Bird Park East

The three kinds of dawn and dusk

This morning during civil dawn,  the time before the sun peeks over the horizon, as we humans while away in contagion . . . humankind's second oldest friends after dogs, the pombos (poem-boos) aka pigeons, resumed their cooing. Today they chose to begin the day with an old favorite doot DOOOO doot 

. . . doot-DOOOO-doot / doot-DOOOO-doot / doot-DOOOO-doot here . . . do-do DOOT / do-do-DOOT / do-do-DOOT/ do-do-DOOT there  . . . doo-DOOT / doo-DOOT/ doo-DOOT over there . . . and DOOT-doo-doo / DOOT-doo-doo / DOOT-doo-doo from across the way.

And, during civil dawn, the peacocks, roosters, and hens resumed crowing and clucking. Once the sun was fully above the horizon, a couple of parakeets zoomed past flashing their bright green wings, seagulls glided by, and little birds of various descriptions twittered songs in the trees.

After dawn, Blacky the cat made an appearance and Barkie the dog added her comment. Bird Park East, the place I call home these days.

Portland

Foggy morning
Crow conversations

I try joining in

But end up coughing

German cornflakes in Portugal

It's been 17 days since leaving Nevada. So much has gone on. This morning my breakfast is German cornflakes in Portugal, but to recap . . . before we left Nevada Penny (the) Robin came by. Nice to see her in the Bird Park one last time. Also I went to Comma Coffee one last time, the scene of several poetry reading with Ash Canyon Poets though, ultimately that scene dried up and I lost contact with them.

The morning we left I hosted a giant feast in the Bird Park. In true crow fashion, Minerva put out the word and news spread fast. Literally in minutes more crows showed up than ever dropped by one time, even in winter. And, of course, Maggie, her magpie friends, and all the other birds also attended but it was the crows who made the biggest splash. For a brief while they flooded the place. It was wonderful. Of course I took a lot of photos but most didn't record. I don't know what exactly I did wrong but something. My favorite, that didn't take, was of a crow who landed very close, probably Charlie or Minerva. I'm sure it was to say thank you and good-bye. Crows are, after all, known for their willingness to befriend individuals of other species and their sense of fair play.

No way to say goodbye

Packing, sorting, pruning and letting go of almost two decades of my life has been overwhelming but mostly it's done now and what's left tucked in boxes and ready to go. We move at the beginning of next week and then what? A new phase of my life? The last phase? I'm saying good-bye to friends. We assure one another we'll meet again but will we? Every door closes for the last time.

And then there are my beloved friends in the Bird Park. They made Nevada livable for me, even delightful . . . Maggie the 7 o'clock Magpie (7 o'clock because in the beginning she always came at 7 AM, before everyone else) and her tiding . . . the charmer Chatterbox Charlie along with beautiful Minerva and the rest of the crow congress . . . Plonk, his girlfriend, and the ensuing band of pigeons who followed them here . . . the bevy of doves with their screechy, forever melancholy call . . . the drifts of quail, generations now . . . the hilarious, head-banging quarrel of finches with their ridiculously comical, but oh yes, very serious fights . . . the tiny, mild-mannered sparrows . . . the flock of grackles with their most mellifluous song . . . Babette and Mr. Fancy Pants . . . the pool parties and dust baths . . . Old Man pigeon who came and stayed to spend his last days here and after whom we named the pile of torn out lawn turf where he rested Old Man Hills . . . Penny Robin who came for her apples so many springs, even this one . . . I will miss them all terribly but always and especially—Maggie.

Maggie and a bit of apple

There is no way I can tell them that I love them but I'm going anyway, no way to say goodbye other than remove the little white table where, every morning I've been here for the past seventeen years, they have come for breakfast. The Bird Park was a haven most of that time, until the hawks showed up. At least that part will also end.

Moving update

Today is the Equinox, the beginning of spring here in the northern hemisphere, autumn in the south. May we all enjoy, if only briefly, this moment when light and dark are in balance.

