Birds and Beer

Birds and beer have nothing in common that I can think of, but both are included in this post.

The hummingbirds have been at war for the last several weeks. Every time one comes to feed, another one attacks. We have two feeders, one near the back porch and one on the side deck. We watch one feeder while we are eating, and I look at the other when I intend to write. This morning I was watering plants when a hummer hovered there, only 12 inches from my shoulder. I froze as he hummed for his liquid breakfast. What a privilege it was to share space with him! This afternoon I happened to see a tiny bit of peaceful coexistence. Two birds drank at the same time. They were nervous about it and soon rose in the air to have a whirling battle as graceful as any ballet duet.

The demented cardinal quit attacking the sliding glass doors after grandson Nathaniel washed them. I was reading the newspaper on the front porch this morning when I heard a whir and a bump. That silly bird flew onto the porch, landed on the floor, hurled himself at the glass beside the front door, bounced off, and flitted away. He must have done it four or five times while I was there.

I think I saw two hawks on a wire over the road while on my morning walk. The fog was so heavy that I didn’t see them at first. I stopped and reached for the toy camera, but they were gone in a flash. The birds were definitely larger than doves, and I had the impression of roundness about the heads. There was not enough light to see any color. As they flew, I noted big wings and squared tails.

Our son heard about a good German restaurant north of Asheville that sparked Nathaniel’s interest. Unfortunately, son $ had to cancel today, but we went on without him. I discovered the name of the place was more specific – Bavarian Restaurant and Beer Garden. What a delight! Nathaniel chose Blauer Engel Schnitzel; John had Münchner Sauerbraten, and I had goulash. As you might guess, I copied the first two names from the on-line menu, because I couldn’t spell them.

[Sorry for the caps. The paragraph looks OK in the draft.] We shared two desserts. We had Bavarian cream puffs and a fancy concoction in a wine glass. There was Black Forest cake in the bottom, topped with cherry ice cream, hot fudge sauce, and whipped cream. We felt sanctimonious stopping at Owl, the produce store, to buy vegetables and fruits on the way home.

Lynching at J Creek

I’ve walked a mile to the creek approximately 167 times since we moved to NC. I’m sure I’ve seen at least one new thing on every walk. Today I was enjoying the lovely sound of water rushing over rocks when I noticed a bottle hanging from the bridge. It was swaying lifelessly in the breeze from its invisible tether. Curiosity compelled me to go on the bridge where I found a fine nylon string tied to a reflector. The lynching of the bottle was a deliberate thing. My questions are, “Why? What did that bottle do to deserve such an untimely end? Will it be left for weeks as a warning to other bottles?”

I stop to speak to the four sheep and a new lamb whenever they are close enough to the road to hear me. I checked twice and saw only four animals. Walking on, I saw the fifth in the next pasture. The lamb bleated, and the sheep I was looking at stopped eating and shouted bah-aack. I’m wondering if the lamb is being weaned.

My mother loved the pileated woodpecker she saw in the thicket behind our house in West Tennessee. I suspect she identified with it, being reserved and reclusive herself. Once she pointed it out to me when I happened to be standing next to her at the back of the property. Fast forward 60 years, and I had a clear sighting on our own post. John and I were eating breakfast inside when I saw the large bird land on the wooden fence. He checked out several sections before I scared him away trying to get his picture. Come to think of it, our family resembles that bird. Our son $ is as camera shy as the woodpecker.

Quail

I was idly working a puzzle in the newspaper when my ears, if they moved at all, would have perked up.

“Listen,” I said to myself, “you know that call.”

The bird said, “Bob, Bob White!”

I couldn’t see the quail, but it was very near our back porch. We used to hear them all the time in Stony Brook before the meadow became a development. It’s wonderful to have one here – a welcome party of one, if a bit late.

A bit later I took something over to Amy and Ron, arriving just as his home hospice aide arrived. Amy was climbing the hill to the driveway, making fun of herself for looking like a yard worker. Patricia, the aide, was a bit concerned that Amy was so hot. That’s when Amy told a story on herself.

She said, “I took Ron to the emergency room one time, – don’t remember what for– and I looked about like this. They thought I was the patient!”

Patricia disappeared into the house, and a minute later, she came back to hand Amy a bottle of water. Amy made good use of it – drinking some and poring some on her arms. Yes, gardeners are born, not made. I’d resent anyone making me work that hard. Amy’s yard is a showcase, though.