I realized again today just how much green inundates our environment. Especially with the wildfires rampaging out of control out west again, it feels like a gross indulgence. Instead of feeling guilty about how much water we have, though, we’re trying to open our eyes, and our hearts, and truly be appreciative of this natural resource’s abundance around us.
There is a portion of lower Bucks County, though, that’s almost certainly not appreciating the over-abundance of water that visited in the form of some torrential rain late yesterday afternoon. The meteorologists are categorizing this as a 100 year flood – but I have a sense we’ll be seeing another just like it, or worse, within the next few years; perhaps even before this summer is over. It’s scary. And expensive – both emotionally and of course financially.
Green & Lightning Bugs – Photo: L.Weikel
Appreciate the Beauty
While we can, for who knows how long we’ll have the benefit of all this moisture coming our way, we need to revel in the greenery. It sure beats having our yards become dirt and everything we plant crumble into dry oblivion.
Speaking of beauty, though – I must admit, this stricture against feeding our birds is torturous. I hear them singing and calling in the trees and within the thickets surrounding our house. They really are wondering what’s up. Even the hawks are wondering why the community is in lockdown and there’s no fast-food joints operating anymore.
To be honest, I think the hawks have been the most vociferous in the past few days. Hawk is having no trouble delivering its message: Feed us! You’re disrupting our entire community here!
Speaking of Food (Again)
I just had to add a photo of the kale I massaged earlier today. This batch was obviously made with green and red grapes instead of strawberries. It was delectable.
Freshly Massaged Kale – with grapes this time – Photo: L. Weikel
I had a shocking sense of déjà vu early this evening. I set out to take a walk and as I passed by our neighbor’s house, their newer dog, about a year old, nearly lost its mind barking at us. This is not uncommon, which is unfortunate, since we walk every day. (You’d think it would know us?)
The owner was outside and as we waved to each other I laughingly yelled (to be heard over the barking) how I sure hoped this dog wouldn’t find a hole in their fence. Of course, I was alluding to the incident I wrote about here, that occurred two years ago. This new dog is larger than the two that were involved in the prior incident, which makes its aggressive behavior a bit more worrisome – although those little dogs can be vicious!
No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than the dog rampaged along the perimeter and rammed its head against the fence, knocking a picket clean off the lateral supports. Luckily, Spartacus was on a short enough leash that I was able to scoop him into my arms before the larger dog got to us. Of course, the butterscotch colored pup (which piled on and added to the fracas last time) tried to join in again this time, but Spart was such a great boy – allowing me to hold him without struggling or taking his angst out on me.
I have to admit – it was a most unpleasant way to begin our walk.
Myriad of Shapes – Photo: L. Weikel
Nature’s Reward
It took us a good mile at least to settle down from the adrenaline rush we’d both experienced.
I rewarded Spartacus with an abundance of treats. He needed to know how much I appreciated what a good boy he’d been.
Meanwhile, I was treated to a spectacular display of artwork painted across the sky. And the artistry shifted and transformed before my eyes over and over. At one point, I stopped to take yet another photo – this time of the setting sun looking for the life of me like a fried egg, sunny side up – and was startled by a Red-tailed Hawk shrieking at me and taking off from a tree only about 15 feet from me. It flew high into a tree in the field beside the road, raucously crying out again and again. Then what I gathered was its mate (which I hadn’t seen up until that point) took off toward the cliffs. She (the first one I saw – I’m guessing at its gender) yelled at me a couple more times and then also headed toward the cliffs.
I’m sharing just a few of the photos from tonight’s walk. I heeded the message of the Hawks and allowed the sheer abundance of beauty and magic surrounding me to ease my mind, chill me out, and bring me back to myself.
I’ve been talking to Spirit a lot lately. Asking for guidance, maybe a friendly nudge in the right direction, yesterday in particular I sensed I was being heard. I feel I’m on the verge of receiving a response to my queries. And the reason for my optimism is the appearance of the raptor watcher.
The air feels pregnant to me; it’s almost electric in the sense of power I feel is building, but not yet found a place to strike.
As I drove to and from the courthouse yesterday, I must’ve seen at least six hawks. Not all at once, as in, a kettle of hawks. No, each one made an appearance as a unique and distinct visitor to my awareness.
At least four of them were being hounded by crows and smaller birds, perhaps sparrows or possibly starlings. It was obvious the hawks being bombarded had been on nest-raiding missions. Were these details significant? Who knows! I wasn’t feeling the love nor sensing a particular message.
Stop at the Creek
On my way home I decided to make a quick pit-stop at the Tohickon. Honestly, I didn’t feel particularly worthy of having a chat with her in that moment, but too much time had elapsed since I’d stopped and said hello. I even vowed not to whine to her if I stopped for five minutes just to settle my bones.
