Babes in Bird Land and old crows too

A young quail couple, barely teenagers themselves, bring their baby over to the Bird Park several times a day. Seems they live at Dwayne's, probably under his giant Indian Willow tree-o-life. I don't know if cats got the rest of their family or they only had the one, but they are very protective of the little guy who, at this point, isn't any bigger than a tennis ball. Generally, one parent hangs back on lookout while the other escorts the baby around but he stays very close anyway. I say "he" because he has a tiny little comb on the top of his head but I don't know. Maybe he's a she. Perhaps time will tell. Anyway, they are very sweet as they work their way along, scratching and dirt bathing and keeping an eye on baby.

I generally watch them while I sit at my computer, which is very convenient for me however, last evening I got trapped when they made an appearance in the front yard. I was sitting on the porch eating dinner when they scooted over from Dwayne's. It is obviously one of the chick's favorite things to do. Before they were half way across the lawn, he made a bee line for the tree with the thistle seed sack and his wary parents obediently followed but they weren't at all comfortable with me sitting so near. First the father, then the mother, took turns keeping me under surveillance while I sat obligingly still as a statue. Talk about time stopping but, most importantly, the baby had a great time, ate his fill of seed, snuggled in the dirt, explored the lavender forest next to the tree, scratched around again, explored the forest again. He even caught and ate an ant.

Since coming back from Portland, I dialed down the feed a bit in an effort to reduce the number of visitors to the park. I was getting a bit obsessive about it all but mornings are still peanut time and some very old crows, Minerva among them, continue to show up for them which pleases me. I've never watched a crow age before. Did you know they get gray like the rest of us?

But before you return to the ongoing reports of mind-blowing human folly, one last bit of news. Yesterday afternoon a sparrow broke all park records for time on a feeder. This fellow stayed on the tube at least an hour, maybe two. Not that he was eating the whole time. He sat for long periods just swinging on the perch, looking around, taking in the day. I like to think he was basking in the peace and quiet.

Spring fling

All afternoon there was a huge quail collective honeymoon party in the Bird Park, couples aglow with conjugal bliss strolling around nibbling seeds, lounging under budding lilacs, enjoying dirt baths and sunshine after a week of schizophrenic spring snows laced with taunting bright moments clouded over by bitter winds the next all to the tune of quail love songs trilled from rooftops and fence posts all around the neighborhood.

Spring in the desert.

Then there's Louie. Lonely Louie. He's here a lot since the hawk got his mate. He tries to mind his own business but every now and then some male suddenly takes an unprovoked run at him and he zig-zags through the couples as fast as he can go trying to escape. Poor Louie. I hope he meets a nice new lady quail soon. Quail mate for life but hey! The little guy deserves a break.

If you're a regular here, you might recognize Dwayne's giant green Indian Willow Tree o' Life in the background of the photo. This year the tree is more fabulous than ever. However Dwayne is not doing so well. Recently his son Tom had to whisk both him and Thera off to an assisted living facility. One day they were at home and the same day .... gone. Tom called me over to help. His dad was threatening to shoot him if he tried moving them so Tom wanted me to act as distraction so he could get the guns out of the house. I tried my best but when Dwayne saw Tome heading for the door with his arms full of weapons he looked at me and said, "You're with him. Traitor. Get out of my house". That was it. They were gone that day.

Tom, his two kids, their dog Roxy and Dwayne's cat Snooky live there now and poor Snooky has been demoted to the status of an outdoor cat. One of the kids has an allergy problem. Tom's been doing a lot of clean up and repairs around the place. He was even thinking about cutting down the willow (which we all love) but Dwayne asked him to spare it. He told me he agreed...for now. We all know what that means. In any case, sounds like Thera probably won't make it out of the care center but, if Dwayne's condition continues to improve, they've arranged for him move to a different residence and Snooky can join him there. Not exactly one of those "happily ever after endings" but it will have to do.

And we're leaving on Sunday for our trip back east. We're driving to DC then NYC then Florida for the summer. I'm packing and fretting and fretting about packing and going. The new, fabulous paper floor is done and the really cool studio is ready so off we go. Crazy, eh?

Sap Moon

Source: Four Mile Lab

There are many names for it among Native Americans, Sap Moon, Little Spring Moon, Snow Crust Moon.  Earthsky.org calls it micro-moon and mini-moon. In any case, tonight's full moon (exact at 4:05 p.m. PST /18:05 UTC) is the smallest full moon of the year because today is also the lunar apogee – which means the moon is at it's farthest point from earth. Today it is 30,000 miles (48280 km)farther away from Earth than the full supermoon and the Northern Hemisphere’s Harvest Moon which both happen later this year.

