Posted by: atowhee | January 30, 2020


“…I’m as busy as a spider spinning daydreams
I’m as giddy as a baby on a swing
I haven’t seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing

But I feel so gay
In a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring…”
–Rodgers & Hammerstein

Was this song written in November?  It was written in 1945, before I was born, back when robins were not winter birds in much of the U.S. including New York City.  The roses start budding in winter now, and this week I’ve got yellow crocus blooming in our garden.  The yellow come out before the other colors in the crocus tribe.  Other flowers in bloom here and now: early daffodils, Dutch iris, heather and andromeda. It might as well be spring.


Jays and peanuts seem designed to fit one another.  Here, local scrubber takes two:TWO IN ONE (2)

Today I was putting out more sunflowers seeds mid-day.  The nuthatch had been honking and feeding off and on since early morning.  As I stood near one feeder tray he flew in to the cedar trellis two feet away, landed and gave me a look.  The he went off to the suet. As he flew I heard the soft ruffle of wings feathers against air.  Then I heard his tiny talonettes grab onto the soft wood.  In his small-scale world important actions, miniscule impact, delicacy incarnate.  Once again I understand the large, loud, clumsy world we hominids inhabit and carry around as we move.FDRX2A

There is a small tree a few feet from a handing suet feeder.  Recently the squirrels decided if the top limbs were gone they could use the tree as a launching pad to jump to the suet.  So they chewed the top off the tree.  It took one of them weeks to come to that conclusion and then actual chewing probably took only minutes.  Problem solved. Next?TRFEE CHAWN (3)_LI

A visit to Joe Dancer this winter can reveal the level of heedlessness possible when fun triumphs over thought.  The bare field and hillside north of the park is polka-dotted with golf balls.  The field itself is a mire now.  Some person thought it justified by fun to stand on the sidewalk and drive dozens of gold balls off into the field.  Some of those balls will eventually end up in the South Yamhill River downhill.  None will degrade or rot before the death of careless golfer’s grandkids.  People still drive golf balls into the oceans off cruise ships apparently but supposedly those balls will rot away and not last as long as the plastic on the ocean’s surface.




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