THE DEVA

Posted on July 30, 2011 by snowbirdredux

There’s a reason I have this Arthur Rackham print hanging above my desk.  It’s an illustration from Midsummer Night’s Dream entitled – “Faeries Away!”  I’m sure they were simply scurrying off to help Puck on some naughty misadventure, but I love their happy dynamic brilliance.    And yes,  I have to admit that I have never ever, really, totally, stopped  believing in  nature spirits and of course, thanks to Harriet, all the angelic beings as well.   Call me fey.  Call me naïve.  But I know that there are more things in heaven and earth and under the sun than we can catch out of the corner of our eye.

It’s all a matter of essence and energy. Gnomes, Sylphs, Salamanders, Fauns – what were they but our puny stabs at understanding this vast and incomprehensible world in which we find ourselves.  And that leads me to the Deva, which I meant to include in the description of the Sitting Room.

This sculpture was carved out of single piece of redwood by a sculptor in Northern California and I am sorry and embarrassed to say that I have forgotten his name.  He called the piece “A Tear for Jim Henson” to honor the Muppet creator who had recently died and because there was a natural gap in the wood that suggested that the “frog-ish” creature was crying.  We named him the Deva and he has since sat and greeted all who come to our home.  Our oldest grandson, Sean, is now a senior at Sonoma State but he was the first to sit astride the Deva, and the other grandchildren have followed suit.  I know he has his own essence and energy and I think I sometimes catch his very spirit out of the corner of my eye.

 

POSTSCRIPT:  Happy Anniversary to Me.  This is my 100th Post.

Posted in faith, Family, favorite things, remodeling | 1 Comment

TWO ROOMS DOWN AND DONE

Posted on July 29, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Amazing what a little bit of “calling it as it is” will do for progress.  I’m happy to report that our bed is no longer on the floor and the “sitting room” is lovely and surrounded by favorite things.

We kept the bedroom walls just as they were.  The former owner had put a lot of time into a sponge-painting job which, while not the colors I would have chosen, was done with great artistic ability.

Before

More Before

T.M. (aka Bob, Robert) insisted on shipping Harriet’s 1920’s bleached mahogany dressers, which I found dated and somewhat depressing,  along with the paltry amount of furniture we did bring with us from California.  He said because they were made when quality was popular and they do show the Kroehler, Hand Crafted Furniture labels inside the drawers and still have the original “Genuine Mahogany” cetificate issued by the Mahogany Association of Chicago, 1930.  Who knew that they would look so perfect against the darker smudgy walls.  Thanks Mom.

Our knees are thankful for the new "lift".

Harriet's bunny on the chest

The “Sitting Room” which I am distinguishing from the eventual “Living Room” ended up being the very place we hauled our cozy chairs.  Since both rooms downstairs are somewhat small, they will just be extensions of each other with spill-over seating either way.

As I remember it, there had previously been a large loom and exercise equipment there and as in every room challenge in this old house – lots of doors, windows, radiators and not much space.

Before

I love colors that are hard to define.  Primaries, of course are never an option, but I even go so far as to prefer something more subtle than just a blue-green, say, or a rosey-red.  I like to have to struggle for the elusive nuance of a shade. So, having said that, our Sitting Room color is neither grey nor blue nor green, but just right.

T.M.’s chair with print of the “Sutro Baths” from our Mirage Restaurant. Harriet’s picture on the right wall.

My chair with Chinese screen.  The print of Mt. Fuji I carried, rolled up, from the Metropolitan Museum on a trip to visit Kevin in New York.  On the wall is a picture of Grandma Marie and her wedding plate.

Not QUITE done!  Actually the new front door is scheduled to replace the window on the right, leading out to the entry porch.

Wagon Wheel - Bixby Canyon

When T.M. was building our house at Bixby Creek in Big Sur, California, he unearthed a wagon wheel while digging a hole for the foundation pole. Bixby Canyon had been a thriving little community in the 1890’s with a post office, school, inn, restaurant with it’s own “locks” to catch fresh trout,  and of course a stage stop until a disastrous flood inundated all of the above.  We left the spokes as part of the foundation and salvaged the hub and a part of the frame.  One of our special treasures.  It’s starting to look like home!

