For the birds

© harrington

Welcome. Thanks for visiting. I hope you enjoy your Labor Day Weekend. The picture above was taken yesterday on my way to pick up this week's Community Supported Agriculture share at the WEI's farm at Amador Hill. I count something like two dozen or so sandhill cranes in that field. That's more than I've seen anywhere else locally. Within the past week, I've also seen Canada (not Canadian unless you saw them cross the border) geese, fully fledged and recovered from their molt, starting their Autumn "training flights." This makes sandhill cranes and Canada geese part of my answer to today's bioregional quiz Where you at question "14.    Name five resident and five migratory birds in your area." Here's my complete answer:

RESIDENT

• Black-capped Chickadee
• Barred owl
• Turkey
• White-breasted nuthatch
• Cardinal

MIGRATORY

• Sandhill crane
• Canada goose
  (in my area there is a large migratory population and a much smaller resident population)
• Trumpeter Swan
• Scarlet Tanager
• Loon

Tomorrow's question, which will get us three-quarters of the way through the quiz, is "15.    What is the land-use history of where you live?" No time frame provided. Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. Rants, raves and reflections served here daily. Poetry (see below) irregularly.

Early Frost

By Scott Cairns

This morning the world’s white face reminds us   

that life intends to become serious again.

And the same loud birds that all summer long   

annoyed us with their high attitudes and chatter   

silently line the gibbet of the fence a little stunned,   

chastened enough.

They look as if they’re waiting for things

to grow worse, but are watching the house,   

as if somewhere in their dim memories

they recall something about this abandoned garden   

that could save them.

The neighbor’s dog has also learned to wake   

without exaggeration. And the neighbor himself   

has made it to his car with less noise, starting

the small engine with a kind of reverence. At the window   

his wife witnesses this bleak tableau, blinking   

her eyes, silent.

I fill the feeders to the top and cart them   

to the tree, hurrying back inside

to leave the morning to these ridiculous   

birds, who, reminded, find the rough shelters,   

bow, and then feed.