Thomas: A Very Useful Baby

I've been reaching into my photobag, grabbing the sweetest moments as I find them. One of my trips during the New River Birding and Nature Festival in May 2022 was blessed by the presence of a young mother named Mary Luckini and her son Thomas, who was enjoying being toted around in a pack and frequently set free to mess about with pebbles and sticks on his own. I flashed back to Liam when I saw him head straight for a huge pile of gravel. Why, he could throw rocks there all day long! Just feed him and change him every now and then and he's good to go!

And it is here that I have to pause and marvel at the richness of blogging; it can be a window into others' hearts and lives. You see, I took some photos of Thomas that melted my heart, and Mary asked if I might send them to her. Oh yes, indeed I will!

Thomas is a little sobersides, with a steady and appraising gaze, who stole my heart immediately. 

He found some swallowtails puddling in a damp spot, as they do in West Virginia in May.

Slowly and very quietly he approached.  Low and slow, as we butterfliers say.  Well, he couldn't much help being so low! I always advise folks not to let their shadow fall across a butterfly--they'll take off. But the butterflies didn't mind when Tommy's shadow fell across them. Even his shadow was gentle.

There's something about baby hands that gets me--that little index finger, set to point.

The wonder and surprise--and restraint-- in those open palms.

The butterflies went about their business, untroubled by this sweet elfin person who came to sit down in peace with them. 

He never disturbed them. He just watched, occasionally pointing, then clasping his hands to his chest. 

He knew without being told that he mustn't startle or bother them. That right there is a Very Useful Baby. 

He's certainly had an amazing start, carried around like a joey in his mama's pouch, wherever she's gone. Hiking the Appalachian Trail at 34+ weeks, Mary was readying Thomas for the rhythmic cadence of her boots on the trail.

And when he arrived, she never left him behind. 

 This photo and the four following, all courtesy Mary Luckini.

After all, she was packing everything he needed.  She had breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. They were free as two birds. I'll never forget the joy of traveling with Phoebe and Liam as infants, when I had everything they needed. 

Mary tells me Tommy's favorite word right now is "OUTSIDE." Look at that impish smile! What a traveling buddy he is!

Mary and Thomas and his lovely grandmother Karen Luckini graced us with their presence at the New River Birding and Nature Festival in May 2022. That gal to the far left? Writer/avian rehabber/environmental activist Katie Fallon. Then there's Mary and Thomas in his casbah. Jessica Vaughan, BWD's Editor, is next (heart eyes emoji). That woodsman in the orange hat? That's Geoff Heeter, one of the founders and the stalwart of the NRBNF, 20 years strong. A lovely festivalgoer, then our friend Scott Jones, and bird trainer and educator Cheyenne Carter.  And the New River Gorge Bridge, currently the longest single-span steel arch bridge in the US, and the third highest bridge in the country, behind them all. A wonderful bunch!

This photo cracks me up. Click on it and you'll see the gaze Tommy fixed me with each time we met during the festival. 

I think my goofy grin set him off. He could tell I really wanted to get my hands on him.

About that richness that you get when you scratch the surface of others' lives: In corresponding with Mary, I learned that she and her husband had to work extremely hard to create Thomas. Seven years and the miracle of in-vitro fertilization finally gifted them with their beloved little boy. Imagine. 

Seeing a child so dearly wanted, so beloved, and being exposed to such beauty and richness at every turn moved me deeply. This is how a naturalist begins. 

Thomas, I hope I get to see you and your wise and wonderful mama and grandma as the years roll by. I'll look for a little boy with binoculars and an unblinking gaze. You are one lucky little sugarbean.

Phoebe is 26! News from Home (and Abroad)

Dear Phoebe,

I thought you should know the important news from Indigo Hill. Through the magic of FaceTime, I happen to know that at this very moment you are stretched out on a beach on La Gomera beside your beloved, Oscar. And I know there's no place in the world you'd rather be, and that makes my heart happy. 