I'm finally on the downside of packing. We move at the end of the month. It feels like a death, but not just because we've been in Nevada for 17 years. It's something deeper. Sorting through the memories, stones, and mementos I've collected along the way . . . the skull of a horse I found near a dry water hole, a horse killed in a brawl with another, head kicked in, jaw broken in several places . . . a whole mummified eagle's body . . . the half-billion-year-old trilobites I found in the Great Basin left from when this now desert was a vast, warm inland sea under the equator . . . the night coyotes sniffed our feet as we lay naked on our makeshift bed in back of the truck . . . the petroglyph of a pony express stop carved in nearby stone sometime in the previous two centuries . . . this is not just the end of a chapter, it is the end of a journey that is now a time gone by.

April 14 we leave for Portugal to apply to their residence program. This, of course, if I get my passport back in time. I forgot to sign the renewal application. When I realized this and called they assured me I'll get the new one before April 14. We shall see.

In more soothing news, the magpies, crows, and starlings have devoured their breakfast and moved on with their day. The little birds and quail are strolling around nibbling seed. Even Jimmy the squirrel put in an appearance.

There comes a time . . .

When it's over, when the next change changes everything, we call it death. Short of that, the end is often only realized it hindsight. Not so with this one. In April I will begin the process of becoming a resident and, eventually, a Portuguese citizen

I am writing this in a room converted from an outside deck which will become my office/studio base in Oregon. Half the ceiling is curved glass that comes down nearly to the floor and comprises 2/3s of the long wall facing east. The surface of the remaining portion of that wall and its opposite, were formerly the outside of the house. Boxes of collectables, not mine, are stacked to my left, marked and ready to be moved to storage until they are sold. In the north, the figure of a contemplative sits in meditation. Wooden beads hang from his neck and drape over the table along with a second necklace, a Chinese prayer card with a long gold tassel. Behind him are four Chinese small reddish clay tea pots of varying shapes and sizes. All sit on a small deep red rug with an intricate design. They too will be packed, moved, and eventually sold.

I will miss my birds in the Bird Park. Maggie the Seven O'clock Magpie still looks for me. She knows I will always return. Last week, after being gone six months and back one day, I put some peanuts out and she showed up. I will miss her. I will always miss her, especially in the morning, and the others . . . beautiful Minerva the crow, the quail clan, the little birds, the spring robins coming for their apples, Plonk and the rest of the pigeons, charming chatterbox Charlie and the rest of the crow clan, but especially and always my Maggie.

Kafka

The girl who waits and watches

I got back on Wednesday after three weeks in Oregon visiting family. We unloaded the car and then I put a few peanuts out in the Bird Park. Good old Maggie, the 7 o'clock magpie. She showed up almost immediately. I love that bird. She's always appears with the 24 hours after I get home, even if I've been gone for months.

—William Moore—
Murdered between
the 9th & 14th of Dec. 1900

The next day Minerva the crow and her magpie partner appeared and, as I was watching them, it occurred to me that Minerva's companion doesn't have a name which is odd because they've been coming to the Bird Park together for years. He should have a name by now. For two days I couldn't come up with a thing then this afternoon, while strolling through the local graveyard, it came to me . . . Kafka, Kafka the magpie.

Bird ways

Quail really don't mind body contact. In fact, bumping, cuddling and squeezing in is a major part of life in the covey. If two quail are drinking wing to wing at the water bowl, a third one would just as well squeeze in between them than find an open spot. Same when they are grazing seed under the butterfly bushes. They cluster and continually bump into each other and, except when they are chest bumping and chasing each other in dizzying circles, they act like one big soft gray feathery body sharing a single mind.

Nobody else who comes to the Bird Park does this. The magpie swoop and dive each other in a semi-congenial fashion, the lordly crows and ravens have the breakfast table to themselves, the little birds either battle or ignore each other all together, and the starlings gobble like they are competing for scraps in a madhouse. Only the mourning doves and pigeons eat together without boast or incident.

In like a lion

The little birds are eating as fast they can and the quail just arrived. Soon snow will cover everything and everyone will have to wait out the night tucked as best they can out of the wind. "In like a lion, out like a lamb" mother always said of March but who can be sure anymore? At least the hawk hasn't made an appearance yet this evening.

Bird Park December update

It can be confusing first thing in the morning determining just which peanut is the biggest and best and, while sleep is still in your eyes, it's hard picking up two or three nuts at a time, especially when other birds are fussing all around but it can be done. Today is our fourth morning home and the Bird Park is in full swing.

