This is a Whine Tour

While winter still insists on scratching it's cold brittle limbs against the window and pelting us with what would be rain if it weren't ice, it's a good time to at least think about birding.

One lovely mellow day last fall I went for a drive through the rich plains leading down to the river - an area of lush farm fields and ditches overflowing with tasty treats for wandering warblers, sparrows, and hawks on high.

It's an old area, on the edge of the Canadian Shield and hunted by the Algonquin over 6000 years ago.  Samuel de Champlain lost his astrolabe near here on one of his visits, and the Voyageurs plied the many lakes and rivers, laden with baubles and beads to trade for furs to warm the tops and bottoms of  European royalty.  Over time it became a destination for Irish, Scottish, Polish, German, and French settlers, hoping to escape famine in Europe in the early 1800's.

The day of my drive, the sun was warm, and lazy bees were making slow work of the meadows, lopsided and laden with pollen, they bobbed beside me,

while bright beady eyes followed their movements.

The Yellow Rumped Warbler is one of the first warblers

to appear in the spring, his cute little butter bum seen flitting

in the bushes and along the edges of fields.

The Song Sparrow is one of the first sparrows to make it back to the Valley. I know for a fact that they have returned, because I've heard then calling out and heralding the rites of Spring. Although I suspect that today

they are hunkered down, hopefully inside a barn out of the wind and rain.

Most likely wondering when the sun is going to shine, and wishing they'd lingered

a little longer  on the  south side of Lake Ontario!

Here in the middle of winter, a day of rain and temperatures hovering around 0 would have everyone saying things like, " Wow, is it ever mild!"

But in April?? Not so much....

Oh crap!

I have just proven, again, that Canadians  will always find

some way to talk about the weather.

Must BE the weather that causes this national trait!

Little Goosey Gander

Little Goosey Gander

Wither do you wander?

Upstairs

Downstairs

In the master's chamber.

(Who dreamt up that little ditty? What could it possibly mean?)

I have no idea what it means! But I do know that over the years, given all the crap and oil and crap and oil that has been placed in the way of all creatures great and small, I have developed a profound respect for any thing with wings who manages to fly by me!

Welcome back  Canada Goose, my  personal harbinger of Spring.

Honkkkk...honkk...hey You! Featherbrain? You listenin' to me?

yes'm.

for more views of the skies around this world, check out
http:www.skyley.blogspot.com

Channeling Dean Martin

Begin humming:

Memories Are Made of This

Take one gentle Cuban night

(Sweet, sweet memories you gave- a me)

Add one restaurant that felt right

(Sweet, sweet memories you gave- a me)

Then add a lobster tail

Some shrimp and rice as well

Strange little vanilla bean for flavour

Stir in an artist's stare

Three pesos to show you care

These are the dreams we will savour

(Sweet, sweet the memories you gave-a me

Can't beat the memories you gave-a me)

What happened to my hair?

Your eyes are brown, you shouldn't stare

(Sweet, sweet the memories Filito gave us)

Out of no where came the band

House in N' Orleans with a Cuban hand

Oh, the evening it was grand

Fold in lightly with the tunes

(Sweet sweet, the memories you gave-a me)

See some art and then the moon

(Sweet sweet, the memories you gave-a me)

One cab, one ride

One beach , one tide

Memories are made of this!

Buenos Noches!

Cuban Skies

The endless shades of blue define the water's edge, and I can watch it endlessly.

It is an island rich in contrast, and no matter where you turn, there is perpetual surprise.

I don't think I will tire of this place.

If one had to define dramatic pause, this would be a good start.

If one had to define the eye of a storm, this would be the time to blink and run.

Which we did.

Visit more sky shots at http://www.skyley.blogspot.com/

The Zen of Birds for Politicians and other Arrogant Worms.

A walk in the woods, a trek through the trees, bits from the branches, you name it, everywhere you turn, there are lessons asking to be learned.

Mother Nature has  written her wise old ways all around you,

if you but care to stop, look, and listen.

And learn.

