Migration of the Sandhill Cranes

The slanting November sun had made short work of the afternoon and was already sliding toward the trees that mark the western boundary of the farm.

Jim and grandson Devin were stacking firewood while indoors I cleared a project from my desk. A shout from outside sent me flying to the back door where the men were pointing at the sky.

 

The rasping voices of sandhill cranes heralded their progress as they beat across the sky from the north in ever-shifting formations.

We gazed at them with the sense of primaeval wonder which such sights always inspire. The birds winged through cloud wisps and jet trails over Big Creek Valley, veering southwestward.

The last shush of beating wings passed overhead, the strident cries of the cranes fading as the sun withdrew behind the woods, leaving a blanket of red-gold and smokey lavender to briefly mark its descent.

The dooryard settled into the sudden stillness of a November evening, the cooling air rich with the scent of rising woodsmoke and the sharp tang of freshly split maple.

Added later:  I typed 'sandhill crane migration' into the Google search engine. It appears that southern Arizona is the destination for thousands of cranes who over-winter there. The birds are fairly common summer residents of the rural mid-west and the interior west--we've seen them there. The cranes begin traveling north early in the spring and the North Platte River Basin is a stop-over where they rest and feed for several weeks before completing their northern journey.

When we moved from Wyoming to Kentucky, it was at the time of the spring migration and our route took us for miles along the North Platte.  The sandhill cranes were present in the thousands, along with Canadian geese.  I've added the photo above, taken from the truck window which caught mostly geese, but will give you an idea of the terrain. The ground teemed with birds with more of them always swirling above.

A Hint of Blue

The weather is still overcast with brooding skies that suggest we've not seen the end of the welcome rain.

I was outside in my sturdy wellies and a warm 'hoodie' at 7 this morning--and considerably startled to see a young Black Angus bull [or maybe a steer?] plodding along the edge of the lower garden, which is open to the rest of our side pasture strip.

I blinked, stood staring, and decided the creature really was on our side of the boundary fence.

I considered the situation briefly, decided that if the bovine turned menacing the stretch of soggy ground between us would be in my favor.

I made shooing motions and sounds, the Angus pondered visibly, then began to amble up the fence line toward the woods, with me urging him along at a respectful distance.

The fence had sagged and he stepped over it, a back hoof twanging the wire. I watched him head for the rest of the neighboring herd, then continued on my way to the barn.

Pebbles the Horse hadn't missed this little byplay and was standing at the edge of her enclosure whickering indignantly.

I gave her the daily ration of grain she demands, kicked a pile of fragrant hay into place for her later snacks, poured out kibble for the barn cats.

Back outside I turned in a slow 360 degrees, eyeing the lowering sky from every angle.

It would take a more optimistic view than mine to declare that the bulging layers of cloud displayed more than the barest hint of slatey blue.

Bypasing the shortcut along the upper garden fence, I clumped along the old track past the clothesline.

Trumpet vine clambers over the woodpile and grasps its way up a crabapple tree near the path; just beyond, a bluebird house hangs, weathered and crinkle-roofed in a redbud tree, undisturbed since Haskell Rogers placed it there years ago.

The lapis blue of the little feather lying in the damp grass fairly shouted in the muted grey and  wet green of the morning.

A gold leaf glowed through the transparent barbs.

I pulled my camera from a deep pocket, snapped photos from several angles before gently lifting the feather for a closer look.

I placed it carefully back in the grass, then decided to claim it as a treasure, bringing it inside.

It is the habit of a lilfetime, this clutching and hoarding of found items.

My Grampa Mac fostered this bent when in childhood I returned from any foray into field or woods, my pockets stuffed with pebbles, clumps of moss, acorn caps, or with a fallen bird's nest cupped in my hand.

He set up a makeshift table on his front porch and invited  me to display my treasures there.

In each place I have lived, a jumble of small rocks crowd an old bowl, bird nests gather dust on a shelf; dried flowers sift from the pages of books.

I was well pleased with my glimpse of  blue on a dark wet day, but there was another gift in store.

Near the garden gate a butterfly flexed sapphire-dusted wings in the wet grass.

Sally the Barn Cat made a dash for it seconds after I snapped the picture.

I thought I had encountered a Black Swallowtail until I loaded the photo and realized some

research was needed.

This is a "red-spotted-purple" butterfly, formally labeled Limenitis Arthemis.

One of its preferred hosts is malus--so the gnarled appletrees of our back dooryard extend a welcome.

What's in a name?

I still count this as a sighting of 'something blue!'

Insects and a Bird's Nest [Edited for insect ID.]

Matt and Gina found this curious caterpillar thingy on their porch, popped it carefully into a plastic container and gave it a ride down the road to visit me.

We have no name for it as yet.

When gently prodded, the creature retracts into the woody tube, then after a moment it begins

 again to prowl.

