News from the Hill

Two festivals back-to-back--one in Tennessee, and one in Florida, have just about laid me flat. I breathed something in on the germ tube to Tennessee, and it hit me the Saturday of that festival, and by gum it's still here, 12 days later. Sick as a dog in Florida, but managed to muster enough voice to give a talk and sing a two-hour gig with the Rain Crows. One thing I'll say, being that sick and having to soldier through makes one re-examine one's priorities. I've got one more year of total craziness coming up, with a couple of dozen festivals and talks, and then, by God, I'm gonna stay home and do my real work. I've been slathering myself in Vick's Vapo-rub, sucking on Fisherman's Friend lozenges, and going to bed at 8:30 every night. Tell the coroner when they find me to check for menthol overdose. 

With few exceptions, all I really want when I'm away is to come back home. I think about my neighbors and friends and know they're missing me. 

Buffy definitely misses me when I'm gone. She looks pretty good this winter! She's easily 9 or 10, but her weepy left eye looks a lot better than usual, and she's keeping the weight on. Proud of her.

I never see Buffy without Ellen's daughter Flag. I love seeing them together, love believing Buffy adopted Flag and Pinky when Ellen was murdered. And I wonder where Pinky might be keeping himself. Haven't seen him since fall, but I'll know him when I see him.

Weirdest thing: my chipmunks have stopped hibernating. They're here every day, no matter the weather. You'd think they'd crawl into a well-lined burrow and sleep away the single digits, but no. What is with that? Anyone else noticing chipmunk activity year-round? O Powers that Be, what does this mean?

The males are fighting a lot these days, which I always find amusing to photograph.

Whoop! that's two chipmunks in a pancake and syrup blur of motion. I'm thinking of the tiger running around the base of the tree until he turned into syrup in the problematically titled story Little Black Sambo, an 1899 vintage kids' book still popular when I was young. Dating myself, much? Man. I'm older than dirt. This happens when you blog for 13 years.

In case I had any doubt as to their gender, I figured it out when they took a breather...mighty fine pair there, sir.

I really dig photographing chipmunks. They're always up to something. And one really nice thing about them is that when they strike a pose, they tend to hold it for minutes on end. That's hard to find in a mammal. 

In other news from Indigo Hill, the greenhouse is beginning to show signs of life. Toughest winter yet for my plants. Most of my beloved geraniums have a black stem rot that is killing them off, and they're dropping like flies. I suspect it's fungal, or perhaps bacterial, and it seems there's nothing I can do about it. It just keeps spreading. This little alpine geranium, Erodium reichardii from Cyprus and Corsica, is a welcome exception. As in: Not croaking. We like that!

 The other geranium that isn't croaking is "Happy Thought Red." Great Scott, what a plant it is!! I took this photo today, with my glove for scale. Yep, she's 5' across and going for 6. Here's to plants that aren't dying. I'm so glad this one is prospering. I've taken a bunch of cuttings just in case.

If you're going to be overtaken by a geranium, this is a goodun' to be overtaken by. I adore this plant. Its velvety lime leaves, splotched emerald; its brilliant scarlet-cerise flowers. What's not to love?

One of my occasional fantasies was to be a grower of specialty geraniums. Root rot has put the kibosh on that dream. Let it go...

There are other plants to love, like this "Weeping Blue Ginger" that's actually a spiderwort, Dichorisandra. 

Speaking of letting go, I haven't seen Jemima since Christmas Eve. I've no idea where she's gone. A big flock of 13 swept in right around Christmas, when the severe cold came in, and they stayed until the cold broke. It seemed they replaced Jem's clan, which disappeared altogether. Now I've got seven jays in the yard, and I don't recognize them. Sometimes I think I'm seeing Maybelline and Darko, but I just can't be sure. My frame of reference is gone. I sure am not seeing my Jemima. Even though I put out the good stuff every day. Jay stuff. 

The letting go was incredibly difficult. Having Phoebe home for a month really helped with that, gave me some perspective and welcome diversion, someone else to love and care and hope for. I am given to obsessing, and I still look carefully at every blue jay I see, hoping one will turn out to be Jem or one of her clan. I've made progress though; I don't watch and hope all day long now. No, I just watch. 

I lost my favorite rabbit Notch last summer, probably to Cindy the bobcat. I then fell in love with a rabbit I named Red, a languid, lanky animal who lounged around artistically in the heat.