I parked in my most frequented pull-over spot and marveled at how low the water table is. The banks of the Tohickon appear dry and exposed, which worries me, given it’s only the 21st of May. What will the creek look like in early August?
As I exited my vehicle, I started speaking out loud to both the Tohickon herself and the creatures who live within and along her banks. I deliberately tried to steer the conversation away from my prior musings and questions, which echoed like whining to me in that moment.
No. I didn’t need anything obvious. All I needed was some creek time, some quiet and peaceful ‘alone time’ with the body of water from whom I source significant personal energy.
I scanned the trees lining the opposite side of the Tohickon for any avian visitors. Not a one in sight. I guess I’ve seen enough hawks for the day, I thought. And in that moment, I turned my head to look to my right. Right there, vaulting from a tree across the way from me was a Bald Eagle high tailing it downstream. As soon as I caught sight of it working its way down the creek about five feet above the surface of the water, it veered off to the right and disappeared.
“Get your nest out of the swamp,” I heard echo in my head. “Stop indulging in these sad thoughts,” was another comment. “Knock it off,” said an even less patient messenger.
Blue Heron right beside me – Photo: L. Weikel
Blue Heron Chimes In
There’s no question I felt moved and honored by Eagle’s decision to show up in my life, even if it was brief and only showing me its hind end. Hopefully I’ll never take Eagle’s appearance in my life for granted.
I reminded myself that I’d stopped to take photos of the Tohickon and the shocking shallowness of her waters. Taking my iPhone out of my pocket, I snapped a shot downstream, wishing Eagle would pop back out and make another appearance. But no. That didn’t happen.
I turned to look upstream and nearly fell over when I realized I was fewer than ten yards away from a Blue Heron standing proudly erect on a boulder just beyond where I stood. Oh my goodness, what a surprise. And to think all this time I’d been blithely talking out loud to the creek and to any other creature that happened to be listening.
“No one’s going to give you the answers you seek. You need to go within and do your own self-reflection,” I heard. “Listen to Eagle. Get your nest out of the swamp. Spend some time by yourself. You know the questions you need to ask. And you know you’re the only one who can answer them.”
Ummm. OK.
Raptor Watcher – close up – Photo: L. Weikel
Final Point
About 90 minutes later, I found myself walking with Spartacus. Still encountering some internal static in spite of my Creek encounters, I wasn’t even of a mind to pull a card or engage in any of my trusted practices. I just walked and picked up butts along the roadside.
A fracas in the stand of trees behind me caused me to turn around. I saw Crows dogging a Red-tailed Hawk for probably the fifth time that day.
And then I saw it. Looming in the sky above me. Had those messengers not secured my attention, I almost certainly would have missed the Raptor Watcher at my back.
No, the title to this blog was not a reference to me as a watcher of raptors. Rather, it was a reference to the Raptor – be it a Hawk or an Eagle, I can’t quite discern which – that had its eye on me as I walked home last night. I’ve been given the word. Will I listen?
Oh my goodness, I was visited or buzzed by, or simply graced with a sighting of, so many different creatures today! Some days I find myself wondering how I could possibly be so lucky as to live where I come into contact with these wild beings every single day. Today – well, today I just received gifts galore.
There were the usual suspects: squirrels (am I really counting them as gifts? Hmmm), cardinals, wrens, sparrows, mourning doves, chickadees, and nuthatches.
But then I took a walk with a friend and – weren’t we not only buzzed by a hawk, which clearly was a Red-tail, but must have been a juvenile because its red tail feathers were not red when viewed from underneath. And this raptor definitely flew directly above us.
They then called in their friends because within a few moments, we were graced with at least five hawks and a couple of peace eagles (vultures) to boot.
Circled directly overhead several times – Photo: L. Weikel
A Murder, Too
A true murder of crows (there had to have been at least a dozen) flew overhead at one point, and several took up a variety of perspectives from nearby trees and simply hurled epithets at us. Perhaps they were loving messages, I suppose. It’s hard to tell sometimes when a crow groks at you.
Shortly thereafter, I was driving home and what did I see in the field beside road? Only a bazillion turkeys. Such a gift! Indeed, as I stated at the beginning of this short post, today I was showered with gifts galore.
Due to a confluence of circumstances and opportunities, Karl and I had to forego a walk today. Since neither a walk-around nor a walkabout was had, as a result, I’m relegated to a single photograph upon which to build a post. It’s an unenviable foundation, but workable. We’re going to make this happen.
One bright spot: I pulled to the side of the road early this evening to attempt to capture the precious abundance of water filling the banks of our beloved Delaware River (aka Lenape Sipu in the language of those who lived here first, the Lenape). Not only was the river running full, wide, and fast, at the moment I took this photo, the rays of the setting sun were still managing to illuminate the tops of the trees lining the river on the New Jersey side.
