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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIt is my habit, at this time of year, to post to this journal selected images of verdurous nature – in particular in that form which it takes in our garden.  I do this, of course, to show off just how splendid is life in this balmy coastal paradise at the time of year at which spring bursts forth in all its glory.

The absence of such images this year is telling… telling mostly of the near six weeks for which parts of our estate were buried under a foot or two of snow.

Now, nature is no mug – having been around this loop any number of times in the past – and simply slammed on the brakes, burying its head (in a hideous clashing of metaphors) until such time as things warmed up again on the climate front.

Well – that time is now and all is thus once again kicking off as per usual – but it is, of course, now late, late, late

…and not only late: there is the distinct air of all of our growing things having taken a bit of a battering during that icy sojourn. No doubt all will recover in time but we really do need some nice sunshine to help things on their way, in place of the current cloudy/rainy/chilly weather that seems to have become a fixture here in recent days.

Ah well – ‘tis only April and these things often don’t pick up properly until May, the which they will doubtless do just in time for us to head for Europe. Ah well…

The dogwood and magnolia trees at least are in bloom and looking good!

 

 

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…but I’m all better nooooooooooooooooow!!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Fnar, fnar! What is it they say about the old ones?

The media and the InterWebNet were this evening awash with tales of those hoping to catch a glimpse of the Super Blood Wolf Moon eclipse having to brave the freezing elements, waiting in vain for gaps in the clouds or having to rouse themselves at unsociable hours of the night so to do.

We just looked out of our windows at about 7:00 in the evening and there it was – sailing across a perfectly clear sky!

Sickening – isn’t it?

 

PS – I’d love to know how flat-earthers explain away this (or any) sort of eclipse. On second thoughts – no I wouldn’t!

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The other day The Girl and I were both about the house. I was down in my studio (which has been mentioned in these pages before) and The girl was in her office (which has not). There is at some point more to be said about her plans for the future but this is not that moment. By way of enabling progress thereon – however – she has established a rather plush office/consulting space on the main floor of our splendid abode. As the gentle reader may discern we are slowly turning our dwelling here into our perfect living/working space – the which makes us both very happy…

Where was I?

Oh, yes!

Suddenly we were both – in our different ways – disturbed by a solid ‘thump’ from somewhere upstairs. Intrigued and somewhat concerned we convened above in an effort to discover the cause. Opening our front door revealed the sad answer. A bird – a robin – had flown into our kitchen window.

Now – two things you should know. Firstly, though a reasonable size with regard to the kitchen itself the window is not really that big. It is also tucked back underneath the broad roof overhang that forms a sort of veranda outside our front door. In other words – it is not that big a target at which to aim and it is not clear why a bird would do so.

Secondly – this was a North American Robin. This – from InterWebNet site ‘Metafilter’:

March 3, 8:17 PM
With spring just around the corner (Mother Nature swears for real this time), North Americans are eagerly on the lookout for one of the earliest migratory harbingers of spring, the robin.

Wait, what? Robins are a Christmas bird! Hey, that’s not a robin at all!

Indeed not! The North American Robin is actually a thrush. It is roughly twice the size of a British Robin and – in the winter – it ‘fecks off’ to Mexico (or somesuch!) thus completely avoiding appearances perched atop snow covered Yule logs outside 18th century coaching inns or whatever (insert your own favourite clichéd Christmas image here!).

The Brits amongst you might well imagine the British equivalent flying into a pane of glass and simply bouncing off. Sadly this North American cousin (though not actually a cousin at all!) packs a fair bit more weight. Our new windows are no pushover, however, and the poor thing simply killed itself outright. The Girl was quite upset and I had to take the formerly feathered friend down to the bottom of the garden and return it to nature.

Now – the more astute amongst you might yet be racking your brains as to where the piano player (see post title) comes into all this. The answer is that – being a Brit – I am blessed with the obligatory dark sense of humour. My first observation upon seeing the recently redundant robin was thus:

Well – he won’t be playing the piano again!

…which didn’t go down too well.

It occurred to me afterwards to wonder as to the origin of this handily apposite phrase. For once the InterWebNet let me down. There were to be found many an example of the phrase in use (and not all such from the UK) but nothing as to its inception.

So – if anyone could please advise…

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“Walking is man’s best medicine.”

Hippocrates

We live in such a blessed corner of this bosky peninsula that we are surrounded within a few miles on all sides by an abundance of places in which to walk – many of which we have not yet had time to explore. Both of these walks – enjoyed just the other day – are within a mile or so of our front door:

This is the small but beautiful park at Coles Bay – on the west side of the peninsula.

Feeling in need of more vigorous exercise than was afforded by Coles Bay Regional Park we went on to visit John Dean Provincial Park, which lies just above us here on our slope of the peninsula’s backbone. This park is extensive and we will have to take more time to explore it properly in the not too distant future. For now it offered us a much needed workout.