I'm now trying to figure out if the rabbit I've been calling Julie Fatbottom could be Red, disguised in winter fur. Her ears look too short to be Red's. But maybe it's because her fur is so thick? They share a wide thin white collar...I just can't be sure.

The only other thing Red and Julie seem to share is a deep red blaze between the shoulders. Maybe with spring and thinner fur, the mystery will be revealed. Maybe Julie Fatbottom is really Red. It doesn't really matter who the rabbit is, I know. But I reach, again and again, for these connections, this continuity, with the wild things around me. It keeps me going, keeps me hopeful. It gets pretty lonely out here.

My heated dog dish birdbath crapped out on me in the middle of the coldest period. I called every feed store and hardware in the area, and finally had to drive 1.5 hr. to Athens to get another because they were all backordered. I get such a kick out of this simple device. I understand from retailers that they rarely last two years. If there's anything I dislike it's built-in obsolescence, and having to throw out a perfectly good looking dish that no longer works. Ugh! But I'm hooked on the birds who are hooked on it.

I think that the female flicker who uses it may be the same one who visited the year I first acquired mine. This photo was taken Dec. 8, 2014. This little gal, to my great delight, was one of my first customers at the heated dish!

And lo and behold, here's a female flicker looking very much like her on Jan. 31, 2018. Coinkydink? I think not. Flickers aren't that common around here in winter, and female flickers who visit heated dog dish baths are an even smaller subset. Grasping for a thread of connection, again. I grasp with joy.

And while I was photographing her yesterday, wondering if she might have been visiting the yard for four years, a drop-dead gorgeous jay landed on the bowl beside her. WOW. What's gonna happen now? I can tell you, if that were a red-bellied woodpecker, there'd have been a rumble!

But she didn't bat an eye. She regarded the jay calmly. Dipped for another drink.

There's room here for both of us, she seemed to say. 

And my heart swelled like to burst when the jay dipped its head and drank, too. Little matter that the flicker could have put its eye out with one quick strike from that scimitar bill. The jay seemed to know she wouldn't. 

Ahh, birds and little plug-in dog dishes. They bring me such joy. 

So the winter days roll by, and I work and cough and cough and work. I've just put the finishing touches on a slideshow about the Vienna snowy owl. I never dreamt I'd be working on it for weeks, but I have been. When all was gathered together, I had 15,000 words and 160 images to sort through. I realized that, over the past month, I've written a book on that owl. I know why I did it. It's because Jemima left. I needed another focus. Gathering his story together and tying it all up with a bow has been a deeply absorbing pursuit, one I'm grateful to have had. I'll present it Tuesday, February 6, at 6:30 pm in Athens, Ohio.

Maybe I'll see you there. Until then, grab that last light of day. Get out there.

This evening marks Imbolc, an ancient pagan holiday that celebrates the midpoint of winter and the turning toward spring. I learned that from my friend Gale on Instagram. And I am ON IT. Listening for the woodcock, grabbing at those connections.

Ellen's Back!

Longtime readers will remember Ellen, the stunted doe who first appeared in our yard in the winter of 2008/09. It felt like forever, but she finally showed up for the first time this winter on January 29, 2015.

You can read how she got her name (her last name's Barkin) here. 

She looked absolutely terrible in 2012/13. See her here. 

I think she looks great in 2015.

Whew!! She's back, and she survived the fusillade. I always sweat hunting season, worrying some bored hunter is going to shoot my precious crooked doe, thinking she's a tender yearling. She is anything but. 

Ellen usually has her child of the year with her, often a buck. She's barely larger than he is, but she makes beautiful children.

We know Ellen by her funny crooked face and the odd set of her ears (she's to the left, above). 

She usually pushes her child around when there's corn to be had. But she's a lot gentler with this button buck. She doesn't strike him; she just nudges him when she wants him to move over.

Bill says it reminds him of the way I kind of shoulder Liam aside when I'm cooking and he's hanging around getting between me and what I'm trying to do. 

Just a little "Move along, now, son." 

The Dog Dish Birdbath continues to be a huge hit. I dump it out and refill it with hot water every day.  No thanks to the mourning doves and starlings who aren't satisfied to drink from it, but feel they must crap copiously in it.

The cold has clamped down and the feeders are hoppin'.

And Ellen's coming in every day, and all is right with my world.

This photo series taken February 16, 2015.

The Best Thing I've Ever Bought

You know that good feeling you get when you find something that WORKS? It may not be expensive or particularly beautiful, but it just WORKS.