It was a lovely moment and if I’d been more patient, I might have been graced with a sighting of epic proportions. (Only because I tend to be lucky – as you all know.) But patience and my occasional sense that “I have all the time in the world” (which enables me to linger those extra moments or minutes that sometimes make all the difference) were not fully activated this afternoon.
Nevertheless, I did what I could.
Raptors Keep Showing Up
Although I wasn’t in a position to memorialize my sightings, we encountered at least four hawks again today as we drove a short distance from our home. The abundance of snow cover this winter probably caused a lot of rodents to snuggle up and linger in their homes longer than usual. And while they may be a little lean after a long, snowy winter, I bet the hawks don’t care if they taste a little crunchy.
Funny how hunger can make slim pickin’s for meals taste utterly delectable. Something tells me the raptors are not being culinary snobs at this stage of the game. They’re on the hunt; fertilizing eggs and ensuring the survival of their species is hungry business.
One Thing I Noticed
The skies are supposed to remain clear tomorrow and into tomorrow night. For the past two nights, I’ve had a chance to be standing outside in the dark. The moon will be in the western sky and looking like a perfect ‘half moon,’ which is actually the moon in ‘square’ to the sun. That means that it’s halfway between conjunct – or in the same spot – as the sun (when it’s a new moon) and opposite the sun (when it’s a full moon).
So if you go outside tomorrow night and look for the moon, you’ll be rewarded with a midnight blue sky, brilliant stars, a half moon (exactly at 10:40 p.m.), and a twinkling, surprisingly bright red Mars very close (to the right and just below) the moon.
The last few evenings were exquisite. Try not to miss the beauty just outside your door.
Some of you may remember my semi-flip out back in September when suddenly all the birds not only went silent but actually left the premises. It was a long 20 days or so before they finally started returning, much to my huge relief. It’s possible, I suppose, that they all just suddenly discovered plentiful seeds and other treats somewhere else. But the abruptness and totality of their departure – and the similar abruptness of their return – just seemed kind of weird.
I do intend to pay attention this fall, to see if they make it into an annual habit.
Looking For Normal
This past week felt like I was trapped in a time warp. Every day I had to make a concerted effort to steady and ground myself – almost as if I’d awakened in the midst of an ocean and had to regain my sea legs before I could walk into the next room. But it wasn’t a physical wavering. It was a psychological one – or perhaps even deeper; perhaps an existential one.
So many assumptions and fundamental beliefs I’ve held about our country and our ability to respond to any challenge – no matter how grave, how daunting, or how threatening – have been shattered this week. And the worst part about that? The worst part is knowing that it was completely avoidable. The worst part is knowing that our lack of preparation and ability to respond (responsibility) was facilitated by the deliberate obfuscation of those at the highest levels of our government.
And people are starting to get sick and die in numbers that grow exponentially, daily, as a result.
So? Having no real power to effect meaningful change until Election Day, I need to look for normal amidst the chaos. Looking for normal yesterday afternoon meant feeding my birds.
Everyday Joy
The temperature outside climbed to 78 degrees yesterday. Needing to ground myself and reconnect to what’s real and sustainable, I found myself sitting on my porch in the sunshine, reveling in birdsong. For a precious few minutes, I was able to wrap myself in a cocoon of delight as I listened to the robins and the fish crows trill and grok, respectively. I watched both two red shouldered woodpeckers and a downy cling to my front feeder and push around a chickadee, then heard but could not see-to-save-my-life the producer of the unmistakable, heavy-billed <<thwacking>> of a pileated just beyond the garage.
I watched goldfinches, house finches, sparrows and wrens flit and flutter amongst the shelter of the carcass of our Christmas tree, which we prop against one of the maples in our yard each year to give them additional cover from the sharp-shinned and red-tailed hawks that patrol the area. Nuthatches marched upside down on the maples and I even glimpsed either a blue bird or an indigo bunting before it disappeared into the thicket along our driveway.
My effort to reclaim normal consisted of the measured, meditative act of filling our birdfeeders and feeding the birds.
Pandemic Partners
I hope I’ll be able to keep my feeders filled over the coming months. The joy and sense of connection with All Life that birds give me is abundantly healing and centering. I recently came across this great article with excellent tips on how to make our yards welcoming, safe, and enticing to these wonderful creatures. It affirmed why Karl and I are so lucky to have so many feathered friends sharing this land we call home.
So many of the suggestions in this article are sound common sense, but they’re also little ways of changing our relationship with birds and Mother Earth that help bring us into balance with Her.
And ultimately, as we make our way through the devastation of this pandemic, coming back into balance with Mother Earth will be key. Celebrating and appreciating our birds can remind us of that.