Posted in favorite things, MOVING, remodeling | 1 Comment

SONG BIRDS

Posted on July 27, 2011 by snowbirdredux

EMPTY NEST

My friend Susan is elated because their resident wren is just now courting a lady and hoping to produce a batch of little wrens before the end of summer.  Where has he been?  No matter.  Hopefully they will move forward into marital bliss.  My resident wren flew the coop, so to speak, and didn’t entice his mate to stick around for the second batch – which wrens do, by the way, often having two and sometimes three groups of progeny in a season.   I could have told him why, had he asked.  In fact, he participated in the nest building and then brought bugs galore on a round-the-clock basis – perching on the edge of the nest and quickly poking them into hungry mouths before flying away for more.  But Mom you see, didn’t just come and feed her ravenous brood, she popped inside and scooped up the poop – every single time.  It took me a while to figure out how it was that she arrived with the treat and every time left with something wet and yellow. Which she took I know not where.   Susan explained that too.  So now I suspect that our wrens did not make it to the second birthing because Dad was not exactly a deadbeat, but didn’t do diapers.  Figures.  And I don’t blame her.

The wren, it seems, is the primo vocalizer of the bird world. My Audubon Sibley Guide to Bird Behavior explains that the wren may have as many as 219 different songs!  And – a male will “cycle from one song to the next, moving through his repertoire in a fairly predictable fashion. And it goes on to explain that neighboring males may engage in “counter-singing”.  In other words, they may follow a song series, first offering back the song just given by the rival and then moving on through the litany – a sort of “back atcha” male posturing.  But the amazing thing is that birders have speculated that beyond flexing their prowess and masculinity, the counter-singing allows the males to calculate the distance between their rivals.  Because they “know how each song should sound, they can determine how far away their rival is by how degraded (by trees, brush, and incidental noise) his song sounds.  I’m thinking “Oklahoma” and Curley flexing his tenor and his muscles while bidding for the lunch pail at the fair.

I have to tell you that T.M. (AKA Bob, Robert) sings to my mind as well as almost anyone.   He was in the Choir at Claremont McKenna College (CMC, or Claremont Men’s in those days) and like the wren has a fabulous repertory and remembers all the words to some very obscure old popular tunes. And even knows the words since elementary school to the Ecuadorian National Anthem which he likes to sing with appropriate hand gestures.  And, unlike Mr. Wren, his housekeeping talents are pretty good too.  He now, for instance, does most of the cooking and he not only washes clothes – he SPOTS first and hangs whenever possible to dry in the fresh air.  I fold and put away.

But, back on topic – this week we experienced two great singers right here in Fergus Falls.  The first was at the weekly concert in the park.  Mark Fogelson is first of all a storyteller supreme and he especially made me laugh with his rendition of  “What if Jesus was  Norweigian”. You can look him up on his web site/blog and  listen to videos and see for yourself.

The second one was Mikko Cowdery who was the musician of the day at the Underwood Unitarian Church, with a voice as pure and good as it gets.  With his baritone ukelele (who knew there was such an instrument?) his rendition of Pennies from Heaven was a priceless touch to the Offertory.

Since the wrens are gone for now with their prolific and lovely choruses, we may just need to hook up the stereo.  Or T.M. can just keep singing.

Posted in Birds, minnesota life, religion, Wild Life | 1 Comment

DEW POINT

Posted on July 22, 2011 by snowbirdredux

COSMO AT REST

Somebody loves this weather! 

We’re told that this is not normal.  Yes, it can get hot and sticky with humidity in the summer, but not like this, they say.  And we have no reason to doubt.  Except that if you look around, and stay tuned, and indulge in a metropolis daily, you can’t help but begin to fear that it is the start of G.W. I hate to say the words out loud, it has been so bandied about and analyzed and debated to bits and even though I, for one, believe in the truth and existence of mankind’s crass and unthinking destruction of our planet’s atmosphere, that is just in my heart and mind and I am not a scientist.  Yet I have read the scientific predictions from reputable sources and they are all saying – “get used to it!”