So, enjoy the Sap Moon. The bees are. Today, finally, they showed up. I was very concerned that spring had come too early because the pussy willow tree are blooming and, unlike years past, no bees have come to harvest its abundant pollen and enjoy its delicious, rich sap. But today, on Sap Moon, they arrived and the tree is filled with their buzzing.

Source: Condesign and Pixabay

Bird Park spring update

The numerous quail who live in my neighbor Dwayne's sprawling Indian willow tree-o-life spend a lot of time here these days. They love nesting and bathing in the dirt. Yesterday afternoon there were about ten couples dozing under the bushes in a slow motion quail version of musical chairs. They belly out little tubs, lay in one awhile then switch places with each other, only no one gets left out during the switch. There are enough tubs for everyone. This morning, it being still cold, only one couple has made it over the fence so far. Napping is an afternoon pastime.

As far as the other birds go, the love talk, boasting and chest bumping has been replaced by an all day, every day feeding frenzy. As everyone knows, it takes a lot of calories to raise a family. The finches, red wings and sparrows drain the feeders by early afternoon but I've only seen one baby so far. It is a little early for that first trip to the Bird Park, but recently one fluffy toddler arrived in tow and, as usual, had no interest in feeding himself but instead chased the parent around with his mouth open, squawking for food.

I have always marveled at the relationships some people form with wild creatures but have never had any luck at it myself. A couple of years ago I tried engaging a particular crow in conversation but it didn't really go anywhere. I can identify a bird or two because of some unique physical characteristic, but that's it. There is Minerva with a swath of reddish feathers on the bottom of her left wing (I assign gender arbitrarily) and her companion with an odd feather jutting out from his left wing. I believe Minerva is back this year but, if it is her, she is looking a lot the worse for wear. Last year only a few wing feathers were a dull reddish color, now most of her feathers are faded and worn out looking. As for her friend, I don't know. Perhaps the wild-hair feather dropped out but I am saying the faded crow is Minerva and I put peanuts out with the two of them in mind.

Early this spring a new bird made it to the park, a very decrepit pigeon. It is amazing he even made it through the winter. This guy was really in tatters. Now when we go into the backyard, we are usually met with a full face flash point of wings which never fails to startle both us and the air. Big wings. Mostly big, squeaking pigeon wings pumping an emergency liftoff, occasionally mixed with the silent black wings of the crows. But Old Guy, as we called him, tottered away, maybe tossing a worried look over his shoulder but only, in the most desperate moments, was he willing to fly. We were his instant sympathizers and, if possible, avoided going into the backyard when he was around.

Old Guy's favorite place was what we call The Hills, a mound of dead sod Lee pulled up from the front last fall when he made a parking place for the off-road trailer. Old Guy liked The Hills, which we renamed Old Guy Hills in his honor. I'd show you a photo of him standing on them but my computer crashed yesterday, taking everything in the C Drive down with it. When will I ever learn? Lee partitions our hard drives to protect data from such things but I get lazy and don't move files to the safe D Drive so ... poof. No photo of Old Guy in the Old Guy Hills. He was sweet though. After surviving presumably his last winter, he loved standing on the topmost mound, some two or three feet above the world. I put a tasty mix of cracked corn and seed in a crevasse at his feet but he didn't always eat it. He just liked to sit in the sun on his mountain top and dream. Good last days.

For a couple of years a little sparrow I named Buddha Bird hung out around the house. I don't know if she was old but she was very different. She liked sitting on the lawn chair in the back, or lingering in the shadows of a cubby under the fence. Sometimes she perched for a long time on a warm rock or meditated for close to an hour on the limb of tree. She reminded me of certain passages from Desiderata. "Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence." She hasn't been back this year. "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." I miss her. "Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul."


But this spring, I have a new friend, reminding me of the old adage "be careful what you ask for."

A precocious crow has adopted me. He likes to talk and perches on the old wireless dish on the roof above the Bird Park and chatters away, three caws then silence. I caw back and so we go. It's fun. He doesn't fly off when I open the back door, walk across the yard or stand there making eye contact. He doesn't mind that I mangle his language but I can only imagine what the neighbors think. Good thing the immediate ones are nearly deaf, half blind or drunk. My friend and I have had many rousing conversations but now he has decided that 6 am is a good time to chat and has made a habit of sitting on the roof and doing his little three caw number for about fifteen minutes before starting his day. Lovely. He reminds me of a favorite childhood poem I used to make my mother repeat to me, "A birdie with a yellow bill, hopped upon my window sill, cocked his shining eyes and said, ain't you shamed, you sleepy head." I wish Buddha Bird were here to teach him, I'll call him Charlie, something about meditation.