We've been gone for six months but, as usual, Maggie the 7 o'clock Magpie, showed up the first morning we were back. She's always got half an eye on the place. The little birds, doves and quail appeared a couple of days later. They are out there now pecking away at apples and seed. Today was the first time a whole tiding of magpies came. Grackles showed up about 20 minutes in. I hope they stick around after breakfast and chat awhile. Their conversations are enchanting. Oh and seems Rosie the skunk is still here. She woke me up two nights ago fighting with someone. She sprayed the hell out of them. I believe she may have taken up residence under the house in what was BoB's old place. The horrible neighbor cats may have gotten him but, by the smell of things, they won't be getting Rosie anytime soon. This will be interesting. We'll have to relocate her at some point, just not today.

The only guys I haven't seen yet are the crows. They're always the last to arrive. Very careful, the crows. Smart. We might not see them before we leave for Oregon on Wednesday but we'll be here this winter so, I'm sure at some point, they'll make an appearance as well as a hawk or two. They come to the valley for calving season but that's another story. The tiding is gone now but Maggie is still here. How do I know it's her? She's my girl, the fat one . . . first to arrive, last to go.

Rosie or As the Century Rolls On

The Bird Park has changed in the months we've been away. It's full of cats  . . . and a skunk with a fabulous long flowing tail whom I call Rosie. In the brief time we were back, I put food out as always and good old Maggie Magpie, who ever keeps an eye on the place, showed up for breakfast as always, but she was one of the very few birds daring enough to do so.



Of course, predators have hunted here before but never stayed. Until now, the Bird Park was a relatively peaceful world just for birds. No more and I'm sad about that. I suspect these cats live in the house just over the back fence so they have the place for now. The black one spent most of her time staking out the squirrel hole and all four came and went at will. At various times I chased them away but it won't matter. I'm already gone again for months. Perhaps this is the end of an era.

Crows like Ol' Roy

I don't know how good it is for them but clearly the crows at the Bird Park prefer Ol' Roy puppy chow to other brands. Magpies too. In fact, I tried Pedigree puppy chow and the squirrel was the only one willing to finish it up. And just to be clear, I am not doing a commercial here. I'm noting it in case someone happens upon this post who likes feeding birds and the occasional squirrel. Nothing more. And no. Don't feed birds cat chow. Too rich. Another reason to feed puppy chow is that the bits are smaller therefore easier to swallow. That is all.

One-legged Magpie

The one-legged magpie doesn't come here anymore. There is no need to assume the worst. She was, after all, full grown, strong, plump even, but I miss her. The Bird Park was a good place for her.

Morning report and Salvador Dali's dream

It's snowing this morning and Shelby the hawk stopped by for breakfast. As I've said before, hunting in the Bird Park is not okay. I'll have to post a sign. Of course hawks have to eat and feed their young but this place is a tiny little refuge not a free-for-all. There are enormous open spaces right nearby, compete with wild horses and bears. He can hunt there like everybody else.

Usually just opening the door is enough to empty the Bird Park. Not Shelby. He didn't even bother to look my way. I got almost all the way up to him, and was beginning to fantasize tapping him on the shoulder and telling him to go, before he finally got the hint.

At the moment Shelby is the only hunter who hunts here but, if I let him stay, soon enough the fence would be lined with raptors. It's calving season. The valley is filled with predators and soon all that would be left of my little friends would piles of drifting feathers.

So... now a peak at some of the cool exhibits going on at the Dali Museum in St. Petersburg Florida.


Source: Huffington Post and The Dali Museum on YouTube

Shelby morning update

Nobody likes Shelby. Nobody, that is, except M. Lee. M. Lee is Shelby's one and only advocate here at the Bird Park. This morning the magpies refused to come down from the trees for breakfast and that can only mean that either Shelby is lurking somewhere nearby or he recently killed somebody and everyone is still spooked.