Lets face it, where the weather is concerned, everything is more extreme these days.   The extra feet of snow that falls for longer periods and the drought that covers our own southern climes as well as parts of Africa and the flooding of the rivers and lakes and now, right here in Minnesota, and far beyond – record dew points.

I didn’t know what dew points meant when I was in California, but it seems when you measure the actual temperature and create a ratio with the humidity, you get a different number altogether and that determines what the “actual” temperature will be so that 90 degrees with a dew point of 89 degrees will probably compute as 135 degrees!  Or thereabouts.

I always equated the dew with some lovely morning mistiness that is associated with faeries and elves.  Grandma Marie even sang about a fabled garden where “the dew is still on the roses” and I got the picture that it was a very good thing, walking with Jesus and all in the dew, even though she lapsed back and forth from English to Swedish inter-verses. My Webster’s New World actually states – “anything regarded as refreshing, gently falling, pure”.

But Dew Point is our new marker and I find myself anxiously turning on the local weather report every day with Sven calmly intoning the grim news for Fergus Falls.  Today before the heat index could climb beyond endurance, I went to the garage to continue to break down and tie up the many packing boxes that have been tossed about.  This mainly so that we can park the van in the garage when the tornado approaches.  And I was surprised to find that much of the cardboard was difficult to slice through with my mat knife because it was WET!  Absolutely sopping wet.  And yet, that’s not hard to figure because I WAS SOPPING WET.  The dew point evidently has to go somewhere and it’s not necessarily on the roses.

So, yes, we are dripping and exclaiming and complaining and even in awe of what Mother Nature or even G.W. has wrought, but – you know what? – we are still happy to be here.

humidity sky

Posted in Cats, minnesota life | Leave a comment

NOMENCLATURE

Posted on July 21, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Part I:  The Man of Many Names

Ever since I started writing this blog I have referred to my husband as “Robert” even though I never call him that personally.  I would never say, for instance – “Robert. We’re going to be late.  Are you ever going to be ready?!  Or – “Robert! The phone’s for you!”  Or “Goodnight Robert”.   It sounds phony to my ears just writing it.

Bobby - in the beginning

I suppose it all started with “Bob”.  And at this point I don’t really remember, but I must have called him Bob a bit in the beginning.

Us - In the beginning

But my first husband was a Bob and so it just seemed unnatural to use that epithet again.  And right off the bat, over 35 years ago, my son, Kevin adapted his own name for the second Bob. He began by teasing me – saying “Mother, are you going to be spending the weekend with That Man again?”  And that immediately became T.M.  Silly, I know, but it was one of those crazy, oddball occurances that for whatever reason just stuck.  And I began to call him T.M. And my daughter and mother began to call him T.M.  And many of our friends only know him as T.M. In fact, certain people seem to have come to the conclusion that his name is “Tim”, but that’s few and far between.

So now we’re up to four names – Bob, Robert, T.M. and occasionally Tim.  But then there is Poker World, as he calls it, where he is known and even affectionately called R.C.,  which stands for his first two initials standing in for Robert Caldwell.  And that got me confused for a time, when I heard an unknown man’s voice over the phone asking for Arcey?  Huh? Sorry, wrong number.

I know that a name is important.  It stamps your personality onto your public face.  In fact, back in early April I wrote in a posting called “What’s in a Name?” the following sentiments –

“It only stands to reason that names must be of the ultimate importance when you consider that many religious traditions require that the true name of God NOT be spoken . That gives some credence to my belief.  And consider the doors and worlds that could be opened just by uttering “Sesame” or “Rumplestiltskin”  Certainly our names tend to define us.  Just how far ahead do you think Bernie Swartz or Archibald Leach would have gotten in Hollywood if they had kept their birth monikers”?

I went on to lament how our immigrant grandparents had their names willy-nilly changed for them and to further decry the fact that I was supposed to be given a family name – Kerstin, which I would have much preferred over this popular song intervention I was stuck with.  So I “get it” that this man with many names is protesting the use I have been propagating by referring to him as Robert.  Recently I tried to correct my error by announcing that henceforth he would be referred to as “Bob” – a name he definitely prefers and one which is used by most relatives on both sides of the aisle.  But I can’t do it.  Sorry.  I might as well call him Rumplestiltskin or Bernie Swartz.

