Meanwhile, at Home...

Readers will no doubt wonder what was happening with Chet Baker while we were away. Well, Chet was taken in by Michelle, who works at Bird Watcher's Digest, and her husband Ryan. Michelle is a consumer of Chet Baker's Facebook posts and already had some idea what she was in for by taking him home. She actually offered!

This is the first photo Michelle texted to me, of Chet checking out his new digs. Something in his eyes made me cry.  Going for a week without my doggeh does that anyway. But I knew he was going to do fine.

Chet posted:

I knew it was coming. Mether took me to Daddeh's office and left me with Miss Michelle who loves me. I love her, too. Mether told me I would stay with Miss Michelle. I jumped up on her lap and stayed there when Mether turned around and left. Miss Michelle just sent this picture to Mether. I know it will make her cry but I am fine and enjoying my little vacation. I will go into the Bird Watcher's Digest office every weekday with Miss Michelle and see lots of friends and even my Aunt Pokey Springer there. I will be fine.

And he was fine. He adopted Ryan as his very own and made Ryan tickle him all the time. The first night, he slept in his own bed, and after that he crawled under the kivers with his hosts.

There is something in his eyes that tells me he knows everything.  He knows his picture is being taken; he probably knows it's going to be sent to me, and he sends me a message with his eyes. "I am a little sad, but I am happy, too. I miss you but I like it here. Just do what you have to do and come get me as soon as you get back." 

Cryptic coloration in a resting Boston terrier.

Michelle wants to know why Chet always sleeps butt to head. I wish I knew the answer. But he does. She said he ate all his dinner after the first night of fasting. She said he loved his walks and loved to tear up junk mail and cardboard. She said he wouldn't poop in their neat yard but asked to be taken down the street to the woods. These are all things I already knew, but it was sweet to hear.

She also said he emanates a lot. Mmm-hmmm. See sleeping arrangement, above. Phew.

Despite this, Michelle reported that, although she and Ryan are dying to get a dog, they are now worried that any dog they get won't measure up to Chet Baker. "He's just so good." Words to make Mether's heart glow. I assured her that no matter what kind of dog they end up with, they will love it unreservedly. But did acknowledge that he is a very, very good dog.

While we were enjoying Texas sunshine, a mourning cloak tried to hibernate on the windowsill amongst my orchids. I don't know how it got there, but when I found it it played dead.

This butterfly overwinters as an adult, wedging itself into bark crevices. I was fascinated by its fur coat. You see that in moths, but not many butterflies. Butterfly fur. Now you've seen it.

It takes two million of them to make a decent coat, though. Tedious.

Bird Watcher's Digest's Managing Editor Kyle Carlson, an avid birder who's working on a stupendous Washington County year list, came out a couple of times to fill our feeders. On November 14, I walked into the studio and saw this: 

which purely stopped my heart. Five evening grosbeaks decorated the mulberry by the feeder. 

They ate for about five minutes, whirled off to the north and that's all she wrote. Sigh. I would so love to host them for more than a moment. It's an irruption year for winter finches, and I can only hope that the snows of January bring them back. Even with sunflower seed going for $26.99 for 40 lb. Ouch. I attribute this rare sighting to Kyle's provisioning. I only wish he'd seen them. He needs that bird for his list!

Another rarity in the mulberry: a brown creeper! The only North American representative of the Old World Certhiidae, this gorgeous little fairy hitches in a spiral twist up the trunk of a tree, flies down to the base of the next tree, and does it all over again. It's got a strong, spiny rachis on the two central tail feathers, and delicate translucent toenails like grappling hooks. A slender decurved bill works like a forceps to extract dormant insects and larvae from bark crevices. I found myself wondering what it might do with a mourning cloak...

I would eat it. And then it wouldn't have to play dead.

Trixie Comes to Stay!

Bill, Phoebe, Liam, Chet Baker, Charlie and I were extremely pleased to play host to Tricia of Trixie's View, her mom Mary, and impossibly adorable five-year-old daughter Vivi this weekend. The allure of a Swinging Orangutangs gig proved too much for Tricia, and she, Mary and Vivi drove from Cincinnati, where she was visiting relatives, to attend. We're pretty sure that's the first and last time anyone's come from Alaska to hear the Orangutangs. Sure would have been nice to have the other Cinci area bloggrrls--but life intervenes. Bawww.

I'd had my head in a blender all week, having gotten back from Guatemala/Nebraska late Sunday, put in three super-intense rehearsals for the gig, unpacked, tackled correspondence, done laundry, bla bla bla bla. By the time the gig started at about 9 Saturday night I was pretty much fried crispy. But with the help of some MSG from Chinese takeout and a thermos of hot rooibos tea, we made our way through about 4 hours worth of material, about half of it brand new, with me marveling afresh at the skill and musicianship of the other Orangs.

Tricia (or Trixie, as we wound up calling her) was there for the whole gig, stayed until the last dog was hanged, yakked with our friends, danced up a storm, and just generally fit in beautifully. My sweet impulsive friend Martha made my night when I stopped to admire a grocery-store cymbidium orchid she'd bought to dress the party space up a bit...then sent her husband Tony out to buy me one just like it. Ohhhh, yeah. I need a big cymbidium like I need another parrot, but it is ridiculously beautiful and lights up my living room! Thank you, Martha and Tony. You rock the hardest.

Let's see who kills hers first. My neighbor Beth rushed over and got one, too, and I alerted a couple of other master gardener/horticulturist friends to their presence, so I'm pretty sure they all found good homes. How anyone grows a 3' tall cymbidum with 50 flowers on it to sell at Kroger for $21.00 is a mystery to me. When I got mine home I ripped off the cheesy foil, plunked it into a tall, Asian-inspired green cachepot, and had something worthy of Smith and Hawken.

Sunday afternoon and evening, after loading and hauling our music equipment back from town, we all sat around the kitchen table watching Kid TV. Namely, a fashion show starring Vivi, Phoebe and Liam. Liam was dressed as Captain Underpants complete with flowing red cape and Cars undies, but he wouldn't let me post any of those photos. They are hilarious, but I must bow to his desire for privacy. Here he is as Venom, with Phoebe in pink and Vivi in Renaissance green. Nope, she couldn't be any cuter, or she might implode. Looks just like her mama.
Not long after this photo was taken, a very small Spiderbaby appeared, striking muscular poses. We laughed ourselves silly. Vivi ripped off the mask, Scooby-Doo style, to reveal her true identity. YAAAHHHH!
Stew was consumed, cornbread and fruit salad was consumed. Pie was consumed. Chet Baker begged shamelessly. He kept springing up into Tricia's lap, like a sudden kitty.
I hope you have put out eight plates. Portmeirion will be fine for me.

Today, we walked The Loop, still all bundled up against unaccustomed late March cold. It just will not warm up here. But we found the first tiny "Tete-a-tete" daffodil abloom in my south-facing garden, with some crocuses.
This, pathetically, is the only photo I got of Trixie, who is just as cute as Vivi, just grown up. I apologized profusely for the drab weather and colorless woods, but we had fun anyway. I know Alaska has us all beat for scenery, and was wishing we could at least have offered up some warmth to thaw these snowbound Ohio expatriates. But I did manage to find some pileated woodpecker poo under a tree with fresh workings, and dissect it to show Vivi and Trix the carpenter ant bones and skulls in it. They liked that. Who wouldn't?
I'll leave you with the first mourning cloak of spring, a hibernator out for a brief bask in the sun March 14. You can see from the slight wear on his forewings and tattered borders that he was born last year, and has spent the winter in a bark crevice. Another miracle. Happy St. Patrick's Day!