Being a local high point (in the sense of altitude if no other) the park houses a variety of mysterious installations:

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Image from Pixabay“When you look for the environment, you find things that are in it: a hammer, a smartphone, some rusty nails, a shed, a spider, some grass, a tree. So there is a big difference between environmentality and Nature. Nature is definitely something you can point to: it is ‘over yonder’ in the mountains, in my DNA, under the pavement”

Timothy Morton

 

What is it with nature?!

 

On the subject of the word ‘binge’ the Cambridge Dictionary offers us:

Binge

noun uk ​informal

an occasion when an activity is done in an extreme way, especially eating, drinking, or spending money:
a drinking/eating/spending binge

‘He went on a five day drinking binge’.

The use of the term is practically always pejorative (with the exception of its employ in the course of braggadocio – usually by the young!) and by way of illustration of the weaknesses and excesses of human beings.

So – what does that have to do with nature?

I have previously waxed lyrical in these jottings concerning the abundance and vigour of the flora and fauna of the west coast of Canada. Springtime is a particularly verdant season and it can be difficult to keep up with the garden when it is putting on its annual growth spurt. Spring – however – does at least make some sort of sense to me, following hard as it does upon the heels of the fallow winter months.

Autumn is different – or so it would seem to me at any rate.

In the autumn we get fungi! In just a few days these amazing organisms burst en mass through our lawns and beds in a manner reminiscent of the creature from ‘Alien’ (though without the lawn bit of course). They are omnipresent for a short period and then wither and vanish again for another year – as though never there. Do they lurk underneath the grass the rest of the time, just waiting for the ordained moment to burst forth like a joke waiting for a punchline (that would be the one about the ‘fun-guys‘!)?

Then there are fruit flies (time flies like an arrow, etc!).  Exasperated home-owners reach for Google to plead:  “How do fruit flies come out of nowhere?“. May-flies famously live but a single day; fruit flies, sadly, can live for forty to fifty – seemingly all of it during the autumn and mostly around the recycling bin, which they can – apparently – smell from several miles away.

Worst of all in my view – however – are the spiders.

During the rest of the year – and particularly during the hot summer months – these arachnids lurk sulkily in dark corners, or scurry away furtively when stones or suchlike are turned over unexpectedly. Every now and again they stir themselves, get their arses into gear and produce a bit of desultory webbage – as though to demonstrate that they still can.

Come the autumn all that changes! The spiders are abruptly jolted into action and start weaving the most outrageous structures as though their lives depend upon it… which, of course, they may do! I know nothing of of the annual cycle of these tautologically multi-legged arthropods.

What I do know is that the creatures themselves seem to double in size and to multiply exponentially in number just as soon as the temperatures start to fall, whilst their sticky ambuscades become more and more elaborate and are thrown across ever more infeasible spaces. The end result is that it becomes nigh on impossible to mow one’s lawn (as did I yester-eve) or to cultivate one’s garden without getting a face full of spidey-silk!

Bleuch!!

What I want to know is – if binging is frowned upon in humans, why is it considered acceptable throughout the rest of nature?

 

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As the drear dark days of winter finally pack their bags and grumble off to the southern hemisphere to bother somebody else, nature rubs its sleepy eyes, yawns and sticks its head outside for a quick recce. To its surprise and great delight there is no-one home! The adults are apparently all away and that mischievous little imp has the garden (yard) all to itself.

The results are pretty much in line with the description that the excellent Glaswegian comedian – Kevin Bridges – ascribes to the teenage gangs from his boyhood whenever one of their number discovered that he was the fortunate possessor of an ’empty’* for the weekend!

Mayhem ensues!

 

By the time the rain has drifted away, the temperature risen to an acceptable level and I get around to dragging my sorry behind out into the garden – it looks as though the rain-forest has dropped by and decided to stay for the duration. There follows a month (and more) of hard labour!

 

Now – this is where ‘relativity’ comes in.

I am – you must understand – not talking about Einstein here – nor Galileo nor Newton. I am referencing neither the Sapir–Whorf hypothesis nor meta-ethical morality (which turns out to be a good thing as my knowledge of either is limited to the world of Wikipedia!).

I refer to the fact that what appears during the height of the summer (I don’t venture out there at all in winter!) to be a perfectly sensibly-sized plot – just about large enough that the neighbours on either side don’t intrude in any way – metamorphoses in the inchoate springtime into a vast overgrown estate full of fiendish flora resembling nothing so much as Wyndham’s Triffids.

A whole bunch of seemingly endless hard work – in other words.

Worth it though, of course. Best get back to it…

* Parents away – house to themselves – party!!

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Having been out for a significant chunk of the day on Friday last (not returning home until around six o’ clock of the evening) I realised on our return that I had not yet checked the mail.

Now – for our first month in this house, back in 2015, the post was still delivered to the door. Ever since then we have been obliged to scamper along to far end of the terrace to the new roadside mailbox stack – an ‘improvement’ to the service which has naturally been planted in quite the most inconvenient of locations. These days I usually break out the bike and cycle up the road: Friday being no exception.

As I went to get my bicycle from the store in which we keep all of our outdoor equipment I glanced – as is my habit – out to sea. I was immediately taken by an unusual pattern of marine movement; an odd assemblage of a not insignificant number of assorted vessels. One gets quite used to the tracks that boaters take across the bay and this unusual gathering of craft – some eight or ten of them – was definitely not normal. Something was up.