So this is what I propose.  Henceforth – I will call him AND refer to him as T.M.  Simple as that.  And YOU can call him Bob or Tim or whatever you are comfortable with, and that’s just fine, but now we will be clear on the nomenclature.

Part 2: “DONE!”

So – T.M. and I recently had a difference of opinion on the meaning of the word “done”.  When we initially made an agreement that concerned how necessary it was to complete just one area in this remodeling/reconstruction mess, we evidently failed to elaborate and confirm to one another our individual understanding of the term, “done”.  That is why the Grumpy Room has now become the Interminable Room.  Yes, it is majorly cleaned up, has a new hanging and linen closet (minus the doors) and one bookcase (still needs two) and a computer desk (very happy about that) but still lacks other shelving, rug, drawing/office table, cozy chairs and lamps and pictures on the wall.

New closet, sans doors

Computer desk

He, it seems, thought that it could be called done when he got his mess cleaned up and so he moved right on to opening up the wall in the kitchen for the refrigerator.

Opening up a very old wall

And of course, that went right from being another Interminable Room to an Intolerable Room the day the switch on the shop vac accidently got switched from vacuum to blower!  But I am glad to report that I now am “done” with rewashing every dish, pan, utensil and kitchen surface in that space.

Cough, cough!

So the work goes on and we’ve communicated a bit better and even moved back upstairs.  Soon I will have pictures to show of the “done” bedroom which is near completion and in the mean time, I have my sacred space and it’s done.

Posted in Family, remodeling | 2 Comments

COMMUNITY

Posted on July 18, 2011 by snowbirdredux

We started this past Sunday at the Unitarian Church of Underwood, part of our sampling of the local spiritual venues with a nod to something other than just Luthernism which of course abounds.  Their service this day included a discussion about community and that was an apt and most personal subject since it encapsulates an important  reason we are here in Minnesota.  Not that we haven’t ever experienced a sense of community at places in California, but I think it becomes harder and harder to find.  There is much to be said for the Midwest, Lake Wobegone, and an old-fashioned sense of coming together.  Perhaps it’s the weather which, as we are discovering ranges from extreme to extreme, so that there is more of an actual need to be less insular, to “be there” for one’s neighbor as one would have them “be there for you”.  Perhaps it’s something we haven’t even yet considered.  But Community does seem to be stamped into the DNA of these people somehow.  And we like that.

Yet if I had to put it to the test, bring the whole concept into my personal reason for this drastic uprooting move, I would name it Family.  That’s the type of community I longed for all my life out there growing up on the coast.  And that was a number one reason in this reverse return.  So – it was a perfect ending to the day to go to the Clay County Fair where my cousin Ross (on my father’s side) was awarded the Friend of the Fair Award for 2011 and my mother’s cousin Lynn was given a posthumous award and inducted into the Hall of Honor.  Pardon me if I indulge in a bit of genealogical pride – BOTH sides represented with the highest honors!

There is nothing quite like a small county fair.  It’s nostalgic, sweet, and brimming with good values and virtues which seem to have escaped much of the modern world.  It’s enchanting to see Ross’s granddaughter Hannah take a first prize for her chickens and her younger siblings doing more than their part in the 4-H program – following in the family tradition.

Hannah's blue ribbon birds having a tete a tete

My cousin has exhibited at this fair since 1950.

Ross and brother Curt with their Hereford steers

He was superintendent of the swine barn for 35 years and a member of the fair board starting in 1968.   In fact, it is regarding pigs that I think of Ross and I mean that in a good way.  Our trip “back home” in the 1970’s included a celebration of Ross’ new litter and my children were enthralled.

Rehder Farm with pig in the 1970's

And it’s all about family and good old fashioned values.

The Winner and Family!

They say the acorn doesn’t fall that far from the tree.  Thank you Uncle Ralph and Aunt Lilah.  You’re a big part of the reason why we are here.