G. says it appears to be dragging its leafy train like a tattered ball gown.

The creature having posed for several snapshots I placed it in the herb garden to get on with whatever life cycle is next.

Bagworm photo from wikipedia

description here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bagworm_moth

Long-time readers of my blog may recall my fascination last August with the Garden Spider [Argiope Aurantia] who spun her web in the clump of sedum near the front porch.

Before winter weather brought her demise she had created 4 egg sacks which she attached to the porch post nearest her web.

The sacks hung in place all winter through rain, snow and wind.

Late in the spring I noted that two of them had pulled free of the fine silken 'ropes' which held them in place.

Willis the Cat was seen batting the remaining two into the flower bed below.

Today, weeding near the front steps, I discovered six young garden spiders clinging to small webs with the distinctive zig-zag signature.

A closer view of the spider.

This larger version has a web on the opposite side of the steps in the box hedge.

While crawling about to take photos I came eye to eye with a katydid!

In this their second season, J.'s blackberries have grown into a formidable stand of productive brambles.

G. spotted this nest tucked into a shady nook.

There have been a number of brown birds on the electical wires above the garden--I don't

know their identity.  Perhaps they are the owners of the nest and the spotted eggs.

If the eggs hatch and these particular birds like berries,

they won't have to fly far to bring home the groceries.

Miscellany

Blue skies layered with billowing white clouds have prevailed this week.

The sun set about drying the sopping grass and sodden garden.

While it wasn't possible to work in the veg or perennial beds immediately, we have found every excuse to be outdoors.

This post is a sampling of photos from the week. I intended several posts which didn't happen thanks to bloggers' outage. I also left comments on my favorite blogs--comments which are doubtless lost to where-ever such things disappear.

A neighbor stopped by driving his vintage truck and I asked if I could take a photo.

Daughter G. dashed over to pose and announced she'd be happy to own such a handsome vehicle.

Grandson Devin and I have roamed the dooryard at dusk, sat out on the front porch listening to the croak of bullfrogs, watching fireflies dance over the meadow.

The other evening the intrepid Willis decided to show off by climbing through the limbs of the sweet gum tree.  He wobbled along, getting perilously far out on slender branches.

Willis peers down from the sweetgum tree.

D. decides to go up the tree after Willis.  He was laughing so hard that he could barely hang on.

Willis, meanwhile, scrabbled farther up the tree and eventually made a wild leap into the adjacent redbud before plopping to the ground.

The next event of the evening was the appearance of a bristling "wooly bear."

Willis had to be discouraged from poking at it. He had, we suspect, every intention of eating it.

D. discovered the toad bouncing about beneath the garage floodlight.

The toad has just made short work of a June bug--a crunchy snack.

Toad is becoming a regular evening visitor, feasting on the insects which appear at twilight.

Toad was offered a June bug this evening by M. While toad considered, a mouse dashed from under the garage door, snatched the Junebug and disappeared back under the door.

M. D. and I have been out in the rain listening to the conversation of two nocturnal birds--not the call of the Whip-Poor-Wills familiar from New England, but a related bird who speaks with a slightly different accent.

We've been through the bird book: are we hearing a Common Poorwill? 

Chuck-wills-widow? Nighthawk? Nightjar?

Hummingbirds

Hummingbird at a feeder in the carport.

We have been watching hummers for several weeks.

They dive-bomb us as we sit on the front porch.

Interestingly, although the ruby-throated hummingbird is the usual one for our region, we've not been seeing the colorful males.

The big strawberry shaped feeder seems to be the favorite of the two I have out.

A blur of wings as the bird approaches the feeder.

The hummers, which we take to be the females of the ruby-throated kind, have been obliging about perching on nearby branches or overhead wires long enough to be observed.

Son-in-law M. positioned himself last evening with my camera and took these shots.

Another Snow Day

The cardinals are much in evidence today.

When I went outside about 7 a.m. it was just beginning to snow.

In spite of a dour morning the cardinals were calling in their best spring

courting voices "Cheer, cheer."

Here  a male and lady cardinal share the branches of the maple with a bluejay [tail to camera] and

a plump tuxedoed junco.

Sadie the barn kitten [cat?] stationed herself in the lee of the maple's trunk, to cast coveteous looks at the feeding birds.

Her brindled fur is perfect camoflauge.

She didn't lunge at the birds, but stayed at her post for nearly three hours before retreating to the

comfort of her sleeping bag in the barn.

A cardinal and his lady.

Mima and Teasel

Some of us are very pampered house cats who know how to spend a grey and snowy afternoon.

I'm off to concoct a pot of potato/onion soup, then its downstairs to my sewing machine and the warmth

of the wood fire.

We chugged over to the nearest Amish sawmill at noon and loaded some good hardwood chunks the better to endure the weather's hissy fit.

Not Quite Spring

I watched from underneath a cozy heap of quilts and cats as daylight filtered in pale stripes through the interior shutters of the east-facing bedroom windows.

