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Patience my ass!…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“Fear the vulture, and the vulture will come. Fear nothing, and you are the vulture.”

Suzy Kassem

“By the time I got to kindergarten, I was surprised to find out I was the only kid with a turkey vulture.”

Jean Craighead George

We had an unexpected visitor in our garden (yard!) today. He arrived out of nowhere in a rush and settled on top of the post that holds our weathervane – and that many mistake for a gibbet!

Appropriate – in a way, I suppose…

I was in the studio working on something and my attention was captured by the big shadow that crossed the window. I rushed upstairs to alert The Girl (who was just about to climb into a bath) so that she might also view the bird… before it had flown!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe need not have worried as our visitor was clearly not in any hurry, settling itself in and busying itself preening. I imagine that it had recently frequented the Roadkill Diner and wished to rest a while so as not to suffer from indigestion.

What the heck is that thing?” – I queried the expert. For sure it was a vulture – but what sort of a vulture?

We rarely see Turkey Vultures in the garden, but if we did they would be easily recognisable by their distinctive red heads. This one – as you can see – was conspicuously lacking any sort of crimson.

Black Vultures are as rare as hens’ teeth in these parts. We did hear tell on the InterWebNet (well – The Girl did!) of just one such feathered friend that had escaped from the Raptor sanctuary in Duncan some three years back…

Could it possibly be? Could it?…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe were reluctantly persuaded that it could not – and that it was almost certainly an immature Turkey Vulture – the which have not yet morphed into red-headedness. Shame!

Pretty big bu**er for a baby, though!

The other birds took a pretty dim view of the visitor and all manner of squawking arose. The little hummingbirds – those most territorial of creatures – bustled up, jaws jutting – spoiling for a fight. The vulture simply ignored them and gave its tail feathers an extra polish.

Finally the crows figured that simply making a racket was not going to get the job done, organised a drawing of straws and nominated the unlucky loser to see the intruder off the premises…

…which it duly did!

Sorry that the images are not any better, by the way. I had only my phone to hand and I had to push it to full zoom to get anything at all. Double-clicking may help to make out some detail…

It’s a mystery!

We are blessed this year with a veritable cornucopia of hummingbirds!

Never have I seen so many of the adorable little creatures in our yard. Never has the garden hummed so to the rhythm of their tiny beating wings. Never has the nectar level in my feeders declined at such a precipitate rate!

I’m not at all sure that I can afford to maintain the standard of living to which these perky little chaps have clearly become accustomed… The feeders need replenishing every other day. The sugar bills are horrendous!

Nonetheless…

This post is not actually concerned with the birds themselves. It is about the feeders – or one of them anyway. I bring them both in to clean and to refill at the same point, regardless of whether or not they are each quite empty. When I brought this one in there was still about an inch of nectar in the bottom of it.

There was also – a live wasp!

The mystery is – how on earth did it get in there? The only channels into the glass chamber that holds the nectar are those at the bottom through which the birds sup the fluid. These cannot be more than 1.5mm – 2mm across and are – presumably – full of the sweet sticky water of which the birds cannot get enough. I don’t see how the insect could have entered whilst I was filling the feeder – certainly not without being noticed – and I saw that it was there before I had opened the chamber today.

As I say – a total mystery!

The answer to the question – “What was a wasp doing in your hummingbird feeder?” – is, however, in this case quite literally – “The backstroke!“.

I’m here all week folks!

Diabetics!

The Girl swears blind that the hummingbirds in our front garden (yard!) are diabetics. This is based on their slavish predeliction for the nectar that I lavish upon them at infeasibly frequent intervals. Being made by combining four parts boiled water to one part granulated sugar these must provide a healthy (or un-healthy) kick whenever they sock it back.

Now – for sure these gorgeous little friends burn off a fair bit of energy and because they are so tiny they don’t have much room to store same – but I am beginning to wonder what is going on. Our feeder at the front is suspended next to a hanging basket that is lavish with unctuous blooms – all containing stacks of that yummy nectar. But do the birds bother with that? Nope! They head straight for the feeder.

Hmmmm!

This is the work of but a few days…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

West coast gallery – 2

Following on from my last post – which featured some beautiful photographs of this beautiful part of the world by a most welcome guest contributor – here is the promised second batch. For many of these images photos of natural sources have been used as the basis for further creative expression. It is easy to see why this part of the planet draws to it artists of all persuasions from far and wide.

Many thanks once again to The Chanteuse.

Image by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan Monaghan

West coast gallery – 1

This online journal has once before featured a guest poster (none other than the Kickass Canada Girl herself) but now – in another first – it offers a collection of images of this west coast paradise kindly donated to the cause by one who shall (temporarily at least) go by the soubriquet – The Chanteuse! In the perhaps unlikely event that gentle readers have not yet been persuaded of the many beauties of this part of the world –  contemplate this two part series and become so!

As ever, double-click for the full effect:

Image by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan MonaghanImage by Siobhan Monaghan

Late, late, late!

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!

 

 

I used to be a werewolf…

…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!

Playing the piano

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…

Man’s best medicine

“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:

Things that are in it…

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?