My mother’s cousin, Lynn was really more of a little brother because Harriet lived her whole childhood in the Anderson home and the same sweetness that was indicative of my mother’s demeanor was true too of Lynn.

Harriet and Lynn, in the center, on the porch where they grew up - 1970's

When various friends and relatives went to the podium on Sunday to tell tales and sing his praises there might not have been a dry eye in that arena.

Mr. Soybean, as he was known, exhibited for 74 years at the Clay County Fair and only declined to show on the 75th because he didn’t want a fuss to be made of that milestone.

Lynn Anderson - Mr Soybean

But I loved what my cousin Curt added when he asked what would be the three words that Lynn would most be remembered for.  The answer is “Yep, yep, yep”.   Well said.

Posted in COMMUNITY, Family, In Memorium, minnesota life | 1 Comment

SACRED SPACES

Posted on July 15, 2011 by snowbirdredux

My friend  Mara, a number of years ago, touted the importance of a designated spot for meditation and contemplation rather than just using my comfy chair after coffee and the morning newspaper.  She had a good point as usual.  So I pulled together an old metal plant stand and plopped a jagged piece of slate on top, squeezed it into a teeny spot opposite the papa-san chair in the upstairs bedroom, added a garden Buddha figure and a candle and some incense and called it good.

A few weeks ago  Pastor Sarah of the Shepherd of the Prairie Lutheran Parish invited me to be her guest at a day-long women’s retreat in North Dakota.  The theme was Renew, Respond, Rejoice and we covered the gamut with everything from meditation to some good old physical exercise, but the resource which really resonated for me that day was a section regarding sacred spaces which came from writings by an Inez Torres Davis (to give proper credit) from the Women of the ELCA Lutheran organization.

She definitely covered the subject of sacred spaces in depth and, like Mara, stressed the importance in this crazy, modern world, of creating a personal place just for oneself.  And in creating that place, she even admonished that “energetic clearing and healing are NOT New Age or new-fangled ideas!”  Imagine that.  I always said the Lutherans were a progressive bunch. She cites the age-old practices of laying on of hands in prayer and the blessing of a home or church.

And so the first step after you have chosen that special spot, is to remove everything within it’s circumference and clean it well – even to the admonition to using “mild, environmentally friendly soap”.  I like that. And while you’re scrubbing, hold a mental picture of the beauty and fresh new energy of the space.

The choice of my sacred space on Mt. Faith was easy.  At some point in this old house’s over hundred year history, the top of the stairs acquired a small – very small – landing to nowhere.  It opened off from an upstairs room (the Grumpy Room to be exact) and jutted out above the stairwell and just might have given access to an outside balcony in the past for it seems to serve no obvious purpose, but that is just my surmise.

EMPTY LANDING TO NOWHERE

LOOKING FROM THE GRUMPY ROOM INTO EMPTY SPACE

However, it now has access to the most wondrous view looking down on the front garden and into the tall ash tree and it seemed perfect for the purpose of quiet and reflection.

So once I had chosen and cleaned the spot, I was ready for the next step –  the Blessing.  Take your pick –  or indulge in all!   The first suggestion is to use incense or smudging sage, wafting the smoke in all directions.  I used both.  And then she recommends calling upon healing energies by sounding the notes through bells, gongs, rattles or drums.  I hung my Tibetan bells from the ceiling and actually unearthed the old maracas that my father brought back from his travels to South America in the 1930’s.  He loved Latin music and just shaking them about made me feel happy.  The third cleansing can come from blessed oil or water.  I always rather envied the Catholics their holy water.  It seems like such a comforting ritual. But I do have essential oils which are used for all manner of healings – via the Bach Flower Essence practice and I did put a few drops of lavender and rosemary in my cleaning water for good measure. As well as spritzing the air from a  bottle of Aura Cleanser which is made by Clifton Harrison in Santa Barbara, California. This is the spray I always included as part of our ritual whenever my granddaughters would take a gift and make a wish at the Angel Tree on Castenada Lane.  The final blessing suggestion  is prayer.  Simple as that.  Just quietly “setting your intent” whether written or just from the heart.