The beautiful back lit palm, etched by the sun is a lesson in geometry,

hidden treasure, bas relief, photosynthesis, shadows and

the "incredible lightness of being".

Nothing is one dimensional, uni-purposed, or too banal for your attention.

Lesson #1: So pay attention to the little things around you.

For amidst the branches, and behind the palm, a furtive watcher waits

for a little lizard to make its way onto the palm branch. While happily sucking up  tiny red ants, the lizard  is also being hunted, unaware of the danger

lurking above and behind, just over his shoulder.

He sits quietly, waiting for the moment when the lizard is so caught up in his own game, that he forgets to look over his shoulder.

"Good bye lunch."

" Hello dinner."

Lesson # 2: Check the rear view mirror once in awhile.

You never know who's got you in their sights.

And that leads us to the next lesson. What not to wear on the campaign trail?

Bright colours on top is a bad idea, especially if you're a perky little thing that likes to flitter among the crowds, quick in, quick out.

Keep it cheap and cheerful. But not too cheap or too cheerful..after all, this is an election and serious business.

Lesson # 3. This is not a fashion show.

Stick to the tried and true timeless colour basics. Black, blue, white in summer. Small little dabs of jewellery...don't stand out when you're trying to fit in.

Don't let them think you make a lot of money.

Being a buffoon is bad for business when you're trying to win the hearts and minds of the people.

Just ask this guy. Stood out so much from the crowd as he scooped up tiny fishes, that he drew far too much attention to himself, and is now endangered in some regions.  The Eugene Whelan of the pelican species.

Funny. Bigger than life. Gone.

Lesson # 4: Don't be a flying dinosaur.

Politicians are meant to demonstrate wisdom. They should show us the way to harmony and bliss. They are supposed to be leaders, and the most respected generally are. But  over the past few decades, elections have become much less about visions for a nation, and much more about tapping into the motherlode. Finding the  niche demographic that will bring home the win.

It's Politics with a capital P now, where winning is everything.

 And we the people are simply pawns on a giant chess board.

Until of course the election is over, and someone wins.

Then we're forgotten. 

Lesson # 5: The sweetness of the sap will linger, long after the wood

has been tapped.

This may sound like a good thing. But bear in mind that "power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely".  Have you ever noticed how quickly

young and perky politicians turn gray and wrinkly?

They find a comfy cushion on the back bench,

and that's the last we ever hear of them!

Sad. But true.

Don't let this happen to you!

No, you must maintain your flight feathers, and be ready to launch into action at

a second's notice. Seize the light the minute fortune shines on you,

and be ready to fly. Go the distance. Do the right thing.

Lesson # 6. Do sweat the small stuff.

It's the little gestures, the honesty effort, the commitment, and the confidence to fly against the wind that will cast the longest shadow, and cause people to remember your name long after you've left the jungle.

Oh baby, it's a wild world. Hard to get by just upon a smile.

The Essentials

Between here and there, and then and now so much has happened that it's difficult to capture it all and decant it.

For starters, there is Cuba.

Impossibly blue. Filled with possibility.

And dignified struggle.

Pushing a cart of beachwear, or casting a net for sardines

the clock moves much slower in this world. 

Tourists have taken over the edges, but nature takes notes and marks the

trails where it's safe to wander.

Most of the time.

On the day of the earthquake in Japan, and thousands of miles away

on Veradero beach, a cold front moved in and sent the happy holidayers

sprinting for shelter.

It was a magnificent moment. Nature -1. Sunbathers - 0.

Away from the edge, and into the woods, the struggle is relentless

and the termites never stop.

Their home is impermeable to the winds and rains and seasons and tourists.

Awesome.

The bees have figured it out too. And on this rock, they built their home.

Safe from the scrabble and the scrambling of other creatures.

Essential.

And sweet.

Like Cuba.

Ready. Really.

This is the last day of February, and thanks to the modern miracles of technology and the Weather Network, I can just sit here in the frozen hinterland and hear all about the warm winds wafting over Bahamas, the "thunder'n' woodcocks" in Ohio,  the balmy breezes off Key West, Florida.

But up here? We're still waiting.