Of course Shelby has a right to eat. That's M's argument, circle of life, it's only fair, a hawk's gotta eat. Mine is that the Bird Park is not a natural environment. Peanuts, tiny puppy kibble and piles of seed do not naturally appear every morning in the Nevada desert. To Shelby the Bird Park is a fast food joint. Next Bubba will appear, then Hank and Tootsie Pie, Mable and Jack and in about a week they will have eaten everyone. So I run Shelby off.

Local news at 2:11

It's snowing. That explains why so many birds dropped by for breakfast this morning. Even Plonk's pigeon brigade stopped in, including one very lovely, all white bird. Nobody is there now as I write this but I'm sure the quail are cozy under the very bushy twin lilacs. Anyway, it's not very cold but it is sticking and kind of pretty.

Bird Park November update

The little birds showed up today. Like I said, it takes them about a week to catch on that I'm back. Finches, they're not the brightest birds in the world. Now everyone's here, Maggie and her tiding, the quail, the doves, the finches and sparrows and Penny Robin. News travels fast. I put out apples a couple of days ago and Penny Robin came this morning. Robins love apples.

But wait a minute. The pigeons haven't come by yet. They're part of the gang. And Minerva, Charlie and the rest of the murder have yet to put in an appearance. I would love to see Charlie again. Before we started our trip last spring, he and I were beginning to bond. Last spring he established a secret meeting place so that he could get his very own peanuts and eat them in peace. Maybe this winter, once we finally settle in for awhile, we can pick up where we left off.

Holiday turn around

We're back in Nevada now. We got back to the states a month ago but went right to Oregon to visit family. Big changes. Baby Chance is starting to walk. Thea is now in first grade. Leo is in pre-K and Frank started pre-school. Of course it was wonderful seeing everyone but the gkids absolutely enchant me. We'll return in a few weeks for a holiday visit. Among other things we'll get to see Thea be a princess soldier in "The Children's Nutcracker", her first ballet, and afterwards we'll take all the kids on the Portland Holiday Express.

In all, we were gone seven months but I was certain that Maggie Magpie would show up at the Bird Park the next morning. I put the seeds, peanuts and tiny puppy kibble out and indeed she was. The surprising thing was that she was not alone. Lots of magpies came plus some blackbirds and this morning the quail were out there as well. The little birds haven't showed up yet. Generally it takes them about a week to catch on. When they do, the Bird Park will be in full swing. It's good to be back but M. Lee is already planning the next adventure.

Breakfast with crows

The crows are dining at the Bird Park this morning. Minerva and I are delighted. They are our honored guests, well not guests, members, honored members. We've been home since January and only recently have they've decided to trust us. They stop by briefly almost every morning now. The fellow munching kibble on the little plastic table is actually much bigger and cooler then he appears here. I took this photo with my cellphone. I don't have a "real" camera at the moment. As I mentioned in the previous post, M. Lee has taken over the Sony. I will have a camera for the trip, a Panasonic Lumix, but it's currently en route to his mom's place in Oregon as we are now in the final countdown and will be going there first. How do they say it when they're launching a space shuttle? T-minus? Around here it is now T-minus 9. I'm already missing my birds.

News at 08:21

Ok. Time to crank the wheel and roll this page down. The world has given Mr. Spock a loving, sad farewell and now it's time to move on.

So.... as for today.... not a lot going on here in Nevada, at least outside my window. A grackle is currently strolling through the Bird Park. A covey of quail are out nibbling seed, along with the new resident doves. A few red wing black birds are on the feeders. The lovely flicker pair are gobbling the apples along with several starlings. And, as always, finches are hopping around. They are the first to arrive and the last to go.

And, of course, Maggie Magpie is keeping an eye on things. At the moment she is perched in the now dead aspen tree I planted several a few years ago. Big mistake. Runners started popping up everywhere. I've since read that the aspen holds the world's record for largest living organism on earth. Yes. That lovely, whispering forest, which in autumn turns the mountain side brilliant gold, is one tree. One. Learn from my mistake. Don't plant one in your front yard. You will be mowing it forever.

But my little grove of three, that's right, I planted three, my little grove of three died. Guess I got lucky. It's kind of ugly but I had them topped and left their trunks standing so the birds could perch in them. Sooner or later I will remove them because it looks stupid but, for now, they stand and Maggie is sitting in one.

So. Have a good day or at least a day.