After the Cleaning and the Blessing you’re ready for the Creation itself – what she calls “the Feeling and the Filling”.   How perfect a description is that.  And before you begin to add chairs or candles you need to start with color. I chose a dusty rose – a hue I can just “sink into” and feel enveloped and relaxed. And a small soft red Indian kilim for the floor. And an old lace curtain I had been carrying around for years from our Victorian house in Ferndale and fit exactly the side railing, making the small spot soft and cozy. Then – a small wicker chair I found at a garage sale with a silk brown pillow that says “dream”, and my old faithful plant stand/pink slate table with my praying Buddha, candle and incense.  Behind the table an old Christmas card framed of angels flying up past leaded windows.  And on the wall my favorite – a large framed photograph by John Wimberley entitled “Descending Angel”.  So I have them coming and going.  Both directions covered.

Inez Torres Davis, the author of this piece, says you must put into your sacred space whatever moves you and strikes your faith and fancy.  It could be a music source, inspirational books, photos of those near and dear, rocks and crystals, a bubbling fountain, personal amulets and icons.  It could be busy or austere.  She only suggests that you add one element at a time – carefully, with meditative thought about each specific significance.

And – your sacred space might just be a sequestered garden nook, a private bench beside a bubbling fountain, a fanciful recreation of Oberon and Titania’s Bower of  Bliss, or even an Angel Tree – the garden possibilities are endless.

Finally the most important part.  Using your sacred space.  Whether it be to pray or meditate or dance or just find peace and quiet, she says – “be focused but gentle with yourself as you establish your rhythm and methods.  Just know that the more used, the more blessings your space will provide.”  Amen.

Posted in faith, introspection, religion, remodeling | 5 Comments

CASSIDY ROSE

Posted on July 12, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Today – July 13, 2011 – SNOWBIRDREDUX STRIKES UP THE BAND FOR CASSIDY ROSE!

LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN!

SHE IS MANY THINGS.  TO HER GRANDPARENTS, MR. AND MRS. SNOWBIRD – SHE IS —————————-

SPARKLY!

RADIANT!

MISCHIEVOUS!

CUDDLY!

A WINNER!

GROWING UP!

A BUDDING BAKER SUPREME!

FAVORITE CREATIVE PARTNER!

AND EXUBERANCE PERSONIFIED!

CASSIDY ROSE – WE LOVE YOU!   HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

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A SUMMER SUNDAY

Posted on July 11, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Everyone knows that Minnesota is known as the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, which is not totally accurate because it is purported to actually host 11,842 and that too, is not completely on the mark because that figure accounts for actual named and known lakes and doesn’t take into consideration all the multitudes of ponds which abound about the landscape.  There is good reason that the name “Minnesota” comes from a Dakota word roughtly translated as “sky tinted water”.  But what I find to be most marvelous is that our county here – Otter Tail – contains the most lakes of any other county in all of the United States!  Just look at the map!  Imagine that!

OTTER TAIL COUNTY, MINNESOTA

However, it means that any summer Sunday drive in any direction will be a winner.  You can’t go wrong.  I was so busy gawking and oohing this past Sunday that I actually forgot to take out the camera until the very last stretch, but I did get a shot of our favorite highway look – NO CARS!

Otter Tail Highway

And a few representative examples of the countryside.

We drove from Fergus Falls to Alexandria – that town of the past which my great grandfathers  had to ski, or snowshoe, or buggy to, in order to get a sack of flour and the like – a distance of at least a hundred miles. I can’t imagine the difficulty of their journey. But we were sailing along on country roads in the summer sun and it was a glorious day.

We’ve definitely discovered the fickleness of the weather here and Sunday was no exception. Back home on  Mt. Faith in the early evening the clouds began to broil up and the air turned dense and heavy and we took our glasses of wine outside to watch and wait for the gathering storm.  It was a show and it was dramatic as it circled from the northwest and all around, flashing and booming and it seemed quite exotic and exciting to our California senses until one great BANG sent us running for shelter.

Just for our friends and family back on the west coast – enjoy.

You get the picture.  But add lots of lightning.

Then, just before  dark the rain and wind exploded.