I was reading galleys for Bird Watcher's Digest, which I've been doing since about 1991 in my position as Contributing Editor. I read the copy for science accuracy as well as flow and pesky typos. So, if somebody's written an article about their trip to Costa Rica, and they mention seeing a seriema,

lifted from Wikipedia.org

I'll go 

THERE ARE NO SERIEMAS IN COSTA RICA 

in big red letters in the margin. 

That kind of thing.

I happened upon a column called "My Way: The Water Bowl" in the Jan/Feb 2015 issue. It was by BWD subscriber Lorna McKerness. A resident of Alberta, Canada, she's faced with below-freezing temperatures for much of the year, and she'd hit upon the idea of using a heated dog water bowl as a year-round bird bath. She had tried any number of commercial products, but they were often very expensive and lasted little more than a year in those punishing environs. In the article, she said she was at the feed store buying two more, and the woman behind her in line added a heated dog water bowl to her order, too. That made Lorna happy.

Within a day or two of reading that, I found myself in the feed store, as I often do, and I was in the process of buying several hundred pounds of fancy food for the birds I adore, so that none would go hungry

and I remembered Ms. McKerness' piece, and lo and behold, down on the lowest shelf around the corner I found my next purchase.

It comes in green or swimming-pool blue. Neither of which would be colors I'd choose, but hey. The point in the dead of winter is not necessarily beauty. It's providing open water for thirsty birds.

All I'd have to do is plug it in and run an outdoor extension cord to a GFCI-equipped outdoor outlet. I could do that. I'd put it right where the (frost-vulnerable) Magnificent Bird Spa reigns supreme in warmer temperatures.

The price was right: $22.99. I grabbed one.

That same afternoon, the feeders filled up with pine siskins

and a pretty yellow-trimmed pine siskin was the first taker on the new bowl! 

Pine siskins are big drinkers.

As you can see, I've stacked three big flat rocks in the bowl to make a flat, level surface for a bird to stand on should it wish to bathe. I'd had my doubts about the slippery plastic as a friendly perching surface, but the siskin didn't hesitate. He was thirsty. 

Since installing it November 3, 2014, I've had the best time documenting the heated dog dish's inaugural winter. Herewith follows a gallery of ugly photos of beautiful birds slaking their thirst.

American goldfinches:

A pair of bathing house sparrows. Here you can see the coil-protected cord.

A tufted titmouse drinks. We're having a banner year for TUTI's.

A female white-breasted nuthatch, with her shadow-grey cap, appreciates the flat rock for perching. She has very long toenails and doesn't like the slippery plastic.

One of the very first visitors to the new bowl was Peg, a blue jay of whom I've grown very fond.

Peg has but one usable leg (you can see her useless right leg dangling). I'll tell her story in another post dedicated to her. Seeing her getting fresh water in freezing temperatures makes me feel good. 

I was on the phone with Bill, who was calling from Uganda, when a yellow-shafted flicker hopped up to the bowl! We hurriedly ended the conversation so I could document this spectacular visitor.

 Oh how I love a flicker. Probably my favorite bird to paint of all. This is a girl. No black moustache. Please appreciate those googly eyes all over her breast and belly. Swoon.

As you might have surmised, I am totally in love with my ugly green heated dog bowl, and I dream of manufacturing something similar, but more beautiful--rock-colored, rock-shaped.  I'll say this--with its simple round reservoir and smooth surfaces, it's a snap to clean and refill--the work of a minute. I just bring a bucket of hot water out, give it a little scrub, then rinse it and the rocks and refill. Maybe it doesn't need beautification. The birds do that. Maybe I need to stick to writing about them and painting them.

I am not the only one who likes watching the birds and chipmunks use the heated dish. (Yes, this post is from 2015, when I had Chet Baker stealing my seat each time I got up. I miss The Bacon.)

Now the ante's upped. I'm going for more and more thrilling birds. Managed to snap only the male, but for a fleeting moment a pair of eastern bluebirds graced the bowl. I just know I'll get a flock on some warm winter day...

If I've given you something you can use in this post, something that's not necessarily beautiful, but that WORKS, that makes me happy. But what would make me happier is your subscribing to BWD, where I've found Lorna's article and so many more useful, informative and awesome articles over the 44 years I've been associated with it. It's a print magazine you can hold in your hands, and also available digitally. With its rebirth in July, 2022, it's now full-sized and more beautiful and informative than ever. I am Advising Editor and I write a column and usually something else for each issue, as well as contributing art for its pages. 

Maybe it'll be the best thing you've ever bought.

Click here to learn more and subscribe.