Coffee with Swami, not the Mona Lisa

This morning I got up about five. After starting the coffee, I went outside for a look at the stars. Venus was in the east over the Bird Park, Jupiter at the top and in the west a nearly full moon had just dipped behind Dwayne's giant arching willow tree of life which fills that once horizon beyond our backyard fence. This behemoth entirely blocks our view of the Sierra, the one we enjoyed when the housing development was new and had no trees of note. In spite of all that, the moon was quite lovely glowing through its branches. I ran in to get my camera but by the time I got back, only moments later, it had slipped further down and it's light too obscure so I didn't bother.You'll have to use your imagination.

Instead, and still before dawn, I worked on my current new painting. This one is of Swami, the Invisible Theatre's  first and most venerable resident. He's a great model, always upbeat and encouraging. As the Mona Lisa was one of the few must-see treasures we obstinately did not see during our five weeks in Paris this summer, I created a Mona Lisa type backdrop for him. At the moment, I'm struggling with the hills over his left shoulder. I will have to paint them out and start over. For the little experience I've had working with oils I miss them. It's pretty hard pushing acrylics around. They are water colors after all and dry in a flash. And, no excuse, but this is only my third time using them. At least I am not suffering the delusion that I have to match the Master.  So on with the day. Have a good one.

Lonesome George

We're home from Seattle to Lonesome George calling from the rooftop. I've never mentioned him before, though I've meant to. Lonesome George is the one poor fellow who does not have a mate this year. He spends a lot of time on the rooftops calling out over the valley while the quail couples wiggle and snuggle in their dirt baths below. The one mitigating thought I have is that Lonesome George could fly away and win a mate somewhere else if he wanted to. Perhaps he likes his home more? It is pretty sweet between Dwayne's giant, sprawling willow tree of life and the Bird Park. It is good to be home.

Aftermath

Yesterday was my birthday. It was also the 9th anniversary of William Burroughs' departure to Interzone. I really like Burroughs and as far as I'm concerned August 2nd is our day. I even wore my Burroughs' tshirt with the quote, "We intend to destroy all dogmatic verbal systems". My kinda guy.

The day started out on a low enough key with a trip to physical therapy. Still working on loosening up that knee. After that, it was a non stop party. The birds got the last of the scrumptious veggie Marvel Meal and a special mix of various seeds and Mr. Lee and I poisoned ourselves with mammoth helpings of lemon-strawberry cake and too much ice cream. My friend Susan even dropped by with a couple of cool gifts, which was totally unexpected. I offered her cake but she wisely ate watermelon. In the evening we went to a second birthday party. Big day.

Today, I'm a bit depressed. Don't bother telling me it's the sugar. Susan already kindly pointed that out. Plus I'm beginning to hate the pathetic "Dear Diary" quality of this blog. I don't know why I do one. It's embarrassing. All well. I'm a chronic sufferer of symbol overload. Blogging is a overflow valve. I've been in the house too long, almost constantly since the Summer Solstice. It's evening. The quail have just arrived in their little hats. In case you forgot, they spend the day under Dwayne's sprawling Indian Willow Tree, or whatever the fuck it's called. They stroll over here to the Bird Park for an evening snack. The finches spend all day on the feeders spewing seed everywhere and the quail drop by to see what's left when the temperature cools.

In case you're wondering, the image at the top is of the front of the birthday card Mr. Lee made for me this year. I love his cards. They are always unique and delightfully disturbing. Circuses are my thing anyway and this year's card has circus images on front and back and under his signature a tasteful gif of twisted barbed wire. The image on the back is very faded and grainy, in keeping with it being of a small, Depression era traveling circus. I'm not posting a photo of the backside. I have to keep something for myself. He always nails it. I'm sure I spent many of past lives in various traveling circuses and wandering theatre troupes. The backside also has a wonderful quote from Anne Sexton. I like her a more than Sylvia Plath these days although Mr. Lee was quick to point out that poor Sylvia was over-exposed. What can you expect when you stick your head in the oven and gas yourself, what with the children and a big mouth husband. She is a fine poet though. They both are.