Bursting with hope, and patient for the breeze that will unlock

these pregnant pods, and then bring me a Monarch's kiss.

While the band's bus sits.  Tired, retired and rusty. Consigned to the field.

Waiting for the rhythm and the beat and the pulse of the music to echo on a warm spring night. Listening for the crickets and the peepers. 

Lines have been drawn. Stones offered up where before there were none.

If you're going to mend me, and help me to delineate your boundaries,

then now would be a good time.

I am waiting.

And sitting on the fence is not a decision.

 

A scratch, and nuzzle, a whisper, a hug.

Please.

I'm waiting.

We see you everyday. We leave traces and tracks.

But you never follow.

Our trails will disappear, and you won't know where we've gone.

But we will be busy. And you'll want to know.

We'll wait for you in the still of the evening,

down where the creek meets the river and the trickle becomes our sweet treat.

And then one day comes the moment of no return.

And for a singular, frozen second complete freedom reigns.

The waiting is over.

And it's time to make a splash.

Bring it.

Wait for the Signs

 And then the day finally arrives when the sky falls,
the fog rolls in, and if you're a hockey player, you sit
on a soggy snowbank and know the season's done.

And if you're a porcupine, you go out on a limb

to nibble at some frozen bark, wishing it were more

like the size of a hockey stick.

 

 

 

Spring is starting to stretch her arms.

See more scenes at http://skyley.blogspot.com/



These Matter

What matters most?

I need nourishing food to eat.
Clear water to drink.
Clean air to breathe.

I need company.
Companionship.
A flock.

I need caring.
I need to care.

Peace within me.
And peace around me.

Freedom.
Choice.
Dignity.

Flights of fancy.
And wings to carry me away.
And bring me back.

Home.

These matter.

Lunch is Ready

Having been away for the better part of the week, during which time there

had also been a significant snowfall, I came home to empty feeders

in need of replenishing.

First step: clearing a bit of snow off the porch...

One of the pleasures of feeding is that the local birds that overwinter get to know you. As soon as I step outside, they magically appear and start chattering away to bring in the rest of the neighbourhood who might have missed the fact that the two legged creature with big, bulky, funny coloured feathers was outside holding goodies in her five pronged claws.

No sooner up, then they're at'em. Shelled nuts for nuthatches, chickadees, woodpeckers, jays...they pretty much all love them.

Kids and peanut butter.

They're reasonably well behaved, and take turns.

'course if you have a wee beak, like a Redpoll, you don't have to wait for any nuts, you can go directly to the finer seed, like nyger.



And there's no waiting particularly, because it sprinkles all over the place.  

The nuthatches eat lots of peanuts..which considering the nut is almost as big as its little head is quite a good trick.

They wait in on line for their turns. 

and keeping an eye on all of the proceedings is PW, waiting on the far side of the tree, not realizing that the bright red cone is a beacon. I see ya!

Black sunflower, nyger, shelled (and often unshelled as well) nuts, finch mix, suet, and water- that'll do it and you too can have a flock of featherbrained friends- who frankly, are often more entertaining than  homo sapiens.

Chip Off the Old Block

Today was a sunny winter day, crisp but no wind,  a perfect day for a look around the yard. It was also a perfect day to  climb up a tree

and beat the pulp out of it

...if you're a Pileated Woodpecker of course.

There is no mistaking the sound of a Pileated Woodpecker pounding the living bugs out of a branch. They move purposely up one branch, and then another, foraging their way through the woods.

There is no such thing as subtlety either. This is a bird that knows what he wants, and will go to great lengths to get it. Chip-off-the-old-block is his middle name. And he leaves large chips of bark
and wood all over the ground -a sure sign of his visit.

In Pete Dunne's Essential Field Guide Companion, he calls the Pileated Woodpecker (aka Dryocopus pileatus) the slightly unseemly

Log Cock.

But if you think about it, there's the Cock of the Walk  -  or the flamboyant rooster who is master of the chicks.

And this guy, old Chip,  is definitely the biggest bird on the tree

in this neck of the woods!

So Log Cock it is - A finely feathered pecker indeed.