However, you should know that the liatris is conspiring with the butterfly weed to incite a riot of color.

And farther up the meadow, there is a gray-headed coneflower insurrection going on in the New England aster patch. Two years ago I scattered some seed (it didn't seem like too much at the time) from my Wisconsin prairie friend Laurie, and now LOOK at what it's done!

As long as the purple asters come through in the fall, I will breathe easy. But this seems a bit excessive. Do you think I should be worried?

Also. I took a look at the yard and decided the birches, beaten down by ice storms two winters ago, were a bit much. So I spent a good half day with my chainsaw, whose original blade is so dull it spews fine sawdust all over me. Time to break out the spare.

Don't worry. I didn't fall off the ladder. That's not why I'm writing.

It's just to tell you that every once in awhile you have to take a look at your yard and decide what to do about it. Trees grow over and lean and bend, and sometimes they need to be brought back into line.

You'll know this once you've had a yard with trees in it for more than a couple years.

Sometimes you have to let the light in. I've taken off half of the birch to the left

and one whole trunk to the right

and nobody would notice it but me and the Stewartia tree, which had 40 blossoms on it this June. 

We notice the light and air and visibility, and we are grateful for that dull chainsaw.

After this I tackled  the giant prune hedge and fought it and its thorns away from the garden again. Liam helped. Awful job, no photos.

In prettier news, the crape myrtle is the biggest it's ever been. Even though it stayed in the single digits for about a week of nights in January, it didn't die back! So I had to tie it up when its blossoms got laden with rain. It's been the MOST beautiful, lush, well-watered summer I can remember. Not too much. Just right. 

That silly crape myrtle is my little piece of Richmond, brought to Ohio. Curtis gives a sniff to the drainpipe in the patio bed every time he passes by. There might be a chipmunk in there.

    

We leave the lawn chairs set up by the evening primroses, because we're out there every single night, winding down, watching them. I'm going to gather their seed this fall, and sell it this winter, as this plant seems to be hard to come by. I got my plants from Elsa, as you know. The best kind of heirloom. Anyway, they're more beautiful this year than they've ever been. They've had plenty of water, and we groom the old flowers off them every evening. You'd be proud of us.

I realize that this deeply bucolic and virtually news-free letter from home may be of interest only to someone who cares about flowers and trees as much as your mother does (that would be you!)

 I'm sending it out as a reminder of what's happening here.  Your life is also full of flowers, especially today!

For once, you get to be with your true love on your birthday, and what could be better than that? He's taking such tender care of you!

I took these screenshots as we chatted this morning (afternoon for you). You and Oscar were headed to the beach! I can't imagine. We're at least 8 hours from a coast. 

You told me about how much Aráfo has matured

that he's not nearly as much of a pain as he used to be. That's good. He is such a sweet, cute gentleman.

and he has eye makeup that makes him look worried all the time. I don't think he worries much.

I can't tell you what joy you and Oscar bring me, in those too-short weeks you get to be together. Just look at my tiny face in the lower right corner! About splitting with a grin.

Don't you think it's time Oscar came to America?

For good?

I certainly do. I know, it'll probably take a year to get all the clearance, a visa and a green card, but you two have started pushing the boulder up the hill, and I couldn't be prouder of you.

Anyway, honey, there's a little pile of presents waiting for you when you come home, and I wrapped them yesterday so at least they'd be ready on your birthday. Even though you've still got some time with Oscar on La Gomera, that basalt rock way out there in the Atlantic Ocean.

Speaking of rocks...that castle out there on the sea-carved point off Bilbao, España, is some setting

for the best birthday present of them all: a life spent with your Oscar Bello Goya. 

Any time I want to remember what love looks like, I have only to look at you and Oscar. 

Thank you for that. Some birthday you're having! 