An dear friend of mine, Michael O'Rourke (himself a fine poet and playwright) wrote me yesterday and had some nice things to say about Driftwork... "Driftwork is like pure cold well water in the desert. My gratitude to all who contributed--it's wonderful to know that the universal loners, pit stop desperadoes and holy whores, pacifists with fists full of poems and diehard prose, can face down the high noon tactics of oil fume ghosts gurgling in the blood of the indigenous soul." Michael was probably thinking of me when he wrote "holy whore"; and probably "pit stop desperado". Both apply. Shit, it all applies. That's the problem with old friends. They know too much.

So that's it for now. No politics today.

"For God was as large as a sunlamp and laughed his heat at us and therefore we did not cringe at the death hole." - Anne Sexton

The last written words of William Burroughs

Crows, the bird park and movies of morning light

It's early. Well, for me it's not early or late. I'm in the twilight zone these days, me and my knee. But the light is still young, the kind that falls at an easy angle and quickens what it touches. Nevertheless, before leaving to work out, Mr. Lee closed down the house, shut night's graciously flung open doors and windows, and lowered the blinds in preparation for the oncoming heat ... closed all but my window that is, the one by my bed. We compromised on that. My window gets to remain open about a foot, blind to the opening, until he gets back. After that it too closes. It's enough. I am delighted. I see the quiet light, and hear the occasional bird. Just so you are prepared, I did a little movie of the light this morning and will post it later. No, it's not 5 minutes long. It's about 30 seconds long. This one is made for Americans, my concession after Mr. Lee bitched so much about having to watch the 5 minute video of cold tubbing pigeons.

Speaking of birds, my poor Bird Park is all but shut down since my knee operation. Mr. Lee has a very different philosophy about birds. It goes something like this, "They're wild and should stay that way". I freely admit that I lure birds here for my own selfish pleasure. I'm not a "bird watcher" like people who know the names of all the birds, their habitats and interesting quirks. Perhaps it is even true that I am disturbing the balance of nature. Perhaps there are generations of birds coming here who would not otherwise have survived. Good! Anyway, I'm not so sure that the "Balance of Nature" doesn't include a friendly hand here and there. Anyway, I need a little life around me and birds are easy to bribe. I also freely admit that I have a rather obsessive idea of keeping feeders filled and water fresh. I mean FILLED, twice a day when it comes to the seeds and clean, scrubbed tubs and fresh water as needed. Sure birds drink dirty water but so would I if I had to.

So my Bird Park has fallen on hard times but it's happened before. In fact, the little bastards don't have much loyality in the first place. When things get low, off they go back to Dwayne's. He is my neighbor with the big trees and lawn. The birds prefer his place to our scrubby, desert not-landscape but I don't blame 'em. Worms and bugs hang out in nice, moist areas. Dwayne even has a quail family living in his giant, sprawling, nest of a Navaho willow. The babies are too little to make the fense yet but their parents come over here for a little of the sunflower seed action, but I know they're just slumming.

Minerva is different though. In the first place, crows don't mind harsh terrain. They're big and tough and just hop over crap. Quail are sweet but they are putzes who don't even like to fly, what to speak of hop, if they even could. Maybe they would be more inclined to hop if they wore baseball caps instead of those haute Paris creations but no. Quail insist on being dapper at all times. But back to Minerva. She is loyal and has been coming around for more than a year. She dropped in the other day and I actually hobbled out to give her some peanuts while she watched from the top of Dick's house. You may wonder how I knew that this particular crow was Minerva. I wish it was because I have special crow mojo and know their language etc. etc., but I don't. Minerva has a whitish feather on her left shoulder and a funny, irregular feather sticking out of her right wing. She travels alone or with one friend and comes in the afternoon, not with the squawking brunch bunch. She's older and has aged noticably since last year. The hard winter, I suppose. She is an irregular regular at the Bird Park and gets special treatment. Otherwise, things have grown pretty quiet here. Not much kibitzing in the tiny trees, although a little black bird did sit on one of the 2 foot junipers the other day. That's initiation for a tree. They'll be back though. Oh yes. Once I can get outside and start pumping the seeds into the system, the little bastards will be back.

One last thing about crows and loyality. The other day Mr. Lee was mountain biking up in the Pine Nuts when he came upon a flock of crows circling above a particular spot in the desert. They weren't disturbed to see him so he got off his bike to see what they were hovering over. Usually it's something tasty like a dead mouse or bit of rabbit but this day it was not. Mr. Lee tells me they were circling around and around a particular, small, black, pyramid-shaped stone. He said they told him they wanted me to have it. They also told him to make clear to me that it's on loan.