trillium; all spoke to that part of my heart that gasps at such sights.

Visit here for more Skywatch Friday posts.

Southern oddities

Just a couple things that tickled me from along the way...

And you all tease me about NJ and its toll roads?

The particular pleasure of watching your fat expertly glazed at Krispy Kreme... ack... too sweet! And what's up with *waffle houses* and *biscuit houses*? And sweet tea? But absolutely no decent coffee anywhere within a 50 mile radius?

The mountain version of internet service, evocative of the days when two tin cans and a length of string constituted phone service... and the folly of hosting 17-some bloggers who were then forced to pirate a wi-fi signal wherever possible.

A *new* river that flows north. Backwards.

Right. We don't really do mountains in NJ. WTF?

Rare red trilliums that are um... white? Or is it yellow? I have so many pictures of trilliums I've forgotten who's who. W. Virginia is awash in trilliums. They should better protect their flowered hillsides, I think.

The whole Southern fascination with B-B-Q. I never got a look at the pit, but I'd be surprised if it wasn't made out of half an old oil barrel.

I think this could probably be an on-going list, as we all remember things...

Anyone?