Love you and Oscar so much,

Mai

 

BoxTurtle Morning

I've found two so far this year: box turtle nests, freshly made, and immediately dug out, usually by skunks, opossums, or raccoons. Even crows will dig them out. The pliant shells, like bits of white plastic, scattered. You would walk right over it, and wouldn't think a thing of it, unless you live in a place where there's never any litter, and you stopped to investigate. With every year that goes by, finding these licked-clean eggshells breaks my heart more. Between predators and deaths on our dratted roads criscrossing their home ranges, box turtles cannot catch a break. 

So from mid-June through early July, which is egg-laying season for box turtles, I pace the mown paths that hold the perimeter of my meadow and bisect its center, looking for fresh nests, trying to find them before the predators do. Aided by their sense of smell, mammalian predators are much better at this than I am. Fishy-smelling protein awaits just an inch below the surface.

So on the morning of June 28, 2022, when I found THIS in the path, I was beside myself. I'd never seen such an obvious nest, the loose, crumbly excavation tailings to the left, and the mud freshly globbed on 

complete with adorable clawprints from the egg producer herself, as she carefully tamped down her excavation. Can't you picture her doing it??

And on the upper path, on the same morning, another nest!! 

Little footprint, like a tiny elephant foot with claws...

Here are the tailings she dug out.

On finding two turtle nests in the same morning, the direction of my day took a wild-mouse turn.

Off I did tread, to the garage. There, my predator-baffling accoutrements awaited on their designated shelving. Raccoon baffles, house sparrow traps, turtle nest cages, all gathered together in the Great Garage Cleanout of 2020. There are things you must have on hand for just such emergencies.

I grabbled what I needed

called mah best fren Curtis, and headed back out to the meadow as the sun rose higher in the sky.

I pounded stakes into the ground to secure the cages over the nests

then trudged back to the house for heavy insurance.

I knew the stakes wouldn't be enough to stop raccoons, so I went back up the meadow to fetch cinder blocks with which to weigh the cages down.

Here, I'm caught on my trail cam with a 63-pound pack full of concrete. From this experience, I know without question that I am not built for hiking the Appalachian Trail. Because I would certainly have at least 60 pounds of gear, food and water, and though I am strong, I know I'm not strong enough to haul all that I need.

Just to live in the country is more than enough.

When I got to the first nest with the 63-pound pack on, I had to drop to a sit and roll on my back like an upended turtle to get it off! Lord have mercy. Glad the trailcam didn't witness that!

I weighted each cage, careful to keep the nests exposed to the sun.

Curtis snoopervised. I think he worries about me more as we both get older. :)

Box turtles choose their nest sites carefully, assessing the soil and sun exposure and who knows what all else in their choice. They need sun to heat the eggs, and they prefer my wide mown trails to thick meadow. On the trails, they have a prayer of getting through the vegetation to be able to dig an egg chamber. But there, they're also much more exposed to predation. So I help where I can. I was over the moon to protect two nests this year. Predators 2, turtles...?  I won't know if the eggs made it until probably October, or maybe even next spring, for the eggs incubate for three months, and the babies sometimes hatch and overwinter in the nest. It's a long, long waiting game to find out. 

In case you're wondering, the cage grate is large enough (1 1/4" square) to let the babies out without a problem. That is absolutely vital! You can't cage a nest and then confine the babies when they eventually hatch! Nor can you monitor it closely enough to prevent their expiring inside the cage before you get there.

I took a cooldown walk to the orchard, which is largely too shady for turtle nesting, and found a female Io moth resting on one of my beloved milkweed plants.

She looks like a dead leaf, until you gently tease a wing aside, and she startle-flashes you with giant eyes! (naturalist parlor trick-- you're welcome)

At orchard's end, the butterfly weed I mow around and prop up with sticks was in full bloom.

The indigo buntings I'd been monitoring had finally fledged on Day 10. Hooray!!

As I walked up to check the patio crack for Fak, the copperhead,

I found this.  

I'd scratched our initials and our anniversary (9-11-93) into the concrete.

I forgot I'd ever done it. 

And now here we are

 and aren't,

 and I found two turtle nests in the same morning.

It was a good day in the country.

E. B. White