And then the sky turned curiously yellow and I wondered if that was what the old cowboy song was about – “Ole buttermilk skies.  I’m keeping my eye peeled on you. What’s the good word tonight. Are you going to be mellow tonight?” Or something like that.

Did Hoagy Carmichael mean to say that a yellow-ish sky was something to be concerned about, that you had to keep an eye on it?  It did seem ominous in a way but  Minnesota weather is new and surprising and, yes, I know I’ll have a lot more to report come December.

In the morning we were none the worse for wear except that one of my heavy metal shephard’s crooks holding the bird feeders had blown asunder and while no major branches were down, the most unusual sight was to see a long spare branch driven deep into the lawn, as if Odin himself had looked down from his dark and buttermilk sky and hurled a spear to earth.

Posted in minnesota life, storm | Leave a comment

AVIAN SOCIOLOGY 101

Posted on July 9, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Last night I saw my first Downey Woodpecker at the suet and again this morning drumming high up the side of the Silver Maple.

Picoides Pubescens - high on the right, looking down at me

On Castenada Lane our major birds were the Acorn Woodpecker and the Western Scrub Jay and they’re both raucous neighbors who make their presence most apparent.  A lot of people find them both a nuisance – pecking on their house beams or aggressively rousting other shyer birds.  I must admit they make me laugh.  They’re both birds with attitude.

The Acorns live communally in a large extended family with a breeder pair and the aunts and uncles all pitch in with child rearing as well as keeping the grainery stocked.  They allowed us to inhabit THEIR territory and always regularly made their presence known with their Woody Woodpecker Song – ah ah ah UH ah!

We also had a Nuttal Woodpecker pair who were the height of reticence and propriety but loved our suet.  I suspect the Downey will be our Minnesota Nuttal.    The Nuttal and I think, the Downey is shy and mate for life.

As for the Scrub Jays on Castenada Lane,  they seemed to know if they heard the coffee grinder going in the morning it was almost time for peanuts on the deck. By the time I got outside they were already gathered in the oak tree jousting for first position.

Aphelocoma Californica - grabbing a peanut, far right side of railing

But I knew just how much they were capable of real bully aggression the day I heard an extreme  ruckus and rushed outside to witness the bird version of the playground fisticuffs.  One oak tree was filled with woodpeckers and jays – all shrieking holy bedlam with their particular versions of – “GET HIM!” “GOOD ONE!”  “GO!” “GO!”  “YAH!” “BLOOD!”  Or thereabouts.  It was deafening.

And on the ground – or play ground, if you will – one jay was beating the tar out of another.  And at one point the aggressor let up a bit and the aggressee had just a moment to fly up the drive in a desperate attempt to escape but within moments the entire entourage followed and took up positions in the adjacent tree, hollering for blood, and the fight went on.  Until it was suddenly over and everyone flew away as the broken and battered jay scuttled beneath the adjacent bush.  It was brutal.  Wonder what turf battle or romantic impropriety that was about?

It has me wondering about the “true” Blue Jay I see here at Mt. Faith.  I’ve yet to discover his personality except that I have read in my bird books that he likes to mimic other birds, particularly the hawk scream – just like the Stellar’s Jay which kept me company at work in Big Sur and competed with my special raven friend for peanuts, and stole my sandwich whenever possible, and screamed like the red tailed hawk if he couldn’t get my attention.

In California our birds were particularly happy with our “water features” and especially liked the water drips, often waiting in line in the trees for a drink.  We had tubing which we ran up the trunks of trees and across a branch so the water would constantly drip down into a birdbath. But of course, there were endless possibilities to tap off the extensive garden watering system. It’s going to take some “doing” on Mt. Faith which only has one outside spigot! But to duplicate somewhat our offerings in that regard,  I got a good idea from the local paper in an article about the importance of providing water even over seed for birds in the backyard. They suggested hanging a receptacle with a hole punched into the bottom, filling it with water, and hanging it over a birdbath.  No real “drinking fountain” but at least a splash of water.  I found an old rosemaled milk can in an antique mall (how Nordically perfect is that!) and I’ve yet to punch a hole, but we’ll see how it works.

P.S. My three baby wrens fled the nest.  Hope they’re okay.

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