The cats trooped down the hallway with me and milled impatiently as I opened the living room curtains

to look at the day.

I pulled on my first-thing-in-the morning assortment of warm clothing, replenished the fires, measured coffee.

It seemed judicious to dole out the dollops of tinned cat food before venturing outside.

Decidedly chilly.  I fed Willis and Co and scurried back inside.

As soon as J. exited the bed I snatched the sheets and bundled them into the washing machine.

By the time they had chugged through the cycles, the sunshine had sulked off behind dour grey clouds.

J. topped up the bird feeders and once again the goldfinches amused us with their

fiesty jostling for position on the cylinder of niger seed.

A light snow fell last evening--snow over muddy ground.

Pebbles emerges from the barn lean-to where J. serves her hay and grain.

Pebs has never had a lovely full mane and forelock.

This winter she is so grizzled you'd think something had gnawed at her hair.

The barn kittens after breakfasting in the carport retreated to their sleeping bags in the

strewed hay of the barn's east bay.

Willis, gallant boy that he is, left his snug bed to accompany me on a very brief walk up to the tobacco barn.

I did peg the sheets out on the clothes line, flicking slender rims of ice from the wooden pegs.

At 3 p.m. the sun came out long enough to offer encouragement and to nearly dry the sheets.

As always when the weather is dark I turned to baking.

Today's treat is Lemon Bars--I love the shortbread crust.

I have "felt the cold" lately, although surely the weather has been less than frigid. Since this room and the bedroom across the hall don't benefit as much from the wood fires as the "living" part of the house, I've rather minded being in here for any length of time.

I'm still reading the usual blogs, just not taking my chilly fingers out of my pockets to type many comments or to keep up with letters.

Even the mid-winter doldrums won't last forever.

Its a time for wrapping my hands around a mug of steaming tea,

curling up by one fire or the other with books and seed catalogs,

a time to plan projects rather than to carry them out.

In such a short time the flurry of starting seeds, gardening and harvesting will begin all over again.

"To everything a season..."

Another Snow Day

Rain started last evening and became snow sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

The bird feeders are very popular today.

Here a goldfinch in winter garb reaches for the niger seed.

An abandoned nest tucked behind a tangle of hop vine and an electrical cable.

It is located in the eaves of the carport, unnoticed through the summer months.

Pebbles is curious about my plodding progress through the snowy field.

J. questioned as to her motives, suggests that she is companionable [and nosey] by nature, but may be hopeful that I have a carrot or apple in my pocket.

The empty white farmhouse beyond our south boundary fence

 is lost this morning in the grey shroud of falling snow.

                                                           

We ate a late breakfast sitting beside the dining-room glass door, watching the

birds as they crowded the feeders.

The cardinals like to pick up seeds from the ground.

In this case the male cardinal is standing on his head, poking through the snow for a stale doughnut.

J. has topped up the feeders on his way out to work in his shop.

I'm settled to work on a genealogy project which has simmered for many months on a back burner of my mind.  The weekend was chilly and I found that my fingers quickly got cold and stiff when I spent much time at the computer.

I contented myself with hours in the warm family room, unpacking and lovingly sorting my "stash" of quilt fabric. It now rests in tidy stacks on the shelves of the rustic cupboard--which is a deeper shade of green after a trip to town for a different pot of paint.

Snow, Sunshine and shadows

Snowfall ended early last evening and the day awoke clear, cold and sunny.

Above is the daytime view of last night's snowy Big Creek Valley.

The back field with the old tobacco barn and Payne Janes hill beyond to the north.

There were lines of deer tracks in the fresh snow.

Willis, my inevitable outdoor companion, sniffed the tracks with interest and then followed his shadow along the trail to investigate.

The back yard is criss-crossed with the tracks of humans doing our chores this morning; under the blue tracery of tree shadows rabbits, kittens and birds have left the record of their wanderings.

Three of the four eggsacks deposited by the summer spider are still clinging to the porch post.

The sedum where the spider hung her web wears caps of snow.

Snow held in the leaves of the magnolia tree.

Beyond the magnolia tree, Pebbles takes a drink from her water tank.  The water heater has been turned off during milder weather so there was a crust of ice this morning.  J. broke the ice but Pebs didn't like how it was done and applied a handy hoof to the job before sipping.

Willis the kitten stands under the tree.

Willis is everlastingly underfoot--or overhead, as the case my be.  Here he clings to a snowy branch of the old apple tree.

Sally joins Willis in the apple tree.  She is rarely still long enough for a photo and not as interested in my every step.

The tracks of a rabbit have caught Sally's attention.

She circled the tree trunk taking suspicious sniffs of rabbit scent.

J. refilled the feeder in the maple tree.  It swings in the wind and dumps seeds on the ground where usually jays, cardinals and juncos are happy to pick for their meals.

Old reliable Snort'n Nort'n ready to head down the road with a load of hay for Dory the Cow.