We live up on the hillside above Highway 17 (the Pat Bay) at a point at which it follows the coast quite closely (a little below the uppermost ’17’ on the accompanying map) on about the same latitude as the top end of James Island. It takes less than five minutes to ride down the hill and to cross the highway on the pedestrian bridge to get to the shore. Coming back up takes a a little longer as one might expect, for the gradient is quite severe.

As I rode along the terrace I could see that the cluster of boats below was still extant, though now moving slowly southwards down the coast. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided that I just had to ride down to see what was going on. Once I reached the waterfront I could see that the craft had arranged themselves into a broad U-shape between the shore and James Island – a stretch of water called the Cordova Channel. There was clearly something unseen at the centre of this formation.

Image by djmboxsterman on PixabayA little patient watching and waiting revealed the answer: a pod of some five or six Orcas! My best guess is that the boats were trying to guide the Orcas out of the channel into the open ocean, thus preventing any of them becoming beached in the shallows around Cordova Spit.

What a stunning and beautiful sight! Inevitably I had neither camera nor mobile phone with me (hence the splendid stock image accompanying this piece) though I very much doubt that I could have got any decent shots in any case.

This is not a sight that one sees every day. Had anyone suggested – ten years ago – that on a Friday evening in August I would have been watching a flotilla of small boats shepherding a pod of killer whales past the bottom of my garden…

…I would have had a good chuckle!

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…read all about it!

Having returned from our trip up island we discover that our hummingbirds have grown dramatically – to the extant that they can scarce any longer fit in the nest (however expandable it might be). As they are not yet quite ready to ‘fly the coop’ they spend their time patiently sitting (apparently) one atop the other on the rim of the nest, remaining as still as possible to avoid attracting predators.

It can now be but a few days until they depart. Herewith a couple more (grainy as ever) photographs…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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It occurs to me that regular readers (should any such be in attendance) might care for a progress report on the hummingbird that chose to nest on the string of festive lights that were left hanging immediately outside our front door. Any such adherents will doubtless be delighted to hear that the mother is finished her long stint of nest sitting and is now furiously feeding two rapidly growing chicks. The nest itself is starting to expand to keep pace with their increase.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIn the above image you can just make out one chick’s fast growing beak poking out of the nest. Whilst in the egg the bill is tiny – no more than a bump – but it grows quickly once hatched. I must apologise, incidentally, for the grainy nature of these images, to which a certain amount of enlarging, cropping and processing was required for them to become at all clear. I really don’t want to impose myself any more than I have already done on these gorgeous but minute creatures.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIn this image above (double-click to get it as large as your screen will allow) you might just be able to make out the mother delivering a regurgitated mixture of insect protein and nectar to one of the chicks. Yum!

Here below – one hopefully happy hummingbird family (sans father, naturally!)…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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Of all of the many joys that the natural world has to offer the expat from Europe one of the most enthralling is the prevalence of hummingbirds throughout the Americas. These amazing, beautiful but minscule birds are simply not found in the wild to the east of ‘the pond’.

For the price of a cheap plastic hummingbird feeder and a bag of sugar one may readily contrive countless hours of wonder and entertainment throughout the year as the diminutive creatures besport themselves before our mesmerised gaze (although not, of course, actually for our benefit!).

The nesting habits of hummingbirds are – however – considerably less public and significantly more mysterious. This – from ‘Birds & Blooms‘:

“Like a crown jewel, the nest of a hummingbird is one of the great wonders in all of nature. They are so tiny, yet so perfect. Few of us have ever seen a hummingbird nest. This is because they are nearly impossible to find. From the ground, they look like another bump on a branch. From above, an umbrella of leaves conceals them. And from the side, they look like a tiny knot, quilted with lichens, plant down and fibers.”

…and this from ‘The Spruce‘:

“Hummingbirds choose safe, sheltered locations for their nests, ensuring that their hatchlings are protected from sun, wind, rain or predators. The most common nest locations are in the forked branch of a tree, along thin plant branches or sheltered in bushes. Thicket-like areas or thorny bushes are especially preferred for the extra protection they provide.”

Why should it be – therefore – that one particular hummingbird has chosen to construct her nest (the males play no part at all subsequent to conception) in the string of festive lights that I had left up for far too long after Christmas – immediately outside our front door? Hardly a ‘safe, sheltered location’, given that most traffic into and out of the house passes immediately below the spot. Did the bird simply not notice?

Given that ‘The Spruce’ advises:

“Like all nesting birds female hummingbirds can be shy and skittish, and may abandon nests if they do not feel secure. It is always best to keep your distance from a nest and enjoy it from afar rather than risk harming the nest or chicks by being too eager to see them.”

…we have been forced to adopt a new route into and out of the house – through the garage…

We know our place!

(I do encourage the gentle reader to enlarge the attached image by double-clicking it. I didn’t want to get any closer to the nest and my little Fuji camera has only